Full text of "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 ... for daily use and diversion. With four hundred and thirty-six engravings"

/ ^

dMk

r l(T-

PETRARCH'S INKSTAND.
IN THE POSSESSION OF Miss EDGBWORTH, PRESENTED TO HKR BY A LADY.

By beauty won from soft Italia's land.
Here Cupid, Petrarch's Cupid, takes his stand.
Arch suppliant, welcome to thy fav'rite isle,
Close thy spread wings, and rest thee here awhile :
Still the true heart with kindred strains inspire,
Breathe all a poet's softness, all his flre ;
But if the perjured knight approach this font,
Forbid trie words to come as they were wont,
Forbid the ink to flow, the pen to write,
And send the false one baffled from thy sight.

Miss Edgeworth.

THE

EYERY -DAY BOO

TABLE BOOK;

EVERLASTING CALENDAR OF POPULAR AMUSEMENTS,

SPORTS, PASTIMES, CEREMONIES, MANNERS,
CUSTOMS, AND EVENTS,

INCIDENT TO

of tfje

anfc

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, TOPO-
GRAPHY, BIOGRAPHY, NATURAL HISTORY, ART, SCIENCE, AND GENERAL LITERATURE ;
DERIVED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND VALUABLE ORIGINAL COMMU-
NICATIONS, 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 TOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIX ENGRAVINGS.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.

LONDON :

PRINTED FOR THOMAS fXJSGG,

73, C H E A P S I D E.

;-..

p/?

I/O

I 2io

hi
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J. Haddon, Printer, Castle Street, Finsbniy.

PREFACE.

OH the close of the E VERY-DAY BOOK, which commenced on New Year's

Day, 1825, and ended in the last week of 1826, I began this work.

The only prospectus of the TABLE BOOR was the eight versified lines on the
title-page. They appeared on New Year's Day, prefixed to the first number ;
which, with the successive sheets, to the present date, constitute the volume
now in the reader's hands, and the entire of my endeavours during the hull
year,

So long as I am enabled, and the public continue to be pleased, the TABLE
BOOK will be continued. The kind reception of the weekly numbers, and the
monthly parts, encourages me to hope that like favour will be extended to the
half-yearly volume. Its multifarious contents and the illustrative engravings,
with the help of the copious index, realize my wish, " to please the young,
and help divert the wise." Perhaps, if the good old window-seats had not gone
out of fashion, it might be called a parlour-window book a good name for a
volume of agreeable reading selected from the book-case, and left lying about,
for the constant recreation of the family, and the casual amusement of visitors.

W. HONE.
Midsummer, 1837.

THE FRONTISPIECE.

PETRARCH'S INKSTAND.

Miss EDOEWORTH'S lines express her esti-
mation of the gem she has the happiness
to own. That lady allowed a few casts
from it in bronze, and a gentleman who
possesses one, and who favours the " Table
Book" with his approbation, permits its
use for a frontispiece to this volume. The
engraving will not be questioned as a deco-
ration, and it has some claim to be regarded
as an elegant illustration of a miscellany
which draws largely on art and literature,
and on nature itself, towards its supply.

" I delight," says Petrarch, " in my pic-
tures. I take great pleasure also in images;
they come in show more near unto nature
than pictures, for they do but appear ; but
these are felt to be substantial, and their
bodies are more durable. Amongst the
Grecians the art of painting was esteemed
above all handycrafts, and the chief of all
the liberal arts. How great the dignity hath
been of statues; and how fervently the study
and desire of men have reposed in such
pleasures, emperors and kings, and other
noble personages, nay, even persons of in-
ferior degree, have shown, in their indus-
trious keeping of them when obtained."
Insisting on the golden mean, as a rule of
happiness, he says, " I possess an amazing
collection of books, for attaining this, and
every virtue : great is my delight in behold-
ing such a treasure." He slights persons
who collect books " for the pleasure of
boasting they have them ; who furnish their
chambers with what was invented to furnish
their minds ; and use them no otherwise
than they do their Corinthian tables, or
their painted tables and images, to look
at." He contemns others who esteem not
the true value of books, but the price at
which they may sell them " a new prac-
tice" (observe it is Petrarch that speaks)
"crept in among the rich, whereby they may
attain one art more of unruly desire." He
repeats, with rivett'mg force, " I have great
plenty of books : where such scarcity has
been lamented, this is no small possession :
I have an inestimable many of books '.''
He was a diligent collector, and a liberal
imparter of these treasures. He corres-
ponded with Rictiiwu e Bury, :*-, i\i^-
hriou* prelate of our own country, eminent
for his love of learning and learned men,

and sent many precious volumes to Eng-
land to enrich the bishop's magnificent
library. He vividly remarks, " I delight
passionately in my books ;" and yet he who
had accumulated them largely, estimated
them rightly : he has a saying of books
worthy of himself " a wise man seeketh
not quantity but sufficiency."

Petrarch loved the quiet scenes of nature y
and these can scarcely be observed from a
carriage or while riding, and are never
enjoyed but on foot ; and to me on whom
that discovery was imposed, and who am
sometimes restrained from country walks,
by necessity it was no small pleasure,
when I read a passage in his " View of
Human Nature," which persuaded me of
his fondness for the exercise : " A jour-
ney on foot hath most pleasant commo-
dities ; a man may go at his pleasure ; none
shall stay him, none shall carry him beyond
his wish; none shall trouble him; he hath
but one labour, the labour of nature to
go."-

In " The Indicator" there is a paper of
peculiar beauty, by Mr. Leigh Hunt, " on
receiving a sprig of myrtle from Vaucluse,"
with a paragraph suitable to this occasion :
" We are supposing that all our readers
are acquainted with Petrarch. Many of
them doubtless know him intimately.
Should any of them want an introduct n
to him, how should we speak of him in u*e
gross ? We should say, that he was one
of the finest gentlemen and greatest scho-
lars that ever lived ; that he was a writer
who flourished in Italy in the fourteenth
century, at the time when Chaucer was
young, during the reigns of our Edwards;
that he was the greatest light of his age ;
that although so fine a writer himself, and
the author of a multitude of works, or
rather because he was both, he took the
greatest pains to revive the knowledge of
the ancient learning, recommending it every
where, and copying out large manuscripts
with his own hand ; that two great citit --.
Paris and Rome, contended which should
have the honour of crowning 1 him ; that he
was crowned publicly, in the metropolis of
the world, with laurel and with myrtle ;
that he was the frienH of Boccaccio the
father of Italian prose ; and lastly, that his

PETRARCH'S INKSTAND

greatest renown nevertheless, as well as the
predominant feelings of his existence, arose
from the long love he bore for a lady of
Avignon, the far-famed Laura, whom he
fell in love with on the 6th of April, 1327,
on a Good Friday; whom he rendered
illustrious in a multitude of sonnets, which
have left a sweet sound and sentiment in
the ear of all after lovers ; and who died,
still passionately beloved, in the year 1348,
on the same day and hour on which he first
beheld her. Who she was, or why their
connection was not closer, remains a mys-
tery. But that she was a real person, and
that in spite of all her modesty she did not
show an insensible countenance to his pas-
sion, is clear from his long-haunted imagi-
nation, from his own repeated accounts,
from all that he wrote, uttered, and thought.
One love, and one poet, sufficed to give the
whole civilized world a sense of delicacy
in desire, of the abundant riches to be
found in one single idea, and of the going
out of a man's self to dwell in the soul and
happiness of another, which has served to
refine the passion for all modern times ;
and perhaps will do so, as long as love re-
news the world."

At Vaucluse, or Valchiusa, " a remark-
ab.e spot in the old poetical region of Pro-
vence, consisting of a little deep glen of
green meadows surrounded with rocks, and
containing the fountain of the river Sorgue,"
Petrarch resided for several years, and
composed in it the greater part of his
poems.

The following is a translation by sir
William Jones, of

AN ODE, BY PETRARCH,
To THE FOUNTAIN OF VALHIUSA

Ye clear and sparkling; streams !

(Warm'd by the sunny beams)
Through whose transparent crystal Laura play'd ;

Ye boughs that deck the grove,

Where Spring her chaplets wove,
While Laura lay beneath the quivering shade ;

Sweet herbs I and blushing flowers !

That crown yon vernal bowers,
For ever fatal, yet for ever dear ;

And ye, that heard my sighs

When first she charm'd my eyes,
Soft-breathing gales ! my dying accents hear.

If Heav'n has fix'd my doom.

That Love must quite consume

My bursting heart, and close my eyes In death

Ah 1 grant this slight request,

That here my urn may rest,
When to its mansion flies my vital breath.

This pleasing hope will smooth

My anxious mind, and soothe
The pangs of that inevitable hoar ;

My spirit will not grieve

Her mortal veil to leave
In these calm shades, and this enchanting bower

Haply, the guilty maid

Through yon accnstom'd glade
To my sad tomb will take her lonely way

Where first her beauty's light

O'erpower'd my dazzled sight.
When love on this fair border bade me stray :

There, sorrowing, shall she see.

Beneath an aged tree,
Her true, but hapless lover's lowly bier ;

Too late her tender sighs

Shall melt the pitying skies,
And her soft veil shall hide the gashing tear

I well-reinember'd day,
When on yon bank she lay,

Meek in her pride, and in her rigour mild ;

The young and blooming flowers.

Falling in fragrant showers,
Shone on her neck, and on her bosom saiil'd

Some on her mantle hung,

Some in her locks were strung,
Like orient gems in rings of flaming gold ;

Some, in a spicy cloud

Descending, call'd aloud,
" Here Love and Youth the reins of empire hold, '

1 view'd the heavenly maid :
And, rapt in wonder, said

" The groves of Eden gave this angel birth ,"

Her look, her voice, her smile,

That might all Heaven beguile,
Wafted my soul above the realms of earth .

The star-bespangled skies

Were open'd to my eyes ;
Sighing I said, " Whence rose this glittering scene ?'

Since that auspicious hour.

This bank, and odorous bower,
My morning couch, and evening haunt have bee*.

Well mavst thou blusj, my song,

To leave tne rural ttirODf(
And fly thus artless to my Laura's ear ,

But, were thy poet's fire

Ardent as his desire,
Thou wert a song that Heaven might stoop to hear

It is within probability to imagine, that
the original of this "ode "may have been
impressed on the paper, by Petrarch'* pea,
from the inkstand of the 'rontispiece.

THE

TABLE BOOK.

FORMERLY, a " Table Book" was a memo-
randum book, on which any thing was
graved or written without ink. It is men-
tioned by Shakspeare. Polonius, on disclos-
ing Ophelia's affection for Hamlet to the
king, inquires

" When I had seen this hot lore on the wing,
what might you,

Or my dear majesty, your queen here, think,
If I had play'd the desk, or table-book ?"

Dr. Henry More, a divine, and moralist,
of the succeeding century, observes, that
" Nature makes clean the table-book first,
and then portrays upon it what she pleas-
eth." In this sense, it might have been
used instead of a tabula rasa, or sheet of
blank writing paper, adopted by Locke as
an illustration of the human mind in its
incipi.ency. It is figuratively introduced
to nearly the same purpose by Swift : he
tells us that

" Nature's fair talle-book, our tender souls,
We scrawl all o'er with old and empty rules,
Stale memorandums of the schools."

Dryden says, " Put into your Table-Book
whatsoever you judge worthy."*

I hope I shall not unworthily err, if, in
the commencement of a work under this
title, I show what a Table Book was.

Table books, or tablets, of wood, existed
before the time of Homer, and among the
Jews before the Christian aera. The table
books of the Romans were nearly like ours,
which will be described presently; except
that the leaves, which were two, three, or
more in number, were of wood surfaced
with wax. They wrote on them with a style,
one end of which was pointed for that pur-
pose, and the other end rounded or flattened,
for effacing or scraping out. Styles were
made of nearly all the metals, as well as of
bone and ivory ; they were differently formed,
and resembled ornamented skewers ; the
common style was iron. More anciently,
the leaves of the table book were without
wax, and marks were made by the iron
style on the bare wood. The Anglo-Saxon
style was very handsome. Dr. Pe?ge was
of opinion that the well-known jewel of
Alfred, preserved in the Ashmolean
museum at Oxford, was the head of the
style sent by that king with Gregory's
Pastoral to Athelney.f

A gentleman, whose profound knowledge
of domestic antiquities surpasses that of

' Johnson.

t Fosbroks's Encyclopedia of Antiquities

preceding antiquaries, and remains unri-
valled by his contemporaries, in his " Illus-
trations of Shakspeare," notices Hamlet's
expression, " My tables, meet it is I set
it down." On that passage he observes,
that the' Roman practice of writing on wax
tablets with a style was continued through
the middle ages ; and that specimens of
wooden tables, filled with wax, and con-
structed in the fourteenth century, were
preserved in several of the monastic libra-
ries in France. Some of these consisted of
as. many as twenty pages, formed into a
book by means of parchment bands glued
to the backs of the leaves. He says that
in the middle ages there were table books
of ivory, and sometimes, of late, in the form
of a small portable book with leaves and
clasps ; and he transfers a figure of one of
the latter from an old work* to his own :
it resembles the common " slate-books"
still sold in the stationers' shops. He pre-
sumes that to such a table book the arch-
bishop of York alludes in the second part
of King Henry IV.,

" And therefore will he wipe his tables clean
And keep no tell tale to his memory."

As in the middle ages there were table-
books with ivory leaves, this gentleman
remarks that, in Chaucer's " Sompnour's
Tale," one of the friars is provided with

" A pair of tables all of ivory,
And a pointel ypolished fetishly,
And wrote alway the names, as he stood,
Of alle folk that yave hem any good."

He instances it as remarkable, that neither
public nor private museums furnished spe-
cimens of the table books, common in
Shakspeare's time. Fortunately, this ob-
servation is no longer applicable.

A correspondent, understood to be Mr.
Douce, in Dr. Aikin's " Athenaeum,'' sub-
sequently says, " I happen to possess a
table-book of Shakspeare's time. It is a
little book, nearly square, being three inches
wide and something less than four in length,
bound stoutly in calf, and fastening with
four strings of broad, strong, brown tape.
The title as follows : ' Writing Tables, with
a Kalender for xxiiii yeeres, with sundrie
necessarie rules. The Tables made by
Robert Triple. London, Imprinted for the
Company of Stationers.' The tables ars
inserted immediately after the almanack.
At first sight they appear like what we
call asses-skin, the colour being precisely

Gesner De rerum fossilium figuris, &c. Tigw. 15-
12mo.

THE TABLE BOOK.

Cfje

ear.

HAGMAN-HEIGH.

Anciently on new year's day the Ro-

mans were accustomed to carry small pre-

sents, as new year's gifts, to the senators,

under whbse protection they were severally

placed. In the reigns of the emperors,

they flocked in such numbers with valuable

ones, that various decrees were made to

abolish the custom ; though it always

continued among that people. The Romans

who settled in Britain, or the families con-

nected with them by marriage, introduced

these new year's gifts among our forefathers,

who got the habit of making presents, even

to the magistrates. Some of the fathers of

the church wrote against them, as fraught

with the greatest abuses, and the magistrates

were forced to relinquish them. Besides

the well-known anecdote of sir Thomas

More, when lord chancellor,* many in-

stances might be adduced from old records,

of giving a pair of gloves, some with " lin-

ings," and others without. Probably from

thence has been derived the fashion of giv-

ing a pair of gloves upon particular occa-

sions, as at marriages, funerals, &c. New

year's gifts continue to be received and

given by all ranks of people, to commemo-

rate the sun's return, and the prospect of

spring, when the gifts of nature are shared

by all. Friends present some small tokens

of esteem to each other husbands to their

wives, and parents to their children. The

custom keeps up a cheerful and friendly

intercourse among acquaintance, and leads

to that good-humour and mirth so necessary

to the spirits in this dreary season. Chan-

dlers send as presents to their customers

large mould candles ; grocers give laisins,

to make a Christmas pudding, or a pack of

cards, to assist in spending agreeably the

long evenings. In barbers' shops " thrift-

box," as it is called, is put by the appren-

tice boys against the wall, and every cus-

tomer, according to his inclination, puts

something in. Poor children, and old in-

firm persons, beg, at the doors of the cha-

ritable, a small pittance, which, though

collected in small sums, yet, when put

together, forms to them a little treasure;

so that every heart, in all situations of life,

beats with joy at the nativity of his Saviour.

The flagman Heigh is an old custom

observed in Yorkshire on new year's eve, as

appertaining to the season. The keeper of

the pinfold goes round the town, attended

Every-Day Book, i. 9.

by a rabble at his heels, and knocking at
certain doors, sings a barbarous song, be-
ginning with

" To-night it is the new year's eight, to-morrow is

the day ;

We are come about for our right and for our ray,
As we us'd to dp in old king Henry's day :
Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman ti'eigft," &c.

The song always concludes with " wish-
ing a merry Christmas and a happy new
year." When wood was chiefly used as
fuel, in heating ovens at Christmas, this was
the most appropriate season for the hagman,
or wood-cutter, to remind his customers of
his services, and to solicit alms. The word
hag is still used in Yorkshire, to signify a
wood. The " hagg" opposite to Easby
formerly belonged to the abbey, to supply
them with fuel. Hagman may be a name
compounded from it. Some derive it from
the Greek Ayiapwn, the holy month, when
the festivals of the church for our Saviour's
birth were celebrated. Formerly, on the
last day of the year, the monks and friars
used to make a plentiful harvest, by begging
from door to door, and reciting a kind of
carol, at the end of every stave of which
they introduced the words " agia mene,"
alluding to the birth of Christ. A very
different interpretation, however, was given
to it by one John Dixon, a Scotch presby-
terlan minister, when holding forth against
this custom in one of his sermons at Kelso.
"Sirs, do you know what the hagman sig-
nifies ? It is the devil to be in the house ;
that is the meaning of its Hebrew original."* .

SONNET

ON THE NEW YEAR.

When we look back on hours long past away.
And every circumstance of joy, or woe
That goes to make this strange beguiling show,

Call'd life, as though it were of yesterday,

We start to learn our quickness of decay.
Still flies unwearied Time ; on still we go
And whither ? Unto endless weal or woe,

As we have wrought our parts in this brief play.

Yet many have I seen whose thin blanched locks
But ill became a head where Folly dwelt,.

Who having past this storm with all its shocks,
Had nothing learnt from what they saw or felt:

Brave spirits ! that can look, with heedless eye,

On doom unchangeable, and tixt eternity.

Clarkson's History of Richmond, cited by a cor-
respondent, A. B.

THE TABLE BOOK.

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

The following letter, written by Horace
Walpole, in relation to the tombs, is curious.

Dr. , whom he derides, was Dr. Za-

chary Pearce, dean of Westminster, and
editor of Longinus, &c.

Strawberry-hill, 1761.

I heard lately, that Dr. , a very

learned personage, had consented to let the
tomb of Aylmer de Valence, earl of Pem-
broke, a very great personage, be removed
for Wolfe's monument ; that at first he had
objected, but was wrought upon by being
told that hight Aylmer was a knight tem-
plar, a very wicked set of people as his lord-
ship had heard, though he knew nothing of
them, as they are not mentioned by Longi-
nus. I own I thought this a made story,
and wrote to his lordship, expressing my
concern that one of the finest and most
ancient monuments in the abbey should be
removed ; and begging, if it was removed,
that he would bestow it on me, who would
erect and preserve it here. After a fort-
night's deliberation, the bishop sent me an
answer, civil indeed, and commending my
zeal for antiquity ! but avowing the story
under his own hand. He said, that at first
they had taken Pembroke's tomb for a
knight templar's; observe, that not only
the man who shows the tombs names it
every day, but that there is a draught of it
at large in Dart's Westminster ; that upon
discovering whose it was, he had been very
unwilling to consent to the removal, and at
last had obliged Wilton to engage to set it
up within ten feet of where it stands at pre-
sent. His lordship concluded with congra-
tulating me on publishing learned authors
at my press. I don't wonder that a man
who thinks Lucan a learned author, should
mistake a tomb in his own cathedral. If I
had a mind to be angry, I could complain
with reason, as having paid forty pounds
for ground for my mother's funeral that the
chapter of Westminster sell their church
over and over again : the ancient monu-
ments tumble upon one's head through
th<M- neglect, as one of them did, and killed
a man at lady Elizabeth Percy's funeral ;
and they erect new waxen dolls of queen
Elizabeth, &c. to draw visits and money
from the mob.

a&fojjrapftfral jlemorantJa.

COMETARY INFLUENCE.
Brantome relates, that the duchess of

Angouleme, in the sixteenth century, being
awakened during the night, she was sur-
prised at an extraordinary brightness which
illuminated her chamber ; apprehending it
to be the fire, she reprimanded her women
for having made so large a one ; but they
assured her it was caused by the moon.
The duchess ordered her curtains to be un-
drawn, and discovered that it was a comet
which produced this unusual light. " Ah !"
exclaimed she, " this is a phenomenon
which appears not to persons of common
condition. Shut the window, it is a comet,
which announces my departure ; I must
prepare for death." The following morning
she sent for her confessor, in the certainty
of an approaching dissolution. The phy-
sicians assured her that her apprehensions
were ill founded and premature. " If I had
not," replied she, " seen the signal for
death, I could believe it, for I do not feel
myself exhausted or peculiarly ill." On
the third day after this event she expired,
the victim of terror. Long after this period
all appearances of the celestial bodies, not
perfectly comprehended by the multitude,
were supposed to indicate the deaths of
sovereigns, or revolutions in their govern-
ments.

Two PAINTERS.

When the duke d'Aremberg was confined
at Antwerp, a person was brought in as a
spy, and imprisoned in the same place.
The duke observed some slight sketches by
his fellow prisoner on the wall, and, con-
ceiving they indicated talent, desired Ru-
bens, with whom he was intimate, and
by whom he was visited, to bring with
him a pallet and pencils for the painter, who
was in custody with him. The materials
requisite for painting were given to the
artist, who took for his subject a group of
soldiers playing at cards in the corner of a
prison. When Rubens saw the picture, he
cried out that it was done by Brouwer,
whose works he had often seen, and as
often admired. Rubens offered six hundred
guineas for it ; the duke would by no means
part with it, but presented the painter with
a larger sum. Rubens exerted his interest,
and obtained the liberty of Brouwer, by
becoming his surety, received him into his
house, clothed as well as maintained him,
and took pains to make the world acquainted
with his merit. But the levity of Brouwer' s
temper would not suffer him long to con-
sider his situation any better than a state,
of confinement ; he therefore quitted Ru-
bens, and died shortly afterwards, in con-
sequence of a dissolute course of Hfe.

.THE TABLE-BOOK.

&epn$entatuin of a pageant eincle antr pap.

The state, and reverence, and show,
Were so attractive, folks would go
From all parts, ev'ry year, to see
The*e pageant-plays at Coventry.

fliis engravinc is from a very curious Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries, ancient!*
print in Mr. Snnrp's " Dissertation on the performed at Coventry."

THE TABLE BOOK.

Coventry is distinguished in the history
of the drama, because, under the title of
" Ludus Coventriee" there exists a manu-
script volume of most curious early plays,
not yet printed, nor likely to be, unless
there are sixty persons, at this time suffici-
ently concerned for our ancient literature
and manners, to encourage a spirited gen-
tleman to print a limited number of copies.
If by any accident the manuscript should
be destroyed, these plays, the constant
theme of literary antiquaries from Dugdale
to the present period, will only be known
through the partial extracts of writers, who
have sometimes inaccurately transcribed
from the originals in the British Museum.*

Mr. Sharp's taste and attainments qua-
lifying him for the task, and his residence
at Coventry affording him facility of re-
search among the muniments of the cor-
poration, he has achieved the real labour
of drawing- from these and other unexplored
sources, a body of highly interesting
facts, respecting the vehicles, characters,
and dresses of the actors in the pageants or
dramatic mysteries anciently performed by
the trading companies of that city ; which,
together with accounts of municipal enter-
tainments of a public nature, form his meri-
torious volume.

Very little has been known respecting
the stage " properties," before the rise of
the regular drama, and therefore the abun-
dant matter of that nature, adduced by this
gentleman, is peculiarly valuable. With
" The Taylors' and Shearemens' Pagant,"
complete from the original manuscript, he
gives the songs and the original music,
engraved on three plates, which is eminently
remarkable, because it is, perhaps, the only
existing specimen of the melodies in the
old Mysteries. There are ten other plates
in the work ; one of them represents the
club, or maul, of Pilate, a character in the
pageant of the Cappers' company. " By a
variety of entries it appears he had a club
or maul, stuffed with wool ; and that the
exterior was formed of leather, is authenti-
cated by the actual existence of such a
club or maul, discovered by the writer of
this Dissertation, in an antique chest within
the Cappers' chapel, (together with an iron

By a notice in Mr. Sharp's " Dissertation," he pro-
poses to publish the " Coventry Mysteries," with notes
and illustrations, in two vols. octavo : 100 copies on
royal paper, at three guineas ; and 25, on imperial
paper, at five guineas. Notwithstanding he limits- the
entire impression to these 125 copies, and will com-
mence to print as soon as the names of sixty subscribers
are sent to his publishers, it appears that this small
number is not yet complete. The fact is mentioned
here, because it will be a reproach to the age if such an
overture '.s &ot embraced.

cresset, and some fragments of armour,)
where it had probably remained ever since
the breaking up of the pageant." The
subject of the Cappers' pageant was usually
the trial and crucifixion of Christ, and the
descent into hell.

The pageant vehicles were high scaffolds
with two rooms, a higher and a lower,
constructed upon four or six wheels ; in
the lower room the performers dressed,
and in the higher room they played. This
higher room, or rather, as it may be called,
the " stage," was all open on the top, that
the beholders might hear and see. On the
day of performance the vehicles were
wheeled, by men, from place to place,
throughout the city ; the floor was strewed
with rushes ; and to conceal the lower
room, wherein the performers dressed,
cloths were hung round the vehicle : there
is reason to believe that, on these cloths,
the subject of the performance was painted
or worked in tapestry. The higher room
of the Drapers' vehicle was embattled, and
ornamented with carved work, and a crest;
the Smiths' had vanes, burnished and
painted, with streamers flying.

In an engraving which is royal quarto,
the size of the work, Mr. Sharp has laud-
ably endeavoured to convey a clear idea of
the appearance of a pageant vehicle, and
of the architectural appearance of the houses
in Coventry, at the time of performing the
Mysteries. So much of that engraving as re-
presents the vehicle is before the reader on
the preceding page. The vehicle, supposed
to be of the Smiths' company, is stationed
near the Cross in the Cross-cheaping, and
the time of action chosen is the period when
Pilate, on the charges of Caiphas and Annas,
is compelled to give up Christ for execu-
tion. Pilate is represented on a throne,
or chair of state; beside him stands his son
with a scoptre and poll-axe, and beyond
the Saviour are the two high priests ; the
two armed figures behind are knights. The
pageant cloth bears the symbols of the
passion.

Besides the Coventry Mysteries and other
matters, Mr. Sharp notices those of Chester,
and treats largely on the ancient setting of
the watch on Midsummer and St. John's
Eve, the corporation giants, morris dancers,
minstrels, and waites.

I could not resist the very fitting op-
portunity on the opening of the new year,
and of the Table Book together, to introduce
a memorandum, that so important an ac-
cession has accrued to our curious litcra-

if,

THE TABLE BOOK.

ture, as Mr. Sharp's " Dissertation on the
Coventry Mysteries."

BOOKS.

Give me

" THE THING TO A T."
A young man, brought up in the city of
London to the business of an undertaker,
went to Jamaica to better his condition.
Business flourished, and he wrote to his
father in Bishopsgate-street to send him,
with a quantity of black and grey cloth,
twenty gross of black Tacks. Unfortu-
nately he had omitted the top to hisT, and
the order stood twenty gross of black Jacks,
His correspondent, on receiving the letter,
recollected a man, near Fleet-market, who
made quart and pint tin pots, ornamented
with painting, and which were called black
Jacks, and to him he gave the order
for the twenty gross of black Jacks. The
maker, surprised, said, he had not so many
ready, but would endeavour to complete
the order ; this was done, and the articles
were shipped. The undertaker received
them with other consignments, and was
astonished at the mistake. A friend, fond
of speculation, offered consolation, by pro-
posing to purchase the whole at the invoice
price. The undertaker, glad to get rid of
an article he considered useless in that part
of the world, took the offer. His friend
immediately advertised for sale a number
of fashionable punch vases just arrived from
England, and sold the jacks, gaining 200
per cent. !

The young undertaker afterwards dis-
eoursing upon his father's blunder, was
*old by his friend, in a jocose strain, to
crder a gross of warming-pans, and see
whether the well-informed correspondents
in London would have the sagacity to con-'
sider such articles necessary in the latitude
of nine degrees north. The young man
laughed at the suggestion, but really put
in practice the joke. He desired his father
in his next letter to send a gross of warm-
ing-pans, which actually, and to the great
surprise of the son, reached the island of
Jamaica. What to do with this cargo he
knew not. His friend again became a pur-
chaser at prime cost, and having knocked
off the covers, informed the planters, that
he had just imported a number of newly-
constructed sugar ladles. The article under
that name sold rapidly, and returned a
large profit. The parties returned to Eng-
Jand with fortunes, and often told the story
of the black jacks and warming-pans over
the bottle, adding, that " Nothing is lost in
a good market."

Leave to enjoy myself. That place, that does

Contain my books, the best companions, is

To me a glorious court, where hourly I

Converse with the old sages and philosophers ;

And sometimes for variety, I confer

With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels;

Calling their victories, if unjustly got,

Unto a strict account; and in my fancy,

Deface their ill-placed statues. Can I then

Part with such constant pleasures, to embrace

Uncertain vanities ? No : be it your care

To augment a heap of wealth : it shall be mine

To increase in knowledge. FLETCHER.

IMAGINATION.

Imagination enriches every thing. A
great library contains not only books, but
" the assembled souls of all that men held
wise." The moon is Homer's and Shak-
speare's moon, as well as the one we look
at. The sun comes out of his chamber in
the east, with a sparkling eye, " rejoicing
like a bridegroom." The commonest thing
becomes like Aaron's rod, that budded.
Pope called up the spirits of the Cabala to
wait upon a lock of hair, and justly gave it
the honours of a constellation ; for he has
hung it, sparkling for ever, in the eyes of
posterity. A common meadow is a sorry
thing to a ditcher or a coxcomb ; but by the
help of its dues from imagination and the
love of nature, the grass brightens for us,
the air soothes us, we feel as we did in the
daisied hours of childhood. Its verdures,
its sheep, its hedge-row elms, all these,
and all else which sight, and sound, and
association can give it, are made to furnish
a treasure of pleasant thoughts. Even
brick and mortar are vivified, as of old at
the harp of Orpheus. A metropolis be-
comes no longer a mere collection of houses
or of trades. It puts on all the grandeur
of its history, and its literature ; its tow-
ers, and rivers ; its ait, and jewellery, and
foreign wealth ; its multitude of human
beings all intent upon excitement, wise or
yet to learn ; the huge and sullen dignity
of its canopy of smoke by day; the wide
gleam upwards of its ligfited lustre at night-
time ; and the noise of its many chariots,
heard, at the same hour, when the wind sets
gently towards some quiet suburb. Leigh
Hunt.

ACTORS.

Madame Rollan, who died in 1785, in
the seventy-fifth year of her age, was a
principal dancer on Covent-garden stage in

THE TABLE BOOK.

1731, and followed her profession, by pri-
vate teaching, to the last year of her life.
She had so much celebrity in her day, that
having one evening sprained her ancle, no
less an actor than Quin was ordered by the
manager to make an apology to the audi-
ence for her not appearing in the dance.
Quin, who looked upon all dancers as " the
mere garnish of the stage,'' at first de-
murred ; but being threatened with a for-
feiture, he growlingly came forward, and in
his coarse way thus addressed the audience :

" Ladies and Gentlemen,
" I am desired by the manager to inform
you, that the dance intended for this night
is obliged to be postponed, on account of
mademoiselle Rollan having dislocated her
ancle : I wish it had been her neck."

In Quin's time Hippesley was the Roscius
of low comedy ; he had a large scar on his
cheek, occasioned by being dropped into
the fire, by a careless nurse, when an in-
fant, which gave a very whimsical cast to
his features. Conversing with Quin con-
cerning his son, he told him, he had some
thoughts of bringing him on the stage.
" Oh," replied the cynic, " if that is your
intention, t think it is high time you should
burn his face."

On one of the first nights of the opera
of Cymon at Drury-lane theatre, when the
late Mr. Vernon began the last air in the
fourth act, which runs,

" Torn from me, torn from me, which way did they
take her ?"

a dissatisfied musical critic immediately
answered the actor's interrogation in the
following words, and to the great astonish-
ment of the audience, in the exact tune of
the air,

" Why towards Long-acre, towards Long-acre."

This unexpected circumstance naturally
embarrassed poor Vernon, but in a moment
recovering himself, he sung in rejoinder,
the following words, instead of the author's :

" Ho, ho, did they so,

Then I'll soon overtake her,
I'll soon overtake her."

Vernon then precipitately made his exit
amidst the plaudits of the whole house.

Imne department

POTATOES.

If potatoes, how much soever frosted,
be only carefully excluded from the atmo-
spheric air, and the pit not opened until

some time after the frost has entirely sub-
sided, they will be found not to have us-
tained the slightest injury. This is on
account of their not having been exposed
to a sudden change, and thawing gradually.
A person inspecting his potato heap,
which had been covered with turf, found
them so frozen, that, on being moved, they
rattled like stones : he deemed them irre-
coverably lost, and, replacing the turf, left
them, as he thought, to their fate. He
was not less surprised than pleased, a con-
siderable time afterwards, when he disco-
vered that his potatoes, which he had given
up for lost, had not suffered the least de-
triment, but were, in all respects, remark-
ably fine, except a few near the spot which
had been uncovered. If fanners keep their
heaps covered till the frost entirely disap-
pears, they will find their patience amply
rewarded.

LOST CHILDREN.

The Gresham committee having humanely
provided a means of leading to the discovery
of lost or strayed children, the following
is a copy of the bill, issued in consequence
of their regulation :

To THE PUBLIC. .

London.

If persons who may have lost a child, or
found one, in the streets, will go with a
written notice to the Royal Exchange, they
will find boards fixed up near the medicine
shop, for the purpose of posting up such
notices, (free of expense.) By fixing their
notice at this place, it is probable the
child will be restored to its afflicted parents
on the same day it may have been missed.
The children, of course, are to be taken
care of in the parish where they are found
until their homes are discovered.

From the success which has, within a
short time, been found to result from the
immediate posting up notices of this sort,
there can be little doubt, when the know-
ledge of the above-mentioned boards is
general, but that many children will be
speedily restored. It is recommended that
a bellman be sent round the neighbourhood,
as heretofore has been usually done.

Persons on receiving this paper are re-
quested to fix it up in their shop-window,
or other conspicuous place.

The managers of Spa - fields chapel
improving upon the above hint, caused

THE TABLE BOOK.

a board to be placed in front of their chapel
for the same purpose, and printed bills which
can be very soon filled up, describing the
child lost or found, in the following
forms :

CHILD FOUND.
Sex Age

Name

May be heard of at
r Farther particulars

The severe affliction many parents suffer
by the loss of young children, should in-
duce parish officers, and others, in popu-
lous neighbourhoods, to adopt a plan so
well devised to facilitate the restoration of
strayed children.

CHILD LOST.

Sex Age

Name
Residence
Farther particulars

TICKET PORTERS.

By AN ACT of common council of the city
of London, Hey gate, mayor, 1823, the
ticket porters are not to exceed five hun-
dred.

A ticket porter, when plying or working,
is to wear his ticket so as to be plainly
seen, under a penalty of 2. 6d. for each
offence.

No ticket porter is to apply for hire in
any place but on the stand, appointed by
the acts of common council, or within six
yards thereof, under a penalty of 5s.

FARES OF TICKET-PORTERS.

For
e very-
half
mile
farther.

For any Package, Letter, 8cc. not ex-
ceed ing 56 Ibs
Above 56 Ibs. and not exceeding
112 Ibs. . . . ..
Above 112 Ibs. and not exceeding
168 Ibs

Qr.

Mile.

Half
Mile.

One
Mile.

Mile.

Two

Miles.

*. d.
4
6
8

*. d.
6
9
1

. d.
9
1

1 6

*. d.

I
1 6
2

*. d.
1 6
2
2 6

. d.
6
9
1

For every parcel above 14 Ibs. which they may have to bring back, they are
allowed half the above fares.

A ticket porter not to take more than one
ob at a time, penalty 2*. 6d.

Seven, or more, rulers of the society, to
constitute a court.

The governor of the society, with the.
court of rulers, to make regulations, and
annex reasonable penalties for the breach
thereof, not exceeding 20*. for each offence,
or three months' suspension. They may dis-
charge porters who persist in breach of
their orders.

The court of rulers to hear and determine
complaints in absence of the governor.

Any porter charging more than his re-
gular fare, finable on conviction to the
extent of 20s., by the governor, or the court
of rulers.

Persons employing any one within the
city, except their own servants or ticket
porters, are liable to be prosecuted.

OLIVER CROMWELL.

The following is an extract from one of

Richard Symons's Pocket-books, preserved

amongst the Harleian MSS. in the British

Museum, No. 991. "At the marriage of

his daughter to Rich, in Nov. 1657, the
lord protector threw about sack-posset
among all the ladyes to soyle their rich
cloaths, which they tooke as a favour, and
also wett sweetmeats; and daubed all the
stooles where hey were to sit with wett
sweetmeats ; and pulled off Rich his pe-
ruque, and would have thrown it into the
fire, but did not, yet he sate upon it.'*

OLD WOMEN.

De Foe remarks in his " Protestant
Monastery," that " If any whimsical or
ridiculous story is told, 'tis of an Old Wo-
man. If any person is awkward at his
business or any thing else, he is called an
Old IVoman forsooth. Those were brave
days for young people, when they could
swear the old ones out of their lives, and
get a woman hanged or burnt only for
being a little too old and, as a warning
to all ancient persons, who should dare to
live longer than the young ones think con-
venient."

DTF.L WITH A BAG.
Two gentlemen, one a Spaniard, and
the other a German, who were recom-

THE TABLE BOOK,

mended, by their birth and services, to
the emperor Maximilian II., both courted
his daughter, the fair Helene Schar-
fequinn, in marriage. This prince, after
a long delay, one day informed them,
that esteeming them equally, and not being
able to bestow a preference, he should
leave it to the force and address of the
claimants to decide the question. He did
not mean, however, to risk the loss of one
or the other, or perhaps of both. He
could not, therefore, permit them to en-
counter with offensive weapons, but had
ordered a large bag to be produced. It
was his decree, that whichever succeeded
in putting his rival into this bag should
obtain the hand of his daughter. This
singular encounter between the two gen-
tlemen took place in the face of the whole
court. The contest lasted for more than an
hour. At length the Spaniard yielded, and
the German, Ehberhard, baron de Talbert,
having planted his rival in the bag, took it
upon his back, and very gallantly laid it at
the feel of his mistress, whom he espoused
the next day.

Such is the story, as gravely told by M.
de St. Foix. It is impossible to say what
the feelings of a successful combatant in a
duel may be, on his having passed a small
sword through the body, or a bullet through
the thorax, of his antagonist ; but might
he not feel quite as elated, and more con-
soled, on having put is adversary " into a
bag?"

" A NEW MATRIMONIAL PLAN."
This is the title of a bill printed and dis-
tributed four or five years ago, and now
before me, advertising " an establishment
where persons of all classes, who are anxious
to sweeten life, by repairing to the a/tar of
Hymen, have an opportunity of meeting
with proper partners." The " plan" says,
" their personal attendance is not abso-
lutely necessary, a statement of facts is all
that is required at first." The method is
simply this, for the parties to become sub-
scribers, the amount to be regulated ac-
cording to circumstances, and that they
should be arranged in classes in the fol-
lowing order, viz.

" Ladies.

* 1st Class. I am twenty years of age,
heiress to an estate in the county
of Essex of the value of 30,000/.,
well educated, and of domestic
habits ; of an agreeable, lively dis-
position and genteel figure. Re-
ligion that of my future husband.

" 2d Class. I am thirty years of age, a
widow, iu the grocery line in
London have children ; ot
middle stature, full made, fait
complexion and hair, temper
agreeable, worth 3,000/.

" 3d Class. I am tall and thin, a little
lame in the hip, of a lively dispo-
sition, conversable, twenty years
of age, live with my father, who,
if I marry with his consent, will
give me 1,000/.

" 4th Class. I am twenty years of age ; mild
disposition and manners; allow-
ed to be personable.

" 5th Class. I am sixty years of age ; in-
come limited ; active, and rather
agreeable.

" Gentlemen.

" 1st Class. A young gentleman with dark
eyes and hair ; stout made ; well
educated ; have an estate of 500/.
per annum in the county of Kent ;
besides 10,000/. in the three per
cent, consolidated annuities ; am
of an affable disposition, and very
affectionate.

" 2d Class. I am forty years of age, tail
and slender, fair complexion and
hair, well tempered and of sober
habits, have a situation in the
Excise of 300/. per annum, and a
small estate in Wales of the an-
nual value of 1 50/.

" 3d Class. A tradesman in the city of
Bristol, in a ready-money busi-
ness, turning ISO/, per week, at
a profit of 10/. per cent., pretty
well tempered, lively, and fond
of home.

" 4th Class. I am fifty-eight years of age ;
a widower, without incumbrance ;
retired from business upon a
small income ; healthy constitu-
tion ; and of domestic habits.
" 5th Class. I am twenty-five years of age ;
a mechanic, of sober habits ; in-
dustrious, and of respectable con-
nections.

" It is presumed that the public will not
find any difficulty in describing themselves ;
if they should, they will have the assistance
of the managers, who will be in attendance
at the office, No. 5, Great St. Helen's,
Bishopgate-street, on Mondays, Wednes-
days, and Fridays, between the hours of
eleven and three o'clock. Please to in-
quire for Mr. Jameson, up one pair of
stairs. All letters to be post paid.

" The subscribers are to be furnished

THE TABLE BOOK.

with a list of descriptions, and when one
occurs likely to suit, the parties may cor-
respond ; and if mutually approved, the
interview may be afterwards arranged.
Further particulars may be had as above."
Such a strange device in our own time,
for catching would-be lovers, teems incredi-
ble, and yet here is the printed plan, with
the name and address of the match-making
gentleman you are to inquire for " up one
pair of stairs.'*

CLERICAL LONGEVITY.

The following is an authentic account,
from the " Antiquarian Repertory," of the
incumbents of a vicarage near Bridgenorth
in Shropshire. Its annual revenue, till the
death of the last incumbent here mentioned,
was not more than about seventy pounds
per annum, although it is a very large and
populous parish, containing at least twenty
hamlets or townships, and is scarcely any
where less than four or five miles in dia-
meter. By a peculiar idiom in that coun-
try, the inhabitants of this large district are
Aaid to live " in Worfield-home :" and the
adjacent, or not far distant, parishes (each
of them containing, in like manner, many
townships, or hamlets) are called Claverly,
or Clarely-home, Tatnall-home, Womburn-
home, or, as the terminating word is every
where pronounced in that neighbourhood,
" whorae."

" A list of the vicars of Worfield in the
diocese of Lichfield and Coventry, and in the
county of Salop, from 1564 to 1763, viz.

" Demerick, vicar, last popish priest, con-
formed during the six first years of Eliza-
beth. He died 1564.

Barney, vicar 44 years ; died 1608.

Barney, vicar 56 years ; died 1664.

Hancocks, vicar 42 years; died 1707.

A damson, vicar 56 years : died 1763.
Only 4 vicars in 199 years."

SPELLING FOR A WAKE.
Proclamation was made a few years ago,
at Tewkesbury, from a written paper, of
which the following is a copy :

" HOBNAIL'S WARE This his to give
notis on Tusday next a Hat to be playd
at bac sord fore. Two Belts to be tuseld
fore. A plum cack to be gump in bag-s
fowr. A pond of backer to be bold for,
and a showl to danc lot by wimen."

THE BEAUTIES OF SOMERSET.

A BALLAD;

I'm a Zummerzetzhire man,
Zhew me better if you can,

In the North, Zouth, East, or West ;
I waz born in Taunton Dean,
Of all places ever seen

The richest and the best. OLD BALLAD

Tote, Alley Croker.

That Britain's like a precious gem

Set in the silver ocean,
Our Shakspeare sung, and none condemn

Whilst most approve the notion,
But various parts, we now declare,
Shine forth in various splendour,
And those bright beams that shine most fair,
The western portions render;
O the counties, the matchless western counties,
Bat far the best,
Of all the rest,
Is Somerset for ever.
For come with me, and we'll survey

Our hills and vallies over,
Our vales, where clear brooks bubbling stray

Through meads of blooming clover ;
Our hills, that rise in giant pride,

With hollow dells between them.
Whose sable forests, spreading wide.
Enrapture all who 've seen them ;
O the counties, &c.

How eould I here forgetful be

Of all your scenes romantic,
Our rugged rocks, our swelling sea,

Where foams the wild Atlantic!
There's not an Eden known to men

That claims such admiration,
A lovely Culbone's peaceful glen.

The Tempe of the nation ;
O the counties, &c.

To name each beauty in my rhyme

Would prove a vain endeavour,
I'll therefore sing that cloudless clime

Where Summer lets for ever ;
Where ever dwells the Age of Gold

In fertile vales and sunny,
Which, like the pronis'd land of old,

O'erflows with milk and honey ;
O the counties, &c.

But O ! to crown my county's worth,

What aty the rest surpasses,
There's not a spot in all the earth

Can boast such lovely lasses ;
There's not a spot beneath ths saa

Where hearts are open'd wider.
Then let us toast them every oo,

In bowls of native cider;
the counties, &c.

THE TABLE BOOK.

2<f

A NEW HYGROMETER.

A new instrument to measure the de-
grees of moisture in the atmosphere, of
which the following is a description, was
invented by M. Baptist Lendi, of St. Gall :

In a white flint bottle is suspended a
piece of metal, about the size of a hazle
nut, which not only looks extremely beau-
tiful, and contributes to the ornament of a
room, but likewise predicts every possible
change of weather twelve or fourteen hours
before it occurs. As soon as the metal is
suspended in the bottle with water, it
begins to increase in bulk, and in ten or
twelve days forms an admirable pyramid,
which resembles polished brass ; and it
undergoes several changes, till it has at-
tained its full dimensions. In rainy wea-
ther, this pyramid is constantly covered
with pearly drops of water; in case of
thunder or hail, it will change to the finest
red, and throw out rays ; in case of wind
or fog, it will appear dull and spotted ;
and previously to snow, it will look quite
muddy. If placed in a moderate tempera-
ture, it will require no other trouble than
to pour out a common tumbler full of
water, and to put in the same quantity of
fresh. For the first few days it must not
be shaken.

CALICO COMPANY.

A red kitten was sent to the house of a
linen-draper in the city ; and, on departing
from the maternal basket, the following
lines were written :

THE RED KITTEN.

O the red red kitten is sent away,
No more on parlour hearth to play ;
He must live in the draper's house,
And chase the rat, and catch the mouse,
And all day long in silence go
Through bales of cotton and calico.

After the king of England fam'd,
The red red kitten was Rufus nam'd.
And as king Rufas sported through
Thicket and brake of the Forest New,
The red red kitten Rufus so
Shall jump about the calico.

But as king Rufus chas'd the deer,
And hunted the forest far and near,
Until as he watch'd the jumpy squirrel,
He was shot by Walter Tyrrel ;
So, if Fate shall his death ordain,
Shall kitten Rufus by dogs be slain,
And end his thrice three lives of woe
Among the cotton and calico.

SONNET

TO A PRETTY GIRL IN A PASTRY-COOK**

SHOP.

Sweet Maid, for thou art maid of many sweet i,

Behind thy oonnter, lo ! I see thee standing,
Gaz'd at by wanton wand'rers in the streets,

While cakes, to cakes, thy pretty fist is handing.
Light as a puff appears thy every motion,

Yet thy replies I've heard are sometimes tart ;
I deem thee a preserve, yet I've a notion

That warm as brandied cherries is thy heart.
Then be not to thy lover like an ict,

Nor sour as raspberry vinegar to one
Who owns thee for a sugar-plum so nice,

Nicer than comfit, syllabub, or bun.
I love thee more than all the girls so natty,
I do, indeed, my sweet, my savoury PATTY.

" HOLLY NIGHT " AT BROUGH.
For the Table Book,

The ancient custom of carrying the
" holly tree" on Twelfth Night, at Brough
in Westmoreland, is represented in the ac-
companying engraving.

Formerly the " Holly-tree" at Brough was
really " holly," but ash being abundant,
the latter is now substituted. There are
two head inns in the town; which provide
for the ceremony alternately, though the
good townspeople mostly lend their assist-
ance in preparing the tree, to every branch
of which they fasten a torch. About eight
o'clock in the evening, it is taken to a con-
venient part of the town, where the torches
are lighted, the town band accompanying
and playing till all is completed, when
it is removed to the lower end of the town ;
and, after divers salutes and huzzas from
the spectators, is carried up and down the
town, in stately procession, usually by a
person of renowned strength, named Joseph
Ling. The band march behind it, play-
ing their instruments, and stopping every
time they reach the town bridge, and the
cross, where the " holly" is again greeted
with shouts of applause. Many of the in-
habitants carry lighted branches and flam-
beaus ; and rockets, squibs, &c. are dis-
charged on the joyful occasion. After the
tree is thus carried, and the torches are
sufficiently burnt, it is placed in the middle
of the town, when it is again cheered by
the surrounding populace, and is afterwards
thrown among them. They eagerly watch
for this opportunity ; and, clinging to each
end of the tree, endeavour to carry it away
to the inn they are contending for, where
they are allowed their usual quantum of

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Carrpfng tfoe "

Cm" at 3Srougf),

To every branch a torch they tie,

To every torch a light apply ;

At each new light send forth huzzas

Till all the tree is in a blaze ;

And then bear it flaming through the to'.-

With minstrelsy, and rockets thrown.

<J.e and spirits, and pass a " merry night,"
which seldom breaks up before two in the
morning.

Although the origin of this usage is lost,
and no tradition exists by which it can be
traced, yet it may .not be a strained surmise
to derive it from the church ceremony of
the day when branches of trees were carried
in procession to decorate the altars, in com-
memoration of the offerings of the Magi,
whose names are handed down to us as
Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar, the pa-
trons of travellers. In catholic countries,
flambeaus and torches always abound in
their ceremonies ; and persons residing in
the streets through which they pass, testify
their zeal and piety by providing flambeaus
at their own expense, and bringing them
lighted to the doors of their houses.

W. H. H.

COMMUNICATION! for the Table Book addressed to
me, in a parcel, or under cover, to the care of the pub-
lishers, will be gladly received.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS will appear o ths
wrappers of the monthly parts only.

TUK TABLE BOOK, therefore, after the present sheet,
will be printed continuously, without matter of this
kind, or the intervention of temporary titles, unplea-
sant to the eye, when the work comes to be bound in
volumes.

LASTLY, because this is the last opportunity of the
kind in my power, I beg to add that some valuable
papers which could not be included in the Every-Day
Book, will appear in the Table Booh.

MOBEOVEE LASTLY, I earnestly solicit the immediaU
activity of my friends, to oblige and serre me- >-
sending any thing, and every thing thy can collect or
recollect, which they may suppose at all likely to r*s-
der my Table Booh instructive, or diverting.
W.

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emigration of tfce mm from Cranbount Cfease, 18?6

Voi . I. 2

Th genial years increase the timid herd
Till wood and pasture yield a scant supply ;

Then troop the deer, as at a signal word,
And in long lines o'er barren downs they hie,

In search what food far vallies may afford
J.es fearing man, their ancient enemy,
Than in their native chate to Jtarva and die.

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The deer of Cranbourn chase usually
average about ten thousand in number. In
the winter of 1826, they were presumed to
amount to from twelve to fifteen thousand.
This increase is ascribed to the unusual
mildness of recent winters, and the conse-
quent absence of injuries which the animals
are subject to from severe weather.

In the month of November, a great
number of deer from the woods and pas-
tures of the Chase, between Gunvile and
Ashmore, crossed the narrow downs on the
western side, and descended into the adja-
cent parts of the vale of Blackmore in
quest of subsistence. There was a large
increase in the number about twelve years
preceding, till the continued deficiency of
food occasioned a mortality. Very soon
afterwards, however, they again increased
and emigrated for food to the vallies, as in
the present instance. At the former period,
the greater part were not allowed or were
unable to return.

The tendency of deer to breed beyond
the means of support, afforded by parks
and other places wherein they are kept,
has been usually regulated by converting
them into venison. This is clearly moie
humane than suffering the herds so to en-
large, that there is scarcely for " every one
a mouthfull, and no one a bellyfull." It is
also better to pay a good price for good
venison in season, than to have poor and
cheap venison from the surplus of starving
animals " killed off" in mercy to the re-
mainder, or in compliance with the wishes
of landholders whose grounds they invade
in their extremity. f

The emigration of the deer from Cran-
bourn Chase suggests, that as such cases
arise in winter, their venison may be be-
stowed with advantage on labourers, who
abound more in children than in the means
of providing for them; and thus the sur-
plus of the forest-breed be applied to the
support and comfort of impoverished hu-
man beings.

Cranbourn.

Cranbourn is a market town and parish in
the hundred of Cranbourn,Dorsetshire,about
12 miles south-west from Salisbury, and 93
from London. According to the last census,
it contains 367 houses and 1823 inhabitants,
ot' whom 104 are returned as being em-
ployed in trade. The parish includes a
circuit of 40 miles, and the town is plea-
santly situated in a fine champaign country
at the north-east extremity of the county,
near Cranbourn Chase, which extends

almost to Salisbury. Its market is on a
Thursday, it has a cattle market in the
spring, and its fairs are on St. Bartholomew's
and St. Nicholas' days. It is the capital of
the hundred to which it gives its name, and
is a vicarage valued in the king's books at
6. 13*. 4d. It is a place of high antiquity,
famous in the Saxon and Norman times for
Us monastery, its chase, and its lords. The
monastery belonged to the Benedictines, of
which the church at the -%est end of the
town was the priory.*

4ffray in the Chase.
On the night of the 16th of December,
1 780, a severe battle was fought between
the keepers and deer-stealers on Chettle
Common, in Bursey-stool Walk. The deer-
stealers had assembled at Pimperne, and
were headed by one Blandford, a sergeant
of dragoons, a native of Pimperne, then
quartered at Blandford. They came in the
night in disguise, armed with deadly offen-
sive weapons called swindgels, resembling
flails to thresh corn. They attacked the
keepers, who were nearly equal in number,
but had no weapons but sticks and short
hangers. The first blow was struck by the
leader of the gang, it broke a knee-cap of
the stoutest man in the chase, which dis-
abled him from joining in the combat, and
lamed him for ever. Another keeper, from
a blow with a swindgel, which broke three
ribs, died some time after. The remaining
keepers closed in upon their opponents
with their hangers, and one of the dra-
goon's hands was severed from the arm,
just above the wrist, and fell on the ground ;
the others were also dreadfully cut and
wounded, and obliged to surrender. Bland-
ford's arm was tightly bound with a list
garter to prevent its bleeding, and he was
carried to the lodge. The Rev. William
Chafin, the author of " Anecdotes respect-
ing Cranbourn Chase," says, " I saw
him there the next day, and his hand
in the window : as soon as he was well
enough to be removed, he was committed,
with his companions, to Dorchester gaol.
The hand was buried in Pimperne church-
yard, and, as reported, with the ho-
nours of war. Several of these offenders
were labourers, daily employed by Mr.
Beckford, and had, the preceding day
dined in his servants' hall, and from thence
went to join a confederacy to rob theit
master." They were all tried, found guilty
and condemned to be transported for seven
years ; but, in consideration of their great

* Hutchins's Dorset. Capper.

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suffering from their wounds in prison, the
humane judge, sir Richard Perryn, commu-
ted the punishment to confinement for an
indefinite term. The soldier was not dis-
missed from his majesty's service, but suf-
fered to retire upon half-pay, or pension ;
and set up a shop in London, which he
denoted a game-factor's. He dispersed
hand-bills in the public places, in order to
get customers, and put one into Mr. Cha-
fin's hand in the arch-way leading into
Lincoln's-inn-square. " I immediately re-
cognised him," says Mr. Chafin, " as he
did me ; and he said, that if I would deal
Kith him, he would use me well, for he
had, in times past, had many hares and
pheasants of mine ; and he had the assur-
ance to ask me, if I did not think it a good
breeding-season for game 1"

Buck-hunting.

Buck-hunting, in former times, was much
more followed, and held in much greater
repute, than new. From letters in Mr.
Chafin's possession, dated in June and July
1681, he infers, that the summers then were
much hotter than in the greater part o the
last century. The time of meeting at
Cranbourn Chase in those days seems in-
variably to have been at four o'clock in the
evening ; it was the custom of the sports-
men to take a slight repast at two o'clock,
and to dine at the most fashionable hours
of the present day. Mr. Chafin deemed
hunting in an evening well-judged, and ad-
vantageous every way. The deer were at
that time upon their legs, and more easily
found ; they were empty, and more able to
run, and to show sport ; and as the evening
advanced, and the dew feM, the scent gra-
dually improved, and the cool air enabled
the horses and the hounds to recover their
wind, and go through their work without
injury ; whereas just the reverse of this
would be the hunting late in a morning.
What has been mentioned is peculiar to
Buck-hunting only.

<Stag--hunting is in some measure a sum-
mer amusement also ; but that chase is
generally much too long to be ventured on
in an evening. It would carry the sports-
man too far distant from their homes. It
is absolutely necessary, therefore, in pur-
suing the stag, to have the whole day before
them.

It was customary, in the last century,
for sportsmen addicted to the sport of
Buck-hunting, and who regularly followed
it, to meet every season on the 29th day of
May, king Charles's restoration, with oak-

boughs in their hats or caps, to show their
loyalty, (velvet caps were chiefly worn in
those days, even by the ladies,) and t
hunt young male deer, in order to enter the
young hounds, and to stoop them to theit
right game, and to get the older ones in
wind and exercise, preparatory to the com-
mencement of the buck-killing season.

This practice was termed " blooding the
hounds ;" and the young, deer killed were
called " blooding-deer," and their venison
was deemed fit for an epicure. It was re-
ported, that an hind quarter of this sort of
venison, which had been thoroughly hunted,
was once placed on the table before the
celebrated Mr. Quin, at Bath, who declared
it to be the greatest luxury he ever met
with, and ate very heartily of it. But this
taste seems not to have been peculiar to
Mr. Quin; for persons of high rank joined
in the opinion : and even judges, when on
their circuits, indulged in the same luxury.

The following is an extract from a stew-
ard's old accompt-book, found in the noble
old mansion of Orchard Portman, near
Taunton. in Somersetsnire

" 10th August

1680.

Delivered Sr William, in the
higher Orial, going a hunting
with the Judges 2. 0*. Orf."

From hence, therefore, it appears, that
in those days- buck-hunting, for there could
be no other kind of hunting meant, was in
so much repute, and so much delighted in,
that even the judges could not refrain from
partaking in it when on their circuits ; and
it seems that they chose to hunt their own
venison, which they annually received from
Orchard park at the time of the assizes.
" I cannot but deem them good judges,"
says Mr. Chafin, " for preferring hunted
venison to that which had been shot.''

Other Sports of Cranbourn Chase.

Besides buck-hunting, which certainly
was the principal one, the chase afforded
other rural amusements to our ancestors in
former days. " I am well aware," Mr.
Chafin says, in preparing some notices of
them, " that there are many young persons
who are very indifferent and care little
about what was practised by their ancestors,
or how they amused themselves ; they are
looking forward, and do not choose to look
back : but there may be some not so indif-
ferent, and to whom a relation of the sports
of the field in the last century may not be
displeasing." These sports, in addition

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to hunting, were hawking, falconry, and
cocking.

Packs of hounds were always kept in
the neighbourhood of the chase, and hunted
there in the proper seasons. There were
three sorts of animals of chase besides deer,
viz. foxes, hares, and mertincats : the race
of the latter are i>/rly extinct ; their skins
were too valuable for them to be suffered
to exist. At that time no hounds were
kept and used for any particular sort of
game except the buck-hounds, but they
hunted casually the first that came in their
way.

First Pack of Fox-hounds.
The first real steady pack of fox-hounds
stablished in the western part of England
was by Thomas Fownes, Esq. of Stepleton,
in Dorsetshire, about 1730. They were as
handsome, and fully as complete in every
respect, as any of the most celebrated packs
of the present day. The owner was obliged
to dispose of them, and they were sold to
Mr. Bowes, in Yorkshire, the father of the
late lady Strathmore, at an immense price.
They were taken into Yorkshire by their
own attendants, and, after having been
viewed and much admired in their kennel,
a day was fixed for making trial of them
in the field, to meet at a famous hare-cover
near. When the huntsman came with his
hounds in the morning, he discovered a
great number of sportsmen, who were riding
in the cover, and whipping the furzes as for
a hare ; he therefore halted, and informed
Mr. Bowes that he was unwilling to throw
off his hounds until the gentlemen had re-
tired, and ceased the slapping of whips, to
which his hounds were not accustomed,
and he would engage to find a fox in a few
minutes if there was one there. The gen-
tlemen sportsmen having obeyed the orders
given by Mr. Bowes, the huntsman, taking
the wind of the cover, threw off his hounds,
which immediately began to feather, and
soon got upon a drag into the cover, and
up to the fox's kennel, which went off close
before them, and, after a severe burst over
a fine country, was killed, to the great sa-
tisfaction of the whole party. They then
returned to the same cover, not one half of
it having been drawn, and very soon found
a second fox, exactly in the same manner
as before, which broke cover immediately
over the same fine country : but the chase
was much longer ; and in the course of it
the fox made its way to a nobleman's park!
It had been customary to stop hounds be-
fore they could enter it, but the best-mount-

ed sportsmen attempted to stay the Dorset-
shire hounds in vain. The dogs topped the
highest fences, dashed through herds of
deer and a number of hares, without taking
the least notice of tr 'm ; and ran in to their
fox, and killed him >ome miles beyond the
park. It was the unanimous opinion of
the whole hunt, that it was the finest run
ever known in that country. A collection
of field-money was made for the huntsman
much beyond his expectations; and he re-
turned to Stepleton in belter spirits than he
left it.

Before this pack was raised in Dorset-
shire, the hounds that hunted Cranbourn
Chase, hunted all the animals promis-
cuously, except the deer, from which they
were necessarily kept steady, otherwise they
would not have been suffered to hunt in the
chase at all.

Origin of Cranbourn Chase.
This royal chase, always called " The
King's Chase," in the lapse of ages came
into possession of an earl of Salisbury. It
is ceitain that after one of its eight distinct
walks, called Fernditch Walk, was sold to
the ?arl of Pembroke, the entire remainder
of the chase was alienated to lord Ashley,
afterwards earl of Shaftesbury. Alderholt
Walk was the largest and most extensive
in the whole Chase ; it lies in the three
counties of Hants, Wilts, and Dorset ; but
the lodge and its appurtenances is in the
parish of Cranbourn, and all the Chase
courts are held at the manor-house there,
where was also a prison for offenders
against the Chase laws. Lord Shaftesbury
deputed rangers in the different walks in
the year 1670, and afterwards dismember-
ing it, (though according to old records, it
appears to have been dismembered long
before,) by destroying Alderholt Walk ; he
sold the remainder to Mr. Freke, of Shro-
ton, in Dorsetshire, from whom it lineally
descended to the present possessor, lord
Rivers.

Accounts of Cranbourn Chase can be
traced to the aera when king John, or some
other royal personage, had a hunting-seat
at Tollard Royal, n the county of Wilts.
Hence the name oi royal" to that parish
was certainly derived. There are vestiges
in and about the old palace, which clearly
evince that it was once a royal habitation
and it still bears the name of " King John i
House." There are large cypress tree*
growing before the house, the relics o
grand terraces may be easily traced, and

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the remains of a park to v> hich some of
them lead. A gate at the end of the park
at the entrance of the Royal Chase, now
called " Alarm Gate," was the place pro-
bably where the horn was blown to call the
keepers to their duty in attending their
lord in his sports. There is also a veneia-
ble old wych-elm tree, on the Chase side
of the " Alarm Gate," under which lord
Arundel, the possessor of Tollard Royal,
holds a court annually, on the first Monday
in the month of September. A view of the
mansion in its piesent state, is given in the
" Gentleman's Magazine" for September
1811.

Mr. Stiutt, the indefatigable historian
of the " Sports and Pastimes of the People
of England," says of Barley-break : " The
excellency of this sport seems to have con-
sisted in running well, but I know not
its properties." Beyond this Mr. Strutt
merely cites Dr. Johnson's quotation of
two lines from sir Philip Sidney, as an au-
thority for the word. Johnson, limited to a
mere dictionary explanation, calls it " a
kind of rural play; a trial of swiftness."

Sidney, in his description of the rural
courtship of Urania by Strephon, conveys a
sufficient idea of " Barley-break." The
shepherd seeks the society of his mistress
wherever he thinks it likely to find her.

Nay ev'n unto her home he oft would go,
Where bold and hnrtless many play he tries ;

Her parents liking well it should be so.
For simple goodness shined in his eyes ;

Then did he make her laugh in spite of woe
So as good thoughts of him in all arise ;

While into none doubt of his love did sink.

For not himself to be in love did think.

This " sad shepherd " held himself to-
wards Urania according to the usual cus-
tom and manner of lovers in such cases.

For glad desire, his late embosom'd guest,
Yet but a babe, with milk of sight he nurst :

Desire the more he suckt, more sought the brea.-t
Like dropsy-folk, still drink to be a thirst ;

Till one fair ev'n an hour ere sun did rest,
Who then in Lion's cave did enter first,

By neighbors pray'd, she went abroad thereby

At Barley-break her sweet swift foot to try.

Never the earth on his round shoulders bare
A niHid train'd up from higher low degree.

That in her doings better could compare

M:rth with respect, few word-: with courtesic,

A careless comeliness with comely care,
Wolf-guard with mildness, sport with majesty

Which made her yield to deck this shepherd's band :
And still, believe me. Strephon was at hand.

Then couples three be straight allotted there,
They of both ends the middle two do fly ;

The two that in mid-place, Hell.* called were,
Must strive with waiting foot, ar.d watching eye.

To catch of them, and them to Hell to bear.
That they, as well as they, Hell may supply

Like some which seek to salve their blotted narn

With other's blot, till all do taste of shame.

There you may see, soon as the middle two
Do coupled towards either couple make.

They false and fearful do their hands undo.

Brother his brother, friend doth his friend forsake.

Heeding himself, cares not how fellow do.
But of a stranger mutual help doth take :

As perjured cowartls in adversity,

With sight of fear, from friends to fremb'df doth fly,

The game being played out with divers
adventurers

All to second Barley-break again are bent.

During the second game, Strephon wai
chased by Urania.

Strephon so chased did seem in milk to swim ;

He ran, but ran with eye o'er shoulder cast,
More marking her, than how himself did go.

Like Numid's lions by the hunters chased,
Though they do fly, yet backwardly do glow

With proud aspect, disdaining greater baste :
What rage in them, that love in him did show ;
But God gives them instinct the man to shun.
And he by law of Barley-break must run.

Urania caught Strephon, and he was
sent by the rules of the sport to the con-
demned place, with a shepherdess, named
Nous, who affirmed

-itwas no right, for his default,

Who would be caught, that &he should go-
But so she must. And now the third assault
Of Barley-break.

Strephon, in this third game, pursues
Urania ; Klaius, his rival suitor, suddenly
interposed.

For with pretence from Strephon herto guard.
He met her full, but full of warefulness.

With in-bovv'd bosom well for her prepared,
When Strephon cursing his own backwardness

Came to her back, and so, with double ward,
Imprison'd her, who both them did possess

As heart- bound slaves.

* It may be doubted whether in the rude simplicity
of ancient times, this word in the game of Barley-breart
was applied in the same manner that it would be in
ours.

t Fremeb, ( obsolete, Ystrange, foreign, dsh. Corrupt-
ed (romfrcmd, which, in Saxon iind (Jothii:, signified .
stranger, or an enemy. l\~arrt.

THE TABLE BOOK.

Her race did not her beauty's beams augmnt,

For they were ever in the best degree,
Bnt yet a setting forth it some way lent.

As rabies lastre wheu they rubbed be
The dainty dew on face and body went.

As on swest flowers, when morning's.drops we see :
Her breath then short, seem'd loth from home to

pass.
Which more it moved, the more it sweeter was.

Happy, O happy ! if they so might bide

To see their eyes, with how true humbleness,
They looked down to triumph over pride ;

With how sweet blame she chid their sauciness

Till she brake from their arms-

And farewelling the flock, did homeward wend,
And so, that even, the Barley-break did end.

This game is mentioned by Burton, in
?iis " Anatomy of Melancholy," as one of
our rural sports, and by several of the
poets, with more or less of description,
though by none so fully as Sidney, in the
first eclogue of the " Arcadia," from whence
the preceding passages are taken.

The late Mr. Gifford, in a note on Mas-
singer, chiefly from the " Arcadia," de-
scribes Barley-break thus : " It was played
by six people, (three of each sex,) who weie
coupled by lot. A piece of ground was
then chosen, and divided into three com-
partments, of which the middle one was
called hell. It was the object of the couple
condemned to this division to catch the
others, who advanced from the two ex-
tremities ; in which case a change of situa-
tion took place, and hell was filled by the
couple who were excluded by preoccupa-
tion from the other places : in this catching,
however, there was some difficulty, as, by
the regulations of the game, the middle
couple were not to separate before they
had succeeded, while the others might
break hands whenever they found them-
selves hard pressed. When all had been
taken in turn, the last couple were said to
be in hell, and the game ended."

Within memory, a game called Barley-
break has been played among stacks of
corn, in Yorkshire, with some variation from
the Scottish game mentioned presently. In
Yorkshire, also, there was another form
of it, more resembling that in the "Arca-
dia,'' which was played in open ground.
The childish game of " Tag " seems derived
<rom it. There was a " tig," or " tag,"
whose touch made a prisoner, in the York-
shire game.

though differently played. It is termed
" Barla-breikis," or " Barley-bracks." Dr.
Jamieson says it is generally played by
young people, in a corn-yard about the
stacks ; and hence called Barla-brachs,
" One stack is fixed as the dule or goal ,
and one person is appointed to catch the
rest of the company, who run out from the
dule. He does not leave it till they are all
out of his sight. Then he sets out to catch
them. Any one who is taken, cannot run
out again with his former associates, being
accounted a prisoner, but is obliged to
assist his captor in pursuing the rest.
When all are taken, the game is finished ;
and he who is first taken, is bound to act
as catcher in the next game. This inno-
cent sport seems to be almost entirely for-
gotten in the south of Scotland. It is also
falling into desuetude in the north."*

PLATE TAX.

An order was made in the house of lords
in May, 1776, " that the commissioners of
his majesty's excise do write circular letters
to all such persons whom they have reason
to suspect to have plate, as also to those who
have not paid regularly the duty on the
same." In consequence of this order, the
accountant-general for household plate sent
to the celebrated John Wesley a copy of
the order. John's answer was laconic :
" Sir,

" I have two silver tea-spoons in Lon-
don, and two at Bristol. This is all the
plate which I have at present ; and I shall
not buy any more while so many round me
want bread. I arn, Sir,

" Your most humble servant,

" JOHN WESLEY/

BARLA-BREIKIS.

In Scotland there is a game nearly the
same in Henomination as " Barley-break,"

THE DIAL.

This shadow on the dial's (ace,

That steals, from day to day,
With slow, unseen, unceasing pace,

Moments, and montis, and years away
This shadow, which in every clime,

Since light and motion first began,
Hath held its course sublime;

What is it ? Mortal man !
It is the scythe of Time.

A shadow only to the eye.

It levels all beneath the sky.

* Mr. Archdeacon Nareg's Glossary.

THE TABLE LOOK.

jflorfe jfimeral of a i&atf) Chairman*

A chairman lite "s a chairman dead,
And to his grave, by chairman sped,
They wake him, as they march him through
The streets of Bath, to public view.

To the Editor.

Bath.

Sir, I beg leave to transmit for your use
the following attempt at description of an
old and singular custom, performed by the
chairman of this my native city, which
perhaps you are not altogether a stranger
to, and which is still kept up among them as
often as an opportunity permits for its per-
formance. Its origin I have not been able
to trace, but its authenticity you may rely
on, as it is too often seen to be forgotten
by your Bath readers. I have also ac-
companied it with the above imperfect
sketch, as a further illustration of their
manner of burying the " dead," alias, ex-

posing a drunkard of their fraternity. The
following is the manner in which the " oK
sequies " to the intoxicated are perform r,
If a chairman, known to have beei
" dead " drunk over night, does not ap-
pear on his station before ten o'clock or
the succeeding morning, the " undertaker.'
Anglice, his partner, proceeds, with such r
number of attendants as will suffice for the
ceremony, to the house of the late unfor-
tunate. If he is found in bed, as is usually
the case, from the effects of his sacrifice tr
the "jolly God,'' they pull him out of hi?
nest, hardly permitting him to dress, anp
place him on the " bier," a chairmen'-
horse, and, throwing a coat over hui,

THE TABLE BOOK

which tney designate a " pall," they per-
ambulate the circuit of his station in the
tallowing order:

1. The sexton a man tolling a small
nnnd-beli.

2. Two mutes each with a black stock-
ing on a stick.

3. The torch bearer -a man carrying a
lighted lantern.

4. The " corpse " borne on the " hearse,"
carried by two chairmen, covered with the
aforesaid pall.

The procession is closed by the " mourn-
ers" following after, two and two; as many
pining as choose, from the station to which
the drunkard belongs.

After exposing him in this manner to
the gaze of the admiring crowd that throng
about, they proceed to the public-house he
has been in the habit of using, where his
" wake " is celebrated in joviality and
mirth, with a gallon of ale at his expense.
It often happens that each will contribute
a trifle towards a further prolongation of
the carousal, to entrap others into the same
deadly snare ; and the day is spent in bait-
ing for the chances o r t*^ next morning, as
none are exempt who are not at their post
before the prescribed hour.

I am, &c.

W. G.

OTtlltam <tffor&, esq.

On Sunday morning, the 3tst of Decem-
ber, 1826, at twenty minutes before one
o'clock, died, " at his house in James-
street, Buckingham-gate, in the seventy-
first year of his age, William Gifford, Esq.,
author of the ' Baviad and MaBviad,' trans-
lator of ' Juvenal and Persius,' and editor
of the ' Quarterly Review,' from its com-
mencement down to the beginning of the
year just past. To the translation of ' Ju-
venal* >.s prefixed a memoir of himself,
which is perhaps as modest and pleasant a
piece of autobiography as ever was writ-
ten." The Times, January 1, 1827.

INTERESTING

$rlemou- of ^lr. (gfffbrfc.

BY HIMSELF VERBATIM.

I am about to enter on a very uninteresting
subject : but all my friends tell me that it is
necessary to account for the long delay of the
following work ; and I can only do it by ad-
\ert:ii2; to th<; circumstances of my life. Will
lliis be accepted as an apology r*

I know but liltl* of my familw ar>d that little

is not very precise : My great-grandfather (the
most remote of it, that I ever recollect to have
heard mentioned) possessed considerable pro-
perty at Halsbury, a parish in the neighbour-
hood of Ashburton ; but whether acquired or in-
herited, I never thought of asking, and do not
know.

He was probably a native of Devonshire, tor
there he spent the last years of his life ; spent
them, too, in some sort of consideration, for Mr.
T. (a very respectable surgeon of Ashburton)
loved to repeat to me, when I first grew into
notice, that he had frequently hunted with his
hounds.*

My grandfather was on ill terms with him : I
believe, not without sufficient reason, for he was
extravagant and dissipated. My father never
mentioned his name, but my mother would
sometimes tell me that he had ruined the family.
That he spent much, 1 know ; but 1 am inclined
to think, that his undutiful conduct occasioned
n>y great-grandfather to bequeath a considerable
part of his property from him.

My father, I fear, revenged in some measure
the cause of my great-grandfather. He was, as
1 have heard my mother say, " a very wild
young man, who could be kept to nothing." He
was sent to the grammar-school at Exeter ; from
which he made his escape, and entered on
board a man of war. He was reclaimed from
this situation by my grandfather, and left his
school a second time, to wander in some vaga-
bond society .f He was now probably given up ;
(or he was, on his return from this notable ad-
venture, reduced to article himself to a plumber
and glazier, with whom he ' #kily staid long
enough to learn the business. I suppose his
father was now dead, for he became possessed
of two small estates, married my mother,]; (the
daughter of a carpenter at Ashburton,) and
thought himself rich enough to set up for him-
self; which he did, with some credit, at South
Molton. Why he chose to fix there, 1 never in-
quired ; but 1 learned from my mother, that after
a residence of four or five years, he thoughtlessly
engaged in a dangerous frolic, which drove
him once more to sea: this was an attempt to
excite a riot in a Methodist chapel ; for which
his companions were prosecuted, and he fled.

My father was a good seaman, and was soon
made second in command in the Lyon, a large
armed transport in the service of government
while my mother (then with child of me) re-
turned to her native place, Ashburton, where
was born, in Apiil, 1756.

The matter is of no consequence no, not even
myself. From my family I derived nothing but a name
which is more, perhaps, than I shall leave : but (t.,
check the sneers of rude vulgarity) that family wa
amonif the most ancient and respectable of this par; <\
the country, and, not more than three generations fron.
the present, \vas counted among the wealthiest. *.

trap t

t HP- hid gone with Bamfylde Moor Carew, then a
old man.

J Her mai.len name wa* Klizabeth Cain. My t'athsf
rjiristnii came was Kd\vard.

THE TABLE BOOK.

The resources of my mother were very scanty.
They arose from the rent of three or four small
fields, which yet remained unsold. With these,
nowever, she did what she could for me ; and as
soon as I was old enough to be trusted out of her
sight, sent rne to a schoolmistress of the name of
Parret, from whom I learned in due time to read.
I cannot boast much of my acquisitions at this
school; they consisted merely of the contents of
the "Child's Spelling Book:" but from my
mother, who had stored up the literature of a
country town, which, about half a century ago,
amounted to little more than what was dissemi-
nated by itinerant ballad-singers, or rather,
readers, I had acquired much curious knowledge
of Catskin, and the Golden Bull, and the Bloody
Gardener, and many other histories equally in-
structive and amusing.

My father returned from sea in 1764. He
had been at the siege of the Havannah ; and
though he received more than a hundred pounds
for prize money, and his wages were consider-
able : yet, as he had not acquired any strict
habits of economy, he brought home but a tri-
fling sum. The little property yet left was there-
fore turned into money ; a trifle more was got
by agreeing to renounce all future pretensions to
an estate at Totness ;* and with this my father
set up a second time as a glazier and house
painter. I was now about eight years old, and
was put to the freeschool, (kept by Hugh Smer-
don,) to learn to read, and write and cipher.
Here I continued about three years, making a
most wretched progress, when my father fell sick
and died. He had not acquired wisdom from
his misfortunes, but continued wasting his time
in unprofitable pursuits, to the great detriment
of his business. He loved drink for the sake of
society, and to this he fell a martyr ; dying of
a decayed and ruined constitution before he was
forty. The town's-people thought bim a shrewd
and sensible man, and regretted his death. As
lor me, I never greatly loved him ; I had not
grown up with him ; and he was too prone to
repulse my little advances to familiarity, with
coldness, or anger. He had certainly some
reason to be displeased with me, for I learned
little at school, and nothing at home, although he
would now and then attempt to give me some
insight into his business. As impressions of any
kind are not very strong at the age of eleven or
twelve, I did not long feel his loss ; nor was it a
subject of much sorrow to me, that my mother
was doubtful of her ability to continue me at
school, though I had by this time acquired a
love for reading.

I never knew in what circumstances my mother
was left : most probably they were inadequate to
her support, without some kind of exertion, espe-
cially as she was now burthened with a second
child about six or eight months old. Unfortu-

* This consisted of several houses, which had been
thoughtlessly suffered to fall into decay, and of which
the rents had been so long unclaimed. "that they could
DC'. w H *.Tert ' -nless by an expensive litigation.

nately she determined tc prosecute my father's
business ; for which purpose she engaged a
couple of journeymen, who, finding her ignorant
of every part of it, wasted her property, and em-
bezzled her money. What the consequence of
this double fraud would have been, there was nc
opportunity of knowing, as, in somewhat less
than a twelvemonth, my poor mother followed
my father to the grave. She was an excellent
woman, bore my father's infirmities with patience
and good humour, loved her children dearly, and
died at last, exhausted with anxiety and grief
more on their account than her own.

I was not quite thirteen when this happened ,
my little brother was hardly two ; and we had
not a relation nor a friend in the world. Every
thing that was left, was seized by a person of the
name of Carlile, for money advanced to my
mother. It may be supposed that 1 could not
dispute the justice of his claims ; and as no one
else interfered, he was suffered to do as he liked.
My little brother was sent to the alms-house,
whither his nurse followed him out of pure affec-
tion : and I was taken to the house of the person
I have just mentioned, who was also my god-
father. Respect for the opinion of the town
(which, whether correct or not, was, that he had
amply repaid himself by the sale of my mother's
effects) induced him to send me again to school,
where I was more diligent than before, and more
successful. I grew fond of arithmetic, and my
master began to distinguish me ; but these
golden days were over in less than three months
Carlile sickened at the expense ; and, as the
people were now indifferent to my fate, he
looked round for an opportunity of ridding him-
self of a useless charge. He had previously
attempted to engage me in the drudgery of
husbandry. I drove the plough for one day to
gratify him ; but 1 left it with a firm resolution
to do so no more, and in despite of his threats
and promises, adhered to my determination. In
this, I was guided no less by necessity than will.
During my father's life, in attempting to clamber
up a table, I had fallen backward, and drawn it
after me : its edge fell upon my breast, and I
never recovered the effects of .the blow ; of
whicb I was made extremely sensible on any
extraordinary exertion. Ploughing, therefore,
was out of the question, and, as I have already
said, T utterly refused to follow it.

As I could write and cipher, (as the phrase
is,) Carlile next thought of sending me to New-
foundland, to assist in a storehouse. For this
purpose he negotiated with a Mr. Holdsworthy
of Dartmouth, who agreed to fit me out. I left
Ashburton with little expectation of seeing it
again, and indeed with little care, and rode with
my godfather to the dwelling of Mr. Holds-
worthy. On seeing me, this great man observed
with a look of pity and contempt, that I was
" too small," and sent me away sufficiently
mortified. I expected to be very ill received by
my godfather, but he said nothing. H d'r)
not however choose to take nie back himself,
but sent rne in the passage-boat to Totness, fror 1

TIIF. TABLE BOOK.

whence I was to walk home. On the passage,
the boat was driven by a midnight storm on the
rocks, and I escaped almost by miracle.

My godfather had now humbler view? for me,
and 1 had little heart to resist any thing. He
proposed to send me on board one of the Tor-
bay fishing-boats ; I ventured, however, to re-
monstrate against this, and the matter was com
promised by my consenting to go on board a
coaster. A coaster was speedily found for me
at Brixham, aud thither I went when little more
than thirteen.

My master, whose name was Full, though a
gross and ignorant, was not an ill-natured,
man ; at least, not to me : and my mistress used
me with unvarying kindness j moved perhaps by
my weakness and tender years. In return, I
did what I could to requite her, and my good
will was not overlooked.

Our vessel was not very large, nor our crew
very numerous. On ordinary occasions, such as
short trips to Dartmouth, PI) mouth, &c. it con-
sisted only of my master, an apprentice nearly
out of his time, and myself : when we had to go
further, to Portsmouth for example, an additional
hand was hired for the voyage.

In this vessel (the Two Brothers) I continued
nearly a twelvemonth ; and here I got acquaint-
ed with nautical terms, and contracted a love
for the sea, which a lapse of thirty years has
but little diminished.

It will be easily conceived that my life was a
life of hardship. I was not only a " shipboy on
the high and giddy mast," but also in the cabin,
where every menial office fell to my lot : yet if
I was restless and discontented, 1 can safely
ay, it was not so much on account of this, as of
my being precluded from all possibility of read-
ing ; as my master did not possess, nor do I
recollect seeing during the whole time of my
abode with him, a single book of any descrip-
tion, except the Coasting Pilot.

As my lot seemed to be cast, however, I was
not negligent in seeking such information as
promised to be useful ; and I therefore fre-
quented, at my leisure hours, such vessels as
dropt into Torbay. On attempting to get on
board one of these, which I did at midnight, I
missed my footing, and fell into the sea. The
floating away of the boat alarmed the man on
deck, who came to the ship's side just in time
to see me sink. He immediately threw out
several ropes, one of which providentially (for I
was unconscious of it) intangled itself about me,
and I was drawn up to the surface, till a boat
could be got round. The usual methods were
taken to recover me, and I awoke in bed the
next morning, remembering 1 nothing but the
horror I felt, when I first found myself unable
o cry out for assistance.

This was not my only escape, but I forbear to
speak of them. An escape of another kind was
now preparing for me, which deserves all my
notice, as it was decisive of my future fate.

On Christmas day (1770) I was surprised by
at message from my godfather, saying that he had

sent a man and horse to bring me to A hburton ;
and desiring me to set out without delay. My
master, as well as myself, supposed it was to
spend the holydays there ; and he therefore
made no objection to my going. We were,
however, both mistaken.

Since I had lived at Brixham, I had broken
off all connection with Ashburton. I had no re-
lation there but my poor brother,* who was yet
too young for any kind of correspondence ; and
the conduct of my godfather towards me, did
not entitle him to any portion of my gratitude, or
kind remembrance. I lived therefore in a sort
of sullen independence on all I had formerly
known, and thought without regret of being
abandoned by every one to my fate. But I had
not been overlooked. The women of Brixham,
who travelled to Ashburton twice a week with
fish, and who had known my parents, did not
see me without kind concern, tunning about the
beach in a ragged jacket and trousers. They
mentioned this to the people of Ashburton, and
never without commiserating my change of con-
dition. This tale, often repeated, awakened at
length the pity of their auditors, and, as the next
step, their resentment against the man who had
reduced me to such a state of wretchedness. In
a large town, this would have had little effect ;
but in a place like Ashburton, where every re-
port speedily becomes the common property of
all the inhabitants, it raised a murmur which my
godfather found himself either unable or unwill-
ing to encounter : he therefore determined to
recall me ; which he could easily do, as I wanted
some months of fourteen, and was not yet
bound.

All this, I learned on my arrival ; and my
heart, which had been cruelly shut up, now-
opened to kinder sentiments, and fairer views.

After the holydays I returned to my darling
pursuit, arithmetic : my progress was now so
rapid, that in a few months I was at the head of
the school, and qualified to assist my master
(Mr. E. Furlong) on any extraordinary emer-
gency. As he usually gave me a trifle on those
occasions, it raised a thought in me, that by en-
gaging with him as a regular assistant, and
undertaking the instruction of a few evening
scholars, I might, with a little additional aid, be
enabled to support myself. God knows, my

Of my brother here introduced for the last time, t
must yet say a few words. He was literally.

The child of misery baptized in tears ;
and the short passage of his life did n->t belie the
melancholy presage of his infancy. When he was seren
years old, the parish bound him out to a husbandman
of the name of Leman, with whom he endured incredi-
ble hardships, which I had it not in my power to alle-
viate. At nine years of age he brokr'his thigh, and I
took that opportunity to teach him to read and write.
When my own situation was improved, I persuaded him
to try the sea ; he did so ; and was taken on board tbr
Egmont, on condition that his master should receive
his wages. The time was now fast approaching when
1 could serve him, but he was doomed to know no
favourable change of fortune : he fell sick, and died at
Cork.

THE TABLE BOOK.

ideas of support at this time were of DO very
extravagant nature. I had, besides, another ob-
ject in view. Mr. Hugh Smerdon (my first
master) was now grown old and infirm ; it
seemed unlikely that he should hold out above
three or four years ; and I fondly flattered my-
self that, notwithstanding my youth, I might
possibly be appointed to succeed him. 1 was in
my fifteenth year, when I built these castles : a
storm, however, was collecting, which unex-
pectedly burst upon me, and swept them all
away.

On mentioning my little plan to Carlile, he
treated it with the utmost contempt ; and told
me, in his turn, that as I had learned enough,
and more than enough, at school, he must be
considered as having fairly discharged his duty ;
(so, indeed, he had;) he added, that he had
been negotiating with his cousin, a shoemaker
of some respectability, who had liberally agreed
to take me without a fee, as an apprentice. I
was so shocked at this intelligence, that I did
not remonstrate ; but went in sullenness and
silence to my new master, to whom I was soon
after bound,* till I should attain the age of
twenty-one.

The family consisted of four journeymen, two
sons about my own age, and an apprentice some-
what older. In these there was nothing re-
markable ; but my master himself was the
strangest creature ! He was a Presbyterian,
whose reading was entirely confined to the
small tracts published on the Exeter Contro-
versy. As these (at least his portion of them)
were all on one side; he entertained no doubt
of their infallibility, and being noisy and disputa-
cious, was sure to silence his opponents ; and be-
came, in consequence of it, intolerably arrogant
and conceited. He was not, however, indebted
solely to his knowledge of the subject for his tri-
umph : he was possessed of Penning' s Dictionary,
and he made a most sirgular use of it. His custom
was !o fix on any word in common use, and then
to get by heart the synonym, or periphrasis by
which it was explained in the book ; this he
constantly substituted for the simple term, and
as his opponents were commonly ignorant of his
meaning, his victory was complete.

With such a man I was not likely to add
mnch to my stock of knowledge, small as it was ;
and, indeed, nothing could well be smaller. At
this period, I had read nothing but a black letter
romance, called Parismus and Parismenus, and
a few loose magazines which my mother had
brought from South Molton. With the Bible,
indeed, I was well acquainted ; it was the
favourite study of my grandmother, and reading
it frequently with her, had impressed it strongly
on my mind ; these then, with the Imitation of
Thomas 3. Kempis, which I used to read to my
mother on her death-bed, constituted the whole
of my literary acquisitions.

As I hated my new profession with a perfect

My indenture, wliiuli now lies before me, is dated
th 1st of January, 1772.

hatred, I made no progress in it ; and was con-
sequently little regarded in the family, of which
I sunk by degrees into the common drudge :
this did not much disquiet me, for my spirits
were now humbled. I did not however quite
resign the hope of one day succeeding to Mr.
Hugh Smerdon, and therefore secretly prose-
cuted my favourite study, at every interval of
leisure.

These intervals were not very frequent ; and
when the use I made of theoj was found out,
they were rendered still less so. I could not
guess the motives for this at first ; but at length
I discovered that my master destined his young-
est son for the situation to which I aspired.

I possessed at this time but one book in the
world : it was a treatise on algebra, given to me
by a young woman, who had found it in a
lodging-house. I considered it as a treasure;
but it was a treasure locked up ; for it supposed
the reader to be well acquainted with simple
equation, and I knew nothing of the matter.
My master's son had purchased Fenning's Intro-
duction : this was precisely what I wanted ; but
he carefully concealed it from me, and I was
indebted to chance alone for stumbling upon his
hiding-place. I sat up for the greatest part of
several nights successively, and, before he sus-
pected that his treatise was discovered, had
completely mastered it. I could now enter
upon my own ; and that carried me pretty far
into the science.

This was not done without difficulty. I had
not a farthing on earth, nor a friend to give me
one : pen, ink, and paper, therefore, (in de-
spite of the flippant remark of Lord Orford,)
were, for the most part, as completely out of my
reach, as a crown and sceptre. There was in-
deed a resource ; but the utmost caution and
secrecy were necessary in applying to it. I
beat out pieces of leather as smooth as possible
and wrought my problems on them with a
blunted awl : for the rest, my memory was
tenacious, and I could multiply and divide by it,
to a great extent.

Hitherto I had not so much as dreamed of
poetry : indeed I scarcely knew it by name ;
and, whatever may be said of the force of na-
ture, I certainly never " lisp'd in numbers." I
recollect the occasion of my first attempt : it is,
like all the rest of my non-adventures, of so un-
important a nature, that I should blush to call
the attention of the idlest reader to it, but for
the reason alleged in the introductory para-
graph. A person, whose name escapes me, had
undertaken to paint a sign for an ale-house : it
was to have been a lion, but the unfortunate
artist produced a dog. On this awkward affair,
one of my acquaintance wrote a copy of what
we called verse : I liked it ; but fancied 1
could compose something more to the purpose :
I made the experiment, and by the unanimous
suffrage of my shopmates was allowed to have
succeeded. Notwithstanding this encourage-
ment, I thought no more of verse, till another
occurrence, as trifling as the former, furnished

THE TABLE BOOK.

me with a fresh subject : and thus I went on,
till I had got together about a dozen of them.
Certainly, nothing on earth was ever so deplor-
able : such as they were, however, they were
talked of in my little circle, and I was somf-
tirtes invited to repeat them, even out of it. I
never committed a line to paper for two reasons;
first, because I had no paper ; and secondly
perhaps I might be excused from going fur-
ther ; but in truth I was afraid, as my master
had already threatened me, for inadvertently
hitching the name of one of his customers into a
rhyme.

The repetitions of which I speak were always
attended with applause, and sometimes with
favours more substantial : little collections were
now and then made, and I have received six-
pence in an evening; To one who had long
lived in the absolute want of money, such a re-
source seemed a Peruvian mine : I furnished
myself by degrees with paper, c., and what
was of more importance, with books of geome-
try, and of the higher branches of algebra,
which I cautiously concealed. Poetry, even at
this time, was no amusement of mine : it was
subservient to other purposes ; and I only had
recourse to it, when I wanted money for my ma-
thematical pursuits.

But the clouds were gathering fast. My
master's anger was raised to a terrible pitch, by
my indifference to his concern 1 ;, and still more
by the reports which were daily brought to him
of my presumptuous attempts at versification.
I was required to give up my papers, and when
1 refused, my garret was searched, and my
little hoard of books discovered and removed,
and all future repetitions prohibited in the
strictest manner.

This was a very severe stroke, and I felt it
most sensibly ; it was followed by another se-
verer still ; a stroke which crushed the hopes I
had so long and so fondly cherished, and re-
signed me at once to despair. Mr. Hugh
Smerdon,on whose succession I had calculated,
died, and was succeeded by a person not much
older than myself, and certainly not so well
qualified for the situation.

I look back on that part of my life which im-
mediately followed this event, with little satis-
faction ; it was a period of gloom, and savage
unsociability : by degrees I sunk into a kind of
coporeal torpor ; or, if roused into activity by
the spirit of youth, wasted the exertion in sple-
r.etic and vexatious tricks, which alienated the
few acquaintances whom compassion had yet
left me. So I crept on in silent discontent,
unfriended and unpitied ; indignant at the pre-
sent, careless of the future, an object at once of
apprehension and dislike.

From this state of abjectness I was raised by
a young woman of my own class. She was a
neighbour ; and whenever I took my solitary
walk, with my Wolfius in my pocket,' she usu-
ally came to the door, and by a smile, or a short
question, put in the friendliest manner, endea-
voured to solicit my attention. My heart had

been long shut to kindness, but the sentiment
was not dead in me : it revived at the first en-
couraging word ; and the gratitude I felt for it.
was the first pleasing sensation which I had
ventured to entertain for many dreary months.

Together with gratitude, hope, and other pas-
sions still more enlivening, took place of that
uncomfortable gloominess which so lately pos-
sessed me : I reiurned to my companions, and
by every winning art in my power, strove *.
make them forget my former repulsive ways.
In this I was not unsuccessful ; I recovered
their good will, and by degrees grew to be
somewhat of a favourite.

My master still murmured, for the business of
the shop went on no better than before : I com-
forted myself, however, with the reflection that
my apprenticeship was drawing to a conclusion,
when I determined to renounce the employment
for ever, and io open a private school.

In this humble and obscure state, poor be-
yond the common lot, yet flattering my ambi-
tion with day-dreams, which, perhaps, would
never have been realized, I was found in the
twentieth year of my age by Mr. William
Cookesley, a name never to be pronounced by
me without veneration. The lamentable dog-
gerel which I have already mentioned, and
which had passed from mouth to mouth among
people of my own degree, had by some accident
or other reached his ear, and given him a cu-
riosity to inquire after the author.

It was my good fortune to interest his be-
nevolence. My little history was not untinctur-
ed with melancholy, and I laid it fairly before
him : his first care was to console ; his second,
which he cherished to the last moment of his
existence, was to relieve and support me.

Mr. Cookesley was not rich : his eminence
in his profession, which was ihat of a surgeon,
procured him, indeed, much employment ; but
in a country town, men of science are not the
most liberally rewarded : he had, besides, a very
numerous family, which left him little for the
purposes of general benevolence : that little,
however, was cheerfully bestowed, and his ac-
tivity and zeal were always at hand tc supply
the deficiencies of his fortune.

On examining into the nature of my literary
attainments, he found them absolutely nothing:
he heard, however, with equal surprise and
pleasure, that amidst the grossest ignorance of
books, I had made a very considerable prcgress
in the mathematics. He engaged me to enter
into the details of this affair , and when he
learned that I had made it in circumstances of
peculiar discouragement, he became more
warmly interested in my favour, as he now saw
a possibility of serving me.

The plan that occurred to him was naturally
that which had so often suggested itself to me.
There were indeed several obstacles to be over-
come ; 1 had eighteen months yet to serve ; mv
handwriting was bad, and my language very in-
correct ; but nothing 1 could slacken trie zeal of
this excellent man ; he procured a few of mj

THE TABLE BOOK.

poor attempts at rhyme, dispersed them amongst
his friends and acquaintance, and when my
name was become somewhat familiar to them,
set on foot a subscription for my relief. I still
^reserve the original paper ; its title was not
ery magnificent, though it exceeded the most
Anguine wishes of my heart : it ran thus, " A
Subscription for purchasing the remainder of
he time of William Gifford, and for enabling
him to improve himself in Writing and English
Grammar." Few contributed more than five
shillings, and none went beyond ten-and-six-
oence : enough, however, was collected to free
me from my apprenticeship.* and to maintai n
me for a few months, during which I assiduously
attended the Rev. Thomas Smerdon.

At the expiration of this period, it was found
that my progress (for 1 will speak the truth in
modesty) had been more considerable than my
patrons expected : I had also written in the in-
terim several little pieces of poetry, less rugged,
I suppose, than my former ones, and certainly
with fewer anomalies of language. My precep-
tor, too, spoke favourably of me ; and my bene-
factor, who was now become my father and my
friend, had little difficulty in persuading my pa-
trons to renew their donations, and to continue
me at school for another year. Such liberality
was not lost upon me ; I grew anxious to make
the best return in my power, and I redoubled
my diligence. Now, that I asn sunk into indo-
lence, I look back with some degree of scep-
ticism to the exertions of that period.

In two years and two months from the day of
my emancipation, I was pronounced by Mr.
Smerdon, fit for the University. The plan of
opening a writing school had been abandoned
almost from the first ; and Mr. Cookesley look-
ed round for some one who had interest enough
to procure me some little office at Oxford. This
person, who was soon found, was Thomas Tay-
lor, Esq. of Denbury, a gentleman to whom I
had already been indebted for much liberal and
friendly support. He procured me the place of
Bib. Lect. at Exeter College ; and this, with
such occasional assistance from the country as
Mr. Cookesley undertook to provide, was thought
sufficient to enable me to live, at least, till I had
taken a degree.

During my attendance on Mr. Smerdon I had
written, as I observed before, several tuneful
trifles, some as exercises, others voluntaiily,
(for poetry was now become my delight,) and
not a few at the desire of my friends.t When

* The turn my master received was six pounds.

t As I have republished one of onrold poets, it may
V allowable to mention that my predilection for the
Jrama began at an early period. Before I left school,
I had written two tragedies, the Oracle and the Italian.

My qualifications for this branch of the art may be
easily appreciated ; and, indeed, I cannot think of them
wi'hout a smile. These rhapsodies were placed by
my indulgent friend, who thought well of them, in the
hands of two respectable gentlemen, who undertook to

coiiTey them to the manager of : I am ignorant

of their fate. The death of Mr. Cookesley broke every
lt.k >f nay connection with the majority of my subscn-

I became capable, however, of reading Latin
and Greek with some degree of facility, that
gentleman employed all my leisure hours in
translations from the classics ; and indeed I
scarcely know a single school-book, of which I
did not render some portion into English verse.
Among others, JUVENAL engaged my attention,
or rather my master's, and I translated the tenth
Satire for a holyday tusk. Mr. Smerdon wa
much pleased with this, (I was not undehghtes.
with it myself,) and as I was now become for*;
of the author, he easily persuaded me to pro-
ceed with him ; and I translated in succession
the third, the fourth, the twelfth, and, I think,
the eighth Satires. As I had no end in view
but that of giving a temporary satisfaction to
my benefactors, I thought little more of these,
than of many other things of the same nature,
which I wrote from time to time, and of which
I never copied a single line.

On my removing to ExeU-r College, however
my friend, ever attentive to my concerns, advised
me to copy my translation of the tenth Satire
and present it, on my arrival, to the Rev. Di
Stinton, (afterwards Rector,) to whom Mr. Tay
lor had given me an introductory letter : I dit-
so, and it was kindly received. Thus encou
raged, I took up the first and second Satires, (I
mention them in the order they were translated,
when my friend, who had sedulously watched
my progress, fisst started the idea of goinp
through the whole, and publishing it by sub-
scription, as a scheme for increasing my mean*
of subsistence. To this I readily acceded, ana
finished the thirteenth, eleventh, and fifteenth
Satires : the remainder were the work of a
much later period.

When I had got thus far, we thought it a fit
time to mention our design ; it was very gene-
rally approved of by my friends ; and on the
first of January, 1781, the subscription was
opened by Mr. Cookesley at Ashburton, and by
myself at Exeter College.

So bold an undertaking so precipitately an-
nounced, will give the reader, I fear, a higher
opinion of my conceit than of my talents ; nei-
ther the one nor the other, however, had the
smallest concern with the business, which origi-
nated solely in ignorance : I wrote verses with
great facility, and I was simple enough to
imagine that little more was necessary for a
translator of Juvenal ! I was not, indeed, uu
conscious of my inaccuracies : I knew that the*
were numerous, and that I had need of sorrt
friendly eye to point them out, and some judt
cious hand to rectify or remove them : but ft>
these, as well as for every thing else, I lookc..
to Mr. Cookesley, and that worthy man, w ;
his usual alacrity of kindness, undertook tl*
laborious task of revising the whole translatior.
My friend was no great LatinLst, perhaps 1 \v;
the better of the two ; but he had taste an

bers, and when subsequent events enabled me to renew
them, I was ashamed to inquire after what was most
probably unworthy of concern.

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judgment, which I wanted. What advantages
might have been ultimately derived from them,
there was unhappily no opportunity of ascertain-
ing, as it pleased the Almighty to call him to
himself by a sudden death, before we had quite
finished the first Satire. He died with a letter
af mine, unopened, in his hands.

This event, which took place on the 15th of
January, 1781, afflicted me beyond measure.*
I was not only deprived of a most faithful and
affectionate friend, but of a zealous and ever
active protector, on whom I confidently relied
for support : the sums that were still necessary
for me, he always collected ; and it was to be
feared that the assistance which was not solicited
with warmth, would insensibly cease to be af-
forded.

In many instances this was actually the case :
the desertion, however, was not general ; and I
was encouraged to hope, by the unexpected
friendship of Servington Savery, a gentleman
who voluntarily stood forth as my patron, and
watched over my interests with kindness and
attention.

Some time before Mr. Cookesley's death, we
had agreed that it would be proper to deliver
out, with the terms of subscription, a specimen
of the manner in which the translation was
executed.f To obviate any idea of selection, a
sheet was accordingly taken t'rom the beginning
of the first Satire. My friend died while it was
in the press

After a few melancholy weeks, I resumed the
translation ; but found myself utterly incapable
of proceeding. I had been so accustomed to
connect the name of Mr. Cookesley with every
part of it, and I laboured with such delight in
the hope of giving him pleasure, that now, when
he appeared to have left me in the midst of my
enterprise, and I was abandoned to my own
efforts, I seemed to be engaged in a hopeless
struggle, without motive or end : and his idea,
which was perpetually recurring to me, brought
such bitter anguish with it, that I shut up the
work with feelings bordering on distraction.

To relieve my mind, I had recourse to other
pursuits. I endeavoured to become more inti-
mately acquainted with the classics, and to
acquire some of the modern languages : by per-
mission too, or rather recommendation, of the
Rector and Fellows, I also undertook the care of
a few pupils : this removed much of my anxiety
respecting my future means of support. I have

I began this unadorned narrative on the 15th of
. anuary. 1801 : twenty years have therefore elapsed
\nce I lost my benefactor and my friend. In the in-
terval I have wept a thousand times at the recollection
of his goodness ; I yet cherish his memory with filial
respect; and at this distant period, my heart sinks
within me at every repetition of his name.

+ Many of these papers were distributed ; the terms,
which I extract from one of them, were these : " The
work shall be printed in quarto, (without notes,') and
be delivered to the Subscribers in the month of Decem-
ber next.

" The price will be sixteen shillings in boards, half
to be paid at the time ot subscribing, the remainder on
delivtry of the book."

a heartfelt pleasure in mentioning this fadul
gence of my college : it could arise from nothing
but the liberal desire inherent, I think, in the
members of both our Universities, to encourage
every thing that bears even the most distant re-
semblance to talents; for I had no claims on
them from any particular exertions.

The lapse of many months had now soothed
and tranquillized my mind, and I once more re-
turned to the translation, to which a wish to
serve a young man surrounded with difficulties
had induced a number of respectable characters
to set their names ; but alas, what a mortifica-
tion ! I now discovered, for the first time, that
my own inexperience, and the advice of my too,
too partial friend, had engaged me in a work,
for the due execution of which my literary at-
tainments were by no means sufficient. Errors
and misconceptions appeared in every page. I
had, perhaps, caught something of the spirit of
Juvenal, but his meaning had frequently escaped
me, and I saw the necessity of a long and pain-
ful revision, which would carry me far beyond
the period fixed for the appearance of the vo-
lume. Alarmed at the prospect, I instantly
resolved (if not wisely, yet I trust honestly,) to
renounce the publication for the present.

In pursuance of this resolution, 1 wrote to my
friend in the country, (the Rev. Servington Sa-
very,) requesting him to return the subscription
money in his hands to the subscribers. He did
not approve of my plan ; nevertheless he pro-
mised, in a letter, which now lies before me, to
comply with it; and, in a subsequent one, added
that he had already begun to do so.

For myself, I also made several rej ayments ;
and trusted a sum of money to make others,
with a fellow collegian, who, not long after, fell
by his own hands in the presence of his father.
But there were still some whose abode could not
be discovered, and others, on whom to press the
taking back of eight shillings would neither be
decent nor respectful : even from these I ventured
to flatter myself that I should find pardon, when
on some future day I should present them with
the Work, (which I was still secretly determined
to complete,) rendered more worthy of their
patronage, and increased by notes, which I now
perceived to be absolutely necessary, to more
than double its proposed size.

In the leisure of a country residence, I ima-
gined that this might be done in two years :
perhaps I was not too sanguine : the experi-
ment, however, was not made, for about this
time a circumstance happened, which changed
my views, and indeed my whole system of life.

I had contracted an acquaintance with a per-
son of the name of , recommended to my

particular notice by a gentleman of Devonshire,
whom I was proud of an opportunity to oblige.
This person's residence at Oxford was not long,
and when he returned to town I maintained a
correspondence with him by letters. At his
particular request, these were enclosed in covers,
and sent to Lord Grosvenor: one day I inad-
vertently omitted the direction, and his lo

THE TABLE BOOK.

necessarily supposing the letter to be meant for
himself, opened and read it. There was some-
thing in it which attracted his notice ; and when
he gave it to my friend, he had the curiosity to
inquire about his correspondent at Oxford ; and,
upon the answer he received, the kindness to
desire that he might be brought to see him upon
his coming to town : to this circumstance, purely
accidental on all sides, and to this alone, I owe
my introduction to that nobleman.

On my first visit, he asked me what friends I
had, and what were my prospects in life ; and I
told him that I had no friends, and no prospects
of any kind. He said no more ; but when I
called to take leave, previous to returning to
college, I found that this simple exposure of my
cir umstances had sunk deep into his mind. At
parting, he informed me that he charged himself
with my present support, and future establish-
ment ; and that till this last could be effected to
my wish, I should come and reside with him.
These were not words, of course : they were
more than fulfilled in every point. I did go, and
reside with him ; and I experienced a warm and
cordial reception, a kind and affectionate esteem,
that has known neither diminution nor interrup-
tion from that hour to this, a period of twenty
< ears I*

In his lordship's house I proceeded with Ju-
venal, till I was called upon to accompany his
son (one of the most amiable and accomplished
young noblemen that this country, fertile in such
characters, could ever boast) to the continent
With him, in two successive tours, I spent many
years; years of which the remembrance will
always be dear to me, from the recollection that
a friendship was then contracted, which time
and a more intimate knowledge of each other,
have mellowed into a regard that forms at once
the pride and happiness of my life.

It is long since I have been returned and
settled in the bosom of competence and peace ;
my translation frequently engaged my thoughts,
but I had lost the ardour and the confidence of
youth, and was seriously doubtful of my abilities
to do it justice. I ht,te wished a thousand
times that I could decline it altogether ; but the
ever-recurring idea that there were people of
the description already mentioned, who had just
and forcible claims on me for the due perform-
ance of my engagement, forbad the thought ;
and I slowly proceeded towards the completion
of a work in which I should never have engaged,
had my friend's inexperience, or my own, suf-

* I have a melancholy satisfaction in recording that
this revered friend and patron lived to witness my
grateful acknowledgment of his kindness. He sur-
vived the appearance of the translation but a very few
days, and I paid the last sad duty to his memory, by
attending his remains to the grave. To me this la-
borious work has not been happy : the same disastrous
event .that marked its commencement, has embittered
its conclusion; and frequently forced upon my recol-
lection the calamity of the rebuilder of Jericho, " He
Imrl the foundation thereof in Abiram, his first born,
and set up the gates thereof in his youngest son, Se-
r*>." 1806.

fered us to suspect for a moment the labour, and
the talents of more than one kind, absolutely
necessary to its success in any tolerable degree ,
Such as I could make it, it is now before the
public.

rnajora canamus.

End of the Memoir.

Mr.

Having attained an university education
by private benevolence, and arrived at noble
and powerful patronage by a circurnstance
purely accidental Mr. Gifford possessed
advantages which few in humble life dare
hope, and fewer aspire to achieve. He
improved his learned leisure and patrician
aid, till, in 1802, he published his transla-
tion of Juvenal, with a dedication to earl
Grosvenor, and the preceding memoir. In
1806, the work ariived to a second edition,
and in 1817 to a third ; to the latter he an-
nexed a translation of the Satires of Per-
sius, which he likewise dedicated to earl
Grosvenor, with " admiration of his talents
and virtues." He had previously distin-
guished himself by the " Baviad and Mae-
viad," a satire unsparingly severe on certain
fashionable poetry and characters of the
day ; and which may perhaps be referred
to as the best specimen of his powers and
inclination. He edited the plays of Mas-
singer, and the works of Ben Jonson, whom
' he ably and successfully defended from
charges of illiberal disposition towards
Shakspeare, and calumnies of a personal
nature, which had been repeated and in-
creased by successive commentators. He
lived to see his edition of Ford's works
through the press, and Shirley's works were
nearly completed by the printer before he
died.

When the " Quarterly Review " was
projected, Mr. Gifford was selected as best
qualified to conduct the new journal, and
he remained its editor till within two years
preceding his death. Besides the private
emoluments of his pen, Mr. Gifford had
six hundred pounds a year as a comptroller
of the lottery, and a salary of three hun-
dred pounds as paymaster of the band of
gentlemen-pensioners.

To his friend, Dr. Ireland, the dean of
Westminster, who was the depositary of
Mr. Gifford 's wishes in his last moments,
he addressed, during their early career, the

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6:)

following imitation of the " Otium tos
liogat " of Horace. " I transcribe it," says
Mr. Giflbrd, " for the press, with mingled
sensations of gratitude and delight, at the
favourable change of circumstances which
we have both experienced since it was
written."

Wolfe rush'd on death in manhood's bloom,
Paulet crept slowly to the tomb ;

Here breath, there fame was given :
And that wise Power who weighs oar lives,
By eontras, and by pros, contrives

To keep the balance even.

To th'ee ske gave two piercing eyes,
A body, just of Tydeus' size,

A judgment sound, and clear ;
.A mind with various science fraught,
A liberal soul, a threadbare coat,

And forty pounds a year.

To me, one eye, not over good ;

Two sides, that, to their cost, have stood

A ten years' hectic cough ;
Aches, stitches, all the numerous ills
That swell the dev'lish doctors' bills,

And sweep poor mortals off.

A coat more bare than thine ; a soul
That spurns the crowd's malign controul ;

A fix'd contempt of wrong ;
Spirits above affliction's pow'r,
And skill to charm the lonely hour

With no inglorious song.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The following is a literal copy of an
English card, circulated by the master of
an hotel, at Ghent :

"Mr. Dewit, in the Golden Apple, out
of the Bruges Gate at Ghent, has the
honour to prevent the Persons who would
come at his house, that they shall find there
always good and spacious Lodging, a Table
served at their taste, Wine of any quality,
ect. Besides he hires Horses and Chaises^
which shall be of a great conveniency for
the Travellers ; the Bark of Bruges depart
and arrives every day before his door. He
dares flatter himself that they shall be
satisfied,- as well with the cheapness ot
the price, as with the cares such an esta-
blishment requires."

CAPITAL FOR BANKING.

A nobleman's footman in Hampshire, to
whom two years' wages were due, de-

manded the sum from his master, and gave
notice that he would quit his place. The
master inquired the reason of the man's
precipitancy, who told his lordship, " that
he and a fellow-servant were about to set
up a country bank, and they wanted the
wages for a capital .'"

MARCH OF INTELLECT.

In "The Times," a few days since, ap-
peared the following advertisement : " To
SCHOOL ASSISTANTS. Wanted, a respect-
able gentleman of good character, capable
of teaching the classics as far as Homer,
and Virgil. Apply, &c. &c. A day or
two a,fter the above had appeared, the gen-
tleman to whom application was to be
made received a letter as follows : " Sir
With reference to an advertisement which
were inserted in The Times newspaper a
few days since, respecting a school assist-
ant, I beg to state that I should be happy
to fill that situation ; but as most of my
frends reside in London, and not knowing
how far Homer and Virgil is from town, I
beg to state that I should not like to engage
to teach the classics farther than Hammer-
smith or Turnham Green, or at the very ut-
most distance, farther than Brentford,
Wat'mg your reply, I am, Sir, &c. &c.

" John Sparks."

The schoolmaster, judging of the clas-
sical abilities of this " youth of promise,"
by the wisdom displayed in his letter, con-
sidered him too dull a spark for the situa-
tion, and his letter remained unanswered.
(This puts us in mind of a person who once
advertised for a " strong coal heaver," and
a poor man calling upon him the day after,
saying, " he had not got such a thing as a
' strong coal heaver, 1 but he had brought
a 'strong coal scuttle, 1 made of the best
iron ; and if that would answer the purpose,
he should have it a bargain.") -Times, \st
January, 1827

MISSING A STYLE.

Soon after the publication of Miss Bur-
ney's novel, called " Cecilia," a young lady
was found reading it. After the general
topics of praise were exhausted, she was
asked whether she did not greatly admire
the style ? Reviewing the incidents in her
memory, she replied, " The style ? the
style? Oh! sir, I am not come to that
yet I"

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:l I, that do bring the news."

SArtAspfan?-

Our calling, however the vulga* may deem,
Was of old, both on high and below, in esteem .
E'en the gods were to much curiosity given.
For Hermes was only the Newsman of heaven.
Hence with wings to his cap, and his staff, and his heels,
He depictured appears, which our myst'ry reveals,
That news flies like wind, to raise sorrow or laughter,
Whi)p leaning on Time, Truth comes heavily after.

Newsmen's Verses, 1747-
Th? newsman is a " lone person." His All the year round, and every day in tie
ousiness, and he, are distinct from all other year, the newsman must rise soon after font
occupations, and people, o'clock, and be at the newspaper ofiices to

Vol. I. 3.

THE TABLE BOOK.

procure a few of the first morning pa-
pers allotted to him, at extra charges, for
particular orders, and despatch them by the
" early coaches." Afterwards, he has to wait
for his share of the " regular " publication
ftP each paper, and he allots these as well
as he can among some of the most urgent of
his town orders. The next publication at
A later hour is devoted to his remaining
customers ; and he sends off his boys with
different portions according to the supply
he successively receives. Notices frequently
and necessarily printed in different papers,
of the hour of final publication the pre-
ceding day, guard the interests of the news-
paper proprietors from the sluggishness of
ihe indolent, and quicken the diligent
newsman. Yet, however skilful his arrange-
ments may be, they are subject to unlocked
for accidents. The late arrival of foreign
journals, a parliamentary debate unexpect-
edly protracted, or an article of importance
in one paper exclusively, retard the print-
ing and defer the newsman. His patience,
well-worn before he gets his " last papers,"
must be continued during the whole period
he is occupied in delivering them. The
sheet is sometimes half snatched before he
can draw it from his wrapper ; he is often
chid for delay when he should have been
praised for speed ; his excuse, " All the
papers were late this morning," is better
heard lhan admitted, for neither giver nor
receiver has time to parley ; and before he
gets home to dinner, he hears at one house
that " Master has waited for the paper these
two hours ;" at another, " Master's gone
out, and says if you can't bring the paper
earlier, he won't have it all ;" and some
ill-conditioned " master," perchance, leaves
positive orders, " Don't take it in, but tell
the man to bring the bill ; and I'll pay it
and have done with him."

Besides buyers, every newsman has read-
ers at so much each paper per hour. One
class stipulates for a journal always at
breakfast; another, that it is to be deli-
vered exactly at such a time ; a third, at
any time, so that it is left the full hour ; and
among all of these there are malecontents,
who permit nothing of " time or circum-
stance" to interfere with their personal con-
venience. Though the newsman delivers,
and allows the use of his paper, and fetches
it, for a stipend not half equal to the lowest
paid portur's price for letter-carrying in
London, yet he finds some, with whom he
covenanted, objecting, when it is called for,
" I've not had my breakfast,"" The

paper did not come at the proper time,"

" I've not had leisure to look at it fet,"

" It has not been left an hour," or any
other pretence equally futile or untrue,
which, were he to allow, -would prevent him
from serving his leaders in rotation, or a*
all. If he can get all his morning papers
from these customers by four o'clock, he is
a happy man.

Soon after three in the afternoon, the
newsman and some of his boys must be at
the offices of the evening papers ; but be-
fore he can obtain his requisite numbers,
he must wait till the newsmen of the Royal
Exchange have received theirs, for the
use of the merchants on 'Change. Some
of the first he gets are hurried off to coffee-
house and tavern keepers. When he has
procured his full quantity, he supplies the
remainder of his town customers. These
disposed of, then comes the hasty folding
and directing of his reserves for the coun-
try, and the forwarding of them to the
post-office in Lombard -street, or in parcels
for the mails, and to other coach-offices.
The Gazette nights, every Tuesday and
Friday, add to his labours, the publi-
cation of second and third editions of the
evening papers is a super-addition. ( )n
what he calls a " regular day," he is fortu-
nate if he find himself settled within his
own door by seven o'clock, after fifteen
hours of running to and fro. It is now
only that he can review the business of the
day, enter his fresh orders, ascertain how
many of each paper he will require on the
morrow, arrange his accounts, provide for
the money he may have occasion for, eat
the only quiet meal he could reckon upon
since that of the evening before, and " steal
a few hours from the night" for needful
rest, before he rises the next morning to a
day of the like incessant occupation : and
thus from Monday to Saturday he labours
every day.

The newsman desires no work but his
own to prove " Sunday no Sabbath ;" for
on "him and his brethren devolves the cir-
culation of upwards of fifty thousand Sun-
day papers in the course of the forenoon.
His Sunday dinner is the only meal he can
ensure with his family, and the short re-
mainder of the day the only time he can
enjoy in their society with certainty, or
extract something from, for more serious
duties or social converse.

The newsman's is an out-of-door busi-
ness at all seasons, and his life is measured
out to unceasing toil. In all weathers,
hail, rain, wind, and snow, he is daily con-
strained to the way and the fare of a way-
faringman. He walks, or rather runs, to dis-
tribute information concerning all sorts of

THE TABLE BOOK.

circumstances and persons, except his own.
fie is unable to allow himself, or others, time
for intimacy, and therefore, unless he had
formed friendships before he took to his ser-
vitude, he has not the chance of cultivating
them, save with persons of the same calling.
He may be said to have been divorced, and
to live " separate and apart " from society
'n general ; for, though he mixes with every
body, it is only for a few hurried moments,
and as strangers do in a crowd.

Cowper's familiar description of a news~
paper, with its multiform intelligence, and
the pleasure of reading it in the country,
never tires, and in this place is to the pur-
pose.

This folio of four pages, happy work 1
Which not ev'n critics criticise ; that holds
Inquisitive Attention, while I read,
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair,
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break,
What is it, but a map of busy life,
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns?
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages

The grand debate,

The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh -

Cat'racts of declamation thunder here ;

There forests of no meaning spread the page,

In which all comprehension wanders lost;

While fields of pleasantry amuse us there,

With merry descants on a nation's woes.

The rest appears a wilderness of strange

But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks,

And lilies for the brows of faded age,

Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald,

Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets,

Nctareous essences, Olympian dews,

Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs,

Ethereal .iournies, submarine exploits,

And Katerfelto, with his hair an end

At his own wonders, wand'ring for his bread.

'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat,
To peep at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates,
At a safa distance, where the dying sound
Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjured ear.
Thus sitting, and surveying thus, at ease,
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced
To some secure and more than mortal height,
That lib'rates and exempts us from them all.

This is an agreeable and true picture ,
and, with like felicity, the poet paints the
bearer of the newspaper.

Hark! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;
.ve comes, the herald of a noisy world,

With spatter' d boots, strap p'd waist, and frozen locks

News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.

True to his charge, the close pack'd load behind

Yet careless what he brings, his one concern

Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn ;

And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on.

He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,

Cold and yet cheerful t messenger of grief

Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some ;

To him indiff 'rent whether grief or joy.

Methinks, as I have always thought, that
Cowper here missed the expression of a
kind feeling, and rather tends to raise an
ungenerous sentiment towards this poor
fellow. As the bearer of intelligence, of
which he is ignorant, why should it be

" To him indifFrent whether grief or joy ?"

If <*cold, and yet cheerful," he has at-
tained to the " practical philosophy " of
bearing ills with patience. He is a frozen
creature that " whistles," and therefore
called "light-hearted wretch." The poet
refrains to "look with a gentle eye upon
this wretch" but, having obtained the
newspaper, determines to enjoy himself,
and cries

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,
That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.

This done, and the bard surrounded with
means of enjoyment, he directs his sole
attention to the newspaper, nor spares a
thought in behalf of the wayworn messen-
ger, nor bids him " God speed !" on his
further forlorn journey through the wintry
blast.

In London scarcely any one knows the
newsman but a newsman. His customers
know him least of all. Some of them
seem almost ignorant that he has like
" senses, affections, passions," with them-
selves, or is " subject to the same diseases,
healed by the same means, warmed and
cooled by the same winter and summer."
They are indifferent to him in exact ratio
to their attachment to what he "serves"
them with. Their regard is for the news
paper, and not the newsman. Should he
succeed in his occupation, they do not
hear of it : if he fail, they do not care for
it. If he dies, the servant receives thfc
paper from his successor, and says, when
she carries it up stairs, " If you please, the
newsman's dead :" they scarcely ask where
he lived, or his fall occasions a pun " We
always said he was, and now we have

THE TABLE B'X)K.

proof that he w, the lute newsman." They
are almost as unconcerned as if he had been
the postman.

Once a year, a printed " copy of verses "
reminds every newspaper reader that the
hand that bore it is open to a small boon.
" The Newsman's Address to his Customers,
1826," deploringly adverts to the general
distress, patriotically predicts better times,
and seasonably intimates, that in the height
of annual festivities he, too, has a heart
capable of joy.

although the muse complains

And sings of woes in melancholy strains.
Yet Hope, at last, strikes up her trembling wires.
And bids Despair forsake your glowing ares.
While, as in olden time, Heaven's gifts you share,
And Englishmen enjoy their Christmas fare ;
While at the social board friend joins with friend.
And smiles and jokes and salutations blend;
Your Newsman wishes to be social too,
And would enjoy the opening year with you :
Grant him your annual gift, he will not fail
To drink your health once more with Christmas ale :
Long may you live to share your Christmas cheer,
And he still wish you many a happy year I"

The losses and crosses to which news-
men are subject, and the minutiae of their
laborious life, would form an instructive
volume. As a class of able men of busi-
ness, their importance is established by ex-
cellent regulations, adapted to their inter-
ests and well-being; and their numerous
society includes many individuals of high
intelligence, integrity, and opulence.

JBrama.

LICENSE FOR ENACTING A PLAY.

To the Editor.

Sir, As many of your readers may not
have had an opportunity of knowing the
form and manner in which dramatic repre-
sentations were permitted, by the Master
of the Revels, upon the restoration of the
Stuarts, I submit a transcript of a licence
in my possession. It refers to a drama, call-
ed " Noah's Flood," apparently not re-
corded in any dramatic history. It is
true, Isaac Reed, in the " Biographia Dra-
matica," 1782, vol.ii. p. 255, cites " Noah's
Flood, or the Destruction of the World,
an opera, 1679, 4to.," and ascribes it to
' Edward Ecclestone," but it is question-
able whether this was the " play " for
which the license below was obtained, as
Reed, or perhaps George Steevens, the
commentator, who assisted the former con-

siderably in the compilation of that work,
as it appeared in 1782, expressly entitles it
" an opera."

Reed states his inability to furnish any
particulars of Ecclestone, and his continua-
tor, Mr. Stephen Jones, has not added a
single word. Ecclestone was a comedian,
though I cannot immediately cite my au-
thority. His opera of " Noah's Flood,"
which is excessively scarce, is said, by
Reed, to be " of the same nature with Dry-
den's ' State of Innocence,' but falls infi-
nitely short of the merit of that poem."
This may be readily believed ; for we are
informed that the unhappy bookseller, to
prevent the whole impression rotting oc
his shelves, again obtruded it for public
patronage, with a new title, " The Cata-
clasm, or General Deluge of the World,"
1684, 4to. ; and again as "The Deluge, or
Destruction of the World," 1691, 4to., with
the addition of sculptures These attempts
probably exhausted the stock on hand, as,
some years afterwards, it was reprinted ic
12mo., with the title of " Noah's Flood, or
the History of the General Deluge," 1714
Many plays were reprinted by Meares,
Feales, and others, at the commencement
of the last century, as stock-plays ; and
Reed's assertion, that this was an imposi-
tion, is correct, so far as it came forth as a
new production, the preface stating that
the author was unknown.

The license alluded to is on a square
piece of parchment, eleven inches high, by
thirteen wide. The office seal, red wax,
covered by a piece of white paper, is en-
graved in one of the volumes of George
Chalmers's " Apology for the Believers of
the Shakspeare Papers."

The License.

" To all Mayors Sherriffs Justices of the
Peace Bayliffs Constables Headboroughs,
and all other his Maties. Officers, true
Leigmen & loueing Subiects, & to euery
of them greeting. Know yee that wheras
George Bayley of London Musitioner de-
sires of me a Placard to make Shew of a
Play called Noah's fflood wth other Seue-
rall Scenes. These are therfore by vertue
of his Maties. Lettrs. Patients made ouer
vnto me vnder the great Scale of England
to licence & allow the said George Bayley
wth eight Servants wch are of his Com-
pany to make shew of the said Play called
Noah's flood wth other Scenes requireing
you and euery of you in his Maties Name
to pmitt & Suffer the said Persons to shew
the said Play called Noah's flood, and to
be aiding & assisting them & euery of them

THE TABLE BOOK.

if any wrong or iniury be offered vnto him
or any of them Provided that he and they
doe not act any thing offensiue against ye
lawes of God or of the Land, and that he
& they doe make shew of the said Noah's
flood at lawful! times wth Exception of the
Lords Day or any other Day in the time
of Devine Service, or on any other day
prohibited by Proclamation or other law-
full Authority. And this Licence to con-
tinue for a year and noe longre from the
day of the date hearof and to Serue through-
out the Kingdome of England Scotland &
Ireland & all other his Maties. Territories
& Dominions the said Geo. Bayly haueing
giuen me security for his good behauiour
that hee doe not intrench vpon the lawes
of the land. Giuen at his Maties. Office of
the Revills vnder my hand 8c Seale of the
said Office the fowerteenth day of A prill
one thousand six hundred sixty and two &
in the fowerteenth year of the raigne of o'r
Soueraigne Lord Charles ye Second by the
grace of God of England Scotland ffrance
and Ireland King Defender of the faith &c.

J. POYNTZ.

A marginal memorandum, below the seal,
contains a direction to the persons named
in this license, thus :

" You are to allow him either Town hall
Guild hall Schoole house or some other con-
venient place for his use & to continue in
any one place for ye space of fforty
Daies."

The above transcript is literal in every
respect : and trusting that it may be deem-
ed worthy insertion,

I am, Sir, &c.

WILL o' THE WHISP.

The identical seal of the office of the
Revels, mentioned in the preceding letter,
was engraven on wood, and is now in the
possession of Francis Douce, Esq. F. S. A.

THOMAS AIRAY,

THE GRASSINGTON MANAGER AND HIS
THEATRICAL COMPANY, CRAVEN, YORK-
SHIRE.

For the Table Book.

* Nothing like this in London .'"

John Reeve in Peregrine Proteus.

At this season, every thing appears dull
and lifeless in the neighbourhood of my
favourite mountain village. In my younger
days it was otherwise. Christmas was then

a festival, enlivened by a round of innocent
amusements, which the present enlightened
age has pronounced superstitious or trifling.
Formerly we hfd a theatre, at this season,
and perhaps a few particulars relating to it
may not be uninteresting.

Gentle reader ! should you ever visit
Skipton-in-Craven, go on the market-day,
and stand opposite to the vicarage-house in
the High-street ; there you will see a cart
with this inscription, " Thomas Airay,
Grassington and Skipton carrier." Keep
your eye on that cart, and about the hour
of three in the afternoon you will behold
approach the owner, a little, fat, old man,
with reddish whiskers and a jolly face, that
Listen or John Reeve would not be ashamed
to possess. In that countenance a mere
tyro in physiognomy may discover a roguish
slyness, a latent archness, a hidden mine of
fun and good humour. Then when Airay
walks, mark his stately gait, and tell me if
it does not proclaim that he has worn the
sock and buskin, and trod the Thespian
floor : he was the manager of the Grassing-
ton theatre the " Delawang " of Craven.

I fancy some rigid moralist bestowing a
cold glance on poor Tom, and saying to
himself, " Ah, old man, this comes of
acting ; had you, in your youth, followed
some industrious pursuit, nor joined as
idle strolling company, instead of now
being a country carrier, you might have
been blessed with a comfortable indepen-
dence !" Think not so harshly of Airay ;
though not the manager of a patent theatre,
nor of one " by royal authority," he never
was a stroller, nor an associate with vaga-
bonds, nor did he ever, during his theatrical
career, quake under the terrors of magis-
terial harshness, or fear the vagrant act.

No idle, worthless, wandering man was he,
Bnt in the dales, of honest parents bred,

Train'd to a life of honest industry,
Hi- with the lark in summer left his bed,
Thro' the sweet calm, by morning twilight shed,

Walking to labour by that cheerful song,
And, making a pure pleasure of a tread,

When winter came with nights so dark and long,

'Twas his, with mimic art, to amuse a village throng 1

Tom Airay's sole theatre was at Grass-
ington ; and that was only " open for the
season " for a few weeks in the depth of
winter, when the inclemency of the weather,
which in these mountainous parts is very
severe, rendered the agricultural occupa-
tions of himself and companions impossi-
ble to be pursued. They chose rather to
earn a scanty pittance by acting, than to
trouble their neighbours for eleemosynary
support.

THE TABLE BOOK

The corpt dramatique of Tom Airay
consisted chiefly of young men, (they had
no actresses,) who moved in the same line
of life as the manager, and whose characters
were equally respectable with his, which was
always unassailable; for, setting aside our
hero's occasionally getting tipsy at some of
the neighbouring feasts, nothing can be
said against him. He is a worthy member
of society, has brought up a large family
respectably, and, if report speak truth, has
realized about a thousand pounds.

Few of Tom Airay's company are living,
and the names of many have escaped me.

There was honest Peter W , whose face

peeped from behind the green curtain like
the full moon. He was accounted a bit of
a wag : ever foremost in mischief, he, more
than once, almost blew up the stage by gun-
powder, .half suffocated the audience by
assafcetida, and was wont to put hot cin-
ders in the boots of his associates. He
has " left the mimic scene to die indeed,"
and sleeps peacefully under the beautiful
lime-trees of Kirby Malhamdale church-
yard, undisturbed by the murmur of that
mountain stream, which, rippling over its
pebbly channel, hymns, as it were, his re-
quiem. Then there was Isaac G , the

fiddler and comic singer : he exists no longer.
There was Waddilove, and Frankland of
Helton, and Bill Cliff, the Skipton poet
and bailiff all dead ! There were, also,
the Hetheringtons, and Jack Solomon the
besom maker, and Tommy Summersgill the

barber and clock maker, and Jack L

the politician of Threshfield, who regarded
John Wilkes as his tutelary saint, and settled
in the Illinois, from whence he occasionally
sends a letter to his old friends, informing
them what a paltry country England is,
what a paradise the new world is, and how
superior the American rivers are to those

" That through our rallies run

Singing and dancing in the gleams
Of summer's cloudless sun."

Besides these, there were fifteen or six-
teen others from Arncliffe, Litton, Coniston,
Kilnsay, and the other romantic villages
that enliven our heath-clad hills.

The " Grassington theatre," or rather
" playhouse," for it never received a loftier
appellation, where (to borrow the phraseolo-
gy of the Coburg) our worthies received their
" nightly acclamations of applause," has
been pulled down, but I will endeavour to
describe it. It was an old limestone " lathe,'
the Craven word for bavn,with huge folding-
doors, one containing a smaller one, through
which the audience was admitted to the pit

and gallery, for there were no boxes. Yet
on particular occasions, such as when the
duke of Devonshire or earl of Thanet good-
naturedly deigned to patronise the perform-
ances, a " box" was fitted up, by railing off
a part of the pit, and covering it, by way
of distinction, with brown paper, painted
to represent drapery. The prices were,
pit sixpence, and gallery threepence. I be-
lieve they had no half price. The stage
was lighted by five or six halfpenny can-
dles, and the decorations, considering the
poverty of the company, were tolerable.
The scenery was respectable ; and though
sometimes, by sad mishap, the sun or moon
would take fire, and expose the tallow can-
dle behind it, was very well managed
frequently better than at houses of loftier
pretension. The dresses, as far as material
went, were good ; though not always ia
character. An outlaw of the forest of
Arden sometimes appeared in the guise of
a Craven waggoner, and the holy friar,
" whose vesper bell is the bowl, ding dong,"
would wear a bob wig, cocked hat, and the
surplice of a modern church dignitary.
These slight discrepancies passed unre-
garded by the audience; the majority did
not observe them, and the few who did
were silent; there were no prying editor?
to criticise and report. The audience was
always numerous, (no empty benches there)
and respectable people often formed a por-
tion. I have known the village lawyer, the
parson of the parish, and the doctor com-
fortably seated together, laughing heartily
at Tom Airay strutting as Lady Randolph,
his huge Yorkshire clogs peeping from
beneath a gown too short to conceal his
corduroy breeches, and murdering his words
in a manner that might have provoked
Penning and Bailey from their graves, to
break the manager's head with their weighty
publications. All the actors had a bad
pronunciation. Cicero was called Kikkero,
(which, by the by, is" probably the correct
one ;) Africa was called Afryka, fatigued
was fattygewed, and pageantry was always
called paggyantry. Well do I remember
Airay exclaiming, " What pump, what pag-
gyantry is there here !" and, on another
occasion, saying, " Ye damans o 1 deeth come
sattle my sicurd .'" The company would
have spoken better, had they not, on meeting
with a " dictionary word," applied for in-
formation to an old schoolmaster, who con.
stantly misled them, and taught them to
pronounce in the most barbarous mode he
could devise ; yet such was the awe where-
with they were accustomed to regard this
dogmatical personage, and the profound

THE TABLE BOOK.

respect they paid to his abilities, that they
received his deceiving tricks with thankful-
ness. One of them is too good to be
omitted : Airay, in some play or farce,
happened to meet with this stage direction,
" they sit down and play a game at piquet ;"
the manager did not understand the term
" piquet," and the whole of the corps dra-
matique were equally ignorant as a dernier
ressort, application was made to their old
friend, the knight of the birch, who in-
structed them that " piquet" was the French
word for pie-cut, and what they had to do
was to make a large pie, and sit round a
table and eat it ; and this, on the perform-
ance of the piece, they actually did, to the
great amusement of the few who were ac-
quainted with the joke. When Tom was
informed of the trick, he wittily denomi-
nated it a substantial one.

The plays usually performed atGrassing-
ton were of the regular drama, the produc-
tions of Shakspeare, Dryden, Otway, or
Lillo. George Barnwell has many a time
caused the Craven maids to forget " Tur-
pin," and " Nevison," and bloody squires,
and weep at the shocking catastrophe of
the grocer's apprentice. Melodramas were
unknown to them, and happy had it been
for the dramatic talent of this country if
they had remained unknown elsewhere ;
for since these innovations, mastiff dogs,
monkeys, and polichinellos have followed
in lapid succession, and what monstrum
horrendum will next be introduced, is diffi-
cult to conceive. We may say,

" Alas, for the drama, its day has gone by."

At the time of Airay's glory, had the
word melodrama been whispered in his ear,
he would probably have inquired what sort
of a beast it was, what country it came
from, and whether one was in the tower ?
Grassington being too poor to support a
printer, the play-bills were written, and by
way of making the performances better
known, the parish bellman was daily em-
ployed to cry the play in a couplet com-
posed by the manager. I only remember
one.

Guy in his youth, our play we call,
At six to the hay-mow* hie ye all I

This not only apprized the inhabitants of
the play for the evening, but frequently the
novelty of the mode induced a passing
stranger to honour the house with his pre-

sence. It was also preferable to printing,
for that was an expense the proceeds of the
house could not afford.

While thus hastily sketching the pecu-
liarities of Airay and his associates, it
would be unjust not to state in conclusion,
that their performances were always of a"
moral character; if any indelicate senti-
ment or expression occurred in their plays,
it was omitted; nothing was uttered that
could raise a blush on the female cheek.
Nor were the audiences less moral than the
manager : not an instance can be recorded
of riot or indecency. In these respects, Tom
Airay's theatre might serve as a model to the
patent houses in town, wherein it is to be
feared the original intent of the stage, that
.of improving the mind by inculcating morali-
ty, is perverted. Whenever Airay takes a re-
trospective glance at his theatrical manage-
ment, he can do it with pleasure ; for never
did he pander to a depraved appetite, or ren-
der his barn a spot wherein the vicious
would covet to congregate.

T. Q. M.

fterarp

" THE SYBIL'S LEAVES, or a Peep into
Futurity, published by Ackermann, Strand,
and Lupton Relfe, Cornhill," consist of sixty
lithographic verses on as many cards,in a case
bearing an engraved representation of a
party in high humour consulting the cards.
Thirty of them are designed for ladies,
and as many for gentlemen : a lady is
to hold the gentleman's pack, and vict
versa. From these packs, each lady or
gentleman wishing to have " the most im-
portant points infallibly predicted " is to
draw a card.

The idea of telling fortunes at home is
very pleasant ; and the variety of " the Sy-
bil's Leaves" assists to as frequent oppor-
tunities of re-consultation as the most
inveterate craver can desire A lady con-
demned by one of the leaves to " wither
on the virgin thorn," on turning over a new
leaf may chance to be assured of a delightful
reverse ; and by a like easy process, a
" disappointed gentleman " become, at
last, a " happy man."

In Craven, the hay is not stacked as in the south,
but housed in barns, which from this custom are called
hay-mows.

THE TABLE BOOK.

ancient &iber jflut at ClcrfcentoelJ.

Lo ! hither Fleet-JrooA came, in former times call'd the Fleet-riter,
Which navies once rode on, in present times hidden- for erer,
Save where water-cresses and sedge mark its oozing and creeping,
In yonder old meadows, from whence it lags slowly as weeping
Its present misgivings, and obsolete use, and renown
And bearing its burdens of shame and abuse into town,
On meeting the buildings sinks into the earth, nor aspires
To decent-eyed people, till forced to the Thames at Blackfri'rs.

In 1825, this was the first open view
nearest London of the ancient River Fleet:
it was taken during the building of the
high-arched walls connected with the
House of Correction, Cold-bath-fields, close
to which prison the river ran, as here seen.
At that time, the newly-erected walls
communicated a peculiarly picturesque
effect to the stream flowing within
their confines. It arrived thither from
Bagnigge-wells, on its way to a covered
channel, whereby it passes between Turn-
mill-street, and again emerging, crosses
Chick-lane, now called West-street, near
Field-lane, at the back of which it runs on,
and continues under Holborn-bridge, Fleet-
market, and Bridge-street, till it reaches

the Thames, close to the stairs on the west
side of Blackfriars-bridge. The bridge,
whereby boys cross the stream in the
engraving, is a large iron pipe for convey-
ing water from the New River Company's
works, to supply the houses in Grays- inn-
lane. A few years ago, the New River
water was conducted across this valley
through wooden pipes. Since the drawing
was made, the Fleet has been diverted
from the old bed represented in the print,
through a large barrel drain, into the course
just mentioned, near Turnmill-street. This
notice of the deviation, and especially the
last appearance of the river in its immemo-
rial channel, may be of interest, because
the Fleet is the only ancient stream running

THE TABLE BOOK.

into London which is not yet wholly lost
jo sight.

The River Fleet at its source, in a field
on the London .side of the Hampstead
ponds, is merely a sedgy ditchling, scarcely
naif a step across, and " winds its sinuosi-
ties along," with little increase of width
or depth, to the road from the Mother Red
Cap to Kentish Town, beneath which road
it passes through the pastures to Camden
Town ; and in one of these pastures, the
canal, running through the Tunnel at Pen
tonville to the City -road, is conveyed over
it by an arch. From this place its width
increases, till it reaches towards the west
side of the road leading from Pancras
Workhouse to Kentish Town. In the rear
of the houses on that side of the road, it
becomes a brook, washing the edge of the
garden in front of the premises late the
stereotype-foundery and printing-offices of
Mr. Andrew Wilson, which stand back
from the road ; and, cascading down behind
the lower road-side houses, it reaches the
Elephant and Castle, in front of which it
tunnels to Battle-bridge, and there levels
out to the eye, and runs sluggishly to Bag-
nigge-wells, where it is at its greatest
width, which is about twelve feet across ;
from thence it narrows to the House of Cor-
rection, and widens again near Turnmill-
street, and goes to the Thames, as above
described.

In a parliament held at Carlile, in 35 Ed*
ward I., 1 307, Henry Lacy earl of Lincoln
complained that, in former times, the course
of water running under Holborn-bridge and
Fleet-bridge into the Thames, had been of
such breadth and depth that ten or twelve
ships at once, " navies with merchandise,"
were wont to come to Fleet-bridge, and
some of them to Holborn-bridge ; yet that,
by filth of the tanners and others, and by
raising of wharfs, and especially by a diver-
sion of the water in the first year of king
John, 1200, by them of the New Temple,
for their mills without Baynard's Castle,
and by other impediments, the course was
decayed, and ships could not enter as they
were used. On the prayer of the earl, the
constable of the Tower, with the mayor and
sheriffs of London, were directed to take
with them honest and discreet men to in-
quire into the former state of the river,
to leave nothing that might hurt or stop it,
and to restore it to its wonted condition.
Upon this, the river was cleansed, the mills
were removed, and other means taken for
the preservation of the course ; but it was
not brought to its old depth and breadth,
*nd therefore it was no longer termed a

river, but a brook, called Turne-mill or
Tremill Brook, because mills were erected
on it.

After this, it was cJeansed several times ;
and particularly in 1502, the whole course
of Fleet Dike, as it was then called, was
scoured down to the Thames, so that
boats with fish and fuel were rowed to
Fleet-bridge and Holborn-bridge.

In 1589, by authority of the common
council of London, a thousand marks were
collected to draw several of the springs at
Hampstead-heath into one head, for the
service of the City with fresh water where
wanted, and in order that by such " a fol-
lower," as it was termed, the channel of
the brook should be scoured into the
Thames. After much money spent, the
effect was not obtained, and in Stow's time,
by means of continual encroachments on
the banks, and the throwing of soil into the
stream, it became worse clogged than
ever.*

After the Fire of London, the channel
was made navigable for barges to come up,
by the assistance of the tide from the
Thames, as far as Holborn-bridge, where
the Fleet, otherwise Turnmill-brook, fell
into this, the wider channel ; which had
sides built of stone and brick, with ware-
houses on each side, running under the
street, and used for the laying in of coals,
and other commodities. This channel had
five feet water, at the lowest tide, at Hol-
born-bridge, the wharfs on each side the
channel were thirty feet broad, and rails of
oak were placed along the sides of the
ditch to prevent people from falling into it
at night. There were four bridges of Port-
land stone over it ; namely, at Bridewell,
Fleet-street, Fleet-lane, and Holborn.

When the citizens proposed to erect a
mansion-house for their lord mayor, they
fixed on Stocks-market, where the Man-
sion-house now stands, for its site, and
proposed to arch the Fleet-ditch, from
Holborn to Fleet-street, and to remove that
market to the ground they would gain by
that measure. In 1733, therefore, they re-
presented to the House of Commons, that
although after the Fire of London the chan-
nel of the Fleet had been made navigable
from the Thames to Holborn-bridge, yet
the profits from the navigation had not an-
swered the charge ; that the part from
Fleet-bridge to Holborn-bridge, instead o\
being useful to trade, had become choked
with mud, and was therefore a nuisance,
and that several persons had lost their lives

Stow's Survey.

THE TABLE BOOK.

by falling into it. For these and other
causes assigned, an act passed, vesting the
fee simple of the site referred to in the
corporation for ever, on condition that
drains should be made through the channel,
and that no buildings on it should exceed
fifteen feet in height. The ditch was ac-
cordingly arched over from Holborn to
Fleet-bridge, where the present obelisk in
Bridge-street now stands, and Fleet-market
was erected on the arched ground, and
opened with the business of Stocks-market,
on the 30th of September, 1737.

In 1765, the building of Blackfriars-
bridge rendered it requisite to arch over the
remainder, from Fleet-bridge to the Thames;
yet a small part remained an open dock
ifor a considerable time, owing U> the obsti-
nate persistence of a private proprietor.*

Previous to the first arching of the Fleet,
Pope, in " The Dunciad," imagined the
votaries of Dulness diving and sporting in
Fleet-ditch, which he then called

The king of dykes ! than whom no sluice of mud
With deeper sable blots the silver flood.

" I recollect," says Pennant, " the present
noble approach to Blackfriars-bridge, the
well-built opening of Chatham-place, a
muddy and genuine ditch." It has of late
been rendered a convenient and capacious
sewer.

During the digging of Fleet-ditch, in
1676, with a view to its improvement after
the Fire of London, between the Fleet-
prison and Holborn-bridge, at the depth of
fifteen feet, several Roman utensils were
discovered ; and, a little lower, a great
quantity of Roman coins, of silver, copper,
brass, and various other metals, but none
of gold ; and at Holborn-bridge, two brass
lares, or household gods, of the Romans,
about four inches in length, were dug out ;
one a Ceres, and the other a Bacchus. The
great quantity of coins, induces a presump-
tion that they were thrown into this river
by the Roman inhabitants of the city, on
the entry of Boadicea, with hei army of en-
raged Britons, who slaughtered their con-
querors, without distinction of age or sex.
Here also were found arrow-heads, spur-
rowels of a hand's breadth, keys, daggers,
scales, seals with the proprietors' names in
Saxon characters, ship counters with Saxon
characters, and a considerable number of
medals, crosses, and crucifixes, of a more
recent age.f

Sometime before the year 1714, Mr.
John Conyers, an apothecary in Fleet-
street, who made it his chief business to
collect antiquities, which about that time
were daily found in and about London, as
he was digging in a field near the Fleet
not far from Battle-bridge, discovered the
body of an elephant, conjectured to have
been killed there, by the Britons, in fight
with the Romans ; for, not far from the
spot, was found an ancient British spear,
the head of flint fastened into a shaft o f
good length.* From this elephant, the
public-house near the spot where it was
discovered, called the Elephant and Castle,
derives its sign.

There are no memorials of the extent to
which the river Fleet was anciently naviga-
ble, though, according to tradition, an
anchor was found in it as high up as the
Elephant and Castle, which is immediately
opposite Pancras workhouse, and at the
corner of the road leading from thence to
Kentish-town. Until within these few
years, it gave motion to flour and flatting
mills at the back of Field-lane, near Hol-
born .t

That the Fleet was once a very service-
able stream there can be no doubt, from
what Stow relates. The level of the ground
is favourable to the presumption, that its
current widened and deepened for naviga-
ble purposes to a considerable extent in
the valley between the Bagnigge-wells-
road and Gray's-inn, and that it might have
had accessions to its waters from other
sources, besides that in the vicinity of
Hampstead. Stow speaks of it under the
name of the " River of Wels, in the west
part of the citie, and of old so called of the
Wels ;" and he tells of its running from
the moor near the north corner of the wall
of Cripplegate postern. This assertion,
which relates to the reign of William the
Conqueror, is controverted by Maitland,
who imagines " great inattention " on the
part of the old chronicler. It is rather to
be apprehended, that Maitland was less an
antiquary than an inconsiderate compiler.
The drainage of the city has effaced proofs
of many appearances which Stow relates
as existing in his own time, but which there
is abundant testimony of a different nature
to corroborate ; and, notwithstanding Mail-
land's objection, there is sufficient reason to
apprehend that the river of Wells and the
Fleet river united and flowed, in the same
channel, to the Thames.

* Noorthouck.
t Maitiand. Pennant.

Letter from Bagford to Hearne.
* Nelson's History of Islington.

THE TABLE BOOK-

January*

If you are ill at this season, there is no
occasion to send for the doctor only stop
eating. Indeed, upon general principles,
it seems to me to be a mistake for people,
every time there is any little thing the mat-
ter with them, to be running in such haste
for the " doctor ;" because, if you are going
to die, a doctor can't help you ; and if you
are not there is no occasion for him.*

ANGLING IN JANUARY.

Dark is the ever-flowing stream.

And snow falls on the lake ;
For now the nt>ontide sunny beam

Scarce pierces bower and brake ;
And flood, or envious frost, destroys
A portion of the angler's joys.

Yet still we'll talk of sjiorts gone by,

Of triumphs we have won,
Of waters we again shall try,

When sparkling in the sun ;
Of favourite haunts, by mead or dell,
Haunts which the fisher loves so well.

Of stately Thames, of gentle Lea,

The merry monarch's seat;
Of Ditton's stream, of Avon's brae.

Or Mitcham's mild retreat ;
Of waters by the meer or mill,
And all that tries the angler's skill.

Annals of Sporting.

PLOUGH MONDAY.

The first Monday after Twelfth-day is so
denominated, and it is the ploughman's
holyday.

Of late years at this season, in the
islands of Scilly, the young people exercise a
sort of gallantry called "goose-dancing."
The maidens are dressed up for young
men, and the young men for maidens;
and, thus disguised, they visit their neigh-
bours in companies, where they dance, and
make jokes upon what has happened in the
island ; and every one is humorously
" told their own," without offence being
taken. By this sort of sport, according to
yearly custom and toleration, there is a
spirit of wit and drollery kept up among
the people. The music and dancing done,
they are treated with liquor, and then they
go to the next house of entertainment.^

Monthly Magazine, January, 1827.
t Strutt's Sports, 307-

WILLY-HOWE, YORKSHIRE.
For the Table Book.

There is an artificial mount, by the side
of the road leading from North Burton tc
Wold Newton, near Bridlington, in York-
shire, called " Willy-howe," much exceed-
ing in size the generality of our " hows."
of which I have often heard the most pre-
posterous stories related. A cavity or divi-
sion on the summit is pointed out as owing
its origin to the following circumstance :

A person having intimation of a large
chest of gold being buried therein, dug
away the earth until it appeared in sight ;
he then had a train of horses, extending
upwards of a quarter of a mile, attached to
it by strong iron traces ; by these means he
was just on the point of accomplishing his
purpose, when he exclaimed

" Hop Perry, prow Mark,

Whether God's will or not, we'll have this ark."

He, however, had no sooner pronounced
this awful blasphemy, than all the traces
broke, and the chest sunk still deeper in the
hill, where it yet remains, all his future
efforts to obtain it being in vain.

The inhabitants of the neighbourhood
also speak of the place being peopled with
fairies, and tell of the many extraordinary
feats which this diminutive race has per-
formed. A fairy once told a man, to whom
it appears she was particularly attached, it
he went to the top of " Willy-howe " every
morning, he would find a guinea ; this
information, however, was given under the
injunction that he should not make the cir-
cumstance known to any other person.
For some time he continued his visit, and
always successfully ; but at length, like our
first parents, he broke the great command-
ment, and, by taking with him another
person, not merely suffered the loss of the
usual guinea, but met with a severe punish-
ment from the fairies for his presumption.
Many more are the tales which abound
here, and which almost seem to have made
this a consecrated spot ; but how they
could at first originate, is somewhat singular.

That " Hows," " Carnedds," and " Bar-
rows," are sepulchral, we can scarcely en-
tertain a doubt, since in all that have been
examined, human bones, rings, and other
remains have been discovered. From the
coins and urns found in some of them, they
have been supposed the burial-places of
Roman generals. " But as hydrotaphia,
or urn-burial, was the custom among the
Romans, and interment the practice of the

THE TABLE BOOK.

Britons, it is reasonable to conjecture,
where such insignia are discovered, the
tumuli are the sepulchres of some British
chieftains, who fell in the Roman service.'
The size of each tumulus was in proportion
to the rank and respect of the deceased ;
and the labour requisite to its formation
was considerably lessened by the number
employed, each inferior soldier being
obliged to contribute a ceitain quantum to
the general heap. That the one of which
we are speaking is the resting-place of a
great personage may be easily inferred,
from its magnitude ; its name also indi-
cates the same thing, " WILLY-HOWE,"
being the hill of many, or the hill made by
many : for in Gibson's Camden we find
" Willy and Vili among the English
Saxons, as Viele at this day among the
Germans, signified many. So Willielmus,
the defender of many. Wilfred, peace to
many." Supposing then a distinguished
British chieftain, who fell in the imperial
service, to have been here interred, we may
readily imagine that the Romans and
Britons would endeavour to stimulate their
own party by making his merits appear as
conspicuous as possible ; and to impress
an awe and a dread on the feelings of their
enemies, they would not hesitate to prac-
tise what we may call a pardonable fraud,
in a pretension that the fairies were his
friends, and continued to work miracles at
his tomb. At the first glance, this idea
may seem to require a stretch of fancy, but
we can more readily reconcile it when we
consider how firm was the belief that was
placed in miracles ; how prevalent the love
that existed, in those dark ages of igno-
rance and superstition, to whatever bore
that character ; and how ready the Romans,
with their superior sagacity, would be to
avail themselves of it. The Saxons, when
they became possessed of the country,
would hear many strange tales, which a
species of bigoted or unaccountable attach-
ment to the marvellous would cause to be
handed down from generation to genera-
tion, each magnifying the first wonder,
until they reached the climax, whence they
are now so fast descending. Thus may
probably have arisen the principal feature
in the history of their origin.

This mode of sepultuie appears to be
very ancient, and that it was very general
.s sufficiently demonstrated by the hills yet
remaining in distant parts of the world.
Dr. Clarke, who noticed their existence in
Siberia and Russian-Tartary, thinks the
practice is alluded to in the Old Testament
in these passages : " They raised a great

heap of stones on Achan ;" " and raised
a great heap of stones on the king of Ai ;"
" they laid a heap of stones on Absalom."
In the interior of South Africa, the Rev.
J. Campbell " found a large heap of small
stones, which had been raised by each pas-
senger adding a stone to the heap ; it was
intended as a monument of respect to the
memory of a king, from a remote nation,
who was killed in the vicinity, and whose
head and hands were interred in that
spot."

The number of these mounds in our own
country is very considerable ; and I trust
they will remain the everlasting monu-
ments of their own existence. Their greatest
enemy is an idle curiosity, that cannot be
satisfied with what antiquaries relate con-
cerning such as have been examined, but,
with a vain arrogance, assumes the power
of digging though them at pleasure. For
my own part, I must confess, I should like
to be a witness of what they contain, yet I
would hold them sacred, so far as not to
have them touched with the rude hand of
Ignorance. Whenever I approach these
venerable relics, my mind is carried back
to the time when they were young ; since
then, I consider what years have rolled
over years, what generations hare followed
generation*, and feel an interest peculiarly
and delicately solemn, in the fate of those
whose dust is here mingled with its kin-
dred dust.

T. C.

Bridlington.

HORN CHURCH IN ESSEX.
For the Table Booh.

In reply to the inquiry by Ignotus, in the
Every-Day Book, vol. ii. p. 1650, respect-
ing the origin of affixing horns to a church
in Essex, I find much ambiguity on the
subject, and beg leave to refer to that ex-
cellent work, " Newcourt's Repertorium,"
vol. ii. p. 336, who observes, on the au-
thority of Weaver, " The inhabitants here
say, by tradition, that this church, dedicated
to St. Andrew, was built by a female con-
vert, to expiate for her former sins, and that
it was called Hore-church at. first, till by a
certain king, but by whom they are uncer-
tain, who rode that way, it was called
Horned-church, who caused those horns to
be put out at the east end of it."

The vane, on the top of the spire, is also
in the form of an ox's head, with the horns.
" The hospital had neither college nor com-
mon seal."

THE TABLE BOOK.

Customs.

THE PRESENT BOAR'S HEAD CAROL.
For the Table Book.

Mr. Editor, In reading your account of
the " Boar's Head Carol," in your Even/-
Day Booh, vol. i. p. 1619, I find the old
carol, but not the words of the carol as
sung at present in Queen's College, Ox-
ford, on Christmas-day. As I think it pos-
sible you may never have seen them, I
now send you a copy as they were sung,
or, more properly, chanted, in the hall of
Queen's, on Christmas-day, 1810, at which
time I was a member of the college, and
assisted at the chant.

A boar's head in hand bear I,
Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary ;
And I pray you, my masters, be merry,
Quot estis in convivio.

Caput apri defero,

Reddens laudes Domino.

The boar's head, as I understand,
Is the rarest dish in all this land;
And when bedeck'd with a gay garland
Jjtit us servire cantico.
Caput apri, &c.

Our steward hath provided this,
In honour of the King of bliss :
Which on this day to be served is
In reginensi atrio.
Caput apri, &c.

I am, &c.

A QUONDAM QUEENSMAN.

BEATING THE LAPSTONE.
For the Table Book.

There is a custom of " beating the lap-
stone," the day after Christmas, at Nett.e
ton, near Burton. The shoemakers beat
the lapstone at the houses of aiJ water-
drinkers, in consequence of a neighbour,
Thomas Stickler, who had not tasted malt
liquor for twenty years, having been made
tipsy by drinking only a half pint of ale
at his shoemaker's, at Christmas. When he
got home, he tottered into his house, and
his good dame said, " John, where have
you been ? why, you are in liquor ?"
" No, I am not,'' hiccnped John, " I've
only fell over the lapstone, and that has
beaten my leg, so as I can't walk quite
right." Hence the annual practical joke
" beating the lapstone."

GAMBLING-HOUSES A CENTURY AGO.
From " The London Mercury " of January 13, 1721-2.

There are, it seems, in the parish of
Covent-garden, twenty-two such houses,
some of which clear sometimes 1001., and
seldom less than 401. a night. They have
their proper officers, both civil and military,
with salaries proportionable to their respec-
tive degrees, and the importance they are
of in the service, viz.

A commissioner, or commis, who is al-
ways a proprietor of the gaming-house : he
looks in once a night, and the week's ac-
count is audited by him and two others of
the proprietors.

A director, who superintends the room.
The operator, the dealer at faro.
Croupees two, who watch the card, and
gather the money for the bank.

A puff, one who has money given him
to play, in order to decoy others.

A clerk, who is a check upon the puff, to
see that he sinks none of that money. A
squib is a puff of a lower rank, and has halt
the salary of a puff.

A flasher, one who sits by to swear how
often he has seen the bank stript.
A dunner, waiters.
An attorney, or solicitor.
A captain, one who is to fight any man
that is peevish or out of humour at the loss
of his money.

An usher, who takes care that the porter,
or grenadier at the door, suffers none to come
in but those he knows.

A porter, who, at most of the gaming-
ouses, is a soldier hired for that purpose.

A runner, to get intelligence of all the
meetings of the justices of the peace, and
when the constables go upon the search.

Any link-boy, coachman, chairman,
drawer, or other person, who gives notice
of the constables being upon the search,
has half a guinea.

TASTE.

Taste is the discriminating talisman, en-
abling its owner to see at once the real
merits of persons and tnings, to ascertain
at a glance the true from the false, and to
decide rightly on the value of individuals.

Nothing escapes him who walks the world
with his eyes touched by this ointment;
they are open to all around him to admire,

THE TABLE BOOK.

or to condemn to gaze with rapture, or to
turn away with disgust, where another shall
pass and see nothing to excite the slightest
emotion. The fair creation of nature, and
the works of man afford him a wide field of
continual gratification. The brook, brawl-
ing over its bed of rocks or pebbles, half
concealed by the overhanging bushes that
fringe its banks or the great river flowing,
in unperturbed majesty, through awide vale
of peace and plenty, or forcing its passage
through a lofty range of opposing hills
the gentle knoll, and the towering moun-
tain the rocky dell, and the awful preci-
pice the young plantation, and the vene-
rable forest, are alike to him objects of
interest and of admiration.

So in the works of m'an, a foot-bridge,
thrown across a torrent, may be in it as
gratifying to the man of taste as the finest
arch, or most wonderful chain-bridge in
the world ; and a cottage of the humblest
order may be so beautifully situated, so
neatly kept, and so tastefully adorned
with woodbine and jessamine, as to call
forth his admiration equally with the
princely residence of the British landholder,
in all its pride of position, and splendour
of architecture.

In short, this faculty is applicable to
every object ; and he who finds any thing
too lofty or too humble for his admiration,
does not possess it. It is exercised in the
every-day affairs of life as much as in the
higher arts and sciences. Monthly Maga-
zine.

Two RAVENS, ABROAD.

On the quay at Nimeguen, in the United
Provinces, two ravens are kept at the pub-
lic expense ; they live in a roomy apart-
ment, with a large wooden cage before it,
which serves them for a balcony. These
birds are feasted every day with the choic-
est fowls, with as much exactness as if they
were for a gentleman's table. The privi-
leges of the city were granted originally
upon the observance of this strange custom,
which is continued to this day.

Two RAVENS, AT HOME.

In a MS. of the late Rev. Mr. Gough,
of Shrewsbury, it is related, that one Tho-
mas Elkes, of Middle, in Shropshire, being
guardian to his eldest brother's child, who
was young, and stood in his way to a con-
siderable estate, hired a poor boy to entice
him into a corn field to gather flowers, and

meeting them, sent the poor boy home,
took his nephew in his arms, and carried
him to a pond at the other end of the field,
into which he put the child, and there left
him. The child being missed, and inquiry
made after him, Elkes fled, and took fhe
road to London ; the neighbours sent two
horsemen in pursuit of him, who passing
along the road near South Mims, in Hert-
fordshire, saw two ravens sitting on a cock
of hay making an unusual noise, and pull-
ing the hay about wkh their beaks, on
which they went to the place, and found
Elkes asleep under the hay. He said, that
these two ravens had followed him from
the time he did the fact. He was brought
to Shrewsbury, tried, condemned, and hung
in chains on Knockinheath.

THE LAST TREE OF THE FOREST.

Whisper, thou tree, thou lonely tree,

One, wheie a thousand stood!
Well might proud tales be told by thee.

Last of the solemn wood !

Dwells there no voice amidst thy boughs,

With leaves yet darkly green?
Stillness is round, and noon tide glows

Tell us what thou hast seen!

" I have seen the forest-shadows he

Where now men reap the corn ;
I have seen the kingly chase rush by,

Through the deep glades at morn.

" With the glance of many a gallant spear

And the wave of many a plume,
And the bounding of a hundred deer

It hath lit the woodland's gloom.

" I have seen the knight and his train ride past.

With his banner borne on high ;
O'er all my leaves there was brightness cast

From his gleamy panoply.

" The pilgrim at my feet hath laid
His palm-branch "midst the flowers,

And told his beads, and meekly pray'd,
Kneeling at vesper-hours.

" And the merry men of wild and glen,

In the green array they wore,
Have feasted here with the red wine's cheer,

And the hunter-songs of yore.

" And the minstrel, resting in my shade.

Hath made the forest ring
With the lordly tales of the high crusade.

Once loved by chief and king.

" But now the noble forms are gone,

That walk'd the earth of old;
The soft wind hath a moRrufu'j tone.

The sunny light looks i old.

THE TABLE BOOK.

* There is no glory left us now

tike the glory with the dead :
I would that where they slumber low,

My latest leaves were shed."

Oh ! thou dark tree, thou lonely tree,

That mournest for the past I
A peasant's home in thy shade I see,

Embower'd from every blast.

A lovely and a mirthful sound

Of laughter meets mine ear ;
For the poor man's children sport around

On the turf, with nought tc feav.

And roses lend that cabin's wall

A happy summer-glow,
And the open door stands free to all,

For it recks tot of a foe.

And the village-bells are on the breeze

That stirs thy leaf, dark tree !
How can I mourn, amidst things like these,

For the stormy past with thee ?

F H. New Monthly Magazine.

Miss POLLY BAKER.

Towards the end of 1777, the abbe" Raynal
calling on Dr. Franklin found, in company
with the doctor, their common friend, Silas
Deane. " Ah ! monsieur 1'abbe," said
Deane, " we were just talking of you and
your works. Do you know that you have
been very ill served by some of those people
who have undertaken to give you informa-
tion on American affairs?" The abbe re-
sisted this attack with some warmth ; and
Deane supported it by citing a variety of
passages from Raynal's works, which he
alleged to be incorrect. At last they came
to the anecdote of " Polly Baker," on which
the abbe had displayed a great deal of
pathos and sentiment. " Now here," says
Deane, " is a tale in which there is not one
word of truth." Raynal fired at this, and
asserted that he had taken it from an au-
thentic memoir received from America.
Franklin, who had amused himself hitherto
with listening to the dispute of his friends,
at length interposed, " My dear abbe,"
said he, " shall I tell you the truth ? When
I was a young man, and rather more
thoughtless than is becoming at our present
time of life, I was employed in writing for
a newspaper; and, as it sometimes hap-
pened that I wanted genuine materials to
fill up my page, I occasionally drew on the
stores of my imagination for a tale which
might pass current as a reality -"-now this
very anecdote of Polly Baker was one of
my inventions/'

BREAD SEALS.

The new conundrum of " breaa pats, 1 *
as the ladies call the epigrammatic im
impressors that their work-boxes are always
full of now, pleases me mightily. Nothing
could be more stupid than the old style of
affiche an initial carefully engraved in a
hand always perfectly unintelligible; or a
crest necessarily out of its place, nine
times in ten, in female correspondence
because nothing could be more un-" ger-
mane " than a " bloody dagger " alarm-
ing every body it met, on the outside of
an order for minikin pins ! or a " fiery
dragon," threatening a French mantua-
maker for some undue degree of tightness
in the fitting of the sleeve ! and then the
same emblem, recurring through the whole
letter-writing of a life, became tedious. Bu f
now every lady has a selection of axioms
(in flower and water) always by her, suit
ed to different occasions. As, "Though
lost to sight, to memory dear !" when
she writes to a friend who has lately had
his eye poked out. " Though absent, un-
forgotten !" to a female correspondent
whom she has not written to for perhaps
the three last (twopenny) posts ; or, " fota
le meritez !" with the figure of a " rose "
emblematic of every thing beautiful
when she writes to a lover. It was receiving
a note with this last seal to it that put the
subject of seals into my mind ; and I have
some notion of getting one engraved with the
same motto, " Vous le meritez," only witV,
the personification of a horsewhip under it,
instead of a " rose '' for peculiar occa-
sions. And perhaps a second would no.
do amiss, with the same emblem, only with
the motto, " Tu Taurus .'" as a sort of co-
rollary upon the first, in cases of emer-
gency ! At all events, I patronise the sys-
tem of a variety of " posies ;" because
where the inside of a letter is likely to be
stupid, it gives you the chance of a joke
upon the out. Monthly Magazine

BLEEDING FOR OUR COUNTRV.

It is related of a Lord Radnor in Chester-
field's time, that, with many good qualities,
and no inconsiderable share of learning, he
had a strong desire of being thought skilful
in physic, and was very expert in bleeding.
Lord Chesterfield knew his foible, and on a
particular occasion, wanting his vote, came
to him, and, after having conversed upon
indifferent matters, complained of the head-
ach, and desired his lordship to feel his
pulse Lord Radnor immediately advised

THE TABLE BOOK.

him to lose blood. Chesterfield compliment-
ed his lordship on his chirurgical skill, and
begged him to try his lancet upon him.
" A propos," said lord Chesterfield, after
the operation, " do you go to the house to-
day?'* Lord Radnor answered, " I did
not intend to go, not being sufficiently in-
formed of the question which is to be
debated ; but you, that have considered it,
which side will you be of?" The wily earl
easily directed his judgment, carried him to
the house, and got him to vote as he pleased.
Lord Chesterfield used to say, that none of
his friends had been as patriotic as himself,
for he had " lost his blood for the good of
his country."

A VILLAGE NEW YEAR,
For the Table Book.

" Almack's" may be charming, an as-
sembly at the " Crown and Anchor," and a
hop of country quality at the annual " Race
Ball," or a more popular " set to" at a
fashionable watering-place, may delight
but a lady of city or town cannot conceive
the emotions enjoyed by a party collected
in the village to see the " old year" out and
the " new year" in. At this time, the
"country dance" is of the first importance
to the young and old, yet not till the week
has been occupied by abundant provisions
of meat, fruit tarts, and mince pies, which,
with made wines, ales, and spirits, are, like
the blocks for fuel, piled in store for all
partakers, gentle and simple. Extra best
beds, stabling, and hay, are made ready,
fine celery dug, the china service and pew-
ter plates examined, in short, want and
wish are anticipated, nothing is omitted,
but every effort used to give proofs of ge-
nuine hospitality. This year, if there is to
be war in Portugal, many widowed hearts
and orphan spirits may be diverted from, not
to, a scene which is witnessed in places
where peace and plenty abound. However,
I will not be at war by conjecture, but sup-
pose much of the milk of hutncn kindness
to be shared with those who look at the
sunny side of things.

After tea, at which the civilities of the
most gallant of the young assist to lighten
the task of the hostess, the fiddler is an-
nounced, the " country dance" begins, and
the lasses are all alive ; their eyes seem lus-
trous and their animal spirits rise to the
zero of harmonious and beautiful attraction.

The choosing of partners and tunes with fa-
vourite figures is highly considered. Old
folks who have a leg left and are desirous
of repeating the step (though not so light)
of fifty years back, join the dance; and the
floor, whether of stone or wood, is swept to
notes till feet are tired. This is pursued
till suppertime at ten o'clock. Meantime,
the " band" (called " waits" in London) is
playing before the doors of the great neigh-
bours, and regaled with beer, and chine,
and pies ; the village " college'youths 1 ' are
tuning the handbells, and the admirers of
the " steeple chase" loiter about the church-
yard to hear the clock strike twelve, and
startle the air by high mettle sounds. Me-
thodist and Moravian dissenters assemble
at their places of worship to watch out the
old year, and continue to " watch" till four
or five in the new year's morning. Vil-
lagers, otherwise disposed, follow the church
plan, and commemorate the vigils in the
old unreformed way. After a sumptuous
supper, at which some maiden's heart is
endangered by the roguish eye, or the salute
and squeeze by stealth, dancing is resumed
and, according to custom, a change of
partners takes place, often to the joy and
disappointment of love and lovers. At
every rest the fiddler makes a squeaking
of the strings this is called kiss 'em ! a
practice well understood by the tulip fan-
ciers. The pipes, tobacco, and substantiate
are on the qui vive, by the elders in another
part of the house, and the pint goes often
to the cellar.

As the clock strikes a quarter to twelve,
a bumper is given to the " old friend,"
standing, with three farewells 1 and while
the church bells strike out the departure of
his existence, another bumper is pledged to
. the " new infant," with three standing hip,
hip, hip huzzas ! It is further customary
for the dance to continue all this time, that
the union of the years should be cemented
by friendly intercourse. Feasting and
merriment are carried on until four or five
o'clock, when, as the works of the kitchen
have not been relaxed, a pile of sugar toa?.
is prepared, and every guest must partake
of its sweetness, and praise it too, before
separation. Headaches, lassitude, and pale-
ness, are thought little of, pleasure sup-
presses the sigh, and the spirit of joy keeps
the undulations of care in proper subjec-
tion Happy times these ! Joyful opportu-
nities borrowed out of youth to be repaid
by ripened memory ! snatched, as it were,
from the wings of Time to be written on his
brow with wrinkles hereafter.

R. P.

THE TABLE BOOK.

Cfje last fciteesfc of tfce 23ufo of

(NOW FIRST ENGRAVED)
FROM THE BUST BY BEHNES, EXECUTED FOR His ROYAL HIGHNESS IN 1826.

In the rude block aspiring talent sees
Its patron's face, and hews it out with ease;
Ere fail'd the royal breath, the marble breath' d,
And lives to be by gratitude enwreath'd.

Towards the close of the year 1825, the
duke of York commenced to sit for this bust
at his late residence in the Stable-yard, St.
James's ; and, in the summer of 1826, con-
tinued to give sittings, till its final comple-
tion, at the artist's house, in Dean-street,
Soho. The marble was then removed,
fcr exhibition, to the Royal Academy,
and from thence sent home to his royal
highness, at Rutland-house. The duke

VOL I. 4,

and his royal sister, the princess Sophia,
were equally delighted with the true and
spirited likeness, and gratified by its pos-
session, as a work of art.

The duke of York, on giving his orders
to Mr. Behnes, left entirely to him the
arrangement of the figure. With grea.
judgment, and m reference to his roya.
hignness's distinguished station, the artist
has placed armour on the body, and thrown

9. 1 )

THE TABLE BOOK.

a military c"ioak over the shoulders. This
judicious combination of costume imparts
simplicity and breadth to the bust, and
assists the manly dignity of the head. The
duke's fine open features bear the frank and
good - natured expression they constantly
wore in life: the resemblance being minutely
faithful, is as just to his royal highness's
exalted and benevolent character, as it is
creditable to Mr. Behnes's execution. Th-j
present engraving is a hasty sketch of its
general appearance. His royal highness
kindly permitted Mr. Behnes to take casts
from the sculpture. Of the many, there-
fore, who experienced the duke of York's
friendship or favour, any one who desires
to hold his royal highness's person in re-
membrance, has an opportunity of obtaining
a fac-simile of the original bust, which is as
'arge as life.

Mr. Behnes was the last artist to whom
.he duke sat, and, consequently, this is his
List likeness. The marble was in the pos-
session of his royal highness during his long
illness, and to the moment of his death, in
Arlington-street. Its final destination will
bt, appropriated by those to whom he was
most attached, and on whom the disposition
of such a memorial necessarily devolves.

To the ample accounts of the duke of
York in the different journals, the Table
Book brings together a few particulars
omitted to be collected, preceded by a few
notices respecting his royal highness's title,
a correct list of all the dukes of York from
their origin, and, first, with an interesting
paper by a gentleman who favoured the
Every-Day Book with some valuable gene-
alogical communications.

SHAKSPEARE'S DUKES OF YORK, &c.

For the Table Book.

The elastic buoyancy of spirits, joined
with the rare affability of disposition, which
prominently marked the character of the
prince whose recent loss we deplore, ren-
dered him the enthusiastic admirer and
steady supporter of the English stage. I
hope I shall not be taken to task for allud-
ing to a trifling coincidence, on recalling to
recollection how largely the mighty master
of this department, our immortal Shak-
speare, has drawn upon his royal highness's
illustrious predecessors in title, in those un-
rivalled dramatic sketches which unite the
lorce of genius with the simplicity of
nature, whilst they impart to the strictly
accurate annals of our national history

some of the mosi vivid illuminations which
blaze through the records of our national
eloquence.

The touches of a master-hand giving
vent to the emanations of a mighty mind
are, perhaps, no where more palpably
traced, than throughout those scenes of the
historical play of Richard II., where Ed-
mund of Langley, duke of York, (son of
king Edward III.,) struggles mentally be-
tween sentiments of allegiance to his weak
and misguided sovereign on the one hand,
and, on the other hand, his sense of his other
nephew Bolingbroke's grievous wrongs,
and the injuries inflicted on his country by
a system of favouritism, profusion, and op-
pression.

Equal skill and feeling are displayed in
the delineation of his son Rutland's devot-
ed attachment to his dethroned benefactor,
and the adroit detection, at a critical mo-
ment, of the conspiracy, into which he had
entered for Richard's restoration.

In the subsequent play of Henry V.,
(perhaps the most heart-stirring of this in-
teresting series,) we learn how nobly this
very Rutland (who had succeeded his
father, Edmund of Langley, as duke of
York) repaid Henry IV/s generous and
unconditional pardon, by his heroic con-
duct in the glorious field of Agincourt,
where he sealed his devotion to his king
and country with his blood.

Shakspeare has rendered familiar to us
the intricate plans of deep-laid policy, and
the stormy scenes of domestic desolation,
through which his nephew and successor,
Richard, the next duke of York, obtained
a glimpse of that throne, to which, accord-
ing to strictness, he was legitimately enti-
tled just before

" York overlook'd the town of York."

The licentious indulgence, the hard-
hearted selfishness, the reckless cruelty,
which history indelibly stamps as the cha-
racteristics of his son and successor, Ed-
ward, who shortly afterwards seated him-
self firmly on the throne, are presented to
us in colours equally vivid and authentic.
The interestingly pathetic detail of the
premature extinction in infancy of his
second son, prince Richard, whom he had
invested with the title of York, is brought
before our eyes in the tragedy of Richard
III., with a forcible skill and a plaintive
energy, which set the proudest efforts of
preceding or following dramatic writers at
defiance.

To "bluff king Hal," (who, during the
lifetime of his elder brother, Arthur, prince

THE TABLE BOOK.

of Wales, had next borne this exclusively
royal title of duke of York,) ample justice
is rendered, in every point of view, in that
production, as eminent for its gorgeous
pageantry as for its subdued interest, in
which most of our elder readers must have
been sufficiently fortunate to witness the
transcendant merits of Mrs. Siddons, as
Queen Catherine, surpassing even her own
accustomed excellence.

Had, contrary to the wonted career of
the triumph of human intellect, a Shak-
speare enraptured and adorned the next
generation, what studies would not the
characters and fates of the martyred Charles
I., and his misguided son, James II., have
afforded to his contemplation. Both these
sovereigns, during the lives of their respec-
tive elder brothers, bore the title of duke of
York.

The counties of York and Lancaster are
the only two in England from which the
titles conferred have been exclusively en-
joyed by princes of the blood royal. It
maybe safely asserted, that neither of these
designations has ever illustrated an indivi-
dual, who was not either son, brother,
grandson, or nephew of the sovereign of
this realm.

Richard, duke of York, killed at the
battle of Wakefield, may, at first sight,
strike the reader as an exception to this
assertion, he being only cousin to Henry
VI.; but we ought to bear in mind, that
fliis Richard was himself entitled to that
Ihrone, of which his eldest son shortly after-
wards obtained possession, under the title
of Edward IV.

By the treaty of Westphalia, concluded
at Munster, in 1648, which put an end to
the memorable war that desolated the
fairest portion of the civilized world during
thirty years, it was stipulated that the
bishopric of Osnaburgh, then secularized,
should be alternately possessed by a prince
of the catholic house of Bavaria, and the
protestant house of Brunswick Lunen-
burgh. It is somewhat remarkable, on the
score of dates, that the Bavarian family
enjoyed but one presentation between the
death of Ernest Augustus, duke of York,
in 1728, and the presentation of his great,
great, great nephew, the lamented prince
whose loss, in 1827, is so deeply and justly
deplored.

W. P.

OTHO, EARL OF YORK.

More than five centuries before a prince
of th<; house cf Brunswick sat on the

British throne, there is a name in the
genealogy of the Guelphs connected with
the title of York.

Until the time of Gibbon, the learned
were inclined to ascribe to Azo, the great
patriarch of the house of Este, a direct
male descent from Charlemagne: the bril-
liant result of this able investigator's re-
searches prove, in Azo's behalf, four cer-
tain lineal ascents, and two others, highly
probable,

from the pure well of Italian uudefiled."

Azo, marquis or lord of Tuscany, mar-
ried Cunegunda, a daughter of a Guelph,
who was also sister of a Guelph, and heir-
ess of the last Guelph. The issue of this
alliance was Guelph I., who, at a time be-
fore titles were well settled, was either
duke or count of Altdorff. He was suc-
ceeded by his son, Henry the Black, who
married Wolfhildis, heiress of Lunenburgb,
and other possessions on the Elbe, which
descended to their son, Henry the Proud,
who wedded Gertrude, the heiress of Sax-
ony, Brunswick, and Hanover. These
large domains centered in their eldest
son, Henry the Lion, who married Maud,
daughter of Henry II., kin^ of England,
and, in the conflicts of the times, lost all
his possessions, except his allodial territo--
ries of Lunenburgh, Brunswick, and Hano-
ver. The youngest son of this marriage
was William of Winchester, or Longsword,
from whom descended the dukes of Bruns-
wick and Lunenburgh, in Germany, pro-
genitors to the house of Hanover. His
elder brother, Otho, is said to have borne
the title of York.

This Otho, duke of Saxony, the eldest
son of Henry the Lion, and Maud, was
afterwards emperor of Germany ; but pre-
vious to attaining the imperial dignity, he
was created earl of York by Richard I., king
cf England, who, according to some authori-
ties, subsequently exchanged with Otho.
and gave him the earldom of Poictou for
that of York. Otho's relation to this king-
dom, as earl of York, and grandson of
Henry II., is as interesting as his fortunes
were remarkable.

The emperor, Henry VI., having died,
and left his son, Frederick, an infant three
months old, to the care of his brother
Philip, duke of Suabia ; the minority of
Frederick tempted pope Innocent to divest
the house of Suabia of the imperial crown,
and he prevailed on certain princes to elect
Otho, of Saxony, emperor: other princes
reelected the infant Frederick. The con-
tention continued between the rival c.indi-

THE TABLE BOOK.

100

dates, with repeated elections. Otho, by
flattering the clergy, obtained himself to be
crowned at Rome, and assumed the title of
Otho IV. ; but some of his followers having
been killed by the Roman citizens he me-
ditated revenge, and instead of returning to
Germany, reconquered certain possessions
usurped from the empire by the pope. For
this violence Otho was excommunicated
by the holy father, who turned his influ-
ence in behalf of the youthful Frederick,
and procured him to be elected emperor
instead. Otho had a quarrel with Philip
Augustus, king of France, respecting an old
wager between them. Philip, neither be-
lieving nor wishing that Otho could attain
the imperial dignity, had wagered the best
city in his kingdom against whichever he
should select of Otho's baggage horses, if
he carried his point After Otho had
achieved it, he seriously demanded the city
of Paris from Philip, who quite as seriously
refused to deliver up his capital. War
ensued, and in the decisive battle of
Bovines, called the " battle of the spurs,"
from the number of knights who perished,
Philip defeated Otho at the head of two
hundred thousand Germans. The imperial
dragon, which the Germans, in their wars,
were accustomed to plant on a great armed
chariot with a guard chosen from the
flower of the army, fell into the hands of
the victors, and the emperor himself barely
escaped at the hazard of his life. This
battle was fought in August, 1215 ; and
Otho, completely vanquished, retreated
upon his devotions, and died in 1218,
without issue.*

The wager, in its consequences so dis-
astrous to the Germans, and so illustrious
to the French arms, was made with Philip
while Otho was passing through France on
his way from the court of England. Col-
lectors of " engraved British portraits," and
the portraits of persons who " come into
England," should look to this. How many
illustrated " Grangers " are there with a
portrait of Otho IV., earl of York?

THE DUKES OF YORK.
I.

Edmund Plantagenet, surnamed De
Langley, from his birth-place, fifth son of
king Edward III., was first created earl of
Jambridge by his father, and afterwards
created duke of York by his nephew,
Richard II. He was much influenced by

Hist, of House of Austria Rapin. Farme.

his brother, the duke of Gloucester; and
an historian of the period calls him " a soft
prince." It is certain that he had few stir-
ring qualities, and that passive virtues were
not valued in an age when they were of
little service to contending parties. In
1402, three years after the accession of
Henry IV., he died at his manor of Lang-
ley, and was interred in the priory there.

II.

Edward Plantagenet, second duke of
York, was son of the first duke, grandson
to Edward III., and great uncle to Henry
V., by whose side he valiantly fought and
perished, in the field of Agincourt, October
25, 1415.

III.

Richard Plantagenet, third duke of York,
nephew of the second duke, and son of
Richard earl of Cambridge, who was exe-
cuted for treason against Henry V., was
restored to his paternal honours by Henry
VI., and allowed to succeed to his uncle's
inheritance. As he was one of the most
illustrious by descent, so he became one of
the most powerful subjects through his
dignities and alliances. After the death of
the duke of Bedford, the celebrated regent
of France, he was appointed to succeed
him, and with the assistance of the valorous
lord Talbot, afterwards earl of Shrewsbury,
maintained a footing in the French territo-
ries upwards of five years. The incapacity
of Henry VI. incited him to urge his claim
to the crown of England in right of his
mother, through whom he descended from
Philippa, only daughter of the duke of
Clarence, second son to Edward III. ;
whereas the king descended from the
duke of Lancaster, third son of that mo-
narch. The duke's superiority of descent, his
valour and mildness in various high em-
ployments, and his immense possessions,
derived through numerous successions, gave
him influence with the nobility, and pro-
cured him formidable connections. He
levied war against the king, and without
material loss slew about five thousand of
the royal forces at St. Alban's, on the 22d
of May, 1452. This was the first blood
spilt in the fierce and fatal quarrel between
the rival houses of York and Lancaster,
which lasted thirty years, was signalized by
twelve pitched battles, cost the lives o*'
eighty princes of the blood, and almost
annihilated the ancient nobility of England
After this battle, the duke's irresolution, and
the heroism of Margaret, queen of Henry
VI., caused a suspension of hostilities.

101

THE TABLE BOOK.

102

The leaders on both sides assented to meet
in London, and be solemnly reconciled. '
The duke of York led the queen in solemn
procession to St. Paul's, and the chiefs of
one party marched hand in hand with the
chiefs of the other. It was a public de-
monstration of peace, with secret mutual
distrust; and an accident aroused the slum-
bering strife. One of the king's retinue in-
sulted one of the earl of Warwick's ; their
companions fought, and both parties in
every county flew to arms. The battle of
Bloreheath, in Staffordshire, 23d Septem-
ber, 1459, was won by the Lancastrians.
At the battle of Northampton, 10th July,
1560, the Yorkists had the victory, and the
king was taken prisoner. A parliament,
summoned in the king's name, met at
Westminster, which the duke of York at-
tended ; and, had he then seated himself on
the throne in the House of Lords, the
deadly feud might have been ended by his
being proclaimed king ; but his coolness and
moderation intimidated his friends, and en-
couraged his enemies. His personal cou-
rage was undoubted, but he was deficient
m political courage. The parliament de-
Sberated, and though they declared the
duke's title indefeasible, yet they decided
fhat Henry should retain the crown during
life. They provided, however, that till the
king's decease the government should be
administered by the duke, as the true and
lawful heir of the monarchy ; and in this
arrangement Richard acquiesced. Mean-
whrle, queen Margaret, with her infant son,
appealed to the barons of the north against
the settlement in the south, and collected
an army with astonishing celerity. The
duke of York hastened with five thousand
troops to quell what he imagined to be the
beginning of an insurrection, and found,
near Wakefield, a force of twenty thousand
men. He threw himself into Sandal castle,
but with characteristic bravery, imagining
he should be disgraced by remaining be-
tween walls in fear of a female, he descended
into the plain of Wakefield on the 24th of
December, and gave battle to the queen,
who largely outnumbering his little army,
defeated and slew him ; and his son, the
earl of Rutland, an innocent youth of seven-
teen, having been taken prisoner, was mur-
dered in cold blood by the lord de Clifford.
Margaret caused the duke's head to be cut
>ff, and fixed on the gates of the city of
fork, with a paper crown on it in derision
of his claim. He perished in the fiftieth
year of his age, worthy of a better fate.

IV.
Edward Plantagenet, fourth duke of

York, eldest son of the last, prosecuted his
father's pretensions, and defeated the earl
of Pembroke, half brother to Henry VI.,
at Mortimer's Cross, in Herefordshire.
Shortly afterwards, queen Margaret ad-
vanced upon London, and gained a victory
over the Yorkists under the earl of War-
wick, at the second battle of St. Alban's,
and, at the same time, regained possession
of the person of her weak husband. Pressed
by the Yorkists, she retreated to the north
and the youthful duke, remarkable for
beauty of person, bravery, affability, and
every popular quality, entered the capital
amidst the acclamations of the citizens.
Elated by his success, he resolved to openly
insist on his claim, and treat his adversaries
as rebels and traitors. On the 3d of March,
1460, he caused his army to muster in St.
John's Fields, Clerkenwell ; and after an
harangue to the multitude surrounding his
soldiery, the tumultuary crowd were asked
whether they would have Henry of Lan-
caster, or Edward, eldest son of the late
duke of York, for king. Their " sweet
voices" were for the latter; and this show
of popular election was ratified by a great
number of bishops, lords, magistrates, and
other persons of distinction, assembled for
that purpose at Baynard's Castle. On the
morrow, the duke went to St. Paul's and
offered, and had Te Deum sung, and was
with great royalty conveyed to Westmin-
ster, and there in the great hall sat in the
king's seat, with St. Edward's sceptre in
his hand. On the 29th of March, 1461, ne
fought the fierce and bloody battle of Teu-
ton, wherein he issued orders to give no
quarter, and there were above thirty-six
thousand slain. This slaughter confirmed
him king of England, and he reigned up-
wards of twenty years under the title of
Edward IV., defiling his fame and power
by effeminacy and cruelty. The title of
York merged in the royal dignity.

Richard Plantagenet, of Shrewsbury,
Jj/Mdukeof York, son of Edward IV., was
murdered in the tower while young, with
his elder brother, Edward V., by order of
their uncle, the duke of Gloucester, after-
wards Richard III.

VI.

Henry Tudor, sixth duke of York, was
so created by his father Henry VII., whom
he succeeded as king, under the title of
Henry VIII., and stained onr annals "-jt>>
hoartless crimes.

J03

THE TABLE BOOK.

104

VII.

Charles Stuart, seventh duke of York,
was second son of James I., by whom he
was created to that title in 1604, and whom
he succeeded in the throne as Charles I.

VIII.

James Stuart, a younger son of Charles I.,
was the eighth duke of York. While bear-
ing this title during the reign of his brother
Charles II., he manifested great personal
courage as a naval commander, in several
actions with the Dutch. Under the title of
James II., he incompetently filled the
throne and weakly abdicated it.

IX.

Ernest Augustus Guelph, ninth duke of
York, duke of Albany, earl of Ulster, and
bishop of Osnaburgh, was brother to George
Lewis Guelph, elector of Hanover, and
king of England as George I., by letters
from whom, in 1716, he was dignified as
above, and died in 1 728, unmarried.

Edward Augustus, tenth duke of York,
duke of Albany, and earl of Ulster, was
second son of Frederick prince of Wales,
and brother to king George III., by whom
lie was created to those titles. He died at
Monaco, in Italy, September 17, 1767, un-
married.

XI.
THE LATE DUKE OF YORK.

Frederick, eleventh Duke of York, was
orother of His Majesty King George IV.,
and second son of his late Majesty King
George III , by whom he was advanced to
the dignities of Duke of the Kingdom of
Great Britain, and of Earl of the Kingdom
of Ireland, by the titles of Duke of York
and of Albany in Great Britain, and of Earl
of Ulster in Ireland, and presented to the
Bishopric of Osnaburgh. His Royal
Highness was Commander-in-Chief of all
the Land Forces of the United Kingdom,
Colonel of the First Regiment of Foot
Guards, Colonel-in-chief of the 60th Regi-
ment of Infantry, Officiating Grand Master
of the Order of the Bath, High Steward of
New Windsor, Warden and Keeper of the
New Forest Hampshire, Knight of the
Garter, Knight of the Order of the Holy
Ghost, in France, of the Black Eagle in
Russia, the Red Eagle in Prussia, of St.
Maria Theresa in Austria, of Charles III.
in Spain, Doctor of Civil Law, and Fellow
ot the Royal Society.

The late duke of York was born on the

16th of August, 1763 ; he died on the 5th
of January, 1827. A few miscellaneous
memoranda are extracted from journals of
the dates they refer to.

The duke of York was sent to Germany
to finish his education. On the 1st of
August, 1787, his royal highness, after
having been only five days on the road from
Hanover to Calais, embarked at that port,
on board a common packet-boat, for Eng-
land, and arrived at Dover the same after-
noon. He was at St. James's-palace the
following day by half-past twelve o'clock ;
and, on the arrival of the prince of Wales
at Carlton-house, he was visited by the
duke, after an absence of four years, which,
far from cooling, had increased the affection
of the royal brothers.

On the 20th of December, in the same
year, a grand masonic lodge was held at
the Star and Garter in Pall-mall. The
duke of Cumberland as grand-master, the
prince of Wales, and the duke of York, were
in the new uniform of the Britannic-lodge,
and the duke of York received another de-
gree in masonry ; he had some time before
been initiated in the first mysteries of the
brotherhood.

On the 5th of February, 1788, the duke
of York appeared in the Court of King's
Bench, and was sworn to give evidence
before the grand jury of Middlesex, on an
indictment for fraud, in sending a letter to
his royal highness, purporting to be a letter
from captain Morris, requesting the loan of
forty pounds. The grand jury found the in-
dictment, and the prisoner, whose name
does not appear, was brought into court by
the keeper of Tothill-fields Bridewell, and
pleaded not guilty, whereupon he was re-
manded, and the indictment appointed to
be tried in the sittings after the following
term ; but there is no account of the trial
having been had.

In December of the same year, the duke
ordered two hundred and sixty sacks of
coals to be distributed among the families
of the married men of his regiment, and
the same to be continued during the seve-
rity of the weather.

In 1788, pending the great question of
the regency, it was contended on that side
of the House of Commons from whence

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extension of royal prerogative was least eS-
pected,that from the moment parliament was
made acquainted with the king's incapacity,
a right attached to the prince of Wales to
exercise the regal functions, in the name of
nis father. On the 15th of December, the
duke of York rose in the House of Lords,
and a profound silence ensued. His royal
nighness said, that though perfectly unused
as he was to speak in a public assembly,
vet he could not refrain from offering his
sentiments to their lordships on a subject
in which the dearest interests of the country
were involved. He said, he entirely agreed
with the noble lords who had expressed
their wishes to avoid any question which
tended to induce a discussion on the rights
of the prince. The fact was plain, that no
such claim of right had been made on the
part of the prince; and he was confident
that his royal highness understood too well
the sacred principles which seated the house
of Brunswick on the throne of Great Bri-
tain, ever to assume or exercise any power,
be his claim ivhat it might, not derived from
the will of the people, expressed by their
representatives and their lordships in parlia-
ment assembled. On this ground his royal
highness said, that he must be permitted to
hope that the wisdom and moderation of all
considerate men, at a moment when temper
and unanimity were so peculiarly necessary,
on account of the dreadful calamity which
every description of persons must in com-
mon lament, but which he more par-
ticularly felt, would make them wish to
avoid pressing a decision, which certainly
was not necessary to the great object ex-
pected from parliament, and which must be
most painful in the discussion to a family
already sufficiently agitated and afflicted.
His royal highness concluded with saying,
that these were the sentiments of an honest
heart, equally influenced by duty and affec-
tion to his royal father, and attachment to
the constitutional rights of his subjects ;
and that he was confident, if his royal bro-
ther were to address them in his place as a
peer of the realm, that these were the senti-
ments which he would distinctly avow.

His majesty in council having declared
his consent, under the great seal, to a con-
tract of matrimony between his royal high-
ness the duke of York and her royal high-
ness the princess Frederique Charlotte
Ulrique Catherine of Prussia, eldest daugh-
ter of the king of Prussia, on the 29th of Sep-
tember, 1791, the marriage ceremony was
performed at Berlin. About six o'clock
in the afternoon, all the persons of the blood

royal assembled in gala, in the apartments
of the dowager queen, where the diamond
crown was put on the head of princess
Frederica. The generals, ministers, ambas-
sadors, and the high nobility, assembled in
the white hall. At seven o'clock, the duke of
York, preceded by the gentlemen of the
chamber, and the court officers of state, led
the princess his spouse, whose train was
carried by four ladies of the court, through
all the paiade apartments; after them went
the king, with the queen dowager, prince
Lewis of Prussia, with the reigning queen,
and others of the royal family to the white
hall, where a canopy was erected of crimson
velvet, and also a crimson velvet sofa for
the marriage ceremony. The royal couple
placed themselves under the canopy, before
the sofa, the royal family stood round
them, and the upper counsellor of the con-
sistory, Mr. Sack, made a speech in German.
This being over, rings were exchanged ; and
the illustrious couple, kneeling on the
sofa, were married according to the rites
of the reformed church. The whole ended
with a prayer. Twelve guns, placed in the
garden, fired three rounds, and the bene-
diction was given. The new-married couple
then received the congratulations of the
royal family, and returned in the same
manner to the apartments, where the royal
family, and all persons present, sat down
to card-tables ; after which, the whob
court, the high nobility, and the ambassa-
dors, sat down to supper, at six tables.
The first was placed under a canopy of
crimson velvet, and the victuals served in
gold dishes and plates. The other five
tables, at which sat the generals, ministers,
ambassadors, all the officers of the court,
and the high nobility, were served in other
apartments.

During supper, music continued playing
in the galleries of the first hall, which im-
mediately began when the company entered
the hall. At the dessert, the royal table
was served with a beautiful set of china,
made in the Berlin manufactory. Supper
being over, the whole assembly repaired to
the white hall, where the trumpet, timbrel,
and other music were playing ; and the flam-
beau dance was begun, at which the minis-
ters of state carried the torches. With this
ended the festivity. The ceremony of the
re-marriage of the duke and duchess of
York took place at the Queen's Palace,
London, on the 23d of November.

The duchess of York died on the 6th of
August, 1820.

107

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108

THE DAKCE OF TORCHES.

As a note of illustration on this dance at
the Prussian nuptials of the duke and
duchess of York, reference may be had to
a slight mention of the same observance on
the marriage of the prince royal of Prussia
with the princess of Bavaria, in the Evert/-
Day Book, vol. i. p. 1551. Since that
article, I find more descriptive particulars
of it in a letter from baron Bielfeld,
giving an account of the marriage of the
prince of Prussia with the princess of
Brunswick Wolfenbuttle, at Berlin, in 1742.
The baron was present at the ceremonial.

" As soon as their majesties rose from
table, the whole company returned into the
white hall ; from whence the altar was re-
moved, and the room was illuminated with
fresh wax lights. The musicians were
placed on a stage of solid silver. Six lieu-
tenant generals, and six ministers of state,
stood, each with a white wax torch in his
hand, ready to be lighted, in conformity to
a ceremony used in the German courts
on these occasions, which is called ' the
dance of torches,' in allusion to the torch
of Hymen. This dance was opened by the
new married prince and princess, who made
the tour cf the hall, saluting the king and
the company. Before them went the minis-
ters and the generals, two and two, with
their lighted torches. The princess then
gave her hand to the king, and the prince
to the queen ; the king gave his hand to
the queen mother, and the reigning queen
to prince Henry ; and in this manner all
the princes and princesses that were pre-
sent, one after the other, and according to
their rank, led up the dance, making the
tour of the hall, almost in the step of the
Polognese. The novelty of this perform-
ance, and the sublime quality of the per-
formers, made it in some degree agreeable.
Otherwise the extreme gravity of the dance
itself, with the continual round and formal
pace of the dancers, the frequent going out
of the torches, and the clangour of the
rumpets that rent the ear, all these I say
made it too much resemble the dance of
the Sarmates, those ancient inhabitants of
the prodigious woods of this country."

On the 7th of June, 1794, about four
o'clock in the morning, a fire broke out at
the duke of York's palace at Oatlands. It
began in the kitchen, and was occasioned
oy a beam which projected into the chim-
jtey, and communicated to the roof. His
royal highness's armoury was in that wing
of the building where the fire commenced,

in which forty pounds of gunpowder being
deposited, a number of most curious war-
like instruments, which his royal highness
had collected on the continent, were de-
stroyed. Many of the guns and other
weapons were presented from the king
of Prussia, and German officers of dis-
tinction, and to each piece was attached its
history. By the seasonable exertions of the
neighbourhood, the flames were prevented
from spreading to the main part of the
building. The duchess was at Oatlands at
the time, and beheld the conflagration from
her sleeping apartment, in the centre of the
mansion, from which the flames were pre-
vented communicating by destroying a gate-
way, over the wing that adjoined to the
house. Her royal highness gave her orders
with perfect composure, directed abundant
refreshment to the people who were extin-
guishing the flames, and then retired to the
rooms of the servants at the stables, which
are considerably detached from the palace.
His majesty rode over from ^Vindsor-castle
to visit her royal highness, and staid with
her a considerable time.

On the 8th of April, 1808, whilst the
duke of York was riding for an airing along
the King's-road towards Fulham, a drover's
dog crossed, and barked in front of the
horse. The animal, suddenly rearing, fell
backwards, with the duke under him ; and
the horse rising, with the duke's foot in the
stirrup, dragged him along, and did him
further injury. When extricated, the duke,
with great cheerfulness, denied he was
much hurt, yet two of his ribs were broken,
the back of his head and face contused, and
one of his legs and arms much bruised. A
gentleman in a hack chaise immediately
alighted, and the duke was conveyed in it
to York-house, Piccadilly, where his royal
highness was put to bed, and in due time
recovered to the performance of his active
duties.

On the 6th of August, 1815, the duke of
York, on coming out of a shower-bath, at
Oatlands, fell, from the slippery state of the
oilcloth, and broke the large bone of his
left arm, half way between the shoulder
and the elbow-joint. His royal highness's
excellent constitution at that time assisted
the surgeons, and in a fortnight he age in
attended to business.

On the llth of October, in the same
year, his royal highness's library, at his

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110

office in the Horse-guards consisting of the
best military authors, and a very extensive
collection of maps, were removed to his
new library (late her majesty's) in the
Green-park. The assemblage is the most
perfect collection of works on military
aflairs in the kingdom.

It appears, from the report of the com-
missioners of woods, ^forests, and land
revenues, in 1816, that the duke of York
purchased of the commissioners the follow-
ing estates : 1. The manor of Byfleet and
Wey bridge, with Byfleet or Weybridge-
park, and a capital rr-essuage and offices,
and other messuages and buildings there.
2. The manor of Walton Leigh, and divers
messuages and lands therein. 3. A capital
messuage called Brooklands, with offices,
gardens, and several parcels of land, situat-
ed at Weybridge. 4. A farm-house, and
divers lands, called Brooklands-farm, at
Weybridge. 5. A messuage and lands,
called Childs, near Weybridge. 6. Two
rabbit-warrens within the manor of Byfleet
and Weybridge. To this property was to
be added all lands and premises allotted to
the preceding by virtue of any act of enclo-
sure. The sale was made to his royal
highness in May, 1809, at the price of
74,459. 3. ; but the money was permitted
to remain at the interest of 3J per cent, till
the 10th of June. 1815, when the principal
and interest (amounting, after the deduc-
tion of property-tax, and of the rents, which,
during the interval, had been paid to the
crown, to 85, 135. 5s. 9rf.) were paid into
the Bank of England, to the account of the
commissioners for the new street. His
royal highness also purchased about twenty
acres of land in Walton, at the price of
1294. 2*. 3rf.

While the duke was in his last illness,
members on both sides of the House of
Commons bore spontaneous testimony to
liis royal highness's impartial administration
of his high office as commander-in-chief;
<and united in one general expression, that
no political distinction ever interfered to
prevent the promotion of a deserving officer.

A statement in bishop Watson's Me-
moirs, is a tribute to his royal highness's
reputation.

" On the marriage of my son in August,
1805, I wrote," says the bishop, " to the
duke of York, requesting his royal high-
ness to give him his protection. I felt a
consciousness of having, through life, che-
rished a warm attachment to the house of

Brunswick, and to those principles which
had placed it on the throne, and of having
on all occasions acted an independent and
honourable part towards the government of
the country, and I therefore thought myself
justified in concluding my letter in the fol-
lowing terms : ' I know not in what esti-
mation your royal highness may hold my
repeated endeavours, in moments of dan-
ger, to support the religion and the consti-
tution of the country; but if I am fortunate
enough to have any merit with you on that
score, I earnestly request your protection
for my son. I am a bad courtier, and know
little of the manner of soliciting favours
through the intervention of others, but I
feel that I shall never know how to forget
them, when done to myself; and, under
that consciousness, I beg leave to submit
myself

' Your Royal Highness's

' Most grateful servant,

' R. LANDAFF.*

" I received a very obliging answer by the
return of the post, and in about two months
my son was promoted, without purchase,
from a majority to a lieutenant-colonelcy
in the Third Dragoon Guards. After hav-
ing experienced, for above twenty-four
years, the neglect of his majesty's ministers,
I received great satisfaction from this at-
tention of his son, and shall carry with me
to my grave a most grateful memory of his
goodness. I could not at the time forbear
expressing my acknowledgment in the
following letter, nor can I now forbear in-
serting it in these anecdotes. The whole
transaction will do his royal highness no
discredit with posterity, and I shall ever
consider it as an honourable testimony of
his approbation of my public conduct.

' Calgarth Park, Nov. 9, 1805.'

' Do, my lord of Canterbury,

But one good turn, and he's your friend for ever.'

' Thus Shakspeare makes Henry VIII.
speak of Cranmer ; and from the bottom of
my heart, I humbly entreat your royal
highness to believe, that the sentiment is
as applicable to the bishop of Landaff as it
was to Cranmer.

' The bis dot qui cito dat has been most
kindly thought of in this promotion of my
son ; and I know not which is most dear
to my feelings, the matter of the obligation,
or the noble manner of its being conferred.
I sincerely hope your royal highness will
pardon this my intrusion, in thus expressing
my most grateful acknowledgments for
them both

' R. LANDAFF.' "

ill

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112

* Cfcarlesf

To the Editor.

DEAR SIR,

It is not unknown to you, that about
sixteen years since I published " Speci-
mens of English Dramatic Poets, who
lived about the Time of Shakspeare." For
the scarcer Plays I had recourse to the
Collection bequeathed to the British Mu-
seum by Mr. Garrick. But my time was
out short, and my subsequent leisure has
discovered in it a treasure rich and ex-
haustless beyond what I then imagined.
In it is to be found almost every production
in the shape of a Play that has appeared in
print, from the time of the old Mysteries
and Moralities to the days of Crown and
D'Urfey. Imagine the luxury to one like
me, who, above every other form of Poetry,
have ever preferred the Dramatic, of sitting
in the princely apartments, for such they
are, of poor condemned Montagu House,
which I predict will not speedily be fol-
lowed by a handsomer, and culling at will
the flower of some thousand Dramas. It is
like having the range of a Nobleman's Li-
brary, with the Librarian to your friend.
Nothing-can exceed the courteousness and
attentions of the Gentleman who has the
chief direction of the Reading Rooms here;
and you have scarce to ask for a volume,
before it is laid before you. If the occa-
sional Extracts, which I have been tempted
to bring away, may find an appropriate
place in your Table Book, some of them
are weekly at your service. By those who
remember the " Specimens," these must be
considered as mere after-gleanings, supple-
jnentary to that work, only comprising a
longer period. You must be content with
sometimes a scene, sometimes a song; a
speech, or passage, or a poetical image, as
they happen to strike me. I read without
order of time ; I am a poor hand at dates ;
and for any biography of the Dramatists,
I must refer to writers who are more skil-
ful in such matters. My business is with
their poetry only.

Your well-wisher,

. C. LAMB.
January, 27, 1827.

<arnck paps.

No. I.

[From " King John and Matilda," a Tra-
gedy by Robert Davenport, acted in
1651.]

John, not being able to bring Matilda,
the chaste daughter of the old Baron Fitz-
water, to compliance with his wishes,
causes her to be poisoned in a nuanery.

SCENE. John. The Barons : they being
as yet ignorant of the murder, and
having just come to composition with
the King after tedious wars. Matilda'
hearse is brought in by Hubert.

John. Hubert, interpret this apparition.

Hubert. Behold, sir,
A sad-writ Tragedy, so feelingly
Languaged, and cast ; with such a crafty cruelty
Contrived, and acted ; that wild savages
Would weep to lay their ears to, and (admiring
To see themselves outdone) they would conceive
Their wildness mildness to this deed, and call
Men more than savage, themselves rational.
And thou, Fitzwater, reflect upon thy name, 9
And turn the Son of Tears. Oh, forget
That Cupid ever spent a dart upon thee ;
That Hymen ever coupled thee; or that ever
The hasty, happy, willing messenger
Told thee thou had'st a daughter. Oh look here!
Look here, King John, and with a trembling eye
Read your sad act, Matilda's tragedy.

Barons. Matilda !

Fitzwater. By the lab' ring soul of a much-injured

man,
It is my child Matilda!

Bruce. Sweet niece I

Leicester. Chaste soul 1

John. Do I stir, Chester ?
Good Oxford, do I move ? stand I not still
To watch when the griev'd friends of wrong'd Matilda
Will with a thousand stabs turn me to dust.
That in a thousand prayers they might be happy ?
Will no one do it? then give a mourner room,
A man of tears. Oh immaculate Matilda,
These shed but sailing heat-drops, misling showers
The faint dews of a doubtful April morning ;
But from mine eyes ship-sinking cataracts,
Whole clouds of waters, wealthy exhalations,
Shall fall into the sea of my affliction,
Till it amaze the mourners.

Hubert . Unmatch'd Matilda ;
Celestial soldier, that kept a fort of chastity
'Gainst all temptations.

Fitzwater. Not to be a Queen,
Would she break her chaste vow. Truth crowns your

reed ;
Uumatch'd Matilda was her name indeed.

* Fitzwater : son of water. A striking instance, of
the compatibility of the serious pun with the expression

gaunt indeed;" to a long string of conceits, which no
one has ever yet felt as ridiculous. The poet Wither
thus, in a mournful review of the declining estate of
his family, says with deepest nature :

The rery name of Wither shows decay.

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John. O take into yout spirit-piercing praise
My scene of sorrow. I have well-clad woes,
Pathetic epithets to illustrate passion.
And steal true tears so sweetly from all these,
Shall touch the soul, and at once pierce and please.

[Peruses the Motto and Emblems on the hearse. \
" To Piety and Puritv" and " Lillies mix'd with

Roses"

How well you have apparell'd woe I this Pendant,
To Piety and Purity directed,
Insinuates a chaste soul in a clean body,
Virtue's white Virgin, Chastity's red Martyr!
Suffer me then with this well-suited wreath
To make our griefs ingenious. Let all be dumb,
Whilst the king speaks her Epicedium.

Chester. His very soul speaks sorrow.

Oxford. And it becomes him sweetly.

John. Hail Maid and Martyr ! lo on thy breast,
Devotion's altar, chaste Truth's nest,
I offer (as my guilt imposes)
Thy merit's laurel, Lillies and Roses ;
Lillies, intimating plain
Thy immaculate life, stuck with no stain ;
Roses red and sweet, to tell
How sweet red sacrifices smell.
Hang round then, as you walk about this hearse,
The songs of holy hearts, sweet virtuous verse.

Fitzwater. Bring Persian silks, to deck her monu-
ment ;

John. Arabian spices, quick'ning by their scent;

Fitzviater. Numidian marble, to preserve her praise,

John. Corinthian ivory, her shape to praise :

Fitzwater. And write in gold upon it, In this brast
Virtue sate mistress, Passion but a guest.

John. Virtue is sweet ; and, since griefs bitter be,
Strew her with roses, and give rue to me.

Bruce. My noble brother, I've lost a wife and son ;*
You a sweet daughter. Look on the king's penitenc- ;
His promise for the public peace. Prefer
A public benefit.f When it shall please,
Let Heaven question him. Let us secure
And quit the land of Lewis.J

Fitzwater. Do any thing ;

Do all things that are honorable ; and the Great King
Make you a good king, sir ! and when your soul
Shall at any time reflect upon your follies,
Good King John, weep, weep very heartily ;
It will become you sweetly. It your eyes
Your sin stole in ; there pay your sacrifice.

John. Back unto Dunmow Abbey. There we'll pa>
To sweet Matilda's memory, and her sufferings,
A monthly obsequy, which (sweet'ned by
The wealthy woes of a tear-troubled eye)
Shall by those sharp afflictions of my face
Court mercy, and make grief arrive at grace.

Also cruelly slain by the poisoning John.

t i. e. of peace; which this monstrous act of John's
in this play comes to counteract, in the same way as
the discovered Death of Prince Arthur is like to break
the composition of the King with his Barons in Shak-
upeare's Play.

t The Dauphin of France, whom they had called in,
as in Shakspeare's Play.

Hong.

Matilda, now go tane thy bed

In the dark dwellings of the dead ;

And rise in the great waking day

Sweet as incence, fresh as May.
Rest there, chaste soul, fix'd in thy proper sphere,
Amongst Heaven's fair ones ; all are fair ones there.
Rest there, chaste soul, whilst we here troubled say :
Time gives us griefs, Death takes our joys away.

This scene has much passion and poetry
in it, if I mistake not. The last words of
Fitzwater are an instance of noble tempe-
rament ; but to understand him, the cha-
racter throughout of this mad, merry, feel-
ing, insensible-seeming lord, should be
read. That the venomous John could have
even counterfeited repentance so well, is
out of nature; but supposing the possi-
bility, nothing is truer than the way in
which it is managed. These old play-
wrights invested their bad characters with
notions of good, which could by no pos
sibility have coexisted with their actions
Without a soul of goodness in himself, how
could Shakspeare's Richard the Third havo
lit upon those sweet phrases and induce-
ments by which he attempts to win over
the dowager queen to let him wed her
daughter. It is not Nature's nature, but
Imagination's substituted nature, which
does almost as well in a fiction.
(To be continued.}

literature.

GLANCES AT NEW BOOKS ON MY TABLE.

" CONSTABLE'S MISCELLANY of original
and selected Publications' is proposed to
consist of various works on important and
popular subjects, with the view of supply-
ing certain chasms in the existing stock of
useful knowledge ; and each author or sub-
ject is to be kept separate, so as to enable
purchasers to acquire all the numbers, or
volumes, of each book, distinct from the
others. The undertaking commenced in
the first week of the new year, 1 827, with the
first number of Captain Basil Hall's voyage
to Loo-Choo, and the complete volume o
that work was published at the same time.

" EARLY METRICAL TALKS, including the
History of Sir Egeir, Sir Gryme, and Sir
Gray-Steill." Edinb. 1826. sm. 8vo. 9.
(175 copies printed.) The most remarkable
poem in this elegant volume is the rare
Scottish romance, named in the title-page,
which, according to its present editor,
" would seem, along with the poems of sir

115

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116

David Lindsay, and the histories of Robert
the Bruce, and of sir William Wallace, to
have formed the standard productions of
the vernacular literature of the country."
In proof of this he adduces several au-
thorities ; " and yet it is remarkable enough,
that every ancient copy should have hitherto
eluded the most active and unremitting
research." The earliest printed edition is
presumed to have issued fiom the press of
Thomas Bassandyne, " the first printer of
the sacred Scriptures in Scotland." An
inventory of his goods, dated 1 8th October,
1577, contains an item of three hundred
" Gray Steillis/' valued at the " pece virf.
summa vn. x. o." Its editor would
willingly give the sum-total of these three
hundred copies for " one of the said Gray-
Steillis, were he so fortunate as to meet
with it." He instances subsequent editions,
but the only copy he could discover was
printed at Aberdeen in 1711, by James
Nicol, printer to the town and university ;
and respecting this, which, though of so
recent date, is at present unique, " the
editor's best acknowledgments are due to
his friend, Mr. Douce, for the kind manner
in which he favoured him with the loan of
the volume, for the purpose of repub-
lication." On the 17th of April, 1497, when
James IV. was at Stirling : there is an entry
in the treasurer's accounts, " Item, that
samyn day to twa Sachelaris that sang Gray
Steil to the King, ix." In MS. collec-
tions made at Aberdeen in 1627, called a
" Booke for the Lute," by Robert Gordon,
is the air of " Gray-Steel ;" and a satirical
poem in Scottish rhyme on the marquis of
Argyle, printed in 1686, is "appointed to
be sung according to the tune of old Gray
Steel.'' These evidences that the poem
was sung, manifest its popularity. There
are conjectures as to who the person de-
nominated Sir Gray Steel really was, but
the point is undetermined.

In this volume there are thirteen poems.
1. Sir Gray-Steill above spoken of. 2.
The Tales of the Priests of Peblis, wherein
the three priests of Peebles, having met to
regale on St. Bride's day, agree, each in
turn, to relate a story. 3. Ane Godlie
Dreame, by lady Culross. 4. History of
a Lord and his three Sons, much resembling
the story of Fortunatus. 5. The Ring of
the Roy Robert, the printed copies of
which have been modernized and cor-
rupted. 6. King Estmere, an old romantic
tale. 7. The Battle of Harlaic, considered
by its present editor " as the original of
rather a numerous class of Scotish histo-
rical ballads." 8. Lichtouns Dreme,

printed for the first time from the Ban-
natyne MS. 1568. 9. The Murning
Maiden, a poem " written in the Augustan
age of Scotish poetry/' 10. The Epistill
of the Hermeit of Alareit, a satire on the
Grey Friers, by Alexander earl of Glencairn.
11. Roswall and Lillian, a " pleasant his-
tory," (chanted even of late in Edinburgh,)
from the earliest edition discovered, printed
in 1663, of which the only copy known is
in the Advocates' Library, from the Rox-
burghe sale. 12. Poem by Glassinberry,
a name for the first time introduced into
the list of early Scotish poets, and the
poem itself printed from " Gray's MS."
13. Sir John Barleycorn, from a stall-copy
printed in 1781, with a few corrections,
concerning which piece it is remarked, that
Burns's version " cannot be said to have
greatly improved it." There is a vignette
to this ballad, " designed and etched by
the ingenious young artist, W. Geikie," of
Edinburgh, from whence I take the liberty
to cut a figure, not for the purpose of convey-
ing an idea of this " Allan-a-Maut,' 1 who
is surrounded with like " good" company
by Mr. Geikie's meritorious pencil, but to
extend the knowledge of Mr. Geikie's name,
who is perfectly unknown to me, except
through the single print 1 refer to, which
compels me to express warm admiration of
his correct feeling, and assured talent.

Besides Mr. Geikie's beautiful etching,
there is a frontispiece by W. H. Liiars
from a design by Mr. C. Kirkpatrick
Sharpe, and a portrait of Alexander earl oi
Eglintoune 1670, also by Mr. Lizars, from
a curiously illuminated parchment in tne
possession of the present earl.

117

THE TABLE BOOK.

113

SAYING NOT MEANING.

BY WILLIAM BASIL WAKE.

For the Table Book.

Two gentlemen their appetite had fed,

When, opening his toothpick-case, one said,

"It was not until lately that I knew

That anchovies on terrS firma grew."

" Grew I" cried the other, " yes, they grow, indeed.

Like other fish, but not upon the land;
You might as well say grapes grow on a reed.
Or in the Strand 1"

" Why, sir," retura'd the irritated other,

" My brother,
When at Calcutta,
Beheld them bonsl fide growing ;

He wouldn't utter
A lie for love or money, sir ; so in
This matter you are thoroughly mistaken."
" Nonsense, sir 1 nonsense 1 I can give no credit
To the assertion none e'er saw or road it ;

Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken."

" Be shaken, sir ! let me observe, yon are

Perverse in short "
" Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar,

And then his port
" If you will say impossibles are true,

Yon may affirm just any thing you please
That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue,

And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese I
Only you must not force me to believe
What's propagated merely to deceive."

" Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool,"

Return'd the bragger.
Language like this no man can suffer cool ;

It made the listener stagger ;
So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,

" The traveller lied
Who had the impudence to tell it you."
" Zounds 1 then d'ye mean to swear before my face
That anchovies don't grow like cloves and mace ?"

" I do !"

Disputants often after hot debates
Leave the contention as they found it bone,

And take to duelling, or thumping tttet ;
Thinking, by strength of artery, to atone

For strength of argument ; and he who winces

From force of words, with force of arms convinces !

With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
Our friends advanced ; and now portentous loading

(Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show

It might be better they shook hands but no ;

When each opines himself, though frighten'd, right,
Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to fight !

And they did fight : from six full measured paces
The unbeliever pull'd his trigger first;

And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces.
The whizzing lead had whizz'd its very worst.

Ran np, and with a duelistic tear,

(His ire evanishing like morning vaponra,.)
v ound him possess'd of one remaining ear,
Who, in a manner sudden and uncouth,
Had given, not lent, the- other ear to truth :
For, while the surgeon was applying lint,
He, wriggling, cried " The deuce is in't
Sir 1 I meant capert 1"

Cfjararttrsf.

THE OLD GENTLEMAN.

Our old gentleman, in order to be ex-
clusively himself, must be either a widower
or a bachelor. Suppose the former. We
do not mention his precise age, which would
be invidious; nor whether he wears his
own hair or a wig ; which would be want-
ing in universality. If a wig, it is a com-
promise between the more modern scratch
and the departed glory of the toupee. If
his own hair, it is white, in spite of his
favourite grandson, who used to get on the
chair behind him, and pull the silver hairs
out, ten years ago. If he is bald at top,
the hair-dresser, hovering and breathing
about him like a second youth, takes care
to give the bald place as much powder as
the covered ; in order that he may convey,
to the sensorium within, a pleasing indis-
tinctness of idea respecting the exact limits
of skin and hair. He is very clean and
neat ; and in warm weather is proud of
opening his waistcoat half way down, and
letting so much of his frill be seen ; in.
order to show his hardiness as well as taste.
His watch and shirt-buttons are of the
best ; and he does not care if he has two
rings on a finger. If his watch ever failed
him at the club or coffee-house, he would
take a walk every day to the nearest clock
of good character, purely to keep it right.
He has a cane at home, but seldom uses it,
on finding it out of fashion with his elderly
juniors. He has a small cocked hat for
gala days, which he lifts higher from his
head than the round one, when made a bow
to. In his pockets are two handkerchiefs,
(one for the neck at night-time,) his spec-
tacles, and his pocket-book. The pocket-
book, among other things, contains a re-
ceipt for a cough, and some verses cut out
of an odd sheet of an old magazine, on the
lovely duchess of A., beginning

When beauteous Mira walks the plain.

He intends this for a common-place book
which he keeps, consisting of passages in
verse and prose cut out of newspapers and
magazines, and pasted in columns ; some

THE TABLE BOOK.

120

of thetn rather gay. His principal other
books are Shakspeare's Plays and Milton's
Paradise Lost ; the Spectator, the History
of England ; the works of Lady M. W.
Montague, Pope, and Churchill ; Middle-
ton's Geogiaphy, the Gentleman's Maga-
zine ; Sir John Sinclair on Longevity ;
several plays with portraits in character;
Account of Elizabeth Canning, Memoirs
of George Ann Bellamy, Poetical Amuse-
ments at Bath-Easton, Blair's Works, Ele-
gant Extracts; Junius as originally pub-
lished ; a few pamphlets on the American
War and Lord George Gordon, &c. and
one on the French Revolution. In his
sitting rooms are some engravings from
Hogarth and Sir Joshua; an engraved por-
trait of the Marquis of Granby ; ditto of
M. le Comte de Grasse surrendering to
Admiral Rodney ; a humorous piece after
Penny ; and a portrait of himself, painted
by Sir Joshua. His wife's portrait is in his
chamber, looking upon his bed. She is a
little girl, stepping forward with a smile
and a pointed toe, as if going to dance.
He lost her when she was sixty.

The Old Gentleman is an early riser,
because he intends to live at least twenty
years longer. He continues to take tea for
breakfast, in spite of what is said against
its nervous effects ; having been satisfied
on that point some years ago by Dr. John-
son's criticism on Hanway, and a great
liking for tea previously. His china cups
and saucers have been broken since his
wife's death, all but one, which is religi-
ously kept for his use. He passes liis
mort ing in walking or riding, looking in at
auctions, looking after his India bonds or
some such money securities, furthering
some subscription set on foot by his excel-
lent friend sir John, or cheapening a new
old print for his portfolio. He also hears
of the newspapers ; not eating to see them
till after dinner at the coffee-house. He
may also cheapen a fish or so ; the fish-
monger soliciting his doubting eye as he
passes, with a profound bow of recognition.
He eats a pear before dinner.

His dinner at the coffee-house is served
up to him at the accustomed hour, in the
old accustomed way, and by the accustomed
waiter. If William did not bring it, the
fish would be sure to be stale, and the flesh
new. He eats no tart; or if he ventures
on a little, takes cheese with it. You might
as soon attempt to persuade him out of his
senses, as that cheese is not good for diges-
tion. He takes port ; and if he has drank
mote than usual, and in a more private
place, may be induced by some respectful

inquiries respecting the old style of music,
to sing a song composed by Mr. Oswald or
Mr. Lampe, such as

Chloe, by that borrowed kiss,
or

Come, gentle god of soft repose ;

or his wife's favourite ballad, beginning

At Upton on the Hill
There lived a happy pair.

Of course, no such exploit can take place
in the coffee-room ; but he will canvass the
theory of that matter there with you, or
discuss the weather, or the markets, or the
theatres, or the merits of " my lord North"
or " my lord Rockingham ;'' for he rarely
says simply, lord ; it is generally " my
lord," trippingly and genteelly off the
tongue. If alone after dinner, his great
delight is the newspaper; which he pre-
pares to read by wiping his spectacles,
carefully adjusting them on his eyes, and
drawing the candle close to him, so as to
stand sideways betwixt his ocular aim and
the small type. He then holds the paper at
arm's length, and dropping his eyelids half
down and his mouth half open, takes cog-
nizance of the day's information. If he
leaves off, it is only when the door is open-
ed by a new comer, or when he suspects
somebody is over-anxious to get the paper
out of his hand. On these occasions, he
gives an important hem ! or so ; and re-
sumes.

In the evening, our Old Gentleman is
fond of going to the theatre, or of having a
game of cards. If he enjoy the latter at
his own house or lodgings, he likes to play
with some friends whom he has known for
many years ; but an elderly stranger may
be introduced, if quiet and scientific; and
the privilege is extended to younger men
of letters ; who, if ill players, are good
losers. Not that he is a miser ; but to win
money at cards is like proving his victory
by getting the baggage ; and to win of a
younger man is a substitute for his not
being able to beat him at rackets. He
breaks up early, whether at home or
abroad.

At the theatre, he Jikes a front row in the
pit. He comes early, if he can do so with-
out getting into a squeeze, and sits patiently
waiting for the drawing up of the curtain,
with his hands placidly lying one over the
other on the top of his stick. He gene-
rously admires some of the best performers,
but thinks them far inferior to Garrick,
Woodward, and Clive. During splendid
scenes, he is anxious that the little bov
should see.

121

T11E TABLE BOOK.

He has been induced to look in atVaux-
hall again, but likes it still less than he did
years back, and cannot bear it in comparison
with Ranelagh. He thinks every thing
looks poor, flaring, and jaded. " Ah !"
says he, with a sort of triumphant sigh,
" Ilanelagh was a noble place ! Such taste,
such elegance, such beauty ! There was the
duchess of A. the finest woman in England,
sir; and Mrs. L., a mighty fine creature;
and lady Susan what's her name, that had
that unfortunate affair with sir Charles.
Sir, they came swimming by you like the
swans."

The Old Gentleman is very particular in
having his slippers ready for him at the fire,
when he comes home. He is also extremely
choice in his snuff, and delights to get a
fresh box-full at Gliddon's, in King-street, in
his way to the theatre. His box is a curiosity
from India. He calls favourite young ladies
by their Christian names, however slightly
acquainted with them ; and has a privilege
also of saluting all brides, mothers, and
indeed every species of lady on the least
holiday occasion. If the husband for in-
stance has met with a piece of luck, he
instantly moves forward, and gravely kisses
the wife on the cheek. The wife then says,
" My niece, sir, from the country ;" and he
kisses the niece. The niece, seeing her
cousin biting her lips at the joke, says,
" My cousin Harriet, sir;" and he kisses
the cousin. He never recollects such wea-
ther, except during the great frost, or when
he rode down with Jack Skrimshire to New-
market. He grows young again in his little
grand-children, especially the one which lie
thinks most like himself; which is the
handsomest. Yet he likes best perhaps the
one most resembling his wife; and will sit
with him on his lap, holding his hand in
silence, for a quarter of an hour together.
He plays most tricks with the former, and
makes him sneeze. He asks little boys in
general who was the father of Zebedee's
children. If his grandsons are at scho 1,
he often goes to see them ; and makes them
blush by telling the master or the upper-
scholars, that they are fine boys, and of a
precocious genius. He is much struck
when an old acquaintance dies, but adds
that he lived too fast; and thst poor Bob
was a sad dog in his youth; " a very sad
dog, sir, mightily set upon a short life and
a merry one.''

When he gets very old indeed, he will
sit for whole evenings, and say little or
nothing ; but informs you, that there is
Mrs. Jones (the housekeeper), " She'll
alk." Indicator.

A HAPPY MEETING.

And doth not a meeting like this make amends

For all the long years I've been wand'ring away.
To see thus around me my youth's early friends,

As smiling and kind as in that happy day !
Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine.

The snow-fall of time may be stealing what then
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine,

We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again.

What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart,

In gazing on those we've been lost to so long !
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part

Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced,

When held to the flame will steal out on the sight,
So many a feeling, that long seein'd effaced,

The warmtli of a meeting like this brings to light.

And thus, as in memory's bark, we shall glide

To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew,
Tho" oft we may see, looking down on the tide,

The wreck of full many a hope shining through-
Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers

That once made a garden of all the g^y shore,
Deceiv'd for a moment, we'll think them still ours,

And breath the fresh air of life's morning once more

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most,

Is all we can have of the few we hold dear ;
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost,

For want of some heart that could echo it near.
Ah I well may we hope, when this short life is gone,

To meet in some world of more permanent bliss,'
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on,

Is all we enjoy of each other in this.

But come the more rare such delights to the heart,

The more we should welcome, aud bless them (he

more
They're ours when we maet they're lost when we part.

Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis o'er,
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink.

Let Sympathy pledge us, thro* pleasure thro' pain.
That fast as a feeling but touches one link,

Her magic shall send it direct through the chain.

LINES TO HIS COUSIN

ON THE NEW YEAR,

BY A WESTMINSTER BOY.

Time rolls away ! another year

Has rolled off with him ; hence 'tis clear

His lordship keeps his carriage
A single man, no doubt ; and thus
Enjoys himself without the fuss

And great expense of marriage.

Hh whsd still rolls (and like the met
Which Horace mentions) still for ever
folvitur tt volrctur.

123

THE TABLE BOOK.

124

In rain you run against himf place
iomr fleetest filly in the race,
Here'i ten to one he'll beat her.

Of all he sees, he takes a tithe.

With that tremendous sweeping scy.he,

Which he keeps always going ;
While every step he takes, alas 1
Too plainly proves tii&tfiesh is grass,

When he sets out a mowing.

And though his hungry ravenous maw

Is crammed with food, both dress'd and raw.

Pll wager any betting,
His appetite has ever been
Just 'ike his scythe, sharp-set and keen,

Which never wanted whetting.

Could you but see the mighty treat
Prepared, when he sits down to eat

His breakfast or his dinner, ah,
Not vegetable flesh, alone,
But timber, houses, iron, stone,

He eats the very china.

When maidens pray that he will spare
Their teeth, complexion, or their hair,

Alas I he'll never hear 'era ;
Grey locks and wrinkles hourly show.
What Ovid told us years ago,

Ut Temptu edax rervm /

In vain, my dearest girl, you choose
(Your face to wash) Olympic dews ;

In vain you paint or rouge it ;
Hrfll play such havoc with your you'h,
That ten years hence you'll say wilh truth

Ah Edward \-Tempiafugit I

The glass he carries in his hand
Has ruin in each grain of sand ;

But what I most deplore is,
He breaks the links of friendship's chain,
And barters youthful love for gain :

OA, Tempora I oh. Mores I

One sole exception you shall find,
( Unius generis of its kind,)

Wherever fate may steer us ;
Tho' wide his universal range,
Time has no power the heart to change

Of your AMICUS VIRUS.

Bath Herald.

GERMAN UNIVERSITIES.

Germany, which embraces a population
of thirty-six millions of people, has twenty-
two universities. The following table con-
tains their names according to the order of
their foundation, and the number of pro-
fessors and students :

Universities.

When
banded.

lumber of
'rofessors.

Number
of

tudents.

Prague
Vienna

1348
1365

1449
lb'88

Heidelberg . .
Warsbourg. . .
Leipsig ....
Rostock ....
Fribourg. . . .
Griefswald. . .
Bale

i368
1403
1409
1419
1450
1456
1460

55
31
81
34
35
30
24

626
660
1384
201
556
227
214

Tubingen . . .
Marbourg . . .
Kosnisberg. . .
Jena ...

1477
1527
1544
1558

44
38
23
51

827
304
303
432

Giessen . . . .
Kiel

1607
1665

371
238

Halle

1694

1119

Breslau . . .
Goettengen. .
Erlangen. . .
Landshut . .
Berlin ....
Bonn. .

1702
1734
1743
1803
1810
1818

49
89

34
48
86
42

710
1545
498
623
1245
526

Of this number six belong to Prussia, three
to Bavaria, two to the Austrian States, two
to the Grand Duchy of Baden, two to the
Electorate of Hesse-Cassel, and one to each
of the following states Saxony, Wurtem-
berg, Denmark, Hanover, the Grand
Duchies of Mecklenbergh-Schweren and of
Saxe- Weimar, and Switzerland. The total
number of professors is 1055, embracing
not only the ordinary and extraordinary pro-
fessors, but also the private lecturers, whose
courses of reading are announced in the
half-yearly programmes. Catholic Ger-
many, which reckons nineteen millions of
inhabitants, has only six universities; while
Protestant Germany, for seventeen millions
of inhabitants, has seventeen. Of the stu-
dpnts there are 149 for every 250,000 in
the Protestant states, while there are only
68 for the same number in the Catholic
states. It must, however, be mentioned,
that this estimate does not take in those
Catholic ecclesiastics who do not pursue
their studies in the universities, but in
private seminaries. The universities of
Paderborn and Munster, both belonging to
Prussia, and which had only two faculties,
those of theology and philosophy, were
suppressed; the first in 1818, and the
second in 1819; but that of Munster has
been reestablished, with the three faculties
of theology, philosophy, and medicine.

THE TABLE BOOK.

Collep Cftfeer'0 pmmgest Daughter.

Last ef her sire is dotage she was used

By him, as children use a fav'rite toy ;

Indulg'd, neglected, fondled, and abng'd.

As quick affection of capricious joy.
Or sudden humour of dislike dictated :

Thoughtlessly rear'd, she led a thoughtless life ;
And she so well beloved became most hated :
A helpless mother, and a wife unblest,

She pass'd precocious womanhood in strife ;
Or, in strange hiding-places, without rest ;

Or, wand'ring in disquietude for bread :
Her father's curse himself first cause of all
That caused his ban sunk her in deeper thrall.

Stifling her heart, till sorrow and herself were dead.

'THE LIFE OF MRS. CHARLOTTE CHARKE,
youngest daughter of Colley Gibber, Esq.
written by herself," is a curious narrative
of remarkable vicissitudes. She dedicates
it to nerself, and aptly concludes her dedi-
cation by sayinsr, " Permit me, madam, to
subscribe myself, for the future, what I
rught to have been some years ago, your

Vor. I. 5.

real friend, and humble servant, CHAR-
LOTTE CHARKE."

In the " Introduction " to the recent re-
print of this singular work, it is well
observed, that " her Life will serve to show
what very strange creatures may exist, and
the endless diversity of habits, tastes, and
'inclinations, which may spring up spon-

127

TIJE TABLE BOOK.

128

taneously, hice weeds, in the hot-bed of
corrupt civilization." She was born when
Mrs. Gibber was forty-five years old, and
when both her father and mother had
ceased to expect an addition to their family :
the result was that Charlotte Cibber was a
spoiled child. She married Mr. Richard
Charke, an eminent violin player, of disso-
lute habits ; and, after a course of levities,
consequent upon the early recklessness of
her parents, she was repudiated by her
father. When she wrote her life, she was
in great penury : it was published in eight
numbers, at three-pence each. In the last,
which appeared on the 19th of April, 1755,
she feelingly deplores the failure of her
attempts to obtain forgiveness of her father,
and says, " I cannot recollect any crime I
have been guilty of that is unpardonable."
After intimating a design to open an orato-
rical academy, for the instruction of persons
going on the stage, she mentions her inten-
tion to publish " Mr. Dumont's history,
the first number of which will shortly make
its appearance." This was a novel she was
then writing, which a bookseller treated
with her for, in company with Mr. Samuel
Whyte of Dublin, who thus describes her
distressed situation :

' Cibber the elder had a daughter named
Charlotte, who also took to the stage ; her
subsequent life was one continued series
of misfortune, afflictions, and distress, which
she sometimes contrived a little to alleviate
by the productions of her pen. About the
vear 1 755, she had worked up a novel for
the press, which the writer accompanied
his friend the bookseller to hear read; she
was at this time a widow, having been
married to one Charke a musician, long
since dead. Her habitation was a wretched
thatched hovel, situated on the way to
Islington in the purlieus of Clerkenwell
Bridewell, not very distant from the New
River Head, where at that time it was usual
for the scavengers to leave the cleansings
of the streets, &c. The night preceding
a heavy rain had fallen, which rendered
this extraordinary seat of the muses almost
inaccessible, so that in our approach we
got our white stockings enveloped with mud
up to the very calves, which furnished an
appearance much in the present fashionable
style of half-boots. We knocked at the
door, (not attempting to pnl\ the latch
string,) which was opened by a tall, meagre,
ragged figure, with a blue apron, indicating,
what else we might have doubted, the
feminine gender, a perfect model foi the
copper captain's tattered landlady; that
deplorable exhibition of the fair sex, in the

comedy of Rule-a-Wife. She with a torpid
voice and hungry smile desired us to
walk in. The first object that presented
itself was a dresser, clean, it must be con-
fessed, and furnished with three or four
coarse delf plates, two brown platters, and
underneath an earthen pipki and a black
pitcher with a snip out of it. To the right
we perceived and bowed to the mistress of
the mansion sitting on a maimed chair
under the mantle-piece, by a fire, merely
sufficient to put us in mind of starving. On
one hob sat a monkey, which by way of
welcome chattered at our going in ; on the
other a tabby cat, of melancholy aspect !
and at our author's feet on the flounce of
her dingy petticoat reclined a dog, almost
a skeleton ! he raised his shagged head, and,
eagerly staring with his bleared eyes, sa-
luted us with a snarl. ' Have done, Fidele !
these are friends.' The tone of her voice
was not harsh ; it had something in it
humbled and disconsolate; a mingled effort
of authority and pleasure. Poor soul ! few
were her visitors of that description no
wonder the creature barked !. A magpie
perched on the top ring of her chair, not an
uncomely ornament ! and on her lap was
placed a mutilated pair of bellows, the pipe
was gone, an advantage in their present
office, they served as a succedaneum for a
writing-desk, on which lay displayed her
hopes and treasure, the manuscript of her
novel. Her ink-stand was a broken tea-
cup, the pen worn to a stump ; she had
but one I a rough deal board with three
hobbling supporters was brought for our
convenience, on which, without farther
ceremony, we contrived to sit down and
entered upon business : the work was read,
remarks made, alterations agreed to, and
thirty guineas demanded for the copy. The
squalid handmaiden, who had been an at-
tentive listener, stretched forward her tawny
length of neck with an eye of anxious ex-
pectation ! The bookseller offered five !
Our authoress did not appear hurt ; disap-
pointments had rendered her mind callous;
however, some altercation ensued. This
was the writer's first initiation into the
mysteries of bibliopolism and the state of
authorcraft. He, seeing both sides perti-
nacious, at length interposed, and at his
instance the wary haberdasher of literature
doubled his first proposal, with this saving
proviso, that his friend present would pay
a moiety and run one half the risk ; which
was agreed to. Thus matters were accom-
modated, seemingly to the satisfaction of
all parties ; the lady's original stipulation
of fifty copies for herself being previously

THE TABLE BOOK.

130

acceded to. Such is the story of the once-
admired daughter of Colley Gibber, Poet
Laureate and patentee of Drury-lane, who
was born in affluence and educated with
care and tenderness, her servants in livery,
and a splendid equipage at her command,
with swarms of time-serving sycophants
officiously buzzing in her train ; yet, un-
mindful of her advantages and improvident
in her pursuits, she finished the career of
her miserable existence on a dunghill."*

Mr. Whyte's account of the " read-
ing the manuscript," a subject worthy
of Wilkie's pencil, is designed to be
illustrated by the engraving at the head
of this article. Of Mrs. Charke, after that
interview, nothing further is known, except
that she kept a public-house, at Islington,
and is said to have died on the 6th of
April, 1760.f Her brother Theophilus was
wrecked, and perished on his way to Dublin,
in October, 1758; her father died on the
1 2th of December, in the year preceding.
Her singular " Narrative " is printed ver-
batim in the seventh volume of " Auto-
biography," with the life of the late " Mary
Robinson," who was also an actress, and
also wrote her own " Memoirs."

AN INEDITED BALLAD.
To the Editor.

Dear Sir, A friend of mine, who resided
for some years on the borders, used to
amuse himself by collecting old ballads,
printed on halfpenny sheets, and hawked
up and down by itinerant minstrels. In
his common-place book I found one, en-
titled " The Outlandish Knight," evidently,
from the style, of considerable antiquity,
which appears to have escaped the notice
of Percy, and other collectors. Since then
I have met with a printed one, from the
popular press of Mr. Pitts, the six-yards-
for-a-penny song-publisher, who informs
me that he has printed it " ever since he
was a printer, and that Mr. Marshall, his
predecessor, printed it before him." The
ballad has not improved by circulating
amongst Mr. Pitts's friends ; for the heroine,
who has no name given her in my friend's
copy, is in Mr. Pitts's called " Polly ;" and
there are expressions contra bonos mores.
These I have expunged ; and, to render the
ballad more complete, added a few stanzas,
wherein I have endeavoured to preserve

* Whyte's Collection of Poems, second edition .
Dublin, 1792.
t B.og. Diam.

the simplicity of the original, of which I
doubt if a correct copy could now be ob-
tained. As it is, it is at the service of your
Table Book.

The hero of the ballad appears to be
of somewhat the same class as the hero of
the German ballad, the "Water King,"
and in some particulars resembles the
ballad of the " Overcourteous Knight," in
Percy's Reliques.

I am, dear sir, &c.

Grange-road, Bermondsey, Jan. 8, 1827.
THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT.

-" Six go true.

The seventh askew."

Der Freischvtx Travettie.

eAn outlandish knight from the north lands came,

And he came a wooing to me ;
He told me he'd take me unto the north lands,
And I should his fair bride be.

A broad, broad shield did this strange knight wield.

Whereon did the red-cross shine,
Yet never, I ween, had that strange knight been

In the fields of Palestine.

And out and spake this strange knight.

This knight of the north countrie,
O, maiden fair, with the raven hair,

Thou shall at my bidding be.

Thy sire he is from home, ladye,

For he hath a journey gone,
And his shaggy blood-hound is sleeping sound,

Beside the postern stone.

Go, bring me some of thy lather's gold,

And some of thy mother's fee.
And steeds twain of the best, in the stalls that rest

Where they stand thirty and three.

She mounted her on her milk-white steed,

And he on a dapple grey,
And they forward did ride, till they reach'd the sea-tide,

Three hours before it was day.

Then out and spake this strange knight.

This knight of the north countrie,
O, maiden fair, with the raven hair,

Do thou at my bidding be.

Alight thee, maid, from thy milk-white steed,

And deliver it unto me ;
Six maids have I drown'd, where the billows oniui,

An I the peventh one thou shall be.

lint fi rut pa off thy kirtle fine,

And delu e i it unto me ;
Thy kit tie ol green is too rich, I weeo.

]'o rot it thr salt, salt sea.

131

THE TABLE BOOK,

132

Pull off, pull off thy silken shoon,

And deliver them unto me ;
Melhinks that they are too fine and gay

To rot in the salt, salt sea.

Pull off, pull off thy bonnie green plaid,

That floats in the breeze so free ;
It is woven fine with the silver twine,

And comely it is to see.

If I must pnll off my bonnie green plaid,

O turn thy back to me ;
And gaze on the sun which has just begun

To peer o'er the salt, salt sea.

He tnrn'd his back on the damu>elle

And gaz'd on the bright sunbeam-
She grasp'd him tight with her arms so white,

And plung'd him into the stream.

Lie there, sir knight, thou false-hearted wight,

Lie there instead of me ;
Six damsels fair thou hast drown'd there.

But the seventh has drowned thee.

That ocean wave was the false one's grave,

For he sunk right hastily;
Though with dying voice faint, he pray'd to his saint,

And utter'd an Are Marie.

No mass was said for that false knight dead,

No convent bell did toll ;
But he went to his rest, unshriv'd and noblest

Heaven's mercy on his soul !

She mounted her on her dapple-grey steed,

And led the steed milk-white ;
She rod* till she reach'd her father's hall.

Three hours before the night.

The parrot, hung in the lattice so high,

To the lady then did say,
Some ruffian, I fear, has led thee from home,

Per thou hast been long away.

Do not prattle, my pretty bird,

Do not tell tales of me ;
And thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,

Instead of the greenwood tree.

The earl as he sat in his turret high,

On hearing the parrot did say,
What ails thee, what ails thee, my pretty bird ?

Thou hast prattled the live-long day.

Well may I prattle, the parrot replied,

And call, brave earl, on thee ;
For the cat has well nigh reach'd the lattice so high,

And ker eyes are fix'd on me.

Well tnrn'd, well tnrn'd, my pretty bird,

Well turn'd, well tnrn'd for me ;
Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,

instead of the greenwood tree.

PRIDE AND GOOD-WILL.

It is related of a certain class of French
nobility, who, in their winter residence at
Aix, were objects of dislike from their
arrogance and self-importance, that they
were beloved and esteemed for their kind-
ne.>s and benevolence by the dependants
around their chateaus in the country. Many
instances might be cited to show that the
respect paid them was no more than they
deserved ; and one is particularly strik-
ing:

A seigneur, when he resided in the
country, used to distribute among the wo-
men and children, and the old men who
were unable to work in the field, raw wool,
and flax, which they spun and wove into
cloth or stuff at their pleasure : every week
they were paid wages according to the
quantity of work done, and had a fresh
supply of raw materials whenever it was
wanted. At the end of the year, a general
feast was given by the seigneur to the
whole village, when all who had been
occupied in spinning and weaving brought
in their work, and a piize of a hundred
livres was given to each person who had
spun the best skein, and woven the best
web. They had a dinner in a field adjoin-
ing to the chateau, at which the seigneur
himself presided, and on each side of him
sat those who had gained the prizes. The
evening was concluded with a dance. The
victors, besides the hundred livres, had
their work given them : the rest were allow-
ed to purchase theirs at a very moderate
price, and the money resulting from it was
laid by to distribute among any persons of
the village who wanted relief on account of
sickness, or who had suffered from unavoid-
able accident, either in their persons or
property. At the death of this excellent
man, who unfortunately left no immediate
heirs to follow his good example, the vil-
lage presented a scene of the bitterest
lamentation and distress : the peasants as-
sembled round the body, and it was almost
forced away from them for interment.
They brought their shuttles, their distaffs,
their skeins of thread and worsted, their
pieces of linen and stuff, and strewed them
upon his grave, saying that now they had
lost their patron and benefactor, they could
no longer be of use to them. If this man
felt the pride of conscious superiority, it
was scarcely to be condemned when accom-
panied with such laudable exertions to
render himself, through that superiority, a
benefactor to society.*

Mis* Plumtree.

133

THE TABLE BOOK.

134

<arriclt

No. II.

[From the " Parliament of Bees," a
Masque, by John Day, printed 1607.
Whether this singular production, in
which the Characters are all Bees, was
ever acted, I have no information to
determine. It is at least as capable of
representation, as we can conceive the
" Birds " of Aristophanes to have
been.]

Ulania, a female Bee, confesses her pas-
sion for Meletus, who loves Arethusa.

not a village Fly, nor meadow Bee,

That trafficks daily on the neighbour plain,

But will report, how all the Winged Train

Have sued to me for Love ; when we have flown

In swarms out to discover fields new blown.

Happy was he could find the forward'st tree.

And cull the choicest blossoms out for me ;

Of all their labours they allow'd me some

And (like my champions) mann'd me out, and home :

Yet loved I none of them. Philon, a Bee

Well-skill'd in verse and amorous poetry.

As we have sate at work, both of one Rose,*

Has hnmm'd sweet Canzons, both in verse and prose,

Which I ne'er minded. Astrophel, a Bee

(Although not so poetical as he)

Yet in his full invention quick and ripe,

In summer evenings, on his well-tuned pipe,

Upon a woodbine blossom in the sun,

(Our hive being clean-swept, and our day's work doas),

Would play me twenty several tunes ; yet I

Nor minded Astrophel, nor his melody.

Then there's Amniter, for whose love fair Leade

(That pretty Bee) flies up and down the mead

With rivers in her eyes ; without deserving

Sent me trim Acorn bowls of his own carving,

To drink May dews and mead in. Yet none of these,

My hive-born Playfellows and fellow Bees,

Could I affect, until this strange Bee came ;

And him I love with such an ardent flame,

Discretion cannot quench.

He labours and toils,
Extracts more honey out of barren soils
Than twenty lazy Drones. I have heard my Father,
Steward of the Hive, profess that he had rather
Ix>se half the Swarm than him. If a Bee, poor or weak,
Grows faint on his way, or by misfortune break
A wing or leg against a twig ; alive,
Or dead, he'll bring into the Master's Hive
Him and his burthen. But the other day,
On the next plain there grew a fatal fray

* Prettily pilfered from the sweet passage in the
Midsummer Night's Dream, where Helena recounts to
Hermia their school-days' friendship:

We, Hermia, like two artificial Gods,
Created with our needles both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion.

Betwixt the Wasps and us ; the wind grew high.

And a rough storm raged so impetuously,

Our Bees could scarce keep wing ; then fell such rain,

It made our Colony forsake the plain,

And fly to garrison : yet still He stood,

And 'gainst the whole swarm made his party good ;

And at each blow he gave, cried out His Vow,

His Vow, and Arethusa ! On each bough

And tender blossom he engraves her name

With his sharp sting. To Arethusa's fame

He consecrates his actions ; all his worth

Is only spent to character her forth.

On damask roses, and the leaves of pines,

I have seen him write such amorous moving lines

In Arethusa's praise, as my poor heart

Has, when I read them, envied her desert ;

And wept and sigh'd to think that he should be

To her so constant, yet not pity me.

Porrex, Vice Roy of Bees under King
Oberon, describes his large prerogative.
T Us (who, warranted by Oberon's love,
Write Ourself Master Bee~), both field and grove,
Garden and orchard, lawns and flowery meads,
(Where the amorous wind plays with the golden heads
Of wanton cowslips, daisies in their prime,
Sun-loving marigolds ; the blossom'd thyme,
The blue-vein'd violets and the damask rose ;
The stately lily, Mistress of all those) ;
Are allow'd and giv'n, by Oberon's free areed.
Pasture for me, and all my swarms to feed.

the doings,

The births, the wars, the wooings,
of these pretty little winged creatures
are with continued liveliness portrayed
throughout the whole of this curious
old Drama, in words which Bees would
talk with, could they talk; the very air
seems replete with humming and buzzing
melodies, while we read them. Surely
Bees were never so be-rhymed before.

C. L.

Siograpftiral ^lemorantra.

JOHN SCOT, A FASTING FANATIC.

In the year 1539, there, lived in Scotland
one John Scot, no way commended for his
learning, for he had none, nor for his good
qualities, which were as few. This man,
being overthrown in a suit of law, and
knowing himself unable to pay that wherein
he was adjudged, took sanctuary in the
abbey of Holyrood-hoxise; where, out of
discontent, he abstained from all meat and
drink, by the space of thirty or forty days
together.

Fame having spread this abroad, the

135

f ABLE BOOK.

136

king would have it put to trial, and to that
effect shut him up in a private room within
the castle of Edinburgh, whereunto no
man had access. He caused a little water
and bread to be set by him, which he was
found not to have diminished in the end of
thirty days and two. Upon this he was
dismissed, and, after a short time, he went
to Rome, where he gave the like proof of
his fasting to pope Clement VII.; from
whence he went to Venice, carrying with
him a testimony of his long fasting under
the pope's seal : and there also he gave the
like proof thereof. After long time, return-
ing into England, he went up into the
pulpit in St. Paul's Church-yard, where he
gave forth many speeches against the
divorce of king Henry VIII. from his queen
Katherine, inveighing bitterly against him
for his defection from the see of Rome ;
whereupon he was thrust into prison, where
he continued fasting for the space of fifty
days : what his end was I read not. Spots-
wood, fyc.

HART THE ASTROLOGER.
There lived in Houndsditch, about the
year 1632, one Alexander Hart, who had
been a soldier formerly, a comely old man,
of good aspect, he professed questionary
astrology and a little of physic ; his greatest
skill was to elect young gentlemen fit times
to play at dice, that they might win or get
money. Lilly relates that " he went unto
him for resolutions for three questions at
several times, and he erred in every one."
He says, that to speak soberly of him he
was but a cheat, as appeared suddenly
after; for a rustical fellow of the city,
desirous of knowledge, contracted with
Hart, to assist for a conference with a
spirit, and paid him twenty pounds of thirty
pounds the contract. At last, after many
delays, and no spirit appearing, nor money
returned, the young man indicted him for a
cheat at the Old Bailey in London. The
jury fcund the bill, and at the hearing of
the cause this jest happened : some of the
bench inquired what Hart did ? " He sat
like an alderman in his gown," quoth the
fellow ; at which the court fell into a laugh-
ter, most of the court being aldermen. He
was to have been set upon the pillory for
this cheat; but John Taylor the water
poet being his great friend, got the lord
chief justice Richardson to bail him, ere he
stood upon the pillory, and so Hart fled
presently into Holland, where he ended his
days.*

Aut'biogiaph)-. vol. ii Lilly':- Life.

REV. THOMAS CCOKE.

The verses at the end of the following
letter may excuse the insertion of a query,
which would otherwise be out of place in a
publication not designed to be a channel
of inquiry.

To the Editor.

Sir, I should feel much obliged, if the
Table Book can supply some account of a
clergyman of the name of Thomas Cooke,
who, it is supposed, resided in Shropshire,
and was the author of a very beautiful
poem, in folio, (published by subscription,
about ninety years since,) entitled " The
Immortality of the Soul." I have a very
imperfect copy of this work, and am de
sirous of ascertaining, from any of your
multifarious readers, whether or not the
poem ever became public, and where it is
probable I could obtain a glimpse of a per-
fect impression. Mine has no title-page,
and about one moiety of the work has
been destroyed by the sacrilegious hands of
some worthless animal on two legs !

The list of subscribers plainly proves
that Mr. Cooke must have been a man of
good family, and exalted conections. On
one of the blank leaves in my copy, the
following lines appear, .written by Mr.
Cooke himself; and, considering the tram-
mels by which he was confined, I think the
verses are not without merit ; at any rate,
the subject of them appears to have been a
beautiful creature.

By giving this article a place in the
Table Book, you will much oblige

Your subscriber and admirer,

G. J. D.
Islington-green.

AN ACKOSTIC

On a most beautiful and accomplished
young Lady. London, 1748.

M eekness good-humour each transcendent grace-.

I s seen conspicuous on thy joyous face ;

S weet's the carnation to the rambling bee,

S o art thou. CHARLOTTE ! always sweet to me !

C an aught compare successfully with those
H igh beauties which thy countenance compose,
A 11 doubly heighten'd by that gentle mind,
R enown'd on earth, and prais'd by ev'ry wind ?
L ov'd object 1 no then let it be thy care
O f fawning friends, at all times, to beware
T o shun this world's delusions and disguise,
T he knave's soft speeches, and the flatt'rer's iiei
E steeming virtue, and diecacdmg vice!

137

THE TABLE BOOK.

G o where I may, howe'er remote the clime,

W here'er my feet may stray, thy charms sublime,

I llustrious maid ! approv'd and prais'd by all,

ike some enchantment shall my soul enthrall
L ight ev'ry path illuminate my mind
I nspire my pen with sentiments refin'd
A d teach my tongue on this fond pray'r to dwell,
M ay Heav'n preserve the maid it loves so well I"

THOMAS COOKE.

CURIOUS PLAY BILL.

The following remarkable theatrical an-
nouncefnent is a mixed appeal of vanity
and poverty to the taste and feelings of the
inhabitants of a town in Sussex.
(Copy.)

At the old theatre in East Grinstead, on
Saturday, May, 1758, will be represented
(by particular desire, and for the benefit of
Mrs. P.) the deep and affecting Tragedy
of Theodosius, or the Force of Love, with
magnificent scenes, dresses, &c.

Varanes, by Mr. P., who will strive, as
far as possible, to support the character of
this fiery Persian Prince, in which he- was
so much admired and applauded at Hast-
ings, Arundel, Petworth, Midworth, Lewes,
&c.

Theodosius, by a young gentleman from
the University of Oxford, who never ap-
peared on any stage.

Athenais, by Mrs. P. Though her pre-
sent condition will not permit her to wait
on gentlemen and ladies out of the town
with tickets, she hopes, as on former occa-
sions, for their liberality and support.

Nothing 1 in Italy can exceed the altar, in
the first scene of the play. Nevertheless,
should any of the Nobility or Gentry wish
to see it ornamented with flowers, the
bearer will bring away as many as they
choose to favour him with.

As the coronation of Athenais, to be in-
troduced in the fifth act, contains a number
of personages, more than sufficient to fill
all the dressing-rooms, &c., it is hoped no
gentlemen and ladies will be offended at
being refused admission behind the scenes.

N. B. The great yard dog, that made
so much noise on Thursday night, during
the last act of King Richard the Third,
will be sent to a neighbour's over the way;
and on account of the prodigious demand
for places, part of the stable will be laid
into the boxes on one side, and the granary
be open for the. same purpose on the other.
Vivat Rex*

JBoaden's Life of Mrs. SidJons.

IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO HEND

At Chester, in the beginning of the year
1790, a reputable farmer, on the evening of
a market-day, called at the shop of Mr.
Poole, bookseller, and, desiring to speak
with him at the door, put a shilling into
his hand, telling him, " he had owed it to
him many years." The latter asked, for
what ? To which the farmer replied, that
" When a boy, in buying a book-almanac
at his shop, he had stolen another the re-
flection of which had frequently given him
much uneasiness." If any one who sees
this ever wronged his neighbour, let him be
encouraged by the courage of the farmer of
Chester, to make reparation in like manner,
and so make clean his conscience.

CONSCIENCE.

-There is no power in holy men,

Nor charm in prayer nor purifying form
Of penitence nor outward look nor fast
Nor agony nor, greater tlian all these,
The innate tortures of that deep despair,
Which is remorse without the fear of hell.
But all in all sufficient to itself
Would make a hell of heaven can exorcise
From out the unbounded spirit, tie quick sense
Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and revenge
Upon itself ; there is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd
He deals on his own soul. Byrun.

EPITAPH BY DR. LOWTH, late bishop of
London, on a monument in the church of
Cudesden, Oxfordshire, to the memory of
his daughter, translated from the Latin :

Dear as thou didst in modest worth excel,
More dear than in a daughter's name farewell I
Farewell, dear Mary but the hour is nigh
When, if I'm worthy, we shall meet on high :
Then shall I say, triumphant from tbe tomb,
" Come, to thy father's arms, dear Mary, come I"

INSCRIPTION

From the book at Iligi, in Switzerland.

Nine weary up-hill miles we sped

The setting sun to see ;
Sulky and grim he went to bed.

Sulky and grim went we.

Seven sleepless hours we past, and then,

The rising sun to see,
Sulky and grim we rose again.

Sulky and grim rose he.

THE TABLE BOOK.

Antiquarian $a!I, ALIAS Wlttl mttVbt4o,

A goose-herd in the fen-lands; next, he

Be-doctor'd Norfolk cows; much vext, he

Tnrn'd bookseller, an-1 poetaster,

And was a tolerable master

Of title-pages, but his rhymes

Were shocking, at the best of times.

However, he was very bo ujt,

And now, poor fellav, he is--" em ett."

For the Table Book.

WILLIAM HALL, or as he used to style
himself, "Antiquarian Hall," " Will. Will-
be-so," and Low-Fen-Bill-Hall," or, as .ie
was more generally termed by the public
"Old Hall," died at Lynn, in Norfolk, on
the 24th of .January, 1825. From some
curious autobiographical sketches in rhyme
published by himself, in the decline of life,'
it appears that he was born on June 1, O 8.
1748, at Willow Booth, a small island in
the fens of Lincolnshire, near Heckin-ton
Ease, in the parish of South Kyme.

" Kyme, God knows,

Where no corn grows,

Nothing but a little hay ;
And the water comes,

And takes it all away."

His ancestors on the father's side were
ll " fen slodgers," having lived there for
many generations ; his mother was

" a half Yorkshire

The other half was Heckington,
Valirar a ulace as and one.'*

When about four)ears old, he narrowly
escaped drowning ; for, in his own words,
he

" overstretching took a slip,
And popp'd beneath a merchant's ship ;*
No sou] at hand but me and mother;
Nor could I call for one or other."

She, however, at the hazard of her own life,
succeeded in saving her son's. At eleven
years old, he went to school, in Brothertoft
chapel, for about six months, in which time
he derived all the education he ever re-
ceived. His love of reading was so great,
that as soon as he could manage a gunning-
boat, he used to employ his Sundays either
in seeking for water-birds' eggs, or to

" shoune the boat

A catching fish, to make a groat.
And sometimes with a snare or hook j
Well, -what was't for ? to buy a book,
Propensity so in him lay."

Before he arrived at man's estate, he lost
his mother, and soon afterwards his father

* A coal-liirhter.

141

THE TABLE BOOK.

142

married again. WiL. himself, on arriving
at man's estate, married " Suke Holmes,"
and became a " gozzard," or gooseherd ;
that is, a keeper and breeder of geese, for
which the fens were, at that time, famous
throughout the kingdom, supplying the
London markets with fowls, and the ware-
houses with feathers and quills. In these
parts, the small feathers are plucked from
the live geese five times a year, at Lady-tide,
Midsummer, Lammas, Michaelmas, and
Martinmas, and the larger feathers and
quills are pulled twice. Goslings even are
not spared, for it is thought that early
plucking tends to increase the succeeding
feathers. It is said that the mere plucking
hurts the fowl very little, as the owners are
careful not to pull until the feathers are
ripe : those plucked after the geese are
dead, are affirmed not to be so good. The
number of geese kept by Will, must have
been very great, for his " brood geese,"
alone, required five coombs of corn for
daily consumption.

The inundations to which the fens were
then liable, from breaches, or overflowing
of the banks, overwhelmed him with difficul-
ties, and ruined his prospects.

" The poor old geese away were floated,
Till some high lands got lit'rally coated ;
Nor did most peasants think it duty
Them to preserve, but made their booty ;
And those who were ' not worth a goose,'
C n other people's liv'd profuse."
After many vicissitudes and changes of
residence, he settled at Marshland, in Nor-
folk, where his wife practised phlebotomy
and midwifery, while he officiated as an
auctioneeer, cowleech, &c. &c. Indeed he
appeared to have been almost bred to the
doctoring profession, for his own mother

" a good cow-doctor,

And always doetor'd all her own,
Being cowleech both in flesh and bone."

His mother-in-law was no less skilful,
for in Will.'s words

' She in live stock had took her care,
And of recipes had ample share,
Which I retain unto this day."

His father-in-law was an equally eminent
practitioner ; when, says Will.,

" I married Sukey Holmes, her father
Did more than them put altogether ;
Imparted all his skill to me,
Farrier, cowleech, and surgery,
All which he practised with success."

Will, tells of a remarkable and surprising
accident, which closed his career as a cow-
,eech.

" The rheumatism, (dreadful charm,
Had fix'd so close in my left arm,
So violent throbb'd, that without stroks
To touch it absolutely broke I
Went with a spring, made a report,
And hence in cowleech spoil'd my sport ;
Remain'd so tender, weak, and sore,
I never dare attempt it more."

Thus disqualified, he removed to Lynn,
and opening a shop in Ferry-street, com-
menced his operations as a purchaser and
vender of old books, odds and ends, and
old articles of various descriptions ; from
whence he obtained the popular appella-
tion of " Old Hall." On a board over the
door, he designated this shop the

" ffattrjuarian

and thus quaintly announced liis establish-
ment to the public :

" In Lynn, Ferry-street,

Where, should a stranger set his feet,
Just cast an eye, read ' Antiquary !'
Turn in, and but one hour tarry,
Depend upon't, to his surprise, sir,
He would turn out somewhat the wiser."

He had great opportunity to indulge in
" Bibliomania," for he acquired an exten-
sive collection of scarce, curious, and valu-
able books, and became, in fact, the only
dealer in " old literature '' at Lynn. He
versified on almost every occasion that
seemed opportune for giving himself and
his verses publicity ; and, in one of his
rhyming advertisements, he alphabetised
the names of ancient and modern authors,
by way of catalogue. In addition to his
bookselling business, he continued to prac-
tise as an auctioneer. He regularly kept
a book-stall, &c. in Lynn Tuesday-market,
from whence he occasionally knocked down
his articles to the best bidder ; and he an-
nounced his sales in his usual whimsira!
style. His hand-bill, on one of these occa-
sions, runs thus :

" LYNN, 19th SEPTEMBER, 1810.

" First Tuesday in the next October,
Now do not doubt but we'll be sober I
If Providence permits us action.
You may depend upon

AN AUCTION,

At the stall

That's occupied by WILLIAM HALL.
To enumerate a task would be,
So best way is to come and see ;
But not to come too vague an errant,
We'll give a sketch which we will warrant.

" About one hundred books, in due lots.
And pretty near th same in shoe-lotto ;

143

THE TABLE BOOK.

144

Co&ti, waittcoata, brtechet, shining bMor.s,
Perhaps ten thousand leather cuttings.
Sold at pi poud, your lot but ask it,
Shall be weigh'd to you in a basket ;
Some lots of tools, to make a try on,
About one hundred weight of iron ;
Scales, earthenware, arm-chairs, a tea-am,
Tea-chests, a herring-tub, and so on ;
With various more, that's our intention,
Which are too tedious here to mention.

" N. B. To undeceive, "fore you come nigher,
The duty chargM upon the buyer ;
And, should we find we're not perplext,
We'll keep it up the Tuesday next."

During repeated visits to his surviving
relatives in his native fens, he observed the
altered appearance of the scene from the
improved method of drainage. It had be-
come like " another world," and he re-
solved

" to try

His talent for posterity ;"

and " make a book," under the title of
" The Low Fen Journal," to comprise " a
chain of Incidents relating to the State of
the Fens, from the earliest Account to the
present Time." As a specimen of the work
he published, in the summer of 1812, an
octavo pamphlet of twenty-four pages,
called a " Sketch of Local History," by
" Will. Will-be-so" announcing

41 If two hundred subscribers will give in their aid,
The whole of this journal is meant to be laid
Under public view."

This curious pamphlet of odds and ends
iu prose and rhyme, without order or ar-
rangement, contained a " caution to the
buyer."

" Let any read that will not soil or rend it,

But should they ask to borrow, pray don't lend it I

Advise them, ' Go and buy;' 'twill better suit

My purpose ; and with yon prevent dispute.

With me a maxim 'tis, he that won't buy

Does seldom well regard his neighbour's property ;

And did you chew the bit, so much as I do

From lending books, I think 'twould make you shy too."

In the course of the tract, he presented
to " the critics " the following admonitory
address.

" Pray, sirs, consider, had you been
Bred where whole winters nothing's seen
But naked flood for miles and miles,
Except a boat the eye beguiles ;
Or coots, in clouds, by buzzards teaz'd,
Your ear with seeming thunder seiz'd
From rais'd decoy, there ducks on flight,
By tens of thousands darken light ;
None to assist in greatest need,
Parents but vory badly read-

No conversation strike the mind.
But of the lowest, vulgar kind ;
Fire miles from either church or school,
No coming there, but cross a pool ;
Kept twenty years upon that station,
With only six months' education ;
Traverse the scene, then weigh it well,
Say, could you better write or spell f"

One extract, in prose, is an example of
the disposition and powers of his almost
untutored mind, viz.

" No animation without generation seems
a standing axiom in philosophy : but upon
tasting the berry of a plant greatly resem-
bling- brooklime, but with a narrower leaf,
I found it attended with a loose fulsome-
ness, very different from any thing I had
ever tasted ; and on splitting one of them
with my nail, out sprang a fluttering mag-
got, which put me upon minute examina-
tion. The result of which was, that every
berry, according to its degree of maturity,
contained a proportionate maggot, up to
the full ripe shell, where a door was plainly
discerned, and the insect had taken its
flight. I have ever since carefully inspected
the herb, and the result is always the same,
vk. if you split ten thousand of the berries,
you discover nothing but an animated germ.
It grows in shallow water, and is frequently
accompanied with the water plantain. Its
berry is about the size of a red currant, arid
comes on progressively, after the manner
of juniper in the berry: the germ is first
discoverable about the middle of July, and
continues till the frost subdues it. And my
conjectures lead me to say, that one luxu-
rious plant shall be the mother of many
scores of flies. I call it the fly berry
plant."

Thus far the " Sketch." He seems to
have caught the notion of his " Low Fen
Journal " from a former fen genius, whose
works are become of great price, though it
must be acknowledged, more for their
quaintness and rarity, than their intrinsic
merit. Will, refers to him in the following
apologetical lines.

" Well, on the earth he knows of none,
With a full turn just like his mind ;

Nor only one that's dead and gone.
Whose genius stood as his inclin'd :

No doubt the public wish to know it,

John Taylor, call'd the water pott,

Who near two centuries ago

Wrote much such nonsense as I do.**

The sale of the " Sketch" not answering
his expectations, no further symptoms of
the " Journal " made their appearance at
that time.

145

THE TABLE BOOK.

146

In the summer of 1815, after forty-three
years' practice as an auctioneer, he an-
nounced his retirement by the following
luconic farewell.

" RAP SENIOR'S given it up at last,
With thanks for ev'ry favour past ;
Alias ' ANTIQ.UABIAN HALL*
Will never more be heard to brawl ;
As auctioneer no more will lie,
But's thrown his wicked hammer by.
Should you prefer him to appraise,
He's licensed for future days ;
Or still employ him on commission.
He'll always treat on fair condition,
For goods brought to him at his stand.
Or at your home, to sell by had ;
Or should you want his pen's assistance,
He'll wait on you at any distance,
To lot, collect, in place of clerk,
Or prevent moving goods i' th' dark ;
In short, for help or counsel's aid,
You need not of him be afraid."

The harvest of 1816 proved wet and un-
favourable, and he thought " it almost ex-
ceeded anv thing in his memory ;" where-
:ore tne woria was favoured with " Reflec-
f.ons upon Times, and Times and Times !
or a more than Sixty Years' Tour of the
Mind," by " Low- Fen- Bill-Hall." This
was an octavo pamphlet of sixteen pages,
in prose, quite as confused as his other
productions, " transmitting to posterity,"
as the results of sixty years' experience,
that " the frequency of thunderstorms in
the spring," " thejepeated appearance of
water-spouts," " an innumerable^uantity
of black snails," " an unusual number of
field mice," and " the great many snakes
to be seen about," are certain " indications
of a wet harvest " To these observations,
intermingled with digression upon digres-
sion, he prefixed as one of the mottoes, an
extremely appropriate quotation from Deut.
c. 32. v. 29, " O that they were wise, that
Iliey underst ood this !"

In the spring of 1818, when in his
seventieth year, or, as he says, " David's
gage being near complete," he determined
on an attempt to publish his " Low Fen
Journal," in numbers; the first of which
lie thus announced :

" A Lincolnshire rais'd medley pie,
An original miscellany,
Not meant as canting, puzzling mystery,
But for a general true FEN HISTOBY,
Such as desiga'd some time ago,
By him 'yclept Will, mil-be-so ;
Here's Number ONE for publication,
if meet the public's approbation.

I,ouj-Fen-Bill-Hall his word engages
To send about two hundred pages, *
Collected by his gleaning pains,
Mix'd with the fruit of his own brains.**
This specimen of the work was as un-
intelligible as the before-mentioned intro-
ductory " Sketch," partaking of the same
autobiographical, historical, and religious
character, with acrostic, elegiac, obituarian,
and other extraneous pieces in prose and
rhyme. His life had been passed in vicis-
situde and hardship, " oft' pining for a bit
of bread ;" and from experience, he was
well adapted to

To whom most extra lots befell ;

Who liv'd for months on stage of planks,

'Midst captain Flood's most swelling pranks,

Five miles from any food to have,

Yea often risk'd a wat'ry grave ;"

yet his facts and style were so incongruous
that speaking of the " Sketch," he says,
when he

' sent it out

Good lack 1 to know what 'twas about ?

He might as well have sent it muzzled,

For half the folks seem'd really puzzled.

Soliciting for patronage,

He might have spent near half an age ;

From all endeavours undertook,

He could not get it to a book."

Though the only " historical" part of the
first number of his " Fen Journal," in
twenty-four pages, consisted of prosaic
fragments of his grandfather's " poaching,"
his mother's " groaning," his father's "fish-
ing," and his own' " conjectures ;" yet he
tells the public, that

41 Protected by kind Providence,

I mean in less than twelve months hence,

Push'd by no very common sense,

To give six times as much as here is,

And hope there's none will think it dear is,

Consid'ring th' matter rather queer is."

In prosecution of his intentions. No 2
shortly followed ; and, as it was alike hete-
rogeneous and unintelligible, he says he
had " caught the Swiftiania, in running
digression on digression," with as many
whimseys as " Peter, Martin, and John
had in twisting their father's will.'' He ex-
pected that this " gallimaufry " and himself
would be consecrated to posterity, for he
says,

" 'Tig not for lucre that I write,
But something lasting, to indite
What may redound to purpose good.
(If hap'ly can be understood ;)
And, as time passes o'er his stages
Transmit my mind to future ages."

THE TABLE BOOK.

148

On concluding his seccnd number, he
" gratefully acknowledges the liberality of
his subscribers, and is apprehensive the
Interlope will find a very partial acceptance;
but it being so congenial an interlude to
the improvement of Low Fen and Billing-
hay Dale manners, to be hereafter shown,
he hopes it will not be considered detri-
mental, should his work continue." Such,
however, was not the case, for his literary
project terminated : unforeseen events re-
duced his finances, and he had not

Enough, to keep his harp in tune."

The care of a large family of orphan
grandchildren, in indigent circumstances,
having devolved upon him, he became per-
plexed with extreme difficulties, and again
experienced the truth of his own observa-
tion, that

" If two steps forward, oft' three back,
Through life had been hi* constant track."

Attracted by the " bodies of divinity,"
and other theological works, which his
" antiquarian library " contained, his atten-
tion was particularly directed to the funda-
mental truths of religion, and the doctrines
of " the various denominations of the
Christian world." The result was, that
without joining any, he imbibed such por-
tions of the tenets of each sect, that his
opinions on this subject were as singular as
on every other. Above all sectaries, yet
not entirely agreeing even with them, he
" loved and venerated " the " Moravians or
UnitedBrethren,"for their meek,unassuming
demeanour, their ceaseless perseverance in
propagating the gospel, and their bound-
less love towards the whole human race.
Of his own particular notions, he thus says,

" If I on doctrines have right view,

Here's this for me, and that for yon;

Another gives my neighbour comfort,

A stranger comes with one of some sort.

When after candid scrutinizing,

We find them equally worth prizing ;

'Cause all in gospel love imparted,

Nor is there any one perverted ;

Only as they may seem unlike,

Nor can on other's fancy strike :

Whereas from due conformity,

O 1 what a spread of harmony.

Each with each, bearing and forbearing.

All wishing for a better hearing.

Would in due time, then full improve

Into one family of love :

Instead of shyness on each other,

M^ fcllow-christian, sister, brother.

And each in candomr thus impart,
You have my fellowship and heart ;
Let this but be the root o' th' sense,
Jesus the Christ, my confidence,
As given in the Father's love.
No other system I approve."

After a short illness, towards the con-
clusion of his seventy-eighth year, death
closed his mortal career. Notwithstanding
his eccentricity, he was " devoid of guile, 1 '
plain and sincere in all transactions, and
his memory is universally respected.
" Peace to his ashes " (to use his own
expressions,)

" Let alHhe world say worst they can,
He was an upright, honest man."

OTmter.

For the Table Book.
WINTER 1 I love thee, for thou com'st to me

Laden with joys congenial to my mind,
Books that with bards and solitude agres,

And all those virtues which adorn mankind.
What though the meadows, and the neighb'ring hills,

That rear their cloudy summits in the skies
What though the woodland brooks, and lowland rill&

That charm'd our ears, and gratified our eyes,
In thy forlorn habiliments appear ?

What though the zephyrs of the summer tide,
And all the softer beauties of the year

Are fled and gone, kind Heav'n has not denied
Our books and studies, music, conversation.
And ev'ning parties for our recrerr ion ;
And these suffice, for seasons snatch'd away,
Till SpRilft leads forth the slowly-length'ning day.
B. W. R.

A WINTER'S DAY.

For the Table Book.

The horizontal sun, like an orb of molten
gold, casts " a dim religious light" upon
the surpliced world : the beams, reflected
from the dazzling snow, fall upon the
purple mists, which extend round the earth
like a zone, and in the midst the planet
appears a fixed stud, surpassing the ruby in
brilliancy.

Now trees and shrubs are borne down
with sparkling congelations, and the coral
clusters of the hawthorn and holly are more
splendid, and offer a cold conserve to the
wandering schoolboy. The huntsman is
seen riding to covert in his scarlet livery,
the gunner is heard at intervals in the up-
lands, and the courser comes galloping
down the hill side, with his hounds in full

149

THE TABLE BOOK.

150

chase before him. The farmer's boy, who
is forced from his warm bed, Jo milk cows
in a cold meadow, complains it's a " burn-
ing'' shame that he should be obliged to go
starving by himself, while " their wench"
has nothing else to do but make a fire, and
boil the tea-kettle. Now, Mrs. Jeremy
Bellclack, properly so called, inasmuch as
the unmentionables are amongst her pecu-
liar attributes, waked by the mail-coach
horn, sounding an Introit to the day, orders
her husband, poor fellow, to " just get up
and look what sort of a morning it is ;"
and he, shivering at the bare idea, affects to
be fast asleep, till a second summons, ac-
companied by the contact of his wife's
heavy hand, obliges him to paddle across
the ice-cold plaster floor; and the trees and
church-steeples, stars, spears, and saws,
which form an elegant tapestry over the
windows, seern to authorize the excuse that
he " can't see," while, shivering over the
dressing-table, he pours a stream of visible
breath on the frozen pane.

After breakfast, Dicky, " with shining
morning face," appears in the street, on
his way to school, with his Latin grammar
in one hand, and a slice of bread and but-
ter in the other, to either of which he pays
his devoirs, and " slides and looks, and
slides and looks," all the way till he arrives
at " the house of bondage," when his fin-
gers are so benumbed, that he is obliged to
warm his slate, and even then they refuse
to cast up figures, " of their own accord."
In another part of the school, Joe Lazy finds
it " so 'nation cold," that he is quite unable
to learn the two first lines of his lesson,
and he plays at " cocks and dollars" with
Jem Slack in a corner. The master
stands before the fire, like the Colossus of
Rhodes, all the morning, to the utter dis-
comfiture of the boys, who grumble at the
monopoly, and secretly tell one another,
that they pay for the fire, and ought to have
the benefit of it. At length he says, " You
may go, boys ;" whereupon ensues such a
pattering of feet, shutting of boxes, and
M.raii'blmg for hats, as beats Milton's
" busy hum of men" all to nothing, till they
reach their wonted slide in .the yard, where
they suddenly stop on discovering that
" that skinny old creature, Bet Fifty, the
cook," has bestrewed it from end to end
with sand and cinders. Frost-stricken as
it were, they stare at one another, and look
unnutterable things at the aforesaid " skin-
ny old creature;" till Jack Turbulent, ring-
leader-general of all their riots and rebel-
lions, execrates " old Betty, cook," with
the fluency of a parlour boarder, and hurls

a well-wrought snowball at the Gorgon,
who turns round in a passion to discover
the delinquent, when her pattens, unused
to such quick rotatory motion, slip from
under her feet, and " down topples she,"
to the delight of the urchins around her,
who drown her cries and threats in reite-
rated bursts of laughter.

Now, the Comet stage-coach, bowling
along the russet-coloured road, with a long
train of vapour from the horses' nostrils,
looks really like a comet. At the same
time, Lubin, who has been sent to town by
his mistress with a letter for the post-office,
and a strict injunction to return speedily,
finds it impossible to pass the blacksmith's
shop, where the bright sparks fly from the
forge; and he determines "just*' to stop and
look at the blaze " a bit," which, as he
says, " raly does one's eyes good of a win-
ter's morning ;" and then, he just blows
the bellows a bit, and finds it so pleasant
to listen to the strokes of Vulcan's wit, and
his sledge-hammer, alternately, that he con-
tinues blowing up the fire, till, at length,
he recollects what a " blowing up" he shall
have from his " Missis" when he gets home,
and forswears the clang of horse-shoes
and plough-irons, and leaves the temple of
the Cyclops, but not without a " longing,
ling'ring look behind'' at Messrs. Blaze
and Company.

From the frozen surface of the pond or
lake, men with besoms busily clear away
the drift, for which they are amply remu-
nerated by voluntary contributions from
every fresh-arriving skater ; and black ice is
discovered between banks of snow, and
ramified into numerous transverse, oblique,
semicircular, or elliptical branches. Here
and there, the snow appears in large heaps,
like rocks or islands, and round these the
proficients in the art

* Come and trip it as they go
On the light, fantastic toe,"

winding and sailing, one amongst an-
other, like the smooth-winged swallows,
which so lately occupied the same surface.
While these are describing innumerable
circles, the sliding fraternity in another
part form parallel lines ; each, of each class,
vies with the other in feats of activity, all
enjoy the exhilarating pastime, and every
face is illumined with cheerfulness. The
philosophic skater, big with theory, con-
vinced, as he tells every one he meets, that
the whole art consists " merely in trans-
ferring the centre of gravity from one foot
to the other" boldly essays a demonstra-
tion, and instantly transfers it from both,

151

THE TABLE BOOK.

152.

so as to honour the frozen element with
a sudden salute from that part of the body
which usually gravitates on a chair;
and the wits compliment him on the
superior knowledge by which he has
" broken the ice," and the little lads run
to see " what a big star the gentleman has
made !" and think it must have hurt him
" above a bit !"

It is now that the different canals are
frozen up, and goods are conveyed by
the stage-waggon, and " it's a capital time
for the turnpikes ;" and those who can get
brandy, drink it; and those who can't,
drink ale; and those who are unable to
procure either, do much better without
them. And now, ladies have red noses,
and the robin, with his little head turned
knowingly on one side, presents his burning
breast at the parlour window, and seems to
crave a dinner from the noontide breakfast
In such a day, the " son and heir" of the
" gentleman retired from business" bedi-
zens the drawing-room with heavy loads of
prickly evergreen ; and bronze candle-
bearers, porcelain figures, and elegant
chimney ornaments, look like prince
Mafcolm's soldiers at " Birnam wood," or
chorister boys on a holy Thursday ; and
his " Ma" nearly falls into hysterics on
discovering the mischief; and his " Pa"
begins to scold him for being so naughty ;
and the budding wit asks, as he runs out
of the room, " Why, don't you know that
these are the holly days ?" and his father
relates the astonishing instance of early
genius at every club, card-party, or vestry-
meeting for a month to come. Now, all the
pumps are frozen, old men tumble down
on the flags, and ladies " look blue" at their
lovers. Now, the merry-growing bacchanal
begins to thaw himself with frequent po-
tations of wine ; bottle after bottle is sacri-
ficed to the health of his various friends,
though his own health is sacrificed in the
ceremony ; and the glass that quaffs " the
prosperity of the British constitution,"
ruins his own.

And now, dandies, in rough great coats
and fur collars, look like Esquimaux In-
dians; and the fashionables of the fair sex,
in white veils and swans-down muffs and
tippets, have (begging their pardons)
very much the appearance of polar bears.
Now, Miss Enigmaria Conundrina Riddle,
poring over her new pocket-book, lisps
out, " Why are ladies in winter like tea-
kettles ?" to which old Mr. Riddle, pouring
forth a dense ringlet of tobacco-smoke, re-
plies, " Because they dance and sing ;"
but master Augustus Adolphus Riddle,

who has heard it before, corrects him by
saying, " NQ, Pa, that's not it it's because
they are furred up." Now, unless their
horses are turned up, the riders are very
likely to be turned down ; and deep weiis
are dry, and poor old women, with a
" well-a-day !" are obliged to boil down
snow and icicles to make their tea with.
Now, an old oak-tree, with only one branch,
looks like a man with a rifle to his shoulder,
and the night-lorn traveller trembles at the
prospect of having his head and his pockets
rifled together. Now, sedan-chairs, and
servants with lanterns, are " flitting across
the night," to fetch home their masters and
mistresses from oyster-eatings, and qua-
drille parties. And now, a young lady,
who had retreated from the heat of the ball-
room, to take the benefit of the north wind,
and caught a severe cold, calls in the
doctor, who is quite convinced of the cor-
rectness of the old adage, " It's an ill wind
that blows nobody good."

Now, the sultana of the night reigns oh
her throne of stars, in the blue zenith, and
young ladies and gentlemen, who had
shivered all day by the parlour fire, and
found themselves in danger of annihilation
when the door by chance had been left a little
way open, are quite warm enough to walk
together by moonlight, though every thing
around them is actually petrified by the
frost.

Now, in my chamber, the last ember
falls, and seems to warn us as it descends,
that though we, like it, may shine among
the brilliant, and be cherished by the great
(grate,) we must mingle our ashes. The
wasted candle, too, is going the way of all
flesh, and the writer of these " night
thoughts," duly impressed with the im-
portance of his own mortality, takes his
farewell of his anti-critical readers in the
language of the old song,

1 Gude night, an' joy be wi' you all I".

Lichfield.

J.H.

TAKE NOTICE.

A correspondent who has seen the origi-
nal of the following notice, written at Bath,
says, it would have been placed on a board
in a garden there, had not a friend advised
its author to the contrary :

" ANY PERSON TRESPACE HERE

SHALL BE PROSTICUTED

ACCORDING TO LAW."

THE TABLE BOOK.

154

THE BAZAAR.

For the Table Book.

The Bazaar in Soho

Is completely the go. (Song.,

Put it down in the bill
Is the fountain of ill,
This has every shopkeeper undone
Bazaars never trust, so down with your dust,
And help us to diddle all London. (Song.)

Oh how I've wish'd for come time back

To ride to the Bazaar,
A nd I declare the day looks fair
Now won't you go, mamma?
For there our friends we're sure to meet,

So let us haste away,
My cousins, too, last night told yon.
They'd all be there to-day.
With a " How do you do,
Ma'am ?" " How are you ?

How dear the things all are 1"
Throughout the day
You hear them say,
At fam'd Soho Bazaar.

Some look at this thing, then at that.
But vow they're all too high ;
How much is this ?" " Two guineas, miaa J"
" Oh, I don't want to buy I"
.uook at these pretty books, my love,

I think it sooa will rain ;
There's Mrs. Howe, I saw her bow.
Why don't you bow again?
With a " How do yen do,
Ma'am ?" " How are you ?

How dear the things all are I"
Throughout the day
You hear them say,
At fam'd Soho Bazaar.

Just see that picture on the box,

How beautifully done I
" It isn't high, ma'am, won't you buy ?

It's only one pound one."
How pretty all these bonnets look

With red and yellow strings ;
Some here, my dear, don't go too near,
You mustn't touch the things.
With a " How do you do,
Ma'am ?" " How are yon ?

How dear the things all are 1"
Throughout the day
You hear them say,
At fam'd Soho Bazaar.

Miss JTugfjins, have you seen enough?

Pur. gorry I can't stay;
There's Mrs. Snooks, how fat she looks

She's coming on thij way :

Dear madam, give me leave ( ask

You, how your husband is ?
Why, Mr. Snooks has lost his looks,
He's got the rheumatiz I

With a " How do you do.
Ma'am ?" " How are you ?

How dear the things all are 1
Throughout the day
You hear them say,
At fam'd Soho Bazaar.

" Tom ! see that girl, how well she walks

But faith, I must confess,
I never saw a girl before

In such a style of dress."
" Why, really, Jack, I think you're right,
Just let me look a while ;

(looking through his
I like \iergait at any rate.
But don't quite like her style."
With a " How da you do,
Ma'am ?" " How aie yon ?

How dear the things all are I"
Throughout the day
You hear them say,
At fam'd Soho Bazaar.

" That vulgar lady's standing there
That every one may view her ;''
* Sir, that's my daughter;" "No, not her;

I mean the next one to her :"
" Oh, that's my niece," " Oh no, not her,"--

" You seem, sir, quite amused ;"
" Bear ma'am, heyday I what shall 1 sajr ?
I'm really quite confused."
With a " How do you do,
Ma'am ?" " How are you ?

How dear the things all ar 1"
Throughout the day
You hear them say.
At fam'd Soho Bazaar.

Thns beanx and belles tog-ether meet,

And thus they spend the day ;
And walk and talk, and talk and walk.

And then they walk away.
If yon have half an hour to spare,

The better way by far
IB hra to lounge it, with a friend.
In the Soho Bazaar.

With a " How do yon do.
Ma'am ?" " How r>.i e yon ?

How dear the things all !**
Throughout the d:iy
You hear them say.
At fam'd Soho ll.z.ir

THE TABLE BOOK.

156

THE SEASON OUT OF TOWN.
For the Table Book.

The banks are partly green ; hedges and trees
Are black and shrouded, and the keen wind roars,

Like dismal music wand'ring over seas,
And wailing to the agitated shores.

The fields are dotted witli manure the sheep
In unshorn wool, streak'd with the shepherd's red,

Their undivided peace and friendship keep,
Shaking their bells, like children to their bed.

The roads are white and miry waters run
With violence through their tracks and sheds, that
flowers

In summer graced, are open to the sun,
Which shines in noonday's horizontal hours.

Frost claims the night ; and morning, like a bride,
Forth from her chamber glides: mist spreads her
vest;

The sunbeams ride the clouds till eventide,
And the wind rolls them to ethereal rest.

Sleet, shine, cold, fog, in portions fill the time ;

Like hope, the prospect cheers ; like breath it fades ;
Life grows in seasons to returning prime,

And beauty risen from departing shades.

January, 1827.

THE SIEGE OF BELGRADE.

Addressed to the Admirers of Alliteration,
and the Advocates of Noisy Numbers.

Ardentcm aspicio tque arrectis auribis asto. Virgil.

An Austnan army awfully arrayed,

Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade :

Cossack commanders cannonading come,

Dealing destruction's devastating doom ;

Every endeavour engineers essay,

For fame, for fortune fighting furious fray I

Generals 'gainst generals grapple, gracious G dl

How honours heaven heroic hardihood I

Infuriate indiscriminate in ill

Kinsmen kill kindred kindred kinsmen kill:

Labour low levels loftiest, longest lines,

Men march "mid mounds, 'mid moles, 'mid mnrder-

ous mines :

Now noisy noxious numbers notice nought
Of outward obstacles, opposing ought,
Poor patriots ! partly purchased partly press'd,
Quite quaking, quickly, "Quarter! quarter I" quest;
Reason returns, religious right redounds,
Suwarrow stops snch sanguinary sounds.
Truce to thee, Turkey, triumph to thy train
Unwise, -injust, unmerciful Ukraine!
Vanish, vain victory i vanish, victory vain !
Why wish we warfare ? Wherefore welcome were

Xerxes, Xim^nes, Xauthas, X^v'.ere

Yield, yield, ye youth*! ye yeomen, ywld yonr rt'l j

Zeno's, Zampatee's, Zoroaster's zeal,

Attracting all, arms against acts appeal I

NAMES OF PLACES.
For the Table Book.

The names of towns, cities, or villages,
which terminate in ter, such as Chester,
Caster, Cester, show that the Romans, in
their stay among us, made fortifications
about the places where they are now situ-
ated. In the Latin tongue Castra is the
name of these fortifications such are Cas-
tor, Chester, Doncaster, Leicester: Don
signifies a mountain, and Ley, or Lei,
ground widely overgrown.

In our ancient tongue wich, or wick,
means a place of refuge, and is the termi-
nation of Warwick, Sandwich, Greenwich,
Woolwich, &c.

Thorp, before the word village was bor-
rowed from the French, was used in its
stead, and is found at the end of many
towns' names.

Bury, Burgh, or Berry, signifies, meta-
phorically, a town having a wall about it,
sometimes a high, or chief place.

Wold means a plain open country.

Combe, a valley between two hills.

Knock, a hill.

Hurst, a woody place.

Magh, a field.

Innes, an island.

Worth, a place situated between two
rivers.

Ing, a tract of meadows.

Minster is a contraction of monastery.

SAM SAM'S SON.

SONNET
For the Table Book.

The snowdrop, rising to its infant height,

Looks like a sickly child upon the spot

Of young nativity, regarding not
The air's caress of melody and light
Beam'd from the east, and soften'd by the bright

Effusive flash of gold : the willow stoops
And muses, like a bride without her love,

On her own shade, which lies on waves, and droops
Beside the natal trunk, nor looks above :
The precipice, that torrents cannot move,

Leans o'er the sea, and steadfast as a rock,
Of dash and cloud unconscious, bears the rude

Continuous surge, the sounds and echoes mock :
Thus Mental Thought enduring, wears in solitude.

182?. , , P.

THE TABLE l:

Jfmtt of ^arroto

thus sared

From guardian-hands which else had more depraved.

Some years ago, the fine old font of the
ancient parish church of Harrow-on-the
hill was torn from that edifice, by the
" gentlemen of the parish," and given out
to mend the roads with. The feelings of
one parishioner (to the honour of the sex, a
female) were outraged by this act of paro-
chial Vandalism ; and she was allowed to
preserve it from destruction, and place it in
a walled nook, at the garden front of her
house, where it still remains. By her
obliging permission, a drawing of it was
made the summer before last, and is
rngraved above.

On the exclusion of Harrow font from
(he church, the parish officers put up the
marble wash -hand -basin -stand - looking-
thing, which now occupies its place, in-
scribed with the names of the church-

VOL. I. 6,

wardens during whose reign venality or
stupidity effected the removal of its pre-
cessor. If there be any persons in that
parish who either venerate antiquity, or de-
sire to see " right things in right places,"
it is possible that, by a spirited representa-
tion, they may arouse the indifferent, and
shame the ignorant to an interchange : and
force an expression of public thanks to the
lady whose good taste and care enabled it
to be effected. The relative situation and
misappropriation of each font is a stain on
the parish, easily removable, by employing
a"few men and a few pounds to clap the
paltry usurper under the spout of the good
lady's house, and restore the noble original
from that degrading destination, to its
rightful dignity in the church

159

THE TABLE BOOK.

16C

<amrfe

No. III.

'From the " Rewards of Virtue," a Comedy,
by John Fountain, printed 1661.J

Success in Battle not always attributable to the General.

Generals oftimes famous grow

By valiant friends, or cowardly enemies ;

Or, what is worse, by some mean piece of chance.

Truth is, 'tis pretty to observe .

How little Princes and great Generals

Contribute oftentimes to the fame they win.

How oft hath it been found, that noblest minds

With two short arms, have fought with fatal stars ;

And have endeavour'd with their dearest blood

To mollify those diamonds, where dwell

The fate of kingdoms ; and at last have fain

By vulgar hatads, unable now to do

More for their cause than die ; and have been lost

Among the sacrifices of their swords ;

No more remember'd than poor villagers,

Whose ashes sleep among the common flowers,

That every meadow wears : whilst 'other men

With trembling hands have caught a vietorj,

And on pale foreheads wear triumphant bays.

Besides, I have thought

A thousand times ; in times of war, when we

Lift up our hands to heaven for victory ;

Suppose some virgin Shepherdess, whose soul

Is chaste and clean as the cold spring, where she

Quenches all thirsts, being told of enemies,

That seek to fright the long-enjoyed Peace

Of our Arcadia hence with sound of drums,

And with hoarse trumpets' warlike airs to drown

The harmless music of her oaten reeds ,

Should in the passion of her troubled sprite

Repair to some small fane ("such as the Gods

Hear poor folks from), and there on humble knees

Lift up her trembling hands to holy Pan,

And beg his helps : 'tis possible to think,

ThatHeav'n, which holds the purest vows most rich,

May not permit her still to weep in vain,

But grant her wish, (for, would the Gods not hear

The prayers of poor folks, they'd ne'er bid them pray);

And so, in the next action, happeneth out

(The Gods still using means) the Enemy

May be defeated. The glory of all this

Is attributed to the General,

And none but he's spoke loud of for the act ;

While she, from whose so unaffected tears

His laurel sprung, for ever dwells unknown.*

Is it possible that Cowper might have remembered
this sentiment in his description of the advantages
which the world, that scorns him, may derive from the
noiseless hours of the contemplative man ?

Perhaps she owes

Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring
And plenteous harvest, to the'prayer he makes,
When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint
Walks forth to meditate at eventide ,
And think on her, wno tmnks not on herself.

Taslt.

Unlau-ful Soliciting*.

When I first

Mention'd the business to her all alone,
Poor Soul, she blush'd, as if already she
Had done some harm by hearing of me speak ,
Whilst from her pretty eyes two fountains ran
So true, so native, down her fairest cheeks ;
As if she thought herself obliged to cry,
'Cause all the world was not so good as she.

Proportion in Pity.

There must be some proportion still to pity
Between ourselves and what we moan : 'tis hard
For Men to be ought sensible, how Moats
Press Flies to death. Should the Lion, in
His midnight walks for prey, hear some poor worms
Complain for want of little drops of dew.
What pity could that generous creature have
(Who never wanted small things) for those poor
Ambitions ? yet these are their concernments,
And but for want of these they pine and die.

Modesty a bar to preferment.

Sure 'twas his modesty. He might have thriven
Much better possibly, had his ambition
Beta greater much. They oftimes take more pains
Who look for Pins, than those who find out Stars.

Innocence vindicated at last.

Heav'n may awhile correct the virtuous ;
Yet it will wipe their eyes again, and make
Their faces whiter with their tears. Innocence
Conceal'd is the Stoln Pleasure of the Gods,
Which never ends in shame, as that of Men
Doth oftimes do ; but like the Sun breaks forth,
When it hath gratified another world ;
And to our unexpecting eyes appears
More glorious thro' its late obscurity.

Dying for a Beloved Person.

There is a gust in Death, when 'tis for Love,

That's more than all that's taste in all the world.

For the true measure of true Love is Death ;

And what falls short of this, was never Love :

And therefore when those tides do meet and strive

And both swell high, but Love is higher still,

This is the truest satisfaction of

The perfectest Love : for here it sees itself

Indure the highest test; and then it feels

The sum of delectation, since it now

Attains its perfect end ; and shows its object,

By one intense act, all its verity :

Which by a thousand and ten thousand words

It would have took a poor dilated pleasure

To have imperfectly cxpress'd.

THE TABLE BOOK

16"

Urania makes a mock assignation with
the King, and substitutes the Queen in her
place. The King describes the supposed
meeting to the Confident, whom he had em-
ployed to solicit for his guilty passion.

Pyrrhus, I'll tell thee all. When now the night

Grew black enough to hide a sculking action ;

And Heav'n had ne'er an eye unshut to see

Her Representative on Earth creep 'mongst

Those poor defenceless worms, whom Nature left

An humole prey to every thing, and no

Asylum but the dark ; I softly stole

To yonder grotto thro' the upper walks,

And there found my Urania. But I found her,

I found her, Pyrrhus, not a Mistress, but

A Goddess rather ; which made me now to be

No more her Lover, but Idolater.

She only whisper'd to me, as she promised,

Yet never heard I any voice so loud ;

And, tho" her words were gentler far than those

That holy priests do speak to dying Saints,

Yet never thunder signified so much.

And (what did more impress whate'er she said)

Methought her whispers were my injured Quaen's,

Her manner just like her's ! and when she urged,

Among a thousand things, the injury

I did the faithful'st Princess in the world ;

Who now supposed me sick, and was perchance

Upon her knees offering np holy vows

For him who mock'd both Heav'n and her, and was

Now breaking of that vow he made her, when

With sacrifice he call'd the Gods to witness :

When she urged this, and wept, and spake so like

My poor deluded Queen, Pyrrhus, I trembled ;

Almost persuaded that it was her angel

Spake thro" Urania's lips, who for her sake

Took care of me, as something she much loved.

It would be long to tell thee all she said,

How oft she sigh'd, how bitterly she wept :

But the effect Urania still is chaste ;

And with her chaster lips hath promised to

Invoke blest Heav'n for my intended sin."

C. L.

THE CUSHION DANCE.
For the Table Book.

The concluding dance at a country wake,
or other general meeting, is the " Cushion
Dance ;" and if it be not called for when
the company are tired with dancing, the
fiddler, who has an interest in it which will
be seen hereafter, frequently plays the tune
to remind them of it. A young man of the
company leaves the room ; the poor young
women, uninformed of the plot against
them, suspecting nothing ; but he no sooner
returns, bearing a cushion in one hand and
a pewter pot in the other, than they are
aware of the mischief intended, and would

certainly make their escape, had not the
bearer of cushion and pot, aware of the
invincible aversion which young women
have to be saluted by young men, prevent-
ed their flight by locking the door, and
putting the key in his pocket. The dance
then begins.

The young man advances to the fiddler,
drops a penny in the pot, and gives it to
one of his companions ; cushion then
dances round the room, followed by pot,
and when they again reach the fiddler, the
cushion says in a sort of recitative, accom-
panied by the music, " This dance it will
no farther go."

The fiddler, in return, sings or says, for
it partakes of both, " I pray, kind sir, why
say you so?"

The answer is, " Because Joan Sander-
son won't come to."

" But," replies the fiddler, " she must
come to, and she shall come to, whether
she will or no."

The young man, thus armed with the
authority of the village musician, recom-
mences his dance round the room, but stops
when he comes to the girl he likes best,
and drops the cushion at her feet ; she ruts
her penny in the pewter pot, and kneels
down with the young man on the cushion,
and he salutes her.

When they rise, the woman takes up the
cushion, and leads the dance, the man fol-
lowing, and holding the skirt of her gown;
and having made the circuit of the room,
they stop near the fiddler, and the same
dialogue is repeated, except, as it is now
the woman who speaks, it is John Sander-
son who won't come to, and the fiddler's
mandate is issued to him, not her.

The woman drops the cushion at the
feet of her favourite man ; the same cere-
mony and the same dance are repeated,
till every man and woman, the pot bearer
last, has been taken out, and all have
danced round the room in a file.

The pence are the perquisite of the^id-
dler,

H. N.

P.S. There is a description of this dauce
in Miss Hutton's " Oakwood Hall."

THE CUSHION DANCE.
For the Table Book.

" Saltabamus."
The village-green is clear and digh*

Under the starlight sky ;
Joy in the cottage reigns to night.
And brightens every e/e :

I<53

THE TABLE BOOK.

16*

The peasants of the valley meet

Their labours to advance.
And many a lip invites a treat

To celebrate the " Cushion Dance."

A pillow in the room they hide,

The door they slily lock;
The bold the basbfnl damsels chide,

Whose heart's-piilse seem to rock :
" Escape ?" " Not yet I no key is found !"

" Of course, 'tis lost by chance ;"
And flutt'ring whispers breathe around

" The Cushion Dance I The Cushion Dance I 1

The fiddler in a corner stands,

H (fives, he roles the game ;
A rustic takes a maiden's hands

Whose cheek is red with shame :
At custom's shrine they seal their truth,

Love fails not here to glance ;
Happy the heart that beats in youth,

And dances in the " Cushion Dance I"

The pillow's carried round and round,

The fiddler speaks and plays ;
The choice is made, the charm is wound,

And parleys conquer^ nays :

For shame I I will not thus be kiss'd,

Your beard cuts like a lance ;
Leave off I'm sure you've sprained my wrist

By kneeling iu this ' Cushion Dance I" "

" 'Tis aunt's turn, what in tears? I thought

You dearly loved a joke ;
Kisses are sweeter stol'n than bought,

And vows are sometimes broke.
Play up I play up I aunt chooses Ben ;

Ben loves so sweet a trance I
Robin to Nelly kneels again,

Is Lore not in the ' Cushion dance ?' "

Laughter is busy at the heart,

Cupid looks through the eye,
Feeling is dear when sorrows part

And plaintive comfort's nigh,
" Hide not in corners, Betsy, pray,"

" Do not so colt-like prance ;
One kiss, for memory's future day,

Is Life not like a ' Cushion Dance ?' "

" This Danoe it will no further go I"

" Why say you thus, good man?"
" Joan Sanderson will not come to I"

* She must, 'tis ' Custom's' plan :"
" Whether she will or no, must she

The proper course advance ;
Blushes, like blossoms on a tree,

Are lovely in the ' Cushion Daice.' '

This Dance it will no further go I"

" Why say you thus, good lady?"
" John Sanderson will not come to 1"

" Fie, John ! the Cushion's ready :"
" He must come to, he shall come to,

'Tis Mirth's right throne plrasance ;
How dear the scene, in Nature's view

To -fVtn in a ' Cushion Dance 1' "

" Ho I princnm prancnm !" lave is blart ,

Both Joan and John submit ;
Friends smiling gathsr round and rest,

And sweethearts closely sit;
Their feet and spirits languid grown,

Eyes, bright in silence, glance
Like suns on seeds of beauty sown,

And nourish'd ia the " Cushion Dance.

In times to come, when older we

Have children round our knees ;
How will our hearts rejoice to see

Their lips and eyes at ease.
Talk ye of Swiss in valley-streams,

Of joyous pairs in France ;
None of their hopes-delighting dreams

Are equal to the " Cushion Dance."

'Twas here my Maiden's love I drew

By the hushing of her bosom ;
She knelt, her mouth and press were true.

And sweet as rose's blossom :
E'er since, though onward we to glory.

And cares our lives enhance.
Reflection dearly tells the " story' 1

Hail I hail I thou " happy Cushion Danoe."

J. R. PRIOR,

Islington.

ST. SEPULCHRE'S BELL.
For the Table Book.

On the right-hand side of the altar of
St. Sepulchre's church is a board, with a
list of charitable donations and gifts, con
taining the following item :

. *. d-
1605. Mr. Robert Dowe gave 50

for ringing the greatest

bell in this church on the

day the condemned prU

soners are executed, and

for other services, for

ever, concerning such

condemned prisoners, for

which services the sexton

is paid l . 6s. Qd.

Looking over an old volume of the New-
gate Calendar, I found some elucidation of
this inscription. In a narrative of the case
of Stephen Gardner, (who was executed
at Tyburn, February 3, 1 724,) it is related
that a person said to Gardner, when he was
set at liberty on a former occasion, " Be-
ware how you come here again, or tlie
bellman will certainly say his verses ove>
you." On this saying there is the follow-
ing remark :

" It has been a very ancient practice, on
the night preceding the execution of con-

J65

Hit ABLE BOOR.

166

<leraned criminals, for the bellman of the
parish of St. Sepulchre, to go under New-
gale, and, ringing his bell, to repeat the
following verses, as a piece of friendly
advice to the unhappy wretches under sen-
tence of death :

All you that in the condemn'd hold do lie,
Prepare you, for to-morrow you shall die ;
Watch all, and pray, the hour is drawing near,
That you before the Almighty must appear :
Examine well yourselves, in time repent,
That you may not to eternal flames be sent.
And when St. Sepulchre's bell to-morrow tolls,
The Lord above'have mercy on your souls !

Past twelve o'clock !

In the following extract from Stowe's
London,* it will be shown that the above
verses ought to be repeated by a clergy-
man, instead of a bellman :

" Robert Doue, citizen and merchant tay-
lor, of London, gave to the parish church of
St. Sepulchres, the somme of 50. That after
the several sessions of London, when the
prisoners remain in the gaole, as condemn-
ed men to death, expecting execution on
the morrow following : the clarke (that is
the parson) of the church shoold come in
the night time, and likewise early in the
morning, to the window of the prison where
they lye, and there ringing certain toles
with a hand-bell appointed for the purpose,
he doth afterwards (in most Christian man-
ner) put them in mind of their present
condition, and ensuing execution, desiring
them to be prepared therefore as they
ought to be. When they are in the cart,
and brought before the wall of the church,
there he standeth ready with the same bell,
and, after certain toles, rehearseth an ap-
pointed praier, desiring all the people
there present to pray for them. The beadle
also of Merchant Taylors' Hall hath an
honest stipend allowed to see that this is
duely done."

Probably the discontinuance of this prac-
tice commenced when malefactors were
first executed at Newgate, in lieu of Ty-
burn. The donation most certainly refers
to the verses. What the " other services "
are which the donor intended to be done, and
for which the sexton is paid l. 6*. 8d.,
?nd which are to be "for ever" I do not
know, but I presume those services (or
some other) are" now continued, as the
board which contains the donation seems
to me to have been newly painted.

EDWIN S .
Carthusian-street, Jan. 1827.

Pge 25 of the quarto edition. 1618v

THE DEATH OF THE RED KING

" Come, listen to a tale of times of old ;

Come, for ye know me." SOUTHZY.

Who is it that rides thro* the forest so green,

And gazes with joy on the beautiful scene,

With the gay prancing war-horse, and helmeted head ?

'Tis the monarch of England, stern William the Red .

Why starts the proud courser ? what vision is there ?
The trees are scarce mov'd by the still breathing air
All is hush'd, save the wild bird that carols on high,
Die forest bee's hum, and the rivulet's sigh.

Bat, lo 1 a dark form o'er the pathway hath lean d
'Tis the druid of Malwood, the wild forest-fiend
The terror of youth, of the aged the fev-~
The prophet of Cadenham, the death- boding seer !

His garments were black as the night-raven's plume.
His features were veil'd in mysterious gloom,
His lean arm was awfully rais'd while he said,
" Well met, England's monarch, stem William th*
Red!

" Desolation, death, ruin, the mighty shall fall-
Lamentation and woe reign in Malwood's wide hall !
Those leaves shall all fade in the winter's rude blast.
And thou shalt lie low ere the winter be past'"'

Thou liest, vile caitiff, 'tis false, by the rood,
For know that the contract is seal'd with my blood,
'Tis written, I never shall sleep in the tomb
Till Cadenham's oak in the winter shall bloom !

" Bat say what art thou, strange, unsearchable thing,
That dares to speak treason, and waylay a king?"-
" Know, monarch. I dwell in the beautiful bowers
Of Eden, and poison I shed o'er the flowers.

" In darkness and storm o'er the ocean I sail,
I ride on the breath of the night-rolling gale
I dwell in Vesuvius, 'mid torrents of flame.
Unriddle my riddle, and tell me my name I"

O pale grew the monarch, and smote on his breast,
For who was the prophet he wittingly guess'd :
" O, Jesu-AIaria I" he tremblingly said,
" Bona Virgo I" he gazed but the vision had fled

'Tis winter the trees of the forest are bare,
How keenly is blowing the chilly night air !
The moonbeams shine brightly on hard-frozen flood.
And William is riding thro' Cadenham's wood.

Why looks he with dread on the blasted oak tree ?
Saint Swithin ! what is it the monarch can see ?
Prophetical sight 1 'mid the desolate scene,
The oak is array'd in the freshest of green I

He thonght of the contract, " Thou'rt safe from the

tomb,

Till Cadenham's oak in the winter shall bloom;"
He thought of the Jruirt " The mighty shall fait
Lamentation and woe reign in Malwood't ttiAt h.aii.."

167

THE TABLE BOOK.

163

As he stood near the tree, lo ! a swift flying dart
Hath struck the proud monarch, and pierc'd thro' his

heart ;

Twas the deed of a friend, not the deed of a foe,
For the arrow was aim'd at the breast of a roe.

In Malwood is silent the light-hearted glee,
The dance and the wassail, and wild revelrie ;
Its chambers are dreary, deserted, and lone,
And the day of its greatness for ever hath flown.

A weeping is heard in Saint Swithin's huge pile
" Dies Ira?' resounds thro" the sable-dight aisle
'Tis a dirge for the mighty, the mass for t'ae dead
The funeral anthem for William the Red !

AQUILA.

DESCRIBED BY A WRITER IN 1634.

I will first take a survey of the long-con-
tinued deformity in the shape of your city,
which is of your buildings.

Sure your ancestors contrived your nar-
row streets in the days of wheel-barrows,
before those greater engines, carts, were
invented. Is your climate so hot, that as
you walk you need umbrellas of tiles to
intercept the sun ? or are your shambles so
empty, that you are afraid to take in fresh
air, lest it should sharpen your stomachs ?
Oh, the goodly landscape of Old Fish-
street ! which, if it had not the ill luck to
be crooked, was narrow enough to have
been your founder's perspective ; and where
the garrets, perhaps not for want of archi-
tecture, but through abundance of amity,
are so narrow, that opposite neighbours
may shake hands without stirring from
home. Is unanimity of inhabitants in wide
cities better exprest than by their coher-
ence and uniformity of building, where
streets begin, continue, and end, in a like
stature and shape ?* But yours, as if they
were raised in a general resurrection, where
every man hath a several design, differ in
all things that can make a distinction.
Here stands one that aims to be a palace,
and next it, one that professes to be a
hovel ; here a giant, there a dwarf; here
slender, there broad ; and all most admi-
rably different in faces, as well as in their
height and bulk. I was about to defy any
Londoner, who dares to pretend there is so
much ingenious correspondence in this
vity, as that he can show me one house like

* If a disagreement of neighbours were to be inferred
from such a circumstance, wh;it but an unfavourable
inference would be drawn from our modern style of
a'chitecture, as exemplified in Regent-street, where the
lious's are, as the leopard's spots are described to be,
" vn >wo alike, and every om different."

another ; yet your houses seem to be re-
versed and formal, being compared to the
fantastical looks of the moderns, which
have more ovals, niches, and angles, than
in your custards, and are enclosed with
pasteboard walls, like those of malicious
Turks, who, because themselves are not im-
mortal, and cannot dwell for ever where
they build, therefore wish not to be at
charge to provide such lastingness as may
entertain their children out of the rain ; so
slight and prettily gaudy, that if they could
move, they would pass for pageants. It is
your custom, where men vary often the
mode of their habits, to term the nation
fantastical ; but where streets continually
change fashion, you should make haste to
chain up your city, for it is certainly mad.

You would think me a malicious tra-
veller, if I should still gaze on your mis-
shapen streets, and take no notice of the
beauty of your river, therefore I will pass
the importunate noise of your watermen,
(who snatch at fares, as if they were to
catch prisoners, plying the gentry so unci-
villy, as if they had never rowed any
other passengers than bear-wards,) and
now step into one of your peascod-boats,
whose tilts are not so sumptuous as the
roofs of gondolas; nor, when you are within,
are you at the ease of a chaine-d-brus.

The commodity and trade of your river
belong to yourselves ; but give a stranger
leave to share in the pleasure of it, which
will hardly be in the prospect and freedom
of air ; unless prospect, consisting of
variety, be made up with here a palace,
there a wood-yard; here a garden, there
a brewhouse ; here dwells a lord, there a
dyer ; and betweei. both, duomo commune.

If freedom of air be inferred in the liberty
of the subject, where every private man
hath authority, for his own profit, to smoke
up a magistrate, then the air of your
Thames is open enough, because it is
equally free. I will forbear to visit your
courtly neighbours at Wapping, not that
it will make me giddy to shoot your bridge,
but that I am loath to describe the civil
silence at Billingsgate, which is so great,
as if the mariners were always landing to
storm the harbour ; therefore, for brevity's
sake, I will put to shore again, though I
should be so constrained, even without my
galoshes, to land at Puddle-dock.

I am now returned to visit your houses
where the roofs are so low, that I presumed
your ancestors were very mannerly, and
stood bare to their wives ; for 1 cannot dis-
cern how they could wear their high-
crowned hats : yet I will enter, and therein

THt TABLE BOOK.

170

oblige you much, wnen you know my aver-
sion to a certain weed that governs amongst
your coarser acquaintance, as much as
lavender among your coarser linen; to
which, in my apprehension, your sea-coal
Jmoke seems a very Portugal perfume. I
thould here hasten to a period, for fear of
Suffocation, if I thought you so ungracious
as to use it in public assemblies ; and yet I
See it grow so much in fashion, that me-
fliinks your children begin to play with
6roken pipes instead of corals, to make
way for their teeth. You will find my
visit short ; I cannot stay to eat with you,
because your bread is too heavy, and you
distrain the light substance of herbs. Your
drink is too thick, and yet you are seldom
over curious in washing your glasses. Nor
will I lodge with you, because your beds
seem no bigger than coffins ; and your cur-
tains so short, as they will hardly serve to
enclose your carriers in summer, and may
be held, if taffata, to have lined your grand-
sire's skirts.

I have now left your houses, and am
passing through your streets, but not in a
coach, for they are uneasily hung, and so
narrow, that I took them for sedans upon
wheels. Nor is it safe for a stranger to use
them till the quarrel be decided, whether
six of your nobles, sitting together, shall
stop and give way to as many barrels of
beer. Your city is the only metropolis
in Europe, where there is wonderful dignity
belonging to carts.

I would now make a safe retreat, but
that methinks t am stopped by one of your
heroic games called foot-ball ; which I con-
ceive (under your favour) not very conve-
niently civil in the streets, especially in
such irregular and narrow roads as Crooked-
lane. Yet it argues your courage, much
like your military pastime of throwing at
cocks ; but your metal would be much
magnified (since you have long allowed
those two valiant exercises in the streets)
were you to draw your archers from Fins-
bury, and, during high market, let them
shoot at butts in Cheapside. I have now
no more to say, but what refers to a few
private notes, which I shall give yeu in a
whisper, when we meet in Moorfields, from
whence (because the place was meant for
public pleasure, and to show the munifi-
cence of your city) I shall desire you to
banish your laundresses and bleachers,\vhose
acres of old linen make a show like the
fields of Carthagena, when the five months'
shifts of the whole fleet are washed and
spread.*

Sir W. Davenant.

A FATHER'S HOME.
For the Table Book.

When oppress'd by the world, or fatigu'd will its
charms,

My weary steps homeward I tread
'Tis there, midst the prattlers that fly to my arms,

I enjoy purer pleasures instead.
Hark ! the rap at the door is known as their dad's,

And rushing at once to the lock,
Wide open it flies, while the lasses and lads

Bid me welcome as chief of the flock.
Little baby himself leaves the breast for a gaze

Glad to join in th" general joy,
While with outstretched arms and looks of amaze

He seizes the new purchas'd toy.
Then Harry, the next, climbs the knee to engage

His father's attention again ;
But Bob, springing forward almost in a rage,

Resolves his own rights to maintain.
Oh, ye vot'ries of pleasure and folly's sad crew.

From your midnight carousals depart I
Look here for true joys, ever blooming and new.

When I press both these boys to my heart.
Poor grimalkin purs softly the tea-kettle sings,

Midst glad faces and innocent hearts,
Encircling my table as happy as kings,

Right merrily playing their parts.

And Bill (the sly rogue) takes a lump, when he's able,

Of sugar, so temptingly sweet,
And, archly observing, hides under the table

The spoil, till he's ready to eat.

While George, the big boy, talks of terrible " sums"

He perform'd so correctly at school;
Bill leeringly tells, with his chin on his thumbs,

" He was whipt there for playing the fool I"
This raises a strife, till in choleric mood

Each ventures a threat to his brother,
But their hearts are so good, let a stranger intrude,

They'd fight to the last for each other
There Nan, the sweet girl, she that fags for the while,

And keeps the young urchins in oider,
Exhibits, with innocence charmins; the soul,

Her sister's fine sampler and border.
Kitty sings to me gaily, then chatting apace

Helps her mother to darn or to stitch,
Reminding me most of that gay laughing face

Which once did my fond heart bewitch.
While she 1 the dear partner of all my delight.

Contrives them some innocent play ;
Till, tired of ajl, in the silence of night,

They dream the glad moments away.
Oh, long may such fire-side scenes be my lot I

Ye children, be virtuous and true I
And think when I'm aged, alone in my cot.

How I minister'd comfort to you.
When my vigour is gone, and to manhood's estate

Ye all shall be happily grown,
Live near me, and, anxious for poor father's fate

Show the world that you're truly mv -wn.

Till-, TABLE BOOK.

>tanmore

Its ornamental look, and public use,
Combine to render it worth observation.

Our new toll-houses are deservedly the
lubject of frequent remark, on account of
their beauty. The preceding engraving is
intended to convey an idea of Stanmore-
gate, which is one of the handsomest near
London. The top is formed into a large
lantern ; when illuminated, it is an im-
portant mark to drivers in dark nights.

It may be necessary to add, that the pre-
sent representation was not destined to
appear in this place ; but the indisposition
of a gentleman engaged to assist in illus-
trating this work, has occasioned a sudden
disappointment.

" STATUTES " AND " MOPS.*
To the Editor.

Sii", Although your unique and curious
work, the Every-Day Book, abounds with
very ir.teresting accounts of festivals, fairs,
way ja*ls, wakes, and other particulars con-
r7,ii.igour country manners, and will be
ytf.i.d by future generations as a rare and

valuable collection of the pastimes and
customs of their forefathers, still much of
the same nature remains to be related j
and as I am anxious that the Country
Statute, or Mop, (according to the version
of the country people generally,) should be
snatched from oblivion, I send you a de-
scription of this custom, which, I hope, will
be deemed worthy a place in the Table
Book. I had waited to see if some one
more competent to a better account than
myself would achieve the task, when that
short but significant word FINIS, attached
to the Every-Day Book, arouses me from
further delay, and I delineate, as well as I
am able, scenes which, but for that work,
I possibly should have never noticed.

Some months ago I solicited the assist-
ance of a friend, a respectable farmer,
residing at Wootton, in Warwickshire, who
not only very readily promised to give me
every information he possessed on the sub-
ject, but proposed that I should pass a
week at his farm at the time these Statutes
were holding. So valuable an opportuniU

173

THE TABLE BOOK.

174

of visiting them and making my own obser-
vations, I, of course, readily embraced. Be-
fere I proceed to lay before you the results,
it may be as well, perhaps, to give some-
ihing like a definition of the name applied
to this peculiar custom, as also when and
for what purpose the usage was established.
* Statutes," or " Statute Sessions," otherwise
called " Petit Sessions," are meetings, in
every hundred of each shire in England where
they are held, to which the constables and
others, both householders and servants,
repair for the determining of differences
between masters and servants ; the rating,
by the sheriff or magistrates, of wages for
the ensuing year ; and the bestowing of
such people in service as are able to
serve, and refuse to seek, or cannot get
masters.

The first act of parliament for regulating
servants' wages passed in the year 1351,
25th Edward II I. At an early period
labourers were serfs, or slaves, and con-
sequently there was no law upon the sub-
ject. The immediate cause of the act of
Edward III. was that plague which wasted
Europe from 1347 to 1349, and destroyed
a great proportion of its inhabitants. The
consequent scarcity of labourers, and the
high price demanded for labour, caused
those who employed them to obtain legis-
lative enactments, imposing fines on all
who gave or accepted more than a stipu-
lated sum. Since that period there have
been various regulations of a similar nature.
By the 13th of Richard II. the justices of
every county were to meet once a year,
between Easter and Michaelmas, to regu-
late, according to circumstances, the rates
of wages of agricultural servants for the
year ensuing, and cause the same to be
proclaimed. But though this power was
confirmed to the justices by the 5th of
Elizabeth, this part of the custom of Sta-
tute Sessions is almost, if not quite, fallen
into disuse. It is probable that in the years
immediately succeeding the first enactment
the population was so restored as to cause the
laws to be relaxed, though they still remain
as an example of the wisdom of past ages.
However this may be, it is certain, that all
that is at present understood by "Statutes,"
or, as the vulgar call them, " Mops," is the
assembling of masters and servants, the for-
mer to seek the latter, and the latter to
obtain employment of the former. It is un-
doubtedly a mutual accommodation ; for
although the servants now rate and ask what
wages they think fit, still they have an
oppoitunity of knowing how wages are
us^aiij gome', and the masters have hun-

dreds, and, in some cases, thousands of
servants to choose from.

The " Statute'' I first attended was held
at Studley, in Warwickshire, at the latter
end of September. On arriving, between
twelve and one o'clock, at the part of the
Alcester road where the assembly was held,
the place was filling very fast by groups of
persons of almost all descriptions from
every quarter. Towards three o'clock there
must have been many thousands present.
The appearance of the whole may be pretty
accurately portrayed to the mind of those
who have witnessed a country fair; the
sides of the roads were occupied with stalls
for gingerbread, cakes, &c., general assort-
ments of hardware, japanned goods, wag-
goner's frocks, and an endless variety of
wearing apparel, suitable to every class,
from the farm bailiff, or dapper footman,
to the unassuming ploughboy, or day-la-
bourer.

The public-houses were thoroughly full,
not excepting even the private chambers.
The scene out of doors was enlivened, here
and there, by some wandering minstrel, or
fiddler, round whom stood a crowd of men
and boys, who, at intervals, eagerly joined
to swell the chorus of the song. Although
there was as large an assemblage ,as could
be well remembered, both of masters and
servants, I was given to understand that
there was very little hiring. This might
happen from a twofold cause ; first, on ac-
count of its being one of the early Statutes,
and, secondly, from the circumstance of the
servants asking what was deemed (consi-
dering the pressure of the times) exorbitant
wages. The servants were, for the most
part, bedecked in their best church-going
clothes. The men also wore clean white
frocks,and carried in their hats some emblem
or insignia of the situation they had been
accustomed to or were desirous to fill : for
instance, a waggoner, or ploughboy, had a
piece of whipcord in his hat, some of it
ingeniously plaited in a variety of ways
and entwined round the hatband ; a cow-
man, after the same manner, had some
cow-hair ; and to those already mentioned
there was occasionally added a piece of
sponge ; a shepherd had wool ; a gardener
had flowers, &c. &c.

The girls wishing to be hired were in a
spot apart from the men and boys, and all
stood not unlike cattle at a fair waiting for
dealers. Some of them held their hands be-
fore them, with one knee protruding, (like
soldiers standing at ease,) and never spoke,
save when catechised and examined by 3
master or mistress as to the work they J3|

175

THE TABLE BOOK.

176

been accustomed to ; and then you would
scarce suppose they had learned to say
anything but " Ees, sur," or " No, sur,"
for these were almost the only expressions
that fell from their lips. Others, on the
contrary, exercised no small degree of self-
sufficient loquacity concerning their abili-
ties, which not unusually consisted of a good
proportion of main strength, or being able
to drive or follow a variety of kinds of
plough. Where a master or mistress was
engaged in conversation with a servant
they were usually surrounded by a group,
with their mouths extended to an angle of
near forty-five degrees, as if to catch the
sounds at the aperture ; this in some, per-
haps, was mere idle curiosity, in others,
from desire to know the wages asked and
given, as a guide for themselves. I observ-
ed a seeming indifference about the servants
in securing situations. They appeared to
require a certain sum for wages, without
reference to any combination of circum-
stances or the state of the times ; and how-
ever exorbitant, they rarely seemed dispos-
ed to meet the master by proposing some-
thing lower ; they would stand for some
time and hear reasons why wages should
be more moderate, and at the conclusion,
when you would suppose they were either
willing, in some measure, to accede to the
terms, or to offer reasons why they should
not, you were mortified to know, that the
usual answer was, " Yo'll find me yarn it,
sur," or " I conna gue for less."

When a bargain is concluded on at a
" Statute," it is the custom to ratify it im-
mediately, and on the spot, by the master
presenting to the servant what is termed
" earnest money," which is usually one
shilling, but it varies according to circum-
stances ; for instance, if a servant agrees to
come for less than he at first asked, it is,
perhaps, on the condition that his earnest
is augmented, probably doubled or trebled,
as may be agreed on.

The contract arises upon the hiring : if
the hiring be general, without any particu-
lar time limited, the law construes it to be
hiring for one year ; but the contract may
be made for any longer or shorter period.
Many farmers are wary enough to hire
their servants for fifty-one weeks only,
which prevents them having any claim
upon that particular parish in case of dis-
tress, &c. We frequently find disputes
between two parishes arising out of Statute-
hirings brought to the assizes or sessions
for settlement.

When the hiring is over, the emblems in
he hats are exchanged for ribbons of al-

most every hue. Some retire to the neigh-
bouring grounds to have games at bowls,
skittles, or pitching, &c. &c., whilst the
more unwary are fleeced of their money by
the itinerant Greeks and black legs with
E. O. tables, pricking in the garter, the
three thimbles 8c c. &c. These tricksters
seldom fail to rea p abundant harvests at
the Statutes. Towards evening each lad
seeks his lass, and they hurry off to spend the
night at the public-houses, or, as is the
case in some small villages, at private
houses, which, on these occasions, are
licensed for the time being.

To attempt to delineate the scenes that
now present themselves, would on my part
be presumption indeed. It rather requires
the pencil of Hogarth to do justice to this
varied picture. Here go round the

"Song and dance, and mirth and glfte;"

but I cannot add, with the poet,

" In one continued round of harmony :"

for, among such a mingled mass, i't is rare
but that in some part discord breaks in
upon the rustic amusements of the peace-
ably inclined. The rooms of the several
houses are literally crammed, and usually
remain so throughout the night, unless they
happen to be under restrictions from the
magistrates, in which case the houses are
shut at a stated hour, or the license risked.
Clearances, however, are not easily effected
At a village not far from hence, it has,
ere now, been found necessary to disturb
the reverend magistrate from his peaceful
slumbers, and require his presence to quell
disturbances that almost, as a natural con-
sequence, ensue, from the landlords and
proprietors of the houses attempting to
turn out guests, who, under the influence of
liquor, pay little regard to either landlord
or magistrate. The most peaceable way T>f
dealing, is to allow them to remain till the
morning dawn breaks in and warns them
home.

The time for Statute-hiring commences
about the beginning of September, and
usually closes before old . Michaelmas-day,
that being the day on which servants enter
on their new services, or, at least, quit their
old ones. Yet there are some few Statutes
held after this time, which are significantly
styled " Runaway Mops ;" one of this kind
is held at Henley-in-Arden, on the 29th of
October, being also St. Luke's fair. Three
others are held at Southam, in Warwick-
shire, on the three successive Mondays
after old Michaelmas-day. To these Sta-
tutes all repair, who, from one cause or
other, decline to go to their new places,

THE TABLK BOOK.

178

together with others who had not been for-
tunate enough to obtain situations. Mas-
ters, however, consider it rather hazardous to
hire at these Statutes, as they ate in danger
of engaging 1 with servants already hired,
who capriciously refuse to go to their em-
ployment ; and if any person hire or retain
a servant so engaged, the first hirer has his
action for damages against the master and
servant ; yet, if the new master did not
know his servant had been hired before, no
action will lie against him, except he
refuse to give him up on information and
demand. Characters are sometimes requir-
ed by the master hiring ; and these, to the
great detriment of society, are given in
such a loose and unreserved manner, that
(to use the language of the author of the
Rambler) you may almost as soon depend
on the circumstance of an acquittal at the
Old Bailey by way of recommendation to
a servant's honesty, as upon one of these
characters.

If a master discovers that a servant is
not capable of performing the stipulated
work, or is of bad character, he may send
the servant to drink the " earnest money ;"
and custom has rendered this sufficient to
dissolve the contract. On the other hand,
if a servant has been deceived by the mas-
ter in any particular, a release is obtained
by returning the " earnest." If, however,
there is no just ground of complaint, it is
at the master's option to accept it, and vice
versa. The Statutes I have visited for the
purpose of gaining these particulars are
Stud ley, Shipston-on-Stour, and Aston-
Cantlow, all in Warwickshire. I observed
no particular difference either in the busi-
ness or the diversions of the day, but Stud-
ley was by far the largest. At Stratford-on-
Avon, and some other places, there is bull-
roasting, &c., which, of course, adds to the
amusement and frolic of the visitors.

I believe I have now pretty well exhaust-
ed my notes, and I should not have been
thus particular, but that 1 believe Statute-
hiring is a custom peculiar to England. I
shall conclude by making an extract from
Isaac Bickerstaffe's " Love in a Village."
In scenes the 10th and llth there is a green,
with the prospect of a village, and the
representation of a Statute, and tlie follow-
ing conversation, &c. takes place :

Hodge. This way, your worship, this
way. Why don't you stand aside there ?
Here's his worship a-coming.

Countrymen. His worship !

Justice Woodcock. Fy ! fy ! what a
crowd's this ! Odds, I'll put some of then*

in the stocks. (Striking a fellow.) Stand
out of the way, sirrah.

Hodge. Now, your honour, now tne
sport will come. The gut-scrapers are
here, and some among them are going to
sing and dance. Why, there's not the like
of our Statute, mun, in five counties ; others
are but fools to it.

Servant Man. Come, good people, make
a ring ; and stand out, fellow-servants, as
many of you as are willing and able to
bear a-bob. We'll let my masters and
mistresses see we can do something at
least ; if they won't hire us it sha'n't be
our fault. Strike up the Servants' Medley.
AIR.

Housemaid.

I pray, gentles, list to me,
I'm young and strong, and clean, yon see ;
I'll not turn tail to any she,

For work that's in the country.
Of all your house the charge I take,
I wash, I scrub, I brew, I bake ;
And more can do than here I'll speak,
Depending on your bounty.

Footman.
Behold a blade, who knows his trade.

In chamber, hall, and entry t
And what though here I now appear,
I've served the best of gentry.
A footman would you have,
I can dress, and comb, and shave;
For I a handy lad am :
On a message I can go,
And slip a billet-doux,
With your humble servait, madam.

CooJtmaid.

Who wants a good cook my hand they must cross;
For plain wholesome dishes I'm ne'er at a loss ;
And what are your soups, your ragouts, and your sauce.
Compared to old English roast beef?

Carter.

If you want a young man with a true honest heart.
Who knows how to manage a plough and a cart,
Here's one to your purpose, come take me and try ;
You'll say you ne'er met with a better than I,
Geho, dobin, &c.

Chorus.

My masters and mistresses hitiier repair,
What servants you want you'll find in our fair;
Men and maids fit for all sorts of stations there be.
And as for the wages we sha'n't disagree.

Presuming that these memoranda mny
amuse a number of persons who, chiehy
living in large towns and cities, have no
opportunity of being otherwise acquainted
with " Statutes," or " Mops," in country-
places, I am, &c.

Birmingham. W. PARE

179

THE TABLE BOOK.

:ao

HAM AND STILTON.
For the Table Book.

THE POET'S EPISTLE OF THANKS TO
FRIEND AT BIRMINGHAM.

" Perlege Maeonio cantatas carmine ranas,

Et frontem nugi, solvere disce meis."

MAS.-.

Dear Friend, I feel constraint to say.
The present sent the other day
Claims my best thanks, and while design'd
To please the taste, it warm'd my mind.
Nor, wonder not it should inspire
Within my oreast poetic fire !

The Cheese seem'd like some growing state,
Compos'd of little folks and great ;
Though we denominate them rr,itet,
They call each other Stiltonites.
And 'tis most fit, where'er we live,
The land our epithet should give :
Romans derive their name from Rome,
And Turks, you know, from Turkey come.

Gazing with " microscopic eye '"

O'er Stilton land, I did espy

Such wonders, as would make those stare

Who never peep'd or travell'd there.

The country where this race reside

Abounds with crags on ev'ry side :

Its geographic situation

Is under constant variation ;

Now hurried np, then down again- -

No Sx'd abode can it maintain :

And, like the Lilliputian dim j,

We read about in olden time,

Huge giants compass it about,

Who dig within, and cut without,

And at a mouthful direful fate !

A city oft depopulate 1

And, then, in Stilton, yon most Vuiovr

There is a spot, call'd Rotten-row ;

A soil more marshy than the rest,

Therefore by some esteem'd the best.

The natives here, whene'er they dine.

Drink nothing but the choicest wine ;

Which through each street comes flowing down,

Like water in New Sarum's town.

h such a quarter, yon may guess,

The leading vice is drunkenness.

ome hither any hour of day,

And yon shall see whole clusters lay

Reeling and floundering about,

As though it were a madman's rout.

Those who dwell nearer the land's end,

Where rarely the red show'rs descend.

Are in their turns corporeal

More sober and gymnastiral

Meandering in kindred dust,

fhey gauge, and with the dry-rot burst ,

For we may natr.rally think,

They live not long who cannot drink.

Alas ! poor Stilton ! where's the mrj?
To sing thy downfall will refuse?
Melpomene, in mournful verse,
Thy dire destruction will rehearse :
Comus himself shall grieve and weep,
As notes of woe his gay lyre sweep ;
For who among thy countless band
The fierce invaders can withstand ?
Nor only foreign foes are thine
Children thou hast, who undermine
Thy massive walls that 'girt thee round.
And ev'ry corner seems unsound.
A few more weeks, and we shall see
Stilton, the fam'd will cease to be !

Before, however, I conclude,
I wish to add, that gratitude
Incites me to another theme
Beside coagulated cream.
'Tis not about the village Ham,
Nor yet the place call'd Petersham -
Nor more renowned Birmingham :
Nor is it fried or Friar Bacon,
The Muse commands me verse to make on
Norpfi/mies, (as the poet feigns,)
' A people once devour'd by cranes,
Of these I speak not my intention
Is something nearer home to mention ;
Therefore, at once, for pig's hind leg
Accept my warmest thanks, I beg.
The meat was of the finest sort,
And worthy of a dish at court.

Lastly, I gladly would express

The grateful feelings I possess

For such a boon th' attempt is Tain,

And hence in wisdom I refrain

From saying more than what yon see

Farewell ! sincerely yours,

B.C,

To E. T. Esq.
Jan. 1827.

LOVES OF THE NEGROES.

AT NEW PALTZ, UNITED STATES.

Pkillis Schoonmaker v. Cuff Hogeboon.

This was an action for a breach of the
marriage promise, tried before 'squire De
Witt, justice of the peace and quorum.
The parties, as their names indicate, were
black, or, as philanthropists would say,
coloured folk. Counsellor Van Shaick ap-
pealed on behalf of the lady. He recapi-
tulated the many verdicts which had been
given of late in favour of injured inno-
cence, much to the honour and gallantry of
an American jury. It was time to put an
end to these faithless professions, to these
cold-hearted delusions ; it was time to put
a curb upon the false tongues and false
hearts of pretended lovers, who, with honied

181

THE TABLE BOOK

182

accents, only woo'd to ruin, and only pro-
fessed to deceive. The \rorthy counsellor
trusted that no injurious impressions would
be made on the minds of the jury by the
colour of his client

" "Tis not a set of features,

This tincture of the skin, that we admire."

She was black, it was true ; so was the ho-
noured wife of Moses, the most illustrious
and inspired of prophets. Othello, the
celebrated Moor of Venice, and the victo-
rious general of her armies, was black, yet
the lovely Desdemona saw " Othello's visage
in his mind." In modern times, we might
quote his sable majesty of Hayti, or, since
that country had become a republic, the
gallant Boyer. He could also refer to Rhio
Rhio, king of the Sandwich Islands, his
copper-coloured queen, and madame Poki,
so hospitably received, and fed to death by
their colleague the king of England nay,
the counsellor was well advised that the
brave general Sucre, the hero of Ayacucho,
was a dark mulatto. What, then, is colour
in estimating the griefs of a forsaken and
ill-treated female? She was poor, it was
(rue, and in a humble sphere of life; but
love levels all distinctions ; the blind god
was no judge, and no respecter of colours ;
his darts penetrated deep, not skin deep ;
his client, though black, was flesh and
blood, and possessed affections, passions,
resentments, and sensibilities ; and in this
case she confidently threw herself upon the
generosity of a jury of freemen of men of
the north, as the friends of the northern
president would say, of men who did not
live in Missouri, and on sugar plantations ;
and from such his client expected just and
liberal damages.

Phillis then advanced to the bar, to give
her testimony. She was, as her counsel
represented, truly made up of flesh and
blood, being what is called a strapping
wench, as black as the ace of spades. She
was dressed in the low Dutch fashion,
which has not varied for a century, linsey-
woolsey petticoats, very short, blue worsted
stockings, leather shoes, with a massive
pair of silver buckles, bead ear-rings, her
woolly hair combed, and face sleek and
greasy. There was no " dejected 'haviour
of visage" no broken heart visible in her
face she looked fat and comfortable, as if
she had sustained no damage by the petfidy
of her swain. Before she was sworn, the
court called the defendant, who came from
among the crowd, and stood respectfully
before the bench. Cuff was a good-looking
young fellow, with a tolerably smartish

dress, and appeared as if he had been in
the metropolis taking lessons of perfidious
lovers he cast one or two cutting looks at
Phillis, accompanied by a significant turn
up of the nose, and now and then a con-
temptuous ejaculation of Eh ! Umph !
Ough Iwhich did not disconcert the /air-
one in the least, she returning the compli-
ment by placing her arms a-kimbo, and
surveying her lover from head to foot. The
court inquired of Cuff whether he had
counsel? " No, massa, (he replied) I tell
my own 'tory you see massa 'Squire, I
know de gentlemen of de jury berry veil
dere is massa Teerpenning, of Little 'So-
phus, know him berry veil I plough for
him ; den dere is massa Traphagan, of our
town how he do massa ? ah, dere massa
Topper, vat prints de paper at Big 'Sophus
know him too; dere is massa Peet
Steenberg know him too he owe me lit-
tle money : I know 'em all massa 'Squire;
I did go to get massa Lucas to plead for
me, but he gone to the Court of Error, at
Albany ; Massa Sam Freer and massa
Cockburn said they come to gib me good
character, but I no see 'em here."

Cuff was ordered to stand aside, and
Phillis was sworn.

Plaintiff said she did not know how old
she was ; believed she was sixteen ; she
looked nearer twenty-six; she lived with
Hons Schoonmaker ; was brought up in the
family. She told her case as pathetically
as possible :

" Massa 'Squire/' said she, " I was gone
up to massa Schoonmaker's lot, on Shaun-
gum mountain, to pile brush ; den Cuff, he
vat stands dare, cum by vid de teem, he top
his horses and say, ' How de do, Phillis?'
or, as she gave it, probably in Dutch, ' How
gaud it mit you ?' ' Hail goot,' said I ; den
massa he look at me berry hard, and say,
Phillis, pose you meet me in the nite, ven de
moon is up, near de barn, I got sumting to
say den I say, berry bell, Cuff, I vill he
vent up de mountain, and I vent home ;
ven I eat my supper and milk de cows, I
say to myself, Phillis, pose you go down to
de barn, and hear vat Cuff has to say.
Well, massa 'Squire, I go, dare was Cuff
sure enough, he told heaps of tings all
about love ; call'd me Wenus and Jewpeter,
and other tings vat he got out of de play-
house ven he vent down in the slope to
New York, and he ax'd me if I'd marry
him before de Dominie, Osterhaut, he vat
preached in Milton, down 'pon Marlbro'.
I say, Cuft", you make fun on me ; he say
no, ' By mine zeal, I vil marry you, Phillis ;-*
den he gib me dis here as earnest." PhilLj

183

THE TABLE BOUK.

184

nere drew from her huge pocke. an im-
mense pair of scissars, a jack knife, and a
wooden pipe curiously carved, which she
offered as a testimony of the promise, and
which was sworn to as the property of Cuff,
who subsequently had refused to fulfil the
contract.

Cuff admitted that he had made her a
kind of promise, but it was conditional.
" I told her, massa 'Squire, that she was a
slave and a nigger, and she must wait till
the year 27, then all would be free, cording
to the new constitution; den she said, berry
veil, I bill wait."

Phillis utterly denied the period of pro-
bation ; it was, she said, to take place " ben
he got de new corduroy breeches from
Cripplely Coon, de tailor; he owe three and
sixpence, and mnssa Coon won't let him
hab 'em vidout de money : den Cuff he run
away to Varsing ; I send Coon Crook, de
constable, and he find urn at Shaudakin,
and he bring him before you, massa."

The testimony here closed.

The court charged the jury, that although
the testimony was not conclusive, nor the
injury very apparent, yet the court was not
warranted in taking the case out of the
nands of the jury. A promise had evidently
been made, and had been broken ; some
differences existed as to the period when
the matrimonial contract was to have been
fulfilled, and it was equally true and honour-
able, as the court observed, that in 1827
slavery was to cease in the state, and that
fact might have warranted the defendant in
the postponement ; but of this there was
no positive proof, and as the parties could
neither read nor write, the presents might be
construed into a marriage promise. The
court could see no reason why these hum-
ble Africans should not, in imitation of
their betters, in such cases, appeal to a jury
for damages ; but it was advisable not to
make those damages more enormous than
circumstances warranted, yet sufficient to
act as a lesson to those coloured gentry, in
their attempts to imitate fashionable in-
fidelity.

The jury brought in a verdict of " Ten
dollars, and costs, for the plaintiff."

The defendant not being able to pay,
was committed to Kingston jail, a martyr
to his own folly, and an example to all
others in like cases offending.

THE RETROSPECT.

I have not heard thy name for years;

Thy memory ere thyself is dead ;
And even I forget the tears

That once for thy lov'd sake were shed.

There was a time when thou didst seem
The light and breath of life to me

When, e'en in thought, I could not dream
That less than mine thou e'er could be :

Yet now it is a chance that brought

Thy image to my heart again ;
A single flower recall'd the thought

Why is it still so full of pain ?

The jasmine, round the casement twin'd,
Caught mine eye in the pale moonlight

It broke my dream, and brought to mind
Another dream another night.

As then, I by the casement leant ,
As then, the silver moonlight shone-

Bot not, as then, another bent
Beside me I am now alone.

The sea is now between us twain
As wide a gulf between each heart ;

Never can either have again
An influence on the other's part.

Our paths are different ; perchance mine
May seem the sunniest of the two :

The lute, which once was only thine,
Has other aim, and higher view.

My song has now a wider scope

Than when its first tones breath'd thj name;
My heart has done with Love and hope

Turn'd to another idol Fame.

'Tis but one destiny ; one dream

Succeeds another. like a wave
Following its bubbles till their gleam

Is lost, and ended in the grave.

Why am I sorrowful ? 'Tis not
One thought of thee has brought the tear

In sooth, thou art so much forgot,
I do not even wish thee here

Both are so chang'd, that did we meet
We might but marvel we had lov'd :

What made our earliest dream so sweet :
Illusions long, long since remov'd.

I sorrow but it is to know

How still some fair deceit unweaves
To think how all of joy below

Is only joy while it deceives.

I sorrow but it is to feel

Changes which my own mind hath told:
What, though time polishes the steel,

Alas ! it is less bright than cold.

II1E TABLE BOOK

180

..arf more smiles, koo lewer tears ;
Bo f tears are now restrain' d for shame:
Task-work the smiles my lip now wears,
That once like rain and sunshine came.

Where is the sweet credulity,

Happy in that fond trust it bore,
Which never dream'd the time would be

When it could hope and trust no more ?

Affection, springing warmly forth
Light word, light laugh, and lighter care

Life's afternoon is little worth
The dew and warmth of morning air.

I would not live again love's hour ;

But fain I would again recall
The feelings which upheld its power

The truth, the hope, that made it thrall.

I would renounce the worldliness.
Now too much with my heart and one ;

In one trust more, in one doubt less,
How much of happiness would be !

Vainer than vain ! Why should I ask
Life's sweet but most deceiving part ?

Alas 1 the bloom upon the cheek
Long, long outlives that of the heart.

L. E. L. Monthly Magazine.

TIMBER IN BOGS.

It is stated in the second report of the
commissioners on the bogs of Ireland, that
three distinct growths of timber, covered
by three distinct masses of bog, are dis-
covered on examination. But whether these
morasses were at first formed by the de-
struction of whole forests, or merely by the
stagnation of water in places where its
current was choked by the fall of a few
trees, and by accumulations of branches
and leaves, carried down from the sur-
rounding hills, is a question.

Professor Davy is of opinion, that in
many places where forests had grown un-
disturbed, the trees on the outside of the
woods grew stronger than the rest, from
their exposure to the air and sun ; and that,
when mankind attempted to establish them-
selves near these forests, they cut down the
large trees on their borders, which opened
the internal part, where the trees were weak
and slender, to the influence of the wind,
which, as is commonly to be seen in such
circumstances, had immediate power to
sweep down the whole of the internal parts
of the forest. The large timber obstructed
the passage of vegetable recrement, and of
earth falling towards the rivers ; the weak
timber, in the internal part of the forest
after it had fallen, soon decayed, and be-
came the food of future vegetation.

Mr. Kirwan observes, that whatever trees
are found in bogs, though the wood may be
perfectly sound, the bark of the timber has
uniformly disappeared, and the decomposi
tion of this bark forms a considerable part
of the nutritive substance of morasses.
Notwithstanding this circumstance, tanning
is not to be obtained in analysing bogs ;
their antiseptic quality is however indispu-
table, for animal and vegetable substances
are frequently found at a great depth in
bogs, without their seeming to have suffered
any decay ; these substances cannot have
been deposited in them at a very remote
period, because their form and texture is
such as were common a few centuries ago.
In 1786 there were found, seventeen feet
below the surface of a bog in Mr. Kirwan's
district, a woollen coat of coarse, but even,
network, exactly in the form of what is
now called a spencer ; a razor, with a
wooden handle, some iron heads of arrows,
and large wooden bowls, some only half
made, were also found, with the remains of
turning tools : these were obviously the
wreck of a workshop, which was probably
situated on the borders of a forest. The
coat was presented by him to the Antiqua-
rian Society. These circumstances coun-
tenance the supposition, that the encroach-
ments of men upon forests destroyed the
first barriers against the force of the wind,
and that afterwards, according to sir H.
Davy's suggestion, the trees of weaker
growth, which had not room to expand, or
air and sunshine to promote their increase,
soon gave way to the elements.

MODES OF SALUTATION.

Greenlanders have none, and laugh at
the idea of one person being inferior to
another.

Islanders near the Philippines take a
person's hand or foot, and rub it over their
face.

Laplanders apply their noses strongly
against the person they salute.

In New Guinea, they place leaves upon
the head of those they salute.

In the Straits of the Sound they raise
the left foot of the person saluted, pass it
gently over the right leg, and thence over
the face.

The inhabitants of the Philippines bend
very low, placing their hands on their
cheeks, and raise one foot in the air, with
the knee bent.

An Ethiopian takes the robe of another
and ties it about him, so as to leave his
friend almost naked.

THE TABLE BOOK.

168

The Japanese take off a slipper, and
the people of Arracan their sandals, in the
street, and their stockings in the house,
when they salute.

Two Negro kings on the coast of Africa,
salute by snapping the middle finger three
times.

The inhabitants of Carmene, when they
would show a particular attachment, breathe
a vein, and present the blood to their friend
as a beverage.

If the Chinese meet, after a long separa-
tion, they fall on their knees, bend their
face to the earth two or three times, and
use many other affected modes. They have
also a kind of ritual, or " academy of com-
pliments," by which they regulate the num-
ber of bows, genuflections, and words to
be spoken upon any occasion. Ambassa-
dors practise these ceremonies forty days
before they appear at court.

In Otaheite, they rub their noses toge-
ther.

The Dutch, who are considered as great
eaters, have a morning salutation, common
amongst all ranks, " Smaakelyk eeten ?"
" May you eat a hearty dinner." Another
is, " Hoe vaart awe." " How do you
sail ?" adopted, no doubt, in the early
periods of the republic, when they were all
navigators and fishermen.

The usual salutation at Cairo is, " How
do you sweat?" a dry hot skin being a
sure indication of a destructive ephemeral
fever. Some author has observed, in con-
trasting the haughty Spaniard with the
frivolous Frenchman, that the proud, steady
gait and inflexible solemnity of the former,
were expressed in his mode of salutation,
"Come esta?" "How do you stand?"
whilst the " Comment vous portez-vous ?"
"How do you carry yourself?" was equally
expressive of the gay motion and incessant
action of the latter.

The common salutation in the southern
provinces of China, amongst the lower
orders, is, " Ya fan ?" " Have you eaten
your rice ?"

In Africa, a young woman, an intended
bride, brought a little water in a calabash,
and kneeling down before her lover, de-
sired him to wash his hands ; when he had
done this, the girl, with a tear of joy spark-
ling in her eyes, drank the water ; this was
considered as the greatest proof she could
give of her fidelity and attachment.

POETRY.
For the Table Book.

The poesy of the earth, sea, air, and sky.
Though death is powerful in course of tima

With wars and battlements, will never die.
But triumph in the silence of sublime
Survival. Frost, like tyranny, might climb

The nurseling germs of favourite haunts ; the roots
Will grow hereafter. Terror on the deep
Is by the calm subdu'd, that Beauty e'en might crf

On moonlight waves to coral rest. The fruits
Blush in the winds, and from the branches leap

To mossy beds existing in the ground.

Stars swim unseen, through solar hemispheres,

Yet in the floods of night, how brightly round
The zone of poesy, they reflect the rolling years.

A BAD SIGN.

During a late calling out of the North
Somerset yeomanry, at Bath, the service of
one of them, a " Batcome boy," was en-
livened by a visit from his sweetheart ;
after escorting her over the city, and being
fatigued with showing her what she had
" ne'er zeed in all her life," he knocked
loudly at the door of a house in the Cres-
cent, against which a hatchment was
placed, and on the appearance of the pow-
dered butler, boldly ordered " two glasses
of scalded wine, as hot as thee canst make
it." The man, staring, informed him he
could have no scalded wine there 'twas no
public-house. " Then dose thee head,"
replied Somerset, " what'st hang out thik
there zign var."

INSCRIPTION

FOR A TOMB TO THE MEMORY OF CAPTAIN
HEWITSON, OF THE SHIT, TOWN OF UL-
VERSTON.

By James Montgomery, Esq.

Weep for a seaman, honest and sincere,
Not cast away, but brought to anchor here ;
Storms had o'erwhelm'd him. but the conscious W*T
Repented, and resign'd him to the grave :
In harbour, safe from shipwreck, now he lies,
Till Time's last signal blazes through the skits ;
Refitted in a moment, then shall he
Sail from this port on an eternal >ea.

189

THE TABLE BOOK.

190

He only who is " noseless himself" will
deem this a trifling article. My prime
minister of pleasure is my snuff-box. The
office grew out of my " liking a pinch, now
and then," and carrying a bit of snuff,
screwed up in paper, wherewith, seme two
or three times a day, I delighted to treat
myself to a sensation, and a sneeze. Had
I kept a journal of my snuff-taking business
from that time, it would have been as in-
structive as " the life of that learned anti-
quary, Elias Ashmole, Esq., drawn up by
himself by way of diary ;" in submitting
which to the world, its pains-taking editor
says, that such works " let us into the secret
history of the affairs of their several times,
discover the springs of motion, and display
many valuable, though minute circum-
stances, overlooked or unknown to our
general historians ; and, to conclude all,
satiate our largest curiosity." A compa-
rative view of the important annals of Mr.
Ashmole, and some reminiscent incidents

VOL. I. 7.

of my snuff-taking, I reserve for my auto-
biography.

To manifest the necessity of my present
brief undertaking, I beg to state, that I
still remain under the disappointment of
drawings, complained of in the former
sheet. I resorted on this, as on all difficult
occasions, to a pinch of snuff; and, having
previously resolved on taking " the first
thing that came uppermost," for an engrav-
ing and a topic, my hand first fell on the
top of my snuff-box. If the reader be
angry because I have told the truth, it is
no more than I expect ; for, in nine cases
out of ten, a preference is given to a pre-
tence, though privily known to be a false-
hood by those to whom it is offered.

As soon as I wear out one snuff-box I
get another a silver one, and I, parted
company long ago. My customary boxes
have been papier-mack^, plain black : fci
if I had any figure on the lid it was sus-
pected to be some hidden device ; an

191

THE TABLE BOOK.

answer of direct negation was a ground of
doubt, offensively expressed by an in-
sinuating smile, or the more open rudeness
of varied questions. This I could only
resist by patience; but the parlement excise
on that virtue was more than I could afford,
and therefore my choice of a black box.
The last of that colour I had worn out, at
a season when I was unlikely to have more
than three or four visitors worth a pinch of
snuff, and I then bought this box, because
it was two-thirds cheaper than the former,
and because I approved the pictured orna-
ment. While the tobacconist was securing
my shilling, he informed me to at tne figure
had utterly excluded it from the choice of
every one who had noticed it. My selection
was agreeable to him in a monied view,
yet, both he, and his man, eyed the box
so unkindly, that I fancied they extended
their dislike to me ; and I believe they did.
Of the few who have seen it since, it has
been favourably received by only one my
little Alice who, at a year old, prefers
it before all others for a plaything, and
even accepts it as a substitute for myself,
when I wish to slip away from her caresses.
The elder young ones call it the " ugly
old man," but she admires it, as the in-
nocent infant, in the story-book, did the
harmless snake, with whom he daily shared
his bread-and-milk breakfast. I regard it
as the likeness of an infirm human being,
who, especially requiring comfort and pro-
tection, is doomed to neglect and insult
from childhood to the grave ; and all this
from no self-default,but the accident of birth
as if the unpurposed cruelty of nature
were a warrant for man's pei version and
wickedness. Of the individual I know
nothing, save what the representation seems
to tell that he lives in the world, and is
not of it. His basket, with a few pamphlets
for sale, returns good, in the shape of
knowledge, to evil doers, who, as regards
himself, are not to be instructed. His up-
ward look is a sign common to these
afflicted ones of inward hope of eternal
mercy, in requital for temporal injustice :
besides that, and his walking-staff, he
appears to have no other support on earth.
The intelligence of his patient features
would raise desire, were he alive and before
me, to learn by what process he gained the
understanding they express : his face is not
more painful, and I think scarcely less wise
than Locke's, if we may trust the portrait
of that philosopher. In the summer, after
a leisure view of the Dulwich gallery for
the first time, I found myself in the quiet
parlour of a little-frequented road-side

house, enjoying the recollections of a few
glorious pictures in that munificent exhi-
bition; while pondering with my box ii
my hand, the print on its lid diverted me
into a long reverie on what he, whom
represented, might have been under othet
circumstances, and I felt not alone on the
earth while there was another as lonely.
Since then, this " garner for my grain'' has
been worn out by constant use ; with
every care, it cannot possibly keep its ser-
vice a month longer. I shall regret the
loss : for its little Deformity has been my
frequent and pleasant companion in many
a solitary hour ; the box itself is the
only one I ever had, wherein simulated or
cooling friendship has not dipped.

<arricfe

No. IV.

[From " All Fools '' a Comedy by George
Chapman: 1605.]

Love's Panegyric.

-- 'tis Nature's second Sun,
Causing a spring of Virtues where he shines ;
And as without the Sun, the world's Great Eye,
All colours, beauties, both of art and nature,
Are given in vain to man ; so without Love
All beauties bred in women are in vain,
All virtues born in men lie buried ;
For Love informs them as the Sun doth colours
And as the Sun, reflecting his warm beams
Against the earth, begets all fruits and flower*
So Love, fair shining in the inward man,
Brings forth in him the honourable fruits
Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty thoughts.
Brave resolution, and divine discourse.

Love with Jealousy.

^^ snch Love is like a smoky fire
In a cold morning. Though the fire be chearfnl,
Yet is the smoke so foul and cumbersome,
"Twere better lose the fire than find the smoke.

Bailiffs routed.

I walking in the place where men's Law Suits

Are heard and pleaded, not so much as dreaming

Of any such encounter ; steps me forth

Their valiant Foreman with the word " I 'rest you."

I made no more ado but laid these paws

Close on his shoulders, tumbling him to earth ;

And there sat he on his posteriors

Like a baboon : and turning me about,

I strait espied the whole troop issuing on me.

I step me back, and drawing my old friend here.

Made to the midst of 'em, and all unable

To endure the shock, all rudely fell in rout.

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THK TABLE BOOK.

194

Ami down the stairs they ran in such a fury,

As meeting with a troop of Lawyers there,

Mann'd by their Clients (some with ten, some with

twenty,

Some five, some three ; he that had least had one),
Upon the stairs, they bore them down afore them.
But such a rattling then there was amongst them,
Of ravish'd Declarations, Replications,
Rejoinders, and Petitions, all their books
And writings torn, aud trod on, and seme lost,
That the poor Lawyers coming to the Bar
Could say nought to the matter, but instead
Were fain to rail, and talk beside their books,
Without all order.

[From the " Late Lancashire Witches," a
Comedy, by Thomas Heywood.]

A Household Bewitched.

My Uncle has of late become the sole

Discourse of all the country ; for of a man respected

As master of a goveru'd family,

The House (as if the ridge were fix'd below,

And gronndsils lifted up to make the roof)

All now's turn'd topsy-turvy,

In such a retrograde and preposterous way

As seldom hath been heard of, I think never.

The Good Man

In all obedience kneels unto his Son ;

He with an austere brow commands his Father.

The Wife presumes not in the Daughter's sight

Without a prepared curtsy ; the Girl she

Expects it as a duty ; chides her Mother,

Who quakes and trembles at each word she speaks.

And what's as strange, the Maid she domineers

O'er her young Mistress, who is awed by her.

The Son, to whom the Father creeps and bends,

Stands in as much fear of the groom his Man I

All in such rare disorder, that in some

As it breeds pity, and in others wonder,

So in the most part laughter. It is thought,

This conies by WITCHCRAFT.

[From " Wit in a Constable," a Comedy,
by Henry Glapthorn.]

Books.

Collegian. Did you, ere we departed from the College,
O'erlook my Library ?

Servant. Yes, Sir ; and I find,
Altho' you. tell me Learning is immortal,
The paper and the parchment 'tis contain'd in
Savours of much mortality.
The uioths have eaten more
Authentic Learning, than would nthly furaUh
A hudred country pedants ; yet the worms
\re not one letter wiser.

C. L.

THE TURK IN CHEAPSIDE

For the Table Book.
To MR. CHARLES LAMB.

I have a favour to ask of you. My desire
is this : J would fain see a stream from thy
Hippocrene flowing through the pages or
the Table Book. A short article on the old
Turk, who used to vend rhubarb in the
City, I greatly desiderate. Methinks you
would handle the subject delightfully. They
tell us he is gone

We have not seen him for some time
past Is he really dead ? Must we hereafter
speak of him only in the past tense ? You
are said to have divers strange items in your
brain about him Vent them I beseech
you.

Poor Mummy ! How many hours hath
he dreamt away on the sunny side of Cheap,
with an opium cud in his cheek, mutely
proffering his drug to the way-farers ! That
deep-toned bell above him, doubtless, hath
often brought to his recollection the loud
Allah-il-Allahs to which he listened hereto-
fore in his fatherland the city of minaret
and mosque, old Constantinople. Will he
never again be greeted by the nodding
steeple of Bow ? Perhaps that ancient bel-
dame, with her threatening head and loud
tongue, at length effrayed the sallow being
out of existence.

Hath his soul, in truth, echapped from
that swarthy cutaneous case of which it was
so long a tenant ? Hath he glode over that
gossamer bridge which leads to the para-
dise of the prophet of Mecca ? Doth he
pursue his old calling among the faithful ?
Are the blue-eyed beauties (those living
diamonds) who hang about the neck of Ma-
homet ever qualmish ? Did the immortal
Houris lack rhubarb ?

Prithee teach us to know more than we
do of this Eastern mystery ! Have some
of the ministers of the old Magi eloped
with him ? Was he in truth a Turk ? We
have heard suspicions cast upon the au-
thenticity of his complexion was its taw-
niness a forgery ? Oh ! for a quo warranto
to show by what authority he wore a tur-
ban ! Was there any hypocrisy in his sad
brow ? Poor Mummy !

The editor of the Table Book ought to
perpetuate his features. He was part of
the living furniture of the city Have not
our grandfathers seen him ?

The tithe of a page from thy pen on this
subject, surmounted by " a true portraic-
ture & effigies," would be a treat to me and
many more. If thou art stil Etr* if

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19*

liou art yet that gentle creature who has
immortalized his predilection for the sow's
jaby roasted without sage thi's boon wilt
fcou not deny me. Take the matter upon
/iee speedily. Wilt thou not endorse thy
Pegasus with this pleasant fardel ?

An* thou wilt not I shall be malicious
and wish thee some trifling evil : to wit
6y way of revenge for the appetite which
thou hast created among the reading pub-
lic for the infant progeny the rising gene-
ration of swine I will wish that some of
the old demoniac leaven may rise up against
thee in the modern pigs : that thy sleep
may be vexed with swinish visions ; that a
hog in armour, or a bashaw of a boar of three
tails, may be thy midnight familiar thy in-
cubus ; that matronly sows may howl after
thee in thy walks for their immolated off-
spring ; that Mab may tickle thee into fits
" with a tithe-pig's tail ;" that whereso-
ever thou goest to finger cash for copy-
right," instead of being paid in coin current,
thou mayst be enforced to receive thy
per-sheetage in guinea-pigs ; that thou
mayst frequently dream thou art sitting
on a hedge-hog ; that even as Oberon's
Queen doated on the translated Bottom, so
may thy batchelorly brain doat upon an

ideal image of the swine-faced lady

Finally, I will wish, that when next G. D.
visits thee, he may, by mistake, take away
thy hat, and leave thee his own
" Think of that Master Brook."
Yours ever,

E. C. M. D.
January 31, 1827.

literature.

GLANCES AT NEW BOOKS ON MY TABLE.

SPECIMENS OF BRITISH POETESSES ; se-
lected, and chronologically arranged, by
the Rev. Alexander Dyce, 1827, cr. 8vo.
pp. 462.

-Mr. Dyce remarks that, "from the great
Collections of the English Poets, where so
many worthless compositions find a place,
the productions of women have been care-
fully excluded." This utter neglect of fe-
male talent produces a counteracting effort :
" the object of the present volume is to
exhibit the growth and progress of the
genius of our countrywomen in the depart-
ment of poetry." The collection of " Poems
by eminent Ladies," edited by the elder
Colman and Bonnel Thornton, contained
specimens of only eighteen female writers ;
Mr. Dyce offers specimens of the poetry of

eighty-eight, ten of whom are still living.
He commences with the dame Juliana Ber-
ners, Prioress of the Nunnery of Sopwell,
" who resembled an abbot in respect ol
exercising an extensive manorial jurisdic-
tion, and who hawked and hunted in com-
mon with other ladies of distinction,'' and
wrote in rhyme on field sports. The volume
concludes with Miss Landon, whose initials,
L. E. L , are attached to a profusion of
talented poetry, in different journals.

The following are not to be regarded as
examples of the charming variety selected
by Mr. Dyce, in illustration of his purpose,
but rather as " specimens " of peculiar
thinking, or for their suitableness to the
present time of the year.

Our language does not afford a more
truly noble specimen of verse, dignified by
high feeling, than the following chorus from
" The Tragedy of Mariam, 161 3," ascribed
to lady Elizabeth Carew.

Revenge of Injuries.

The fairest action of our human life
Is scorning to revenge an injury ;
For who forgives without a further strife.

His adversary's heart to him doth tie.
And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said.
To win the heart, than overthrow the head.

If we a worthy enemy do find,

To yield to worth it must be nobly done ;
But if of baser metal be his mind.

In base revenge there is no honour won.
Who would a worthy courage overtli ,-.->vr,
And who would wrestle with a worthless foe?

We say OUT hearts are great and cannot yield ;

Because they cannot yield, U proves them poor :
Great hearts are task'd beyond their power, bat seli

The weakest lion will the loudest roar.
Truth's school for certain doth this same allow,
High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.

A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn.

To scorn to owe a duty overlong ;
To scorn to be for benefits forborne,

To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong.
To scorn to bear an injury in inind,
To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind.

But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have,
Then be oar vengeance of the noblest kind ;
Do we his body from our fury save,

And let our hate prevail against our mind ?
What can, 'gainst him a greater vengeance be,
Than make his foe more worthy far than he ?

Had Mariam scorn'd to leave a due unpaid.

She would to Herod then have paid her lore ,
And not have been by sullen passion sway'd.

To fi-x her thoughts all injury above
Is virtuous pride. Had Mariam thus been proad.
Long famous life to her had been allow'd.

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198

Margaret duchess of Newcastle, who
lied in 1673, " filled nearly twelve volumes
iblio with plays, poems, orations, philoso-
phical discourses,"and miscellaneous pieces.
Her lord also amused himself with his
pen. This noble pair were honoured by
the ridicule of Horace Walpole, who had
more taste than feeling; and, notwithstand-
ing the great qualities of the duke, who
sacrificed three quarters of a million in
lhankless devotion to the royal cause,
and, though the virtues of his duchess are
flnquestionable, the author of " The Dor-
mant and Extinct Baronage of England"
joins Walpole in contempt of their affec-
tion, and the means they employed to
render each other happy during retirement.
This is an extract from one of the duchess's
poems :

Melancholy.

I dwell in groves that gilt are with the sun,
Sit on the banks by which clear waters rnn ;
In summers hot down in a shade I lie.
My music is the buzzing of a fly ;
I walk in meadows, where grows fresh green grass,
In fields, where corn is high, I often pass;
Walk up the hills, where round I prospects see,
Some brushy woods, and some all cham pains be ;
Returning back, I in fresh pastures go,
To hear how sheep do bleat, and cows do low;
In winter cold, when nipping frosts come on,
Then I do live in a small house alone ;

Altho' tis plain, yet cleanly 'tis within,

Like to a soul that's pure and clear from sin;

And ihere I dwell in quiet and still peace,

Not fill'd with cares how riches to increase ;

I wish nor seek for vain and fruitless pleasures.

No riches are, but what the mind iutreasnres.

Thus am I solitary, live alone,

Yet better lov'd, the more that I am known;

A&d tho' my face ill-favour'd at first sight,

After acquaintance it will give delight.

Refuse me not, for I shall constant be,

Maintain your credit and your dignity.

Elizabeth Thomas, (born 1675, died
1730,) in the fifteenth year of her age, was
disturbed in her mind, by the sermons she
heard in attending her grandmother at
meetings, and by the reading of high pre-
destinarian works. She " languished for
some time," in expectation of the publica-
tion of bishop Burnet's work on the
Thirty-nine Articles. When she read it,
the bishop seemed to her more candid in
stating the doctrines of the sects, than ex-
plicit in his own opinion; and, in this
perplexity, retiring to her closet, she entered
on a self-discussion, and wrote the follow-
ing poem :

Predestination, or, the Resolution.

Ah ! strive no more to know what fate

Is preordain'd for thee :
'Tis vain in this my mortal state,
For Heaven's inscrutable decree
Will only be reveal'd in vast Eternity.

Then, O my soul !
Remember thy celestial birth,
And live to Heaven, while here on earth :
Thy God is infinitely true.
All Justice, yet all Mercy too :
To Him, then, thro' thy Saviour, pray
For Grace, to ifuide thee on thy way,

And give thee Will to do.
But humbly, for the rest, my soul 1
Let Hope, and Faith, the limits be
Of thy presumptuous curiosity I

Mary Chandler, born in 1687, the
daughter of a dissenting minister at Bath,
commended by Pope for her poetry, died in
1745. The specimen of her verse, selected
by Mr. Dyce, is

Temperance.

Fatal effects of luxury and ease !

We drink our poison, and we eat disease,

Indulge our senses at our reason's cost,

Till sense is pain, and reason hurt, or lost

Not so, O Temperance bland t when rul'd by thee,

The brute's obedient, and the man is free.

Soft are his slumbers, balmy is his rest,

His veins not boiling from the midnight feast.

Touch'd by Aurora's rosy hand, he wakes

Peaceful and calm, and with the world partakes

The joyful dawnings of returning day,

For which their grateful thanks the whole creation pay,

All but the human brute : 'tis he alone,

Whose works of darkness fly the rising sun.

'Tis to thy rules, O Temperance ! that we owe

All pleasures, which from health and strength cau flow;

Vigour of body, purity of mind,

Unclouded reason, sentiments refin'd,

Unmixt, untainted joys, without remorse,

Th' intemperate sinner's never-failing curse.

Elizabeth Toilet (born 1694, died 1754)
was authoress of Susanna, a sacred drama,
and poems, from whence this is a seasonable
extract :

Winter Song.

Ask me no more, my truth to prove,
What I would suffer for my love :
With thee I would in exile go.
To regions of eternal snow ;
O'er floods by solid ice confin'd ;
Thro' forest bare with northern wind ;
While ail around my eyes I cast,
Where all is wild and all is waste.
If there the timorous stag you cb*i>,
Or rouse to fight a fiercer race.

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200

Undaunted I thy arm* would bear.
And give thy hand the hunter's spear.
When the low sun withdraw* his light,
And menaces an half year's night.
The conscious moon and stars above
Shall guide me with my wandering lore.
Beneath the mountain's hollow brow,
Or in its rocky cells below.
Thy rural feast I would provide ;
Nor envy palaces their pride ;
The softest moss should dress thy bed.
With savage spoils about thee spread ;
While faithful love the watch should keep.
To banish danger from thy sleep.

Mrs. Tighe died in 1810. Mr. Dyce
says, " Of this highly-gifted Irishwoman, I
have not met with any poetical account;
but I learn, from the notes to her poems,
that she was the daughter of the Rev.
William Blachford, and that she died in
her thirty -seventh year. In the Psyche of
Mrs. Tighe are several pictures, conceived
in the true spirit of poetry ; while over the
whole composition is spread the richest
glow of purified passion." Besides spe-
cimens from that delightful poem, Mr.
Dyce extracts

The Lily.

How wither'd, perish'd seems the form

Of yon obscure unsightly root I
Yet from the blight of wintry storm.

It hides secure the precious fruit.

The careless eye can find no grace,

No beauty in the scaly folds,
Nor see within the dark embrace

What latent loveliness it holds.

Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales.

The lily wraps her silver vest,
Till vernal suns and vernal gales

Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.

Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap
The undelighting slighted thing ;

There in the cold earth buried deep.
In silence let it wait the Spring.

Oh ! many a stormy night shall close

In gloom upon the barren ea*th.
While still, in undisturb'd repose,
Uninjur*d lies the future birth ;

And Ignorance, with sceptic eye,
Hope's patient smile shall wondering new ;

Or mock her fond credulity,
As her soft tears the spot bedew.

S\iet smile of hope, delicious tear I
The sun, the shower indeed shall come ;

fie promis'd reidant shoot appear,
And nature bid her blossoms bloom.

And thon, O virgin Queen of Spring 1
Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed,

Bursting thy green sheath'd silken string.
Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed ;

Unfold thy robes of purest white,
Unsullied from their darksome grave.

And thy soft petals' silvery light
In the mild breeze unfetter'd wave.

So Faith shall seek the lowly dust
Where humble Sorrow loves to lie,

And bid her thus her hopes intrust.
And watch with patient, cheerful eye ;

And bear the long, cold wintry night,
And bear her own degraded doom,

And wait till Heaven's reviving light,
Eternal Spring! shall burst the gloom.

Every one is acquainted with the beau-
tiful ballad which is the subject of the fol-
lowing notice; yet the succinct history, and
the present accurate text, may justify the
insertion of both.

Lady Anne Barnard.

Born

- died 1825.

Sister of the late Earl of Balcarras, and wife of Sir
Andrew Barnard, wrote the charming song of
Auld Robin Gray.

A quarto tract, edited by " the Ariosto of the North,"
and circulated among the members of the Banna-
tyne Club, contains the original ballad, as cor-
rected by Lady Anne, and two Continuations by
the same authoress ; while the Introduction con-
sists almost entirely of a very interesting letter
from her to the Editor, dated July 1823, part of
which I take the liberty of inserting here :

'Robin Gray,' so called from its being the name of
the old herd at Balcarras, was born soon after the
close of the year 1771- My sister Margaret had
married, and accompanied her husband to London;
I was melancholy, and endeavoured to amuse my-
self by attempting a few poetical trifles. There
was an ancient Scotch melody, of which I wa

passionately foad ; , who lived before

your day, used to sing it to us at Balcarras. She
did not object to its having improper words,
though I did. I longed to sing old Sophy's air to
different words, and give to its plaintive tones
some little history of virtuous distress in humble
life, such as might suit it. While attempting to
effect this in my closet, I called to my little sister,
now Lady Hardwicke, who was the only person
near me, ' I have been writing a ballad, my dear ;
I am oppressing my heroine with many misfor-
tunes. I have already sent her Jamie to sea and
broken her father's arm and made her mother
fall sick and given her Auld Robin Gray for her
lover ; but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow
within the four lines, poor thing ! Help ma to
one.' ' Steal the cow, sister Anne,' said the little
Klizabeth. The cow was immediately lifted by
roe, and the song completed. At our fireside, and

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202

&mongst our neighbours, ' Auld Robin Gray ' was
always called for. I was pleased in secret with
the approbation it met with ; but such was my
dread of being suspected of writing anything,
perceiving the shyness it created in those who
could write nothing, that I carefully kept my own
secret. * *

"Meantime, little as this matter seems to have been
worthy of a dispute, it afterwards became a party
question between the sixteenth and eighteenth cen-
turies. ' Robin Gray ' was either a very very
ancient ballad, composed perhaps by David Rizzio,
and a great curiosity, or a very very modern
matter, and no curiosity at all. I was persecuted
to avow whether I had written it or not, where
I had got it. Old Sophy kept my counsel, and I
kept my own, in spite of the gratification of seeing
a reward of twenty guineas offered in the news-
papers to the person who should ascertain the
point past a doubt, and the still more flattering
circumstance of a visit from Mr. Jerningham,
secretary to the Antiquarian Society, who endea-
voured to entrap the truth from me in a manner I
took amiss. Had lie asked me the question oblig-
ingly, I should have told him the fact distinctly
and confidentially. The annoyance, however, of
this important ambassador from the Antiquaries,
was amply repaid to me by the noble exhibition of
the ' Ballat of Auld Robin Gray's Courtship,' as
performed by dancing-cogs under my window. It
proved its popularity from the highest to the
lowest, and gave me pleasure while I hugged my-
self in obscurity."

The two versions of the second part were written many
years after the first ; in them, Auld Robin Gray
falls sick, confesses that he himself stole the cow,
in order to force Jenny to marry him, leaves to
Jamie all his possessions, dies, and the young
couple, of course, are united. Neither of the Con-
tinuations is given here, because, though both are
beautiful, they are very inferior to the original
tale, and greatly injure its effect.

Auld Robin Gray.*

When the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come

hame,

When a' the weary world to quiet rest are gane,
The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,
Unken'd by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by me.

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his

bride ;

But saving ae crown-piece, he'd naethingelse beside.
To make the crown a pound,t my Jamie gaed to sea;
And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for

me!

Before he had been gane a twelvemonth an<i a day,
My father brak his arm, our cow was stowo away ;
My mother she fell sick my Jamie was at sea
And auld Robin Gray, oh ! he came a-courting me,

My father coti'dna work my mother cou'dna spin ;
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win ;
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in hu

ee,
Said, " Jenny, oh ! for their sakes, will you marry me ?'

My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jami; back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack :
His ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jamie dee?
Or, wherefore am I spar'd to cry out, Woe is me I

My father argued sair my mother didna speak,

But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to

break ;

They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea ;
And so auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four,
When mournfu" as I sat on the stane at my door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist I cou'dna think it he,
Till he said, " I'm come hame, ray love, to marry theel

sair, sair did we greet, and mickle *ay of a* ;
Ae kiss we took, nae mair I bad him gang awa.

1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to <Jee ;
For O, I am but young to cry out, Woe is me 1

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin ;
I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For auld Robin Gray, oh ! he is sae kind to me.

The great and remarkable merit of Mr.
Dyce is, that in this beautifully printed vo-
lume, he has reared imperishable columns to
the honour of the sex, without a questionable
trophy. His " specimens" are an assem-
blage so individually charming, that the
mind is delighted by every part whereon the
eye rests, and scrupulosity itself cannot
make a single rejection on pretence of
inadequate merit. He comes as a rightful
herald, marshalling the perfections of each
poetess, and discriminating with so much
delicacy, that each of his pages is a page of
honour to a high-born grace, or dignified
beauty. His book is an elegant tribute to
departed and living female genius; and
while it claims respect from every lady in
the land for its gallantry to the fair, its in-
trinsic worth is sure to force it into every
well-appointed library.

The text of the corrected copy is followed.

" I must also mention " (says lady Anne, in the
letter already quoted) " the laird of Da'ziel's advice,
who, in a tetc-a-tetc, afterwards said, My dear, the

next time you sing that song, try to change the words a lassie tnac aitina Ken me vmc ui me *j\.v*.o muuc-j
wee bit, and instead of singing, ' To make the crown a quite so well as an auld writer in the town of Edm-
pound, my Jamie gaed to sea,' sayr to make it twenty burtrh would have kent it.'"

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204

tring >erbante at a Statute jfafr*

This engraving may illustrate Mr. Fare's
account of the Warwickshire " statute" or
" mop,"* and the general appearance of
similar fairs for hiring servants. Even in
London, bricklayers, and other house-
tabourers, still carry their respective im-
plements to the places where they stand
for hire : for which purpose they assemble
in great numbers in Cheapside and at
Charing-cross, every morning, at five or
six o'clock. It is further worthy of ob-
servation, that, in old Rome, there were
Varticular spots in which servants applied
for hire.

Dr. Plott, speaking of the Statutes for
hiring servants, says, that at Bloxham the
carters stood with their whips in one plade,
'nd the shepherds with their crooks in
another ; but the maids, as far as he could
observe, stood promiscuously. He adds,
that this custom seems as old as our
Saviour; and refers to Matt. x-x. 3, "And

At ?. 171-

he went out about the third hour and saw
others standing idle in the market-place."

In the statistical account of Scotland, it
is said that, at the parish of Wamphray,
" Hiring fairs are much frequented: those
who are to hire wear a green sprig in their
hat : and it is very seldom that servants
will hire in any other place."

Of ancient chartered fairs may be in-
stanced as an example, the fair of St. Giles's
Hill or Down, near Winchester, which
William the Conqueror instituted and gave
as a kind of revenue to the bishop of
Winchester. It was at first for three
days, but afterwards by Henry III., pro-
longed to sixteen days. Its jurisdiction
extended seven miles round, and compre-
hended even Southampton, then a capital
and trading town. Merchants who sold
wares at that time within that circuit for-
feited them to the bishop. Officers were
placed at a considerable distance, at
bridges and other avenues of access to the
fair, to exact toll of all merchandise passing
that way. In the mean time, all shops in

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200

the city of Winchester were shut. A
court, called the pavilion, composed of the
bishop's justiciaries and other officers, had
power to try causes of various sorts for
seven miles round. The bishop had a toll
of every load or parcel of goods passing
through the gates of the city. On St.
Giles's eve the mayor, bailiffs, and citizens
of Winchester delivered the keys of the
four gates to the bishop's officers. Many
and extraordinary were the privileges
granted to the bishop on this occasion, all
tending to obstruct trade and to oppress
the people. Numerous foreign merchants
frequented this fair ; and several streets
were formed in it, assigned to the sale of
different commodities. The surrounding
monasteries had shops or houses in these
streets, used only at the fair ; which they
held under the bishop, and often let by
lease for a term of years. Different coun-
ties had their different stations.

According to a curious record of the
establishment and expenses of the house-
hold of Henry Percy, the fifth earl of
Northumberland, A. D. 1512, the stores of
his lordship's house at Wresille, for the
whole year, were laid in from fairs. The
articles were " wine, wax, beiffes, muttons,
wheite, and malt." This proves that fairs
were then the principal marts for purchas-
ing necessaries in large quantities, which
are now supplied by frequent trading
towns : and the mention of " beiffes and
mnttous." (which are salted oxen and sheep,)
shows that at so late a period they knew
little ct breeding cattle.

The monks of the priories of Maxtoke in
Warwickshire, and of Bicester in Oxford-
shire, in the time of Henry VI., appear to
have laid in yearly stores of various, yet
common necessaries, at the fair of Stour-
bridge, in Cambridgeshire, at least one
hundred miles distant from either mo-
nastery.

Type of his state,

(Perchance a hostage
To double fate)

For single postage
Emblem of his and my Cupidity ;
With p'rhaps 'ike happy end stupidity.

14.

VALENTINE'S DAY.

Now each fond youth who ere essay'd
An effort in the tinkling trade,
Resumes to day ; and writes and blots
About true-love and true-love's-knots ;
And opens veins in ladies' hearts ;
(Or steels 'em) with two cris-cross darts,
(There mast be two)
Stuck through (and through)
His own: and then to s'cu re 'em better
ri doubles up his single letter

FRENCH VALENTINES.

Menage, in his Etymological Dictionary,
has accounted for the term "Valentine,"
by stating that Madame Royale, daughter
of Henry the Fourth of France, having
built a palace near Turin, which, in honour
of the saint, then in high esteem, she called
the Valentine, at the first entertainment
which she gave in it, was pleased to order
that the ladies should receive their lovers
for the year by lots, reserving to herself the
privilege of being independent of chance,
and of choosing her own partner. At the
various balls which this gallant princess
gave during the year, it was directed that
each lady should receive a nosegay from
her lover, and that, at every tournament,
the knight's trappings for his horse should
be furnished by his allotted mistress, with
this proviso, that the prize obtained should
be hers. This custom, says Menage, oc-
casioned the parties to be called " Valen-
tines."*

An elegant writer, in a journal of the
present month, prepares for the annual
festival with the following

LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE.

From Britain's realm, in olden time.
By the strong power of truths sublime.

The pagan rites were banish'd ;
And, spite of Greek and Roman lore,
PJach god and goddess, fam'd of yort,

From grove and altar vanish'd.

And they (as sure became them best)
To Austin and Paulinins' best

Obediently submitted,
And left the land without delay
Save Cupid, who still held a sway
Too strong to passively obey,

Or be by saints outwitted.

For well the boy-god knew that he
Was far too potent, e'er to be
Depos'd and exil'd quietly

From his belov'd dominion ;
And sturdily the urchin swore
He ne'er, to leave the British shore,

Would move a single pinion.

Dr. Drake's Shakspeare and his Times. See alaa
the Every-Day Booh for largo particular* of the day.

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20S

The saints at this were sadly vex'd.
And much their holy brains perplex'd,

To bring the boy to reason ;
And, when they found him bent to stay.
They built up convent-walls straightway,

And put poor Love in prison.

But Cupid, though a captive made.
Soon met, within a convent shade,

New subjects in profusion :
Albeit he found his pagan name
Was heard by pious maid and dame

With horror and confusion.

For all were there demure and coy.
And deem'd a rebel heathen boy

A most unsaintly creature ;
But Cupid found a way with ease
His slyest vot'ries tastes to please.

And yet not change a feature.

For, by his brightest dart, the elf
Affirm'd he'd turn a saint himself,

To make their scruples lighter ;
So gravely hid his dimpled smiles,
His wreathed locks, and playful wiles,

Beneath a bishop's mitre.

Then Christians rear'd the boy a shrinP,
And youths invok'd Saint Valentine

To bless their annual passion ;
And maidens still his name revere,
And, smiling, hail his day each year
A day to village lovers dear.

Though saints are out of fashion.

Monthly Magazine.

A.S.

Another is pleased to treat the prevailing
topic of the day as one of those " whims
and oddities," which exceedingly amuse
the reading world, and make e'en sighing
lovers smile.

SONG
FOR THE 14th OF FEBRUARY.

By a General Lover.
" Mille gravem telis exhausta pene pharetra."
Apollo has peep'd through the shutter,

And waken'd the witty and fair ;
The boarding-school belle's in a flutter.

The twopenny post's in despair:
The breath of the morning is flinging

A magic on blossom, on spray ;
And cockneys and sparrows are singing
In chorus on Valentine's Day.

Away with ye, dreams of disaster.

Away with ye, visions of law,
Of cases I never shall master,

Of pleadings I never shall draw :
Away with ye, parchments and papers.

Red tapes, unread volumes, away ;
It gives a fond lover the vapours

To tee yon on Valentine's Day.

I'll sit in my nightcap, like Hay ley,

I'll sit with my arms crost, like Spain,
Till joys, which are vanishing daily,

Come back in their lustre again :
Oh, shall I look over the waters,

Or shall I look over the way.
For the brightest and best of Earth's daughters.

To rhyme to on Valentine's Day ?
Shall I crown with my worship, for fame's sake,

Some goddess whom Fashion has starr'd.
Make puns on Miss Love and her namesake,

Or pray for a pas with Brocard ?
Shall I flirt, in romantic idea,

With Chester's adorable clay,
Or whisper in transport, " Si mea *

Cum Vestris " on Valentine's Day ?
Shall I kneel to a Sylvia or Celia,

Whom no one e'er saw or may see,
A fancy-drawn Laura Amelia,

An ad libit. Anna Marie ?
Shall I court an initial with stars to it,

(j'j mad for a G. or a J.
Get Bishop to put a few bars to it.

And print it on Valentine's Day ? %
Alas ! ere I'm properly frantic

With some such pure figment as this,
Some visions, not quite so romantic,

Start up to demolish the bliss ;
Some Will o' the Wisp in a bonnet

Still leads my lost wit quite astray.
Till up to my ears in a sonnet

I sink upon Valentine's Day.
The Dian I half bought a ring for,

On seeing her thrown in the ring ;
The Naiad I took such a spring for.

From Waterloo Bridge, in the spring;
The trembler I saved from a robber, on

My walk to the Champs Elyse'e !
The warbl;r that fainted at Oberou,

Three months before Valentine's Day.
The gipsy I once had a spill with,

Bad luck to the Paddington team !
The countess I chanced to be ill with

From Dover to Calais by steam ;
The lass that makes tea for Sir Stephen,

The lassie that brings in the tray ;
It's odd but the betting is even

Between them on Valentine's Day.
The white hands I help'd in their nutting ;

The fair neck I cloak'd in the rain ;
The bright eyes that thank'd me for cutting

My friend in Emmanuel-lane ;
The Blue that admires Mr. Barrow ;

The Saint that adores Lewis Way ;
The Nameless that dated from Harrow

Three couplets last Valentine's Day.
I think not of Laura the witty.

For, oh ! she is married at York !
I sigh not for Rose of the City,

For, ah ! she is buried at Cork !

" Si mea cum Vstris valuissent vota !" OVID, Mtt

5C9

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tlO

Adele has a braver and better
To say what I never couid say ;

Louise cannot construe a letter
Of English on Valentine's Day.

So perish the leaves in the arbour,

The tree is all bare in the blast !
Like a wreck that is drifting to harbour,

I come to thee, Lady, at last .
Where art thou so lovely and lonely ?

Though idle the lute and the lay,
The lute and the lay are thine only,

My fairest, on Valentine's Day.

For thee I have open'd my Blackstone,

For thee I have shut up myself ;
Exchanged my long curls for a Caxton,

And laid my short whist on the shelf ;
For thee I have sold my old Sherry,

For thee I have bnrn'd my new play ;
And I grow philosophical very !

Except upon Valentine's Day.

New Monthly Magazine.

ID the poems of Elizabeth Trefusis there
is a" Valentine" with an expression of feel-
ing which may well conclude the extracts
already produced.

When to Love's influence woman yields,
She loves for life ! and daily feels
Progressive tenderness ! each hour
Confirms, extends, the tyrant's power I
Her lover is her god ! her fate !
Vain pleaeures, riches, worldly state,
Are trifle* all 1 each sacrifice
Becomes a dear and valued prize,
If made for him, e'en tho' he proves
Forgetful of their former loves.

AIR AND EXERCISE
FOR LADIES.

There is a notion, that air spoils the com-
plexion. It is possible, that an exposure
to all weathers might do so ; though if a
gipsy beauty is to be said to have a bad
complexion, it is one we are very much
inclined to be in love with. A russeton
apple has its beauty as well as a peach. At
all events, a spoilt complexion of this sort
is accompanied with none of the melan-
choly attending the bad complexions that
arise from late hours, and spleen, and
plodding, and indolence, and indigestion.
Fresh air puts a wine in the blood that
lasts from morning to night, and not
merely for an hour or two after dinner. If
ladies would not carry buttered toast in
their cheeks, instead of roses, they must

shake the blood in their veins, till it spins
clear. Cheerfulness itself helps to make
good blood ; and air and exercise make
cheerfulness. When it is said, that air
spoils the complexion, it is not meant thai
breathing it does so, but exposure to it
We are convinced it is altogether a fallacy,
and that nothing but a constant exposure
to the extremes of heat and cold has any
such effect. The not breathing the fresh
air is confessedly injurious ; and this might
be done much oftener than is supposed.
People might oftener throw up their win-
dows, or admit the air partially, and with
an effect sensible only to the general feel-
ings. We find, by repeated experiments,
that we can write better and longer with
the admission of air into our study. We have
learnt also, by the same experience, to
prefer a large study to a small one ; and
here the rich, it must be confessed, have
another advantage over us. They pass
their days in large airy rooms in apart-
ments that are field and champain, com-
pared to the closets that we dignify with
the name of parlours and drawing-rooms.
A gipsy and they are in this respect, and
in many others, more on a footing ; and
the gipsy beauty and the park beauty enjoy
themselves accordingly. Can we look at
that extraordinary race of persons we
mean the gipsies and not recognise the
wonderful physical perfection to which
they are brought, solely by their exemp-
tion from some of our most inveterate no-
tions, and by dint of living constantly in
the fresh air ? Read any of the accounts
that are given of them, even by writers
the most opposed to their way of life, and
you will find these very writers refuting
themselves and their proposed ameliora-
tions by confessing that no human beings
can be better formed, or healthier, or hap-
pier than the gipsies, so long as they are
kept out of the way of towns and their
sophistications. A suicide is not known
among them. They are as merry as the
larks with which they rise ; have the use of
their limbs to a degree unknown among
us, except by our new friends the gym-
nasts ; and are as sharp in their faculties
as the perfection of their frames can render
them. A glass of brandy puts them into
a state of unbearable transport. It is a
superfluous bliss ; wine added to wine :
and the old learn to do themselves mis-
chief with it, and level their condition with
stockbrokers and politicians. Yet these
are the people whom some wiseacres are
for turning into bigots and manufacturers.
They had much better take them for what

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212

they are, and for what Providence seems to
nave intended them a memorandum to
keep alive among us the belief in nature,
and a proof to what a physical state of per-
fection the human being can be brought,
solely by inhaling her glorious breath, and
being exempt from our laborious mistakes.
If the intelligent and the gipsy life could
ever be brought more together, by any
rational compromise, (and we do not de-
spair of it, when we see that calculators
begin to philosophize,) men might attain
the greatest perfection of which they are
capable. Meanwhile the gipsies have the
advantage of it, if faces are any index of
health and comfort. A gipsy with an eye
fit for a genius, it is not difficult to meet
with ; but where shall we find a genius, or
even a fundholder, with the cheek and
health of a gipsy ?

There is a fact well known to physicians,
which settles at once the importance of
fresh air to beauty, as well as health. It is,
that in proportion as people stay at home,
and do not set their lungs playing as they
ought, the blood becomes dark, and lags in
its current ; whereas the habit of inhaling
the air out of doors reddens it like a ruby,
and makes it clear and brisk. Now the
darker the blood, the more melancholy the
sensations, and the worse the complexion.

It is common with persons who inherit a
good stock of health from their ancestors,
to argue that they take no particular pains
to preserve it, and yet are well. Tliis may
be true ; and it is also true, that there is a
painstaking to that effect, which is super-
fluous and morbid, and helps to do more
harm than good. But it does not follow
from either of these truths, that a neglect of
the rational" means of retaining health will
ultimately be good for any body. Healthy
people may live a good while upon their
stock. Children are in the habit of doing
it. But healthy children, especially those
who are foolishly treated upon an assump-
tion that health consists in being highly fed,
and having great beef- eating cheeks, very
often turn out sickly at last ; and grown-up
people, for the most part, at least, in great
bwns. have as little really good health, as
ctiildren in general are given credit for the
Averse. Nature does indeed provide libe-
-ally for abuses ; but the abuse will be felt
at last. It is generally felt a long while
before it is acknowledged. Then comes
aee, with all its train of regrets and super-
stitions; and the beauty and the man,
besides a world perhaps of idle remorse,
which they would not feel but for their
perverted blood, could eat their hearts out

for having been such fools as not to secure
a continuance of good looks and manly
feelings, for want of a little handsome
energy.

The ill taste of existence that is so apt to
come upon people in middle life, is too
often attributed to moral causes. Moral
they are, but very often not in the sense
imagined. Whatever causes be mixed up
with them, the greatest of all is, in ninety-
nine instances out of .a hundred, no better
or grander than a non-performance of the
common duties of health. Many a fine
lady takes a surfeit for a tender distress ;
and many a real sufferer, who is haunted
by a regret, or takes himself for the most
ill-used of bilious old gentlemen, might
trace the loftiest of his woes to no better
origin than a series of ham-pies, or a want
of proper use of his boots and umbrella.*

A SONG.

Yonng Joe, he was a carman gay,

As any town could show ;
His team was good, and, like his pence.

Was always on the go ;
A thing, as every jackass knows,

Which often leads to wo I
It fell out that he fell in love,

By some odd chance or whim,
With Alice Payne beside whose eyes

All other eyes were dim :
The painful tale must out indeed,

She was A Pain to him.
For, when he ask'd her civilly

To make one of they two,
She whipp'd her tongue across her teetlt,

And said, " D'ye think it true,
I'd trust my load of life with tich

A waggoner as you ?
" No, no to be a carman's, wife

Will ne'er suit Alice Payne;
I'd better far a lone woman

For evermore remain,
Than have it said, while in my youth.
My life is on the wain !" ,

" Oh, Alice Payne ! Oh, Alice Payne I

Why won't you meet with me ?"
Then up she curl'd her nose, and said,

" Go axe your azletree ;
I tell you, Joe, this once for all

Mjjoe you shall not be."
She spoke the fatal " no," which put

A spoke into his wheel
And stopp'd his happiness, as though

She'd cry too / to his weal :

These women ever steal our hearts,

And then their own they steel.

* New Monthly Magazine.

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214

So round his melancholy neck
Poor Joe his drag-chain tied,
And hook'd it on a hook" Oh I what

A weight is life !" he cried ;
Then off he cast himself and thus

The cast-off carman died !
Howbeit, as his son was set,
(Poor Joe I) at set of sun,
They laid him in his lowly grave,

And gravely that was done ;
And she stood by, and laugh'd outright

How wrong the guilty one !
But the day of retribution comes

Alike to prince and hind,
As surely as the summer's sun
Must yield to wintry wind :
Alas ! she did not mind his peace

So she'd no peace of mind.
For when she sought her bed of rest,

Her rest was all on thorns ;
And there another lover stood,

Who wore a pair of horns :
His little tiny feet were cleft,
And cloven, like a fawn's ;
His face and garb were dark and black,

As daylight to the blind ;
And a something undefinable

Around his skirt was twin'd
As if he wore, like other pigs,

His pigtail out behind.
His arms, though less than other men's,

By no means harm-less were :
Dark elfin locks en lock'd his brow

You might not call them hair ;
And, oh ! it was a gas-tly sight

To see his eye-balls glare.
And ever, as the midnight bell

Twelve awful strokes had toll'd,
That dark man by her bedside stood.

Whilst all her blood run cold ;
And ever and anon he cried,

" I could a tail unfold !"
And so her strength of heart grew less,

For heart-less she had been ;
And on her pallid cheek a small

Red hectic spot was seen :
You could not say her life was spent

Without a spot, I wean.
And they who mark'd that crimson light

Well knew the treach'rous bloom
A light that shines, alas ! alas !

To light us to our tomb :
They said 'twas like thy cross, St. Paul's,

The signal of her doom.
And so it prov'd she lost her health,

When breath she needed most
Just as the winning horse gets blown

Close by the winning-post .
The ghost, he gave np plaguing her
So she gave np the ghost

H. L.

MODERN IMPROVEMENTS.

In the annals of the world there have
never been such rapid changes and such
vast improvements as have occurred in
this metropolis during the last seven years.
We have no occasion now to refer to
Pennant to produce exclamations of sur-
prise at the wonderful changes in London ;
our own recollections are sufficient. Oxford-
street seems half a mile nearer to Charing
Cross than in the days of our youth. Swal-
low-street, with all the dirty courts in its
vicinity, have been swallowed up, and re-
placed by one of the most magnificent
streets in Europe ; a street, which may vie
with the Calle d'Alcala in Madrid, with the
Quartier du Chapeau Rouge at Bourdeaux.
or the Place de Louis Quinze at Paris. We
must, for the present, overlook the defects
of the architectural detail of this street, in
the contemplation of the great and general
improvement which its construction has
produced in the metropolis.

Other streets are proposed by the same
active genius under which Regent-street
has been accomplished ; the vile houses
which surrounded and hid the finest portico
in London that of St. Martin's church
are already taken down ; a square is to be
formed round this building, with two large
openings into the Strand, and plans are
already in agitation to lay open other
churches in the same manner. Even the
economical citizens have given us a peep at
St. Bride's being ashamed again to hide
beauties which accident had given them an
opportunity of displaying to greater advan-
tage. One street is projected from Charing
Cross to the British Museum, terminating
in a square, of which the church in H&rt-
street is to form the centre ; another is in-
tended to lead to the same point from
Waterloo-bridge, by which this structure,
which is at present almost useless, will be-
come the great connecting thoroughfare
between the north and south sides of the
Thames : this street is, indeed, a desidera-
tum to the proprietors of the bridge, as well
as tu the public at large. Carlton -house i?
already being taken down by which means
Regent-street will terminate at the south
end, with a view of St. James's Park, in
the same manner as it does at the north
end, by an opening into the Regent's Park.
Such is the general outline of the late
and the projected improvements in the
heart of the metropolis ; but they have not
stopped hero. The king has been decora-

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216

ting Hyde Park with lodges, designed by
Mr. Decimus Burton, which are really gems
in architecture, and stand unrivalled for
proportion, chasteness. and simplicity,
amidst the architectural productions of the
age.

Squares are already covering the exten-
sive property of lord Grosvenor in the fields
of Chelsea and Pimlico ; and crescents and
colonnades are planned, by the architect to
Jthe bishop of London, on the ground be-
longing to the diocese at Bayswater.

But all suburban improvements sink into
insignificance, when compared with what
has been projected and attained within the
last seven years in the Regent's Park. This
new city of palaces has appeared to have
started into existence like the event of a
fairy tale. Every week showed traces of
an Aladdin hand in its progress, till, to our
astonishment, we ride through streets,
squares, crescents, and terraces, where we
the other day saw nothing but pasture land
and Lord's-cricket-ground ; a barn is re-
placed by a palace and buildings are con-
structed, one or two of which may vie with
the proudest efforts of Greece and Rome.

The projector, with true taste, has called
the beauties of landscape to the aid of
architectural embellishment ; and we ac-
cordingly find groves, and lawns, and
streams intersecting the numerous ranges
of terraces and villas ; while nature, as
though pleased at the efforts of art, seems
to have exerted herself with extraordinary
vigour to emulate and second the efforts of
the artist.

In so many buildings, and amidst so
much variety, there must, consequently, be
many different degrees of architectural ex-
cellence, and many defects in architectural
composition ; but, taken as a whole, and
the short time occupied in its accomplish-
ment, the Regent's Park may be considered
as one of the most extraordinary creations
of architecture that has ever been witnessed.
It is the only speculation of the sort where
elegance seems to have been considered
equally with profit in the disposition of the
ground. The buildings are not crowded
together with an avaricious determination
to create as much frontage as possible ; and
we cannot bestow too much praise on the
liberality with which the projector has given
up so much space to the squares, roads,
and plantations, by which he has certainly
relinquished many sources of profit for the
9leasure and convenience of the publio.

It is in the contemplation of these addi-
tions and improvements to our metropolis,
Jhat we doubly feel the blessings and effects

of that peace which has enabled the govern-
ment, as well as private individuals, to at-
tempt to make London worthy of the cha-
racter it bears in the scale of cities ; and
we are happy now to feel proud of the
architectural beauty, as we always have of
the commercial influence, of our metro-
polis.*

THE SPELLS OF HOME.

There blend the ties that strengthen

Our hearts in hours of grief.
The silver links that lengthen

Joys visits when most brief !
Then, dost thou sigh for pleasure ?

O I do not widely roam I
But seek that hidden treasure

At home, dear home I

BERNARD BARTON.

By the soft green light in the woody glade,

On the banks of moss where thy childhood play'd ;

By the waving tree thro' which thine eye

First look'd in love to the summer sky ;

By the dewy gleam, by the very breath

Of the primrose- tufts in the grass beneath,

Upon thy heart there is laid a spell

Holy and precious oh ! guard it well I

By the sleepy ripple of the stream,
Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream ;
By the shiver of the ivy-leaves,
To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves ;
By the bees' deep murmur in the limes,
By the music of the Sabbath-chimes ;
By every sound of thy native shade,
Stronger and dearer the spell is made.

By the gathering round the winter hearth,

When twilight call'd unto household mirth ,

By the fairy tale or the legend old

In that ring of happy faces told ;

By the quiet hours when hearts unite

In the parting prayer, and the kind " good-night ;**

By the smiling eye and the loving tone,

Over thy life has the spell been thrown. ,

And bless that gift! it hath gentle might,
A guardian power and a guiding light!
It hath led the freeman forth to stand
Ih the mountain-battles of his land ;
It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas,
To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze ;
And back to the gates of his father's hall.
It hath won the weeping prodigal.

Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray,
From the loves of its guileless youth away ;
When the sullying breath of the world would come.
O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home;

* Monthly Magazine.

217

THE TABLE BOOK.

Think thou again of the woody glade,

And the sond by the rustling ivy made ;

Think of the tree at thy parent's door,

And the kindly spell shall have power once more 1

F. H.

Monthly Magazine.

BOOKS.

'Twere well with most, if books, that could engage
Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age ;
The man approving what had charmed the boy,
Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy ;
And not with curses on his art, who stole
The gem of truth from his unguarded soul.

COWPEB.

If there be one word in our language,
beyond all others teeming with delightful
associations, Books is that word. At that
magic name what vivid retrospections of
by-gone times, what summer days of un-
alloyed happiness " when life was new,"
rush on the memory ! even now the spell
retains its power to charm : the beloved of
my youth is the solace of my declining
years : such is the enduring nature of an
early attachment to literature.

The first book that inspired me with a
taste for reading, was Banyan's Pilgrim's
Progress ; never shall I forget the intense
emotion with which I perused this pious
and interesting fiction : the picturesque
descriptions and quaint moralities blended
with this fine allegory, heightened the
enchantment, which to a youthful and
fervid imagination, " unsated yet with
garbage," was complete. From hence-
forward my bias was determined; the
passion grew with my growth, and strength-
ened with my strength ; and I devoured all
the books that fell in my way, as if " ap-
petite increased by what it fed on." My
next step was, I commenced collector.
Smile, if you will, reader, but admire the
benevolence of creative wisdom, by which
the means of happiness are so nicely ad-
justed to the capacity for enjoyment : for,
blender, as in those days were my finances,
I much doubt if the noble possessor of the
unique edition of BOCCACCIO, marched off
with his envied prize at the cost of two
thousand four hundred pounds, more tri-
umphantly, than I did with my sixpenny
pamphlet, or dog's eared volume, destined
to form the nucleus of my future library.

The moral advantages arising out of a
love of books are so obvious, that to eti-
large upon such a topic might be deemed
a gratuitous parade of truisms ; I shall
therefore proceed to offer a few observa-

tions, as to the best modes of deriving both
pleasure and improvement from the culti-
vation of this most fascinating and intel-
lectual of all pursuits. Lord Bacon says,
with his usual discrimination, " Some
books are to be tasted, others to be swal-
lowed, and some few to be chewed and
digested ;" this short sentence comprises
the whole practical wisdom of the subject,
and in like manner by an extension of the
principle, the choice of a library must be
regulated. " Few books, well selected, are
best," is a maxim useful to all, but more
especially to young collectors : for let it
be remembered, that economy in our plea-
sures invariably tends to enlarge the sphere
of our enjoyments. Fuller remarks, " that
it is a vanity to persuade the world one
hath much learning by getting a great
library ;" and the supposition is equally
erroneous, that a large collection neces-
sarily implies a good one. The truth is,
were we to discard all the works of a mere
temporary interest, and of solemn trifling,
that incumber the fields of literature, the
magnitude of numerous vast libraries would
suddenly shrink into most diminutive
dimensions, for the number of good original
authors is comparatively few ; study there-
fore quality rather than quantity in the
selection of your books. As regards the
luxuries of the library, keep a rigid watch
upon your inclinations ; for though it must
not be denied that there is a rational plea-
sure in seeing a favourite author elegantly
attired, nothing is more ridiculous than
this taste pushed to the extreme ; for then
this refined pursuit degenerates into a mere
hobbyhorse, and once fairly mounted,
good-by to prudence and common sense !
The Bibliomaniac is thus pleasantly sati-
rized by an old poet in the " Shyp of
Fooles/

Styll am I besy 6el assembly ige,
For to have plenty >t is a pleasaunt thynga
In my conceit, and to have them ay in hand,
But what they mene do I not understands I

When we survey our well-furnished book-
shelves, the first thought that suggests
itself, is the immortality of intellect. Here
repose the living monuments of those
master spirits destined to sway the empire
of mind ; the historian, the philosopher,
and the poet, " of imagination all com-
pact !" and while the deeds of mighty con-
querors hurry down the stream of oblivion,
the works of these men survive to after-
ages ; are enshrined in the memories of a
grateful posterity, and finally stamp upon

THE TABLE BOOK.

220

national character thn permanent impress
of their geiiius.

Happy we, who are early taught to
cherish the society of these silent friends,
ever ready to amuse without importunity,
and instruct without the austerity of reproof.
Let us rest assured that it is " mind that
makes the body rich," and that in the cul-
tivation of our intellect we secure an in-
exhaustible store of present gratification,
and a source of pleasurable recollections
which will never fail to cheer the evening
of life, J. H.

ETIQUETTE.

Philosophy may rave as it will, " little
things are great to little men," and the
less the man, the greater is the object.
A king at arms is, in his own estimation,
the greatest king in Europe, and a German
baron is not more punctilious than a master
of the ceremonies. The first desire with all
men is power, the next is the semblance of
power ; and it is perhaps a happy dispen-
sation that those who are cut off from the
substantial rights of the citizen, should find
a compensation in the " decorations " of
the slave ; as in all other moral cases the
vices of the individual are repressed by
those of the rest of the community. The
pride of Diogenes trampled on the pride
of Plato ; and the vanity of the excluded
may be trusted for keeping within bounds
the vanity of the preeminent and the pri-
vileged. The great enemy, however, of
etiquette is civilisation, which is incessantly
at work, simplifying society. Knowledge,
by opening our eyes to the substances of
things, defends us from the juggle of forms ;
and Napoleon, when he called a throne a
mere chair, with gilt nails driven into it,
epitomised one of the most striking results
of the revolutionary contest. Strange that
he should have overlooked or disregarded
the fact in the erection of his own institu-
tions ! Ceremonial is a true paper cur-
rency, and passes only as far as it will be
taken. The representative of a thousand
pounds, unbacked by credit, is a worthless
rag of paper, and the highest decoration
which the king can confer, if repudiated by
opinion, is but a piece of blue riband.
Here indeed the sublime touches the ridi-
culous, for who shall draw the line of de-
marcation between my lord Grizzle and
the gold stick ? between Mr. Dymock, in
Westminster-hall, and his representative
" on a real horse " at Covent-garden ?
Every day the intercourse of society is be-
coming more and more easy, and a man of

fashion is as little likely to be ceremonious
in trifles, as to appear in the costume of
sir Charles Grandison, or to take up the
quarrels of lord Herbert of Cherbury.*

INDICATIONS.

WRITTEN IN THE FROST.

For the Table Book.
I know that the weather's severe, by the noses

That run between eyes smartly lash'd by the fair ;
By the coxcombs that muff-led are smiling at roses

Got into the cheeks, and got out of the air.
By the skates, (slipp'ry fish) for the Serpentine's Fleet

By the rise of the coal ; by the shot-birds that fall
By the chilly old people that creep to the heat ;

And the ivjr-green branches that creep to the wall,
By the chorus of boys sliding over the river,

The grumbles of men sliding over the flags ;
The beggars, poor wretches I half naked, that shiver t

The sportsmen, poor horsemen ! turn'd out on their
nags!

By the snow standing over the plant and the fountain ;

The chilbain-tribes, whose understanding is weak ;
The wild-ducks of the valley, the drift of the mountain,

Aad, like Niche 1 , street- plugs all tears from the

Creek:
And I know, by the icelets from nature's own shops,

By the fagots just cut, and the cutting wind's tone,
That the weathe-/ will freeze half the world if it stops.

If it goes, it will thaw t'other half to the bone.
Jan 27. *, *, P.

ADOPTION.

There is a singular system in France
relative to the adoption cf children. A
family who has none, adopts as their own
a fine child belonging to a friend, or more
generally to some poor person, (for the laws
of population in the poor differ from those
in the rich ;) the adoption is regularly enre-
gistered by the civil authorities, and the
child becomes heir-at-law to the property
of its new parents, an I cannot be disin-
herited by any subsequent caprice of the
parties ; they are bound to support it suit-
ably to their rank, and do every thing due
to their offspring.-f

A RO/AL SIMILE.

" Queen Elizabeth was wont to say,
upon the commission of sales, that the
commissioners used her like strauoberry-
wives, that laid two or three great straw-
berries at the mouth of their pottle, and all
the rest were little ones ; so they made her
two or three great prices of the first par-
ticulars, but fell straightways.''J

* New Monthly Magazine.
\ Apophthegms Anticj.

t Ibid.

221

THE TABLE BOOK.

222

anna&.

Sightless, and gently led her xinaeen round,
She daily creeps, and draws a soothing sound
Of Psalmody, from out her viol' strings,
To company some plaintive words she sings.

This young woman sojourns in the
neighbourhood of the ancient scene of the

Pretty Bessee " and her old father, the
" Blind Beggar of Bethnal-green "

" His marks and his tokens were known full well,
He always was led with a dog and a bell."

Her name is Hannah Brentford. She is
an inhabitant of Bunhill-row, twenty-four
years old, and has been blind from the time
she had the small-pox, two and twenty
years ago. She sings hymns, and accom-
panies herself on the violin. Her manner
is to " give out " two lines of words, and
chant them to " a quiet tune :" and then

VOL. I. 8.

she gives out another two lines ; and so she
proceeds till the composition is finished.
Her voice, and the imitative strains of her
instrument, are one chord of 'plaining
sound, beautifully touching. She supports
herself, and an aged mother, on the alms of
passengers in the streets of Finsbury, who
" please to bestow their charity on the
blind "" the poor blind." They who are
not pierced by her " sightless eye-balls
have no sight : they who are unmoved b*
her virginal melody have * ears, and they
hear not." Her eyes are of agate she is
one of the " poor stone blind "

most ninsical, most melJwciolT."

223

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224

No.V.

[From "Arden of Feversham his true and
lamentable Tragedy," Author unknown.
1592.]

Alice Arden with Mosbie her Paramour
conspire the murder of her Husband.

Mot. How now, Alice, what sad and passionate ?
Make me partaker of thy pensiveness ;
Fire divided burns with lesser force.

Al. But I will dam that fire in my breast,
Till by the force thereof my part consume.
Ah Mosbie 1

Mos. Such deep pathaires, like to a cannon's burst,
Discharged against a ruinated wall,
Breaks my relenting heart in thousand pieces.
Ungentle Alice, thy sorrow is my sore ;
Thou know'st it will, and 'tis thy policy
To forge distressful looks, to wound a breast
Where lies a heart which dies when thou art sad.
It is not Love that loves to anger Love.

Al. It is not Love that loves to murther Love.

Mas. How mean you that ?

Al. Thou know'st how dearly Arden loved me.

Afo*. And then

Al. And then conceal the rest, for 'tis too bad,
Lest that my words be carried to the wind,
And pnblish'd in the world to both our shames.
I pray thee, Mosbie, let our springtime wither ;
Our harvest else will yield but loathsome weeds.
Forget, I pray thee, what has past betwixt us ;
For now I blush and tremble at the thoughts.

Mot. What, are you changed ?

Al. Aye, to my former happy life again ;
From title of an odious strumpet's name
To honest Arden's wife, not Arden's honest wife
Ha Mosbie 1 'tis thou hast rifled me of that,
And made me slanderous to all my kin.
Even in my forehead is thy name engraven,
A mean Artificer, that low-born name I
I was bewitcht ; woe-worth the hapless hour
And all the causes that enchanted me.

Mos. Nay, if thou ban, let me breathe curses forth ;
And if you stand so nicely at your fame,
Let me repent the credit I have lost.
I have neglected matters of import,
That would have 'stated me above thy state ;
For-slow'd advantages, and spurn'd at time ;
Aye, Fortune's right hand Mosbie hath forsook.
To take a wanton giglot by the left.
I left the marriage of an honest maid,
Whose dowry would have weigh'd down all thy wealth;
Whose beauty and demeanour far exceeded thee.
This certain good I lost for changing bad,
Ard wrapt my credit in thy company.
I was bewitcht ; that is no theme of thine ;
And thou unhallaw'd hast enchanted me.
Bnt I will break thy spells and exorcisms,
And put another sight upon these eyes,
That shew'd my hjart a raven for a dove.

Thou art not fair ; I view'd thee not till now :
Thou art not kind ; till now I knew thee not :
And now the rain hath beaten off thy gilt,
Thy worthless copper shews thee counterfeit.
It grieves me not to see how foul thou art,
Bat mads me that ever I thought thee fair.
Go, get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hinds ;
I am too good to be thy favourite.

Al. Aye, now I see, and too soon find it true,
Which often hath been told me by my friends,
That Mosbie loves me not but for my wealth ;
Which too incredulous I ne'er believed.
Nay, hear me speak, Mosbie, a word or two ;
I'll bite my tongue if I speak bitterly,
look on me, Mosbie, or else I'll kill myself.
Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy look ;
If thou cry War, there is no Peace for me.
I will do penance for offending thee ;
And burn this Prayer Book, which I here use.
The Holy Word that has converted me.
Se, Mosbie, I will tear away the leaves,
And all the leaves ; and in this golden Cover
Shall thy sweet phrases and thy letters dwell,
And thereon will I chiefly meditate,
And hold no other sect but such devotion.
Wilt thou not look ? is all thy Love o'erwhelm'd ?
Wilt thou not hear ? what malice stops thy ears ?
Why speakst thou not ? what silence ties thy tongn* *
Thou hast been sighted as the Eagle is,
And heard as quickly as the fearful Hare
And spoke as smoothly as an Orator,
When I have bid thee hear, or see, or speak :
And art thou sensible in none of these ?
Weigh all thy good turns with this little fault.
And I deserve not Mosbie's muddy looks.
A fence of trouble is not thicken'd still ;
Be clear again ; I'll ne'er more trouble thee.

Mos. O fie, no ; I'm a base artificer ;
My wings are feather'd for a lowly flight.
Mosbie, fie, no ; not for a thousand pound
Make love to you ; why, tis unpardonable.
We Beggars must not breathe, where Gentiles are.

Al. Sweet Mosbie is as Gentle as a King,
And I too blind to judge him otherwise.
Flowers sometimes spring in fallow lands :
Weeds in gardens, Roses grow on thorns :
So, whatsoe'er my Mosbie's father was.
Himself is valued Gentle by his worth.

Mos. Ah how you women can insinuate,
And clear a trespass with your sweet set tongue .
I will forget this quarrel, gentle Alice,
Provided I'll be tempted so no more.

Arden, with his friend Franklin, travel-
ling at night to Arden's house at Fever-
sham, where he is lain in wait for b)
Ruffians, hired by Alice and Mosbie t,
murder him ; Franklin is interrupted in
stury he was beginning to tell by the wai,
of a BAD WIFE, by an indisposition, omi-
nous of the impending danger of his friend

225

THE TABLE BOOK.

226

Ardcn. Come, Master Franklin, onwards with your
tile.

Frank. I'll assure you, Sir, you task me much.
A heavy blood is gather'd at my heart ;
And on the sudden is my wind so short,
As hindereth the passage of my speech.
So fierce a qualm yet ne'er assailed me.

Arden. Come, Master Franklin, let us go on softly ;
The annoyance of the dust, or else some meat
You ate at dinner cannot brook with you.
I have been often so, and soon amended.

Frank. Do you remember where my tale did leave ?

Arden. Aye, where the Gentleman did check his
wife

Frank. She being reprehended for the fact.
Witness produced that took her with the fact,
Her glove brought in which there she left behind,
And many other assured arguments,
Her Husband ask'd her whether it were not so

Arden. Her answer then ? I wonder how she look'd,
Having forsworn it with so vehement oaths,
And at the instant ao approved upon her.

Frank. First did she cast her eyes down on the

earth,

Watching the drops that fell amain from thence ;
Then softly draws she out her handkercher,
And modestly she wipes her tear-stain'd face :
Then hemm'd she out (to clear her voice it should

seem),

And with a majesty address! herself
To encounter all their accusations
Pardon me, Master Arden, I can no more ;
This fighting at my heart makes. short my wind.

Arden. Come, we are almost now at Raynum Down ;
Vour pretty tale beguiles the weary way,
I would you were in case to tell it ont.

[ They are set upon by the Ruffians.]

For the Table Book.

GOD SAVE THE KING.

JOHN BULL.

In answer to an inquiry in The Times,
respecting the author of " God save the
King," the writers of several letters in that
journal, during the present month, concur
in ascribing the air of the " national an-
them" to Dr. John Bull. This opinion
results from recent researches, by the curi-
ous in music, which have been published in
elaborate forms.

Dr. John Bull was a celebrated musi-
cian, born about 1563, in Somersetshire.
His master in music was William Blithe-
man, organist of the chapel royal to queen
Elizabeth, in which capacity he was much
distinguished. Bull, on the death of his
master in 1591, was appointed his suc-

cessor. In 1592 he was created doctor in
the university of Cambridge ; and in 1596,
at the recommendation of her majesty, he
was made professor of music to Gresham
college, which situation he resigned it
1607. During more than a year of his
professorship, Mr. Thomas Bird, son of the
venerable William Bird, exercised the
office of a substitute to Dr. Bull, while he
travelled on the continent for the recovery
of his health. After the decease of queen
Elizabeth, Bull was appointed chamber-
musician to king James. In 1613, Dr. Bull
finally quitted England, and entered into
the service of the archduke, in the Nether-
lands. He afterwards seems to have set-
tled at Lubec, from which place many of
his compositions, in the list published by
Dr. Ward, are dated ; one of them so late
as 1622, the supposed year of his decease.
Dr. Bull has been censured for quitting his
establishment in England ; but it is pro-
bable that the increase of health and wealth
was the cause and consequence of his re-
moval. He seems to have been praised at
home more than rewarded. The professor-
ship of Gresham college was not then a
sinecure. His attendance on the chapel
royal, for which he had 40J. per annum,
and on the prince of Wales, at a similai
salary, though honourable, were not very
lucrative appointments for the first per-
former in the world, at a time when scho-
lars were not so profitable as at present,
and there was no public performance where
this most wonderful musician could display
his abilities. A list of more than two hun-
dred of Dr. Bull's compositions, vocal and
instrumental, is inserted in his life, the
whole of which, when his biography was
written in 1740, were preserved in the
collection of Dr. Pepusch. The chief part
of these were pieces for the organ and
virginal.*

Anthony a Wood relates the following
anecdote of this distinguished musician,
when he was abroad for the recovery of his
health in 1601 :

" Dr. Bull hearing of a famous musician
belonging to a certain cathedral at St.
Omer's, he applied himself as a novice to
him, to learn something of his faculty, and
to see and admire his works. This musi-
cian, after some discourse had passed be-
tween them, conducted Bull to a vestry or
music-school joining to the cathedral, and
showed to him a lesson or song of forty parts,
and then made a vaunting challenge to any
person in the world to add one more part

Dictionary of Musicians. HawUini.

227

THE TABLE BOOK.

223

to them, supposing it to be so complete
and full that it was impossible for any
mortal man to correct or add to it ; Bull
thereupon desiring the use of pen, ink, and
ruled paper, such as we call music paper,
prayed the musician to lock him up in the
said school for two or three hours ; which
being done, not without great disdain by
the musician, Bull in that time, or less,
added forty more parts to the said lesson
or song. The musician thereupon being
called in, he viewed it, tried it, and retried
it; at length he burst out into a great
ecstasy, and swore by the great God, that he
that added those forty parts must either be
the devil, or Dr. Bull, 8cc. Whereupon
Bull making himself known, the musician
fell down and adored him. Afterwards
continuing there and in those parts for a
time, he became so much admired, that he
was courted to accept of any place or pre-
ferment suitable to his profession, either
within the dominions of the emperor, king
of France, or Spain ; but the tidings of
these transactions coming to the English
court, queen Elizabeth commanded him
home." *

Dr. Burney disregards the preceding
account as incredible ; but Wood was a
most accurate writer : and Dr. Bull, be-
sides being a great master, was a lover of
the difficulties in his science, and was
therefore likely to seek them with delight,
and accomplish them in a time surprisingly
short to those who study melody rather
than intricacy of composition.

It is related that in the reign of James I.
"July the 16th, 1607, his majesty and
prince Henry, with many of the nobility,
and other honourable persons, dined at
Merchant Taylors' hall, it being the elec-
tion-day of their master and wardens ;
when the company's roll being offered to
his majesty, he said he was already free of
another company, but that the prince
should grace them with the acceptance of
his freedom, and that he would himself see
when the garland was put on his head,
which was done accordingly. During their
stay, they were entertained with a great
variety of music, both voices and instru-
ments, as likewise with several speeches.
And, while the king sat at dinner, Dr. Bull,
who was free of that company ,being in a citti-
zen's gowne, cappe, and hood, played most
excellent melodie uppon a small payre of
organs, placed there for that purpose
onely."

From the only works of Dr. Bull in

Wood's Fasti, anno 1586.

print, some lessons in the " Parthenia
the first music that was ever printed for the
virginals," he is deemed to have possessed
a power of execution on the harpsichord
far beyond what is generally conceived of
the masters of that time. As to his lessons,
they were, in the estimation of Dr. Pepusch,
not only for the harmony and contrivance,
but for air and modulation, so excellent,
that he scrupled not to prefer them to those
of Couperin, Scarlatti, and others of the
modern composers for the harpsichord.

Dr. Pepusch had in his collection a book
of lessons very richly bound, which had
once been queen Elizabeth's ; in this were
contained many lessons of Bull, so very
difficult, that hardly any master of the doc-
tor's time was able to play them. It is
well known, that Dr. Pepusch married the
famous opera singer, signora Margarita de
L'Pine, who had a very fine hand on the
harpsichord : as soon as they were married,
the doctor inspired her with the same sen-
timents of Bull as he himself had long
entertained, and prevailed on her to prac-
tise his lessons ; in which she succeeded so
well, as to excite the curiosity of numbers
to resort to his house at the corner of Bart-
lett's-buildings, in Fetter-lane, to hear her.
There are no remaining evidences of her
unwearied application, in order to attain
that degree of excellence which it is known
she arrived at ; but the book itself is yet in
being, which in some parts of it is so dis-
coloured by continual use, as to distinguish
with the utmost degree of certainty the
very lessons with which she was most de-
lighted. One of them took up twenty
minutes to go through it.*

Dr. Burney says, that Pepusch's prefer-
ence of Bull's compositions to those of
Couperin and Scarlatti, rather proves that
the doctor's taste was bad, than that Bull's
music was good ; and he remarks, in re-
ference to some of them, " that they may
be heard by a lover of music, with as little
emotion as the clapper of a mill, or the
rumbling of a post-chaise." It is a mis-
fortune to Dr. Bull's fame, that he left little
evidence of his great powers, except the
transcendantly magnificent air of " God
save the king."

February, 1827.

COMPANY OF MUSICIANS
OF THE CITY OF LONDON.

King James I., upon what beneficij
principle it is now difficult to discover, bj

* Hawkins.

229

THE TABLE BOOK.

230

letters-patent incorporated the musicians of
the city of London into a company, and
they still continue to enjoy privileges in
consequence of their constituting a frater-
nity and corporation ; bearing arms azure,
a swan, argent, within a tressure counter-
flure, or : in a chief, gules, a rose between
two lions, or : and for their crest the celes-
tial sign Lyra, called by astronomers the
Orphean Lyre. Unluckily for the bon-
vivans of this tuneful tribe, they have no
hall in the city for festive delights ! How-
ever, on days of greatest gourmandiso, the
members of this body are generally too
busily employed in exhilarating others,
comfortably to enjoy the fruits of good
living themselves. And here historical in-
tegrity obliges me to say, that this company
has ever been held in derision by real pro-
fessors, who have regarded it as an institu-
tion as foreign to the cultivation and pros-
perity of good music, as the train-bands to
the art of war. Indeed, the only uses that
have hitherto been made of this charter
seem the affording to aliens an easy and
cheap expedient of acquiring the freedom
of the city, and enabling them to pursue
some more profitable and respectable trade
than that of fiddling ; as well as empower-
ing the company to keep out of processions,
and city-feasts, every street and country-
dance player, of superior abilities to those
who have the honour of being styled the
" Waits of the corporation." *

plaintiveness and boldness of his strains,
rendered the prince unable to restrain the
softer emotions of his soul. He even suf-
fered him to proceed until, overpowered
with harmony, he melted into tears of pity,
and relented of his cruel intention, lie
spared the prisoners who yet remained
alive, and gave them instant liberty.

EFFECTS OF MUSIC.

Sultan Amurath, that cruel prince, having
laid siege to Bagdad, and taken it, gave
orders for putting thirty thousand Persians
to death, notwithstanding they had sub-
mitted, and laid down their arms. Among
the number of these unfortunate victims
was a musician. He besought the officer,
who had the command to see the sultan's
orders executed, to spare him but for a mo-
ment, while he might be permitted to speak
to the emperor. The officer indulged him
with his entreaty ; and, being brought be-
fore the emperor, he was permitted to
exhibit a specimen of his art. Like the
musician in Homer, he took up a kind of
psaltry, resembling a lyre, with six strings
on each side, and accompanied it with his
voice. He sung the taking of Bagdad, and
the triumph of Amuiath. The pathetic
tones and exulting sounds which he drew
from the instrument, joined to the alternate

Burney,

THE YORKSHIRE GIPSY.*

For the Table Book.

The Gipsies are pretty well known as
streams of water, which, at different periods,
are observed on some parts of the Yorkshire
Wolds. They appear toward the latter end
of winter, or early in spring ; sometimes
breaking out very suddenly, and, after run-
ning a few miles, again disappearing. That
which is more particularly distinguished by
the name of The Gipsy, has its origin near
the Wold-cottage, at a distance of about
twelve miles W. N. W. from Bridlington.
The water here does not rise in a body, in
one particular spot, but may be seen oozing
and trickling among the grass, over a sur-
face of considerable extent, and where the
ground is not interrupted by the least ap-
parent breakage ; collecting into a mass,
it passes off in a channel, of about four
fe6t in depth, and eight or ten in width,
along a fertile valley, toward the sea, which
it enters through the harbour at Bridling-
ton ; having 1 passed the villages of Wold
Newton, North Burton, Rudston, and
Boynton. Its uncertain visits, and the
amazing quantity of water sometimes dis-
charged in a single season, have afforded
subjects of curious speculation. One wri-
ter displays a considerable degree of ability
in favour of a connection which he sup-
poses to exist between it and the ebbing
and flowing spring, discovered at Bridline-
ton Quay in 1811. "The appearance of
this water," however, to use the words of
Mr. Hinderwell, the historian of Scar-
borough, " is certainly influenced by the
state of the seasons," as there is sometimes
an intermission of three or four years. Jt
is probably occasioned by a surcharge of
water descending from the high lands into
the vales, by subterraneous passages, and,
finding a proper place of emission, breaks
out with great force.

* The word is not pronounced the same as gipsy, a
fortune-teller ; the g, in this case, being sounded hard
as in gimlet.

231

THE TABLE BOOK.

232

Aftei a secession of five years, the Gipsy
made its appearance in February, 1823; a
circumstance which some people had sup-
posed as unlikely to occur, owing to the
alterations effected on the Carrs, under the
Muston and Yedingham drainage act.

We are told, that the ancient Britons
exalted their rivers and streams into the
offices of religion, and whenever an object
had been thus employed, it was reverenced
with a degree of sanctity ever afterwards ;
and we may readily suppose, that the sud-
den and extraordinary appearance of this
stream, after an interval of two or three
successive years, would awaken their curi-
osity, and excite in them a feeling of sacred
astonishment. From the Druids may pro-
bably have descended a custom, formerly
prevalent among the young people at North
Burton, but now discontinued: it was
" going to meet the Gipsy," on her first
approach. Whether or not this meeting
was accompanied by any particular cere-
mony, the writer of this paragraph has not
been able to ascertain.

T. C.

Bridlington.

WILTSHIRE ABROAD AND AT
HOME.

To the Editor.

There is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside,
Where brighter suns dispense sereiier light,
And milder moons emparadise the night.

A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
rime-tutor'd age, and love-exalted yoath ;
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores.

Views not a realm so beautiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a pnrer air;
In every clime the magnet of his .vml,
Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole.

For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace.
The heritage of Nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth, supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest ;

Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride ;
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.

Here woman reigns the mother, daughter, wif.
Strews with fresh flowers tte narrow way of life ;
In the cle.ir heaven of her delightful eye
An aug-'l guard of loves, and graces lie ;
ArounO her knees domestic duties meet,
Aud f.n-side pleasures gim!>ol at lier feet.

Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found ?
Art thou a man ? a patriot ? look around ;
Ob, thou shall find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home.

Mr. Editor, As your Table Book may
be considered an extensively agreeable and
entertaining continuation of your Every-
Day Book, allow me a column, wherein,
without wishing to draw attention too fre-
quently to one subject, I would recur again
to the contributions of your correspondent,
in vol. ii. page 1371, of the Every-Day
Book, my observations at page 1584, and
his notices at page 1606. Your " Old Cor-
respondent " is, I presume, a native of this
part of the country. He tells us, page 1608,
that his ancestors came from the Priory ; in
another place, that he is himself an anti-
quarian ; and, if I am not much mistaken
in the signatures, you have admitted his
poetical effusions in some of your num-
bers. Assuming these to be facts, he will
enter into the feeling conveyed by the lines
quoted at the head of this article, and
agree with me in this observation, that
every man who writes of the spot, or the
county so endeared, should be anxious that
truth and fiction should not be so blended
together as to mislead us (the inhabitants)
who read your miscellany ; and that we
shall esteem it the more, as the antiquities,
the productions, and the peculiarities of
this part of our county are noticed in a
proper manner.

As your correspondent appears to have
been anxious to set himself right with re-
gard to the inaccuracies 1 noticed in his
account of Clack, &c., I will point out that
he is still in error in one slight particular.
When he visits this county again, he will
find, if he should direct his footsteps to-
wards Malmsbury and its venerable abbey,
(now the church,) the tradition is, that the
boys of a school, kept in a room that once
existed over the antique and curious en-
trance to the abbey, revolted and killed
their master. Mr. Moffatt, in his history
of Malmsbury, (ed. 1805,) has not noticed
this tradition.

Excuse my transcribing from that work,
the subjoined " Sonnet to the Avon," and
Jet me express a hope that your correspond-
ent may also favour us with some effusions
in verse upon that stream, the scene of
warlike contests when the boundary of the
Saxon kingdom, or upon other subjects
connected with our local history.

Upon this river, meandering- through z
fine and fertile tract of country, Mr. Aloi-

233

THE TABLE BOOK.

234

fatt, after noticing the earlier abbots of
Malmsbury, adds, " The ideas contained in
the following lines were suggested by the
perusal of the history of the foundation of
Malmsbury abbey :

" Sonnet to the Avon.

" Reclined beside the willow shaded stream,
On which the breath of whispering zephyr plays,
Let me, O Avon, in untntor'd lays

Assert thy fairest, purest, right to fame.

What tho' no myrtle bower thy banks adorn,
Nor sportive Naiads wanton in thy wares ;
No glittering sands of gold, or coral caves,

Bedeck the channel by thy waters worn :

Yet thou canst boast of honours passing these,
For when fair science left her eastern seat,
Ere Alfred raised her sons a fair retreat,

Where Isis' laurels tremble in the breeze ;
'Twas there, near where thy curling streamlet flows.
E'en in yon dell, the Muses found repose."

This interesting period in the history of
the venerable abbey, its supposed connec-
tion with Bradenstoke Priory, the admired
scenery of the surrounding country, the
events of past ages blended into the exer-
tions of a fertile imagination, and the many
traditions still floating in the minds of the
inhabitants, would form materials deserving
the attention of a writer disposed to wield
his pen in that department of literature,
which has been so successfully cultivated in
1 the northern and other parts of our island.

If by the observation, " that his ances-
tors came from the Priory," your corres-
pondent means Bradenstoke Priory, he
will allow me to direct his attention to the
fact of the original register of that esta-
blishment being in the British Museum. I
refer him to the " Beauties of England and
Wales."

As your correspondent probably resides
in London, he may be induced to obtain
access to this document, in which I con-
clude he would have no difficulty; and if
you, Mr. Editor, could favour us in your
publication with an engraving of this
Priory, it would be acceptable.

I appreciate the manner in which your
correspondent noticed rny remarks, and
wish him success in his literary efforts,
whether relating to objects in this vicinity,
or to other matters. One remark only I
will add, that I think he should avoid the
naming of respectable individuals : the
mention of names may cause unpleasant
feelings in a neighbourhood like this, how-
ever unintentional on his part. I should
have considered it better taste in an anti-
quarian to have named the person in pos-

session cf the golden image, in preference
to the childish incident stated to have
occurred when Bradenstoke Priory was
occupied by a former respectable inhabit-
ant, Mrs. Bridges.

Your correspondent will excuse the free-
dom of this observation ; his ready pen
could perhaps relate to you the detail of a
tragical event, said by tradition to have
occurred at Dauntsey, where the mansion
of the late earl of Peterborough now stands,
and " other tales of other times."

Lyneham, Wilts,
January 23, 1827.

A READER.*

OLD BIRMINGHAM CONJURERS.
BY MR. WILLIAM HUTTON.

No head is a vacuum. Some, like a
paltry cottage, are ill accommodated, dark,
and circumscribed ; others are capacious as
Westminster-hall. Though none are im-
mense, yet they are capable of immense
furniture. The more room is taken up by
knowledge, the less remains for credulity.
The more a man is acquainted with things,
the more willing to " give up the ghost."
Every town and village, within my know-
ledge, has been pestered with spirits,
which appear in horrid forms to the ima-
gination in the winter night but the
spirits which haunt Birmingham, are those
of industry and luxury.

If we examine the whole parish, we can-
not produce one old " witch ;" but we have
numbers of young, who exercise a powerful
influence over us. Should the ladies accuse
the harsh epithet, they will please to con-
sider, I allow them, what of all things they
most wish for, power therefore the balance
is in my favour.

If we pass through the planetary worlds,
we shall be able to muster two conjurers,
who endeavoured to " shine with the stars."
The first, John Walton, who was so busy
in casting the nativity of others, that he
forgot his own. Conscious of an applica-
tion to himself, for the discovery of stolen

* I am somewhat embarrassed by this difference
between two valued correspondents, and I hope neither
will regard me in an ill light, if I venture to interpose,
and deprecate controversy beyond an extent whicli can
interest the readers of the Table Book. I do not sajr
that it has passed that limit, and hitherto all has been
well; perhaps, however, it would be advisable that
" A Reader" should confide to me his name, and that
he and my " Old Correspondent," whom I know, shouW
allow me to introduce them to each other. I think the
result would be mutually satisfactory.

VV. H.

235

THE TABLE BOOR.

236

goods, he employed his people to steal
them. And though, for many years con-
fined to his bed by infirmity, he could con-
jure away the property of others, and, for a
reward, conjure it back again.

The prevalence of this evil, induced the
legislature, in 1725, to make the reception
of stolen goods capital. The first sacrifice
to this law was the noted Jonathan Wild.

The officers of justice, in 1 732, pulled
Walton out of his bed, in an obscure cottage,
one furlong from the town, now Brickiln-
lane, carried him to prison, and from thence
to the gallows they had better have car-
ried him to the workhouse, and his followers
to the anvil.

To him succeeded Francis Kimberley,
the only reasoning animal, who resided at
No. 60, in Dale-end, from his early youth
to extreme age. A hermit in a crowd !
The windows of his house were strangers
to light. The shutters forgot to open ; the
chimney to smoke. His cellar, though
amply furnished, never knew moisture.

He spent threescore years in filling six
rooms with such trumpery as was just too
good to be thrown away, and too bad to be
kept. His life was as inoffensive as long.
Instead of stealing the goods which other
people used, he purchased what he could
not use himself. He was not difficult in
his choice of the property that entered his
house ; if there was bulk, he was satisfied.

His dark house, and his dark figure,
corresponded with each other. The apart-
ments, choked up with lumber, scarcely
admitted his body, though of the skeleton
order. Perhaps leanness is an appendage
to the science, for I never knew a corpu-
lent conjurer. His diet, regular, plain,
and slender, showed at how little expense
life might be sustained. His library con-
sisted of several thousand volumes, not one
of which, I believe, he ever read ; having
written, in characters unknown to all but
himself, his name, the price, and the date,
in the title-page, he laid them by for ever.
The highest pitch of his erudition was the
annual almanack.

He never wished to approach a woman,
or be approached by one. Should the rest
of men, for half a century, pay no more
attention to the fair, some angelic hand
might stick up a note like the arctic circle
over one of our continents, " this world to
be let."

If he did not cultivate the acquaintance
of the human species, the spiders, more
numerous than his books, enjoyed an unin-
terrupted reign of quiet. The silence of
the pluce was not broken ; the broom, the

book, the dust, or the web, was not dis-
turbed. Mercury and his shirt performed
their revolutions together; and Saturn
changed his with his coat. He died in
1756, as conjurers usually die, unla-
mented.*

PATIENCE.
For the Table Book

As the pent water of a mill-dam lies

Motionless, yielding, noiseless, and serene.
Patience waits meekly with companioned eyes ;

Or like the speck-cloud, which alone is seen
Silver'd within blue space, ling'ring for air

On which to sail prophetic voyages ;
Or as the fountain stone that doth not wear,

But suits itself to pressure, and with ease
Diverts the dropping crystal ; or the wife

That sits beside her husband and her love
Subliming to another state and life,

OffYing him consolation as a dove,
Her sighs and tears, her heartache and her mind
Devout, untired, calm, precious, and resign'd.

Zritfefo

CATALOGUE OF PAINTED BRITISH POR-
TRAITS, comprising most of the Sove-
reigns of England, from Henry 1. to
George IV., and many distinguished
personages ; principally the produc-
tions of Holbein, Zucchero, C. Jansen,
Vandyck, Hudson, Reynolds, North-
cote, &c, Noio selling at the prices
affixed, by HORATIO Rono, 17, Air-
street, Piccadilly. 1827.

This is an age of book and print cata-
logues ; and lo ! we have a picture dealer's
catalogue of portraits, painted in oil, from
the price of two guineas to sixty. There
is only one of so high value as the latter
sum, and this is perhaps the most interest-
ing in Mr. Rodd's collection, and he has
allowed the present engraving from it. The
picture is in size thirty inches by twenty-
five. The subjoined particulars are from
the catalogue.

Hist, of Birmingham.

237

THE TABLE BOOK.

238

iCobat.

FROM THE ORIGINAL PICTURE BY HOGARTH, LATELY DISCOVERED.

" To the present time, none of Hogarth's
biographers appear to have been aware of
the ' local habitation' of the original paint-
ing from which the artist published his
etching, the popularity of which, at the
period to which it alludes, was so great,
that a printseller offered for it its weight in
gold : that offer the artist rejected ; and he
is said to have received from its sale, for
many weeks, at the rate of twelve pounds
each day. The impressions could not be
taken off so fast as they were wanted,
though the rolling-press was at work all
night by the week together.

" Hogarth said himself, that lord Lovat's
portrait was taken at the White Hart-inn,
at St. Alban's, in the attitude of relating on
his fingers the numbers of the rebel forces :
' Such a general had so many men, &c. ;'
and remarked that the muscles of Lovat's
neck appeared of unusual strength, more
so than lie had ever seen. Samuel Ireland,
in his Graphic Illustrations of Hogarlh,
vol. i. p. 146, states that Hogarth was in-
vited to St. Alban's for the express purpose
of being introduced to Lovat, who was then
resting at the White Hart-inn, on his wny
to London from Scotland, by Dr. Webster,

239

THE TABLE BOOK.

540

a physician residing at St. Alban's, and well
known to Boswell, Johnson, and other emi-
nent literary characters of that period.
Hogarth had never seen Lovat before, and
was, through the doctor's introduction, re-
ceived with much cordiality, even to the
kiss fraternal, which was then certainly not
very pleasant, as his lordship, being under
the barber's hands, left in the salute much
of the lather on the artist's face. Lord
Lovat rested two or three days at St. Al-
ban's, and was under the immediate care of
Dr. Webster, who thought his patient's ill-
ness was feigned with his usual cunning, or
if at all real, arose principally from his ap-
prehension of danger on reaching London.
The short stay of Lovat at St. Alban's
allowed the artist but scanty opportunity
of providing the materials for a complete
picture; hence some carpenter was em-
oloyed on the instant to glue together some
Jeal board, and plane down one side,
which is evident from the back being in the
usual rough state in which the plank leaves
the saw-pit. The painting, from the thin-
ness of the priming-ground, bears evident
proof of the haste with which the portrait
was accomplished. The course lineament
of features so strongly exhibited in his
countenance, is admirably hit off; so well
has Buncombe expressed it,

Lovat's hard features Hogarth might command ;'

for his pencil was peculiarly adapted to
such representation. It is observable the
button holes of the coat, &c., are reversed
in the artist's etching, which was professed
to be ' drawn from the life, &c. ;' and in
the upper corner of the picture are satirical
heraldic insignia, allusive to the artist's
idea of his future destiny."

The " satirical heraldic insignia," men-
tioned in the above description, and repre-
sented in the present engraving, do not
appear in Hogarth's well-known whole
length etching of lord Lovat. The picture
is a half-length ; it was found in the house
of a poor person at Verulam, in the neigh-
bourhood of St. Alban's, where Hogarth
painted it eighty years ago, and it is a singu-
lar fact, that till its discovery a few weeks
ago, such a picture was not known to have
been executed. In all probability, Hogarth
obliged his friend, Dr. Webster, with it,
and after the doctor's death it passed to
some heedless individual, and remained
in obscurity from that time to the present.*
Further observation on it is needless ; for

* There is an nccoint of lord Lovat in the
Day Book.

Evcry-

persons who are interested concerning the
individual whom Hogarth has portrayed,
or who are anxious respecting the works of
that distinguished artist, have an opportu-
nity of seeing it at Mr. Rodd's until it is
sold.

As regards the other portraits in oil,
collected by Mr. Rodd, and now offered
by him for sale, after the manner of book-
sellers, " at the prices annexed," they can
be judged of with like facility. Like book-
sellers, who tempt the owners of empty
shelves, with " long sets to fill up " at
small prices, Mr. R. " acquaints the no-
bility and gentry, having spacious country
mansions, that he has many portraits of
considerable interest as specimens of art,
but of whom the picture is intended to re-
present, matter of doubt : as such pictures
would enliven many of their large rooms,
and particularly the halls, they may be had
at very low prices."

Mr. Rodd's ascertained pictures really
form a highly interesting collection of
" painted British Portraits," from whence
collectors may select what they please :
his mode of announcing such productions,
by way of catalogue, seems well adapted
to bring buyers and sellers together, and is
noticed here as an instance of spirited de-
parture from the ancient trading rule, viz.

Twiddle your thumbs
Till a customer comes.

DEATH'S DOINGS.

" I am now worth one hundred thousand
pounds," said old Gregory, as he ascended
a hill, which commanded a full prospect of
an estate he had just purchased ; " I am
now worth one hundred thousand pounds,
and here," said he, " I'll plant an orchard :
and on that spot I'll have a pinery

" Yon farm houses shall come down,"
said old Gregory, " they interrupt my
view."

" Then, what will become of tne far-
mers ?" asked the steward, who attended
him.

" That's their business," answered old
Gregory.

" And that mill must not stand upon the
stream," said old Gregory.

"Then, how will the villagers grind their
corn ?" asked the steward.

" That's not my business," answered old
Gregory.

So old Gregory returned home ate a
hearty supper drank a bottle ot port-

241

THE TABLE BOOK.

242

smoked two pipes of tobacco and fell into
a profound slumber and awoke no more ;
and the farmers reside on their lands and
the mill stands upon the stream and the
villagers rejoice that Death did "business "
with old Gregory.

THE BARBER.
For the Table Book.

Barbers are distinguished by peculiarities
appertaining to no other class of men. They
have a caste, and are a race of themselves.
The members of this ancient and gentle
profession foul befall the libeller who shall
designate it a trade are mild, peaceable,
cheerful, polite, and communicative. They
mingle with no cabal, have no interest in
factions, are " open to all parties, and
influenced by none;" and they have a
good, kind, or civil word for everybody.
The cheerful morning salutation of one of
these cleanly, respectable persons is a
" handsell '' for the pleasures of the day ;
serenity is in its tone, and comfort glances
from its accompanying smile. Their small,
cool, clean, and sparingly-furnished shops,
with sanded floor and towelled walls, re-
lieved by the white-painted, well-scoured
shelves, scantily adorned with the various
implements of their art, denote the snug sys-
tem of economy which characterises the
owners. Here, only, is the looking-glass
not an emblem of vanity : it is placed to
reflect, and not to flatter. You seat your-
self in the lowly, antique chair, worn
smooth by the backs of half a century of
beard-owners, and instantly feel a full re-
pose from fatigue of body and mind. You
find yourself in attentive and gentle hands,
and are persuaded that no man can be in
collision with his shaver or hair-dresser.
The very operation tends to set you on
better terms with yourself: and your barber
hath not in his constitution the slightest
element of difference. The adjustment of
a curl, the clipping of a lock, the trimming
of a whisker, (that much-cherished and
highly-valued adornment of the face,) are
matters of paramount importance to both
parties threads of sympathy for the time,
unbroken by the divesture of the thin, soft,
ample mantle, that enveloped you in its
snowy folds while under his care. Who
can entertain ill-humour, much less vent
his spleen, while wrapt in the symbolic
vestment? The veriest churl is softened
by the application of the warm emollient
brush, and calmed into complacency by
the light-handed hoverings of the comb

and scissors. A smile, a compliment, a
remark on the weather, a diffident, side-
wind inquiry about politics, or the passing
intelligence of the day, are tendered with
that deference, which is the most grateful
as well as the handsomest demonstration of
politeness. Should you, on sitting down,
nalf-blushingly request him to cut off " as
large a lock as he can, merely," you assure
him, " that you may detect any future
change in its colour," how skilfully he ex-
tracts, from your rather thin head of hair, a
graceful, flowing lock, which self-love
alone prevents you from doubting to have
been grown by yourself: how pleasantly
you contemplate, in idea, its glossiness
from beneath the intended glass of the pro-
pitiatory locket. A web of delightful
associations is thus woven ; and the care he
takes to " make each particular hair to
stand on end " to your wishes, so as to let
you know he surmises your destination,
completes the charm. We never hear of
people cutting their throats in a barber's
shop, though the place is redolent of razors.
No ; the ensanguined spots that occasion-
ally besmirch the whiteness of the revolving
towel is from careless, unskilful, and opi-
niated individuals, who mow their own
beards, or refuse to restrain their risibility.
I wonder how any can usurp the province
of the barber, (once an almost exclusive
one,) and apply unskilful, or unpractised
hands so near to the grand canal of life.
For my own part, I would not lose the
daily elevation of my tender nose, by the
velvet-tipped digits of my barber no, not
for an independence !

The genuine barber is usually (like his
razors) well-tempered ; a man unvisited by
care ; combining a somewhat hasty assi-
duity, with an easy and respectful manner.
He exhibits the best part of the character
of a Frenchman an uniform exterior sua-
vity, and politesse. He seems a faded
nobleman, or emigrt of the old regime.
And surely if the souls of men transmigrate,
those of the old French noblesse seek the
congenial soil of the barber's bosom ! Is it
a degradation of worthy and untroubled
spirits, to imagine, that they animate the
bodies of the harmless and unsophisticated .'

In person the barber usually inclines to
the portly ; but is rarely obese. His is
that agreeable plumpness betokening the
man at ease with himself and the world
and the utter absence of that fretfulness
ascribed to leanness. Nor do his comely
proportions and fleshiness make leaden the
heels, or lessen the elasticity of his step,
or transmute his feathery lightness of hand

243

THE TABLE BOOK.

214

to heaviness. He usually wears powder,
for it looks respectable, and is professional
withal. The last of the almost forgotten
and quite despised raee of pigtails, once
proudly cherished by all ranks now pro-
scribed, banished, or, if at all seen, dimi-
nished in stateliness and bulk, " shorn of
its fair proportions,'' lingers fondly with
its former nurturer ; the neat-combed, even-
clipped hairs, encased in their tight swathe
of black ribbon, topped by an airy bow,
nestle in the well-clothed neck of the mo-
dern barber. Yet why do I call him
modern ? True, he lives in our, but he
belongs to former times, of which he is the
remembrancer and historian the days of
bags, queues, clubs, and periwigs, when a
halo of powder, pomatum, and frizzed curls
encircled the heads of our ancestors. That
glory is departed ; the brisk and agile
tensor, once the genius of the toilet, no
longer directs, with the precision of a can-
noneer, rapid discharges of scented atoms
against bristling batteries of his own crea-
*.ion.. "The barber's occupation's gone,"
with all the " pride, pomp, and circum-
stance of glorious wigs !"

Methinks I detect some unfledged reader,
upon whose head of hair the sun of the
eighteenth century never shone, glancing
his " mind's eye " to one of the more
recent and fashionable professors of the art
of " ciseaune" one of the chemical per-
fumers, or self-esteemed practitioners of the
present day, in search of an exemplification
of my description : he is at fault. Though
he may deem Truefit or Macalpine mo-
dels of skill, and therefore of description, I
must tell him I recognise none such. I
speak of the last generation, (between
which and the present, Ross, and Taylor of
Whitechapel, are the connecting links,) the
last remnants of whom haunt the solitary,
well-paved,silent corners,and less frequented
streets of London whose windows ex-
hibit no waxen busts, bepainted and be-
dizened in fancy dresses and flaunting
feathers, but one or two "old original"
blocks or dummies, crowned with sober-
looking, respectable, stiff-buckled, brown
wigs, such as our late venerable monarch
used to wear. There is an aboriginal wig-
maker's shop at the corner of an inn-yard
in Bishopsgate-street ; a " repository " of
hair ; the window of which is lull of these
primitive caxons, all of a sober brown, or
simpler flaxen, with an occasional contrast
of rusty black, forming, as it were, a finis
to the by-gone fashion. Had our first fore-
father, Adam, been bald, he could not have
worn a more simply artificial imitation of

nature than one of these wigs so frank, 30
sincere, and so warm an apology for want
of hair, scorning to deceive the observer,
or to crown the veteran head witn adoles-
cent curls. The ancient wig, whether
a simple scratch, a plain bob, or a splendid
periwig, was one which a man might mo-
destly hold on one hand, while with the
other he wiped his bald pate ; but with
what grace could a modern wig-wearer
dismount a specific deception, an elaborate
imitation of natural curls to exhibit a hair-
less scalp ? It would be either a censure
on his vanity, or a sarcasm on his other-
wise unknown deficiency. The old wig,
on the contrary, was a plain acknowledg-
ment of want of hair ; avowing the com-
fort, or the inconvenience, (as it might
happen,) with an independent indifference
to mirth or pity ; and forming a decent
covering to the head that sought not to be-
come either a decoration or deceit. Peace
to the manes of the primitive artificers of
human hair the true skull-thatchers the
architects of towering toupees -the en-
gineers of flowing periwigs !

The wig-makers (as they still denominate
themselves) in Lincoln's-inn and the Tem-
ple, are quite of the " old school." Their
shady, cool, cleanly, classic recesses, where
embryo chancellors have been measured
for their initiatory forensic wigs; where the
powdered glories of the bench have oft-
times received a re-revivification ; where
some " old Bencher" still resorts, in his
undress, to have his nightly growth of
beard shaven by the " particular razor ;*'
these powder-scented nooks, these legal
dressing-closets seem, like the " statutes at
large," to resist, tacitly but effectually, the
progress of innovation. They are like the
old law offices, which are scattered up and
down in various corners of the intricate
maze of " courts," constituting the " Tem-
ple" unchangeable by time ; except when
the hand of death removes some old
tenant at will, who has been refreshed by
the cool-borne breezes from the river, or
soothed by the restless monotony of the
plashing fountain, " sixty years since."
But I grow serious. The barber possesses
that distinction of gentleness, a soft and
white hand, of genial and equable tempera-
ture, neither falling to the "zero" of chilli^
ness, nor rising to the " fever heat " of
perspiration, but usually lingering at
" blood heat." I know not if any one ever
shook hands with his barber : there needs
no such outward demonstration of good-
will ; no grip, like that we bestow upon
an old friend returned after a long absence,

245

THE TABLE BOOK.

246

by way of rivet, as it were, to that link in
the chain of friendship. His air of courtesy
keeps a good understanding floating be-
tween him and his customers, which, if
ruffled by a hasty departure, or dismissal,
is revived the next day by the sun-light of
his morning smile !

The barber's hand is unlike that of any
other soft hand : it is not flabby, like that
of a sensualist; nor arid, and thin, like a stu-
dent's ; nor dead white, like that of a deli-
cate female ; but it is naturally warm, of a
glowing, transparent colour, and of a
cushiony, elastic softness. Beneath its
conciliatory touch, as it prepares the skin
for the sweeping course of the razor, and its
gentle pressure, as it inclines the head to
either side, to aid the operation of the scis-
sors, a man may sit for hours, and feel no
weariness. Happy must he be who lived
m the days of long, or full-dressed hair,
and resigned himself for a full hour to the
passive luxury of hair-dressing ! A morn-
ing's toilette (for a gentleman, I mean ;
being a bachelor, I am uninitiated in the
arcana of a lady's dressing-room) a morn-
ing's toilette in those days was indeed an
important part of the "business of life:"
there were the curling-irons, the comb, the
pomatum, the powder-puff, the powder-
knife, the mask, and a dozen other requi-
sites to complete the elaborate process that
perfected that mysterious " frappant, or
tintinabulant appendage " to the back part
of the head. Oh ! it must have been a
luxury a delight surpassing the famed
baths and cosmetics of the east.

I have said that the barber is a gentle
man ; if not in so many words, I have at
least pointed out that distinguishing trait
in him. He is also a humane man : his
occupation of torturing hairs leaves him
neither leisure nor disposition to torture
ought else. He looks as respectable as he
is ; and he is void of any appearance of
deceit or cunning. There is less of per-
sonality or egotism about him than mankind
in general : though he possesses an idio-
syncrasy, it is that of his class, not of him-
self. As he sits, patiently renovating some
dilapidated peruke, or perseveringly pre-
sides over the developement of grace in
some intractable bush of hair, or stands
at his own threshold, in the cleanly pride
of white apron and hose, lustrous shoes,
and exemplary jacket, with that studied
yet seeming disarrangement of hair, as
though subduing, as far as consistent with
propriety, the visible appearance of tech-
nical skill as he thus, untired, goes the
never-varying round of his pleasant occu-

pation, and active leisure, time seems to
pass unheeded, and the wheel of chance,
scattering fragments of circumstance from
the rock of destiny, continues its relentless
and unremittent revolution, unnoticed by
him. He hears not the roar of the fearful
engine, the groans and sighs of despair, or
the wild laugh of exultation, produced by
its mighty working. All is remote, strange,
and intricate, and belongs not to him to
know. He dwells in an area of peace a
magic circle whose area might be de-
scribed by his obsolete sign-pole !

Nor does the character of the barber vary
in other countries. He seems to flourish in
unobtrusive prosperity all the world over.
In the east, the clime most congenial to his
avocations, the voluminous beard makes
up for the deficiency of the ever-turbaned,
close-shorn skull, and he exhibits the tri-
umph of his skill in its most special depart-
ment. Transport an English barber to Sa-
marcand, or Ispahan, and, saving the lan-
guage, he would feel quite at home. Here
he reads the newspaper, and, unless any
part is contradicted- by his customers,
he believes it all : it is his oracle. At
Constantinople the chief eunuch would con-
fide to him the secrets of the seraglio as if
he were a genuine disciple of Mahomet;
and with as right good will as ever old
" gossip'' vented a bit of scandal with un-
constrained volubility of tongue. He would
listen to, aye and put faith in, the relations
of the coffee-house story-tellers who came to
have their beards trimmed, and repaid him
with one of their inventions for his trouble.
What a dissection would a barber's brain
afford, could we but discern the mine of
latent feuds and conspiracies laid up there
in coil, by their spleenful and mischievous
inventors. I would that I could unpack
the hoarded venom, all hurtless in that
" cool grot," as destructive stores are de-
posited in an arsenal, where light and heat
never come. His mind admits no spark of
malice to fire the train of jealousy, or ex-
plode the ammunition of petty strrfe ; and
it were well for the world and society, if
the intrigue and spite of its inhabitants
could be poured, like the " cursed juice of
Hebenon," into his ever-open ear, and be
buried for ever in the oblivious chambers
of his brain. Vast as the caverned ear
of Dionysius the tyrant, his contains in its
labyrinthine recesses the collected scandal
of neighbourhoods, the chatter of house-
holds, and even the crooked policy of
courts ; but ail is decomposed and neutra-
lized there. It is the very quantity of this
freight of plot and detraction that renders

247

THE TABLE BOOK.

248

him so harmless. It is as ballast to the
sails of his judgment. He mixes in no
conspiracy, domestic or public. The foul-
est treason would remain " pure in the last
recesses of his mind." He knows not of,
cares not for, feels no interest in all this
material of wickedness, any more than the
unconscious paper that bears on its lettered
forehead the " sixth edition" of a bulletin.
Amiable, contented, respected race !
I exclaim with Figaro, " Oh, that I were a
happy barber !"

G ASTON.

THE KING OF INDIA'S LIBRARY.

Dabshelim, king of India, had so nume-
rous a library, that a hundred brachmans
were scarcely sufficient to keep it in order ;
and it required a thousand dromedaries to
transport it from one place to another. As
be was not able to read all these books, he
proposed to the brachmans to make extracts
from them of the best and most useful of
their contents. These learned personages
set themselves so heartily to work, that in
less than twenty years they had compiled of
all these extracts a little encyclopaedia of
twelve thousand volumes, which thirty
camels could carry with ease. They had
the honour to present it to the king. But,
how great was their amazement, on his
giving them for answer, that it was impos-
sible for him to read thirty camel-loads of
books. They therefore reduced their ex-
tracts to fifteen, afterwards to ten, then to
four, then to two dromedaries, and at last
there remained only so much as to load a
mule of ordinary stature.

Unfortunately, Dabshelim, during this
process of melting down his library, was
grown old, and saw no probability of living
to exhaust its quintessence to the last vo-
lume. " Illustrious sultan," said his vizir,
the sage Pilpay, " though I have but a very
imperfect knowledge of your royal library,
yet I will undertake to deliver you a very
brief and satisfactory abstract of it. You
shall read it through in one minute, and
yet you will find matter in it for reflecting
upon throughout the rest of your life."
Having said this, Pilpay took a palm leaf,
and wrote upon it with a golden style the
four following sentences :

1. The greater part of the sciences com-
prise but one single word Perhaps : and
the whole history of mankind contains no
more than three they are born, suffer, din.

2. Love nothing but what is good, and
do all that thou lovest to do ; tnink nothing
but what is true, and speak not all that
thou thinkest.

3. O kings ! tame your passions, govern
yourselves ; and it will be only child's play
to you to govern the world.

4. O kings ! O people ! it can never be
often enough repeated to you, what the
half-witted venture to doubt, that there is
no happiness without virtue, and no virtue
without the fear of God.

ENCOURAGEMENT TO AUTHORS.

Whether it is perfectly consistent in an
author to solicit the indulgence of the pub-
lic, though it may stand first in his wishes,
admits a doubt ; for, if his productions
will not bear the light, it may be said, why
does he publish ? but, if they will, there is
no need to ask a favour ; the world receives
one from him. Will not a piece everlast-
ingly be tried by its merit? Shall we
esteem it the higher, because it was written
at the age of thirteen ? because it was the
effort of a week ? delivered extempore ?
hatched while the author stood upon one
leg ? or cobbled, while he cobbled a shoe
or will it be a recommendation, that it issue*
forth in gilt binding ? The judicious
world will not be deceived by the tinselled
purse, but will examine whether the on-
tents are sterling.

POETICAL ADVICE.
For the Table Book.

I have pleasure in being at liberty to
publish a poetical letter to a young poet
from one yet younger; who, before the
years of manhood, has attained the height
of knowing on what conditions the muse
may be successfully wooed, and imparts the
secret to his friend. Some lines towards
the close, which refer to his co-aspirant's
effusions, are omitted.

To R. R.

To you, dear Rowland, lodg'd in town,

Where Pleasure's smile soothes Winter's frown,

I write while chilly breezes blow,

And the dense clouds descend in snow.

For Twenty-six is nearly dead.

And age has whiten'd o'er her head ;

Her velvet robe is stripp'd away,

Her watery pulses hardly play ;

Clogg'd with the withering leaves, the wind

Comes with his blighting blast behind.

249

THE ABLE BOOK

And here and there, with prying eye,
And flagging wings a bird flits by;
(For every Robin sparer grows,
And every Sparrow robbing goes.)
The Year's two eyes the sun and moon
Are fading, and will fade full soon ;*
With shattered forces Autumn yields,
And Winter triumphs o'er the fields.

So thus, alas ! I'm gagg'd it seems,
From converse of the woods and streams,
(For all the countless rhyming rabble
Hold leaves can whisper waters babble)
And, house-bound for whole weeks together
By stress of lungs, and stress of weather,
Feed on the more delightful strains
Of howling winds, and pelting rains ;
Which shake the house, from rear to van,
Like valetudinarian ;
Pouring innumerable streams
Of arrows, thro' a thousand seams :
Arrows so fine, the nicest eye
Their thickest flight can ne'er descry,
Yet fashion'd with such subtle art,
They strike their victim to the heart ;
While imps, that fly upon the point,
Raise racking pains in every joint.

Nay, more these winds are thought magicians.

And supereminent physicians :

For men who have been kill'd outright,

They cure again at dead of night.

That double witch, who erst did dwell

In Kndor's cave, raised Samuel ;

But they each night raise countless hosts

Of wandering sprites, and sheeted ghosts ;

Turn shaking locks to clanking chains,

And howl most supernatural strains :

While all our dunces lose their wits,

And pass the night in ague-fits.

While this nocturnal serret blowt

I hide my head beneath the clothes,

And sue the power whose dew distils

The only balm for human ills.

All day the sun's prevailing beam

Absorbs this dew from Lethe's stream :

All night the falling moisture sheds

Oblivion over mortal heads.

Then sinking into sleep I fall,

And leave them piping at their ball.

When morning comes no summer's morn

I wake and find the spectres gone ;

But on the casement see emboss'd

A mimic world in crusted frost ;

Ice-bergs, high shores, and wastes of snow,

Mountains above, and seas below ;

Or, if Imagination bids,

Vast crystal domes, and pyramids.

Then starting from my conch I leap,

And shake away the dregs of sleep,

To shield this line from criticism
'Tis Parody not Plagiarism.

Just breathe upon the grand array,
And ice-bergs slide in seas away.

Now on the scout I sally forth,
The weather-cock due E. by N.
To meet some masquerading fog.
Which makes all nature dance incog.
And spreads blue devils, and blue look*,
Till exercised by tongues and books.

Books, do I say ? full well I wist

A book's a famous exorcist !

A book's the tow that makes the tether

That binds the quick and dead together ;

A speaking trumpet under ground,

That turns a silence to a sound ;

A magic mirror form'd to show,

Worlds that were dust ten thousand years ago.

They're aromatic cloths, that hold

The mind embalm'd in many a fold,

And look, arrang'd in dust-hung rooms,

Like mummies in Egyptian tombs ;

Enchanted echoes, that reply,

Not to the ear, but to the eye ;

Or pow'rful drugs, that give the brain,

By strange contagion, joy or pain.

A book's the phoenix of the earth,
Which bursts in splendour from its birth:
And like the moon without her wanes,
From every change new lustre gains ;
Shining with andiminish'd light,
While ages wing their idle flight.

By such a glorious theme inspired
Still could I sing but you are tired:
(Tho 1 adamantine lungs would do,
Ears should be adamantine too,)
And thence we may deduce 'tis better
To answer ('faith 'tis time) your letter.

To answer first what first it says.
Why will you speak of partial praise ?
I spoke with honesty and truth,
And now you seem to doubt them both.
The lynx's eye may seem to him,
Who always has enjoy'd it, dim :
And brilliant thoughts to you may be
What common-place ones are to me.
You note them not but cast them by,
As light is lavish'd by the sky ;
Or streams from Indian mountains roll'd
Fling to the ocean grains of gold.
But still we know the gold is fine
But still we know the light's divine.

As to the Century and Pope,

The thought's not so absurd, I hope.

I don't despair to see a throne

Rear*d above his and p'rhaps your own.

The course is clear, the goal's in view,

'Tis free to all, why not to you ?

But, ere you start, you should surv* '
The towering falcon strike her prey :
In gradual sweeps the sky she scales.
Nor all at once the bird assails.

251

THE TABLE BOOK.

252

Bat hems him iu cuts round the skies,

And gains upon him as he flies.

Wearied and faint he beats the air in va?n,

Then shuts his flaggy wings, and pitches to the plain.

Now, falcon ! now i One stoop but one,

The quarry's struck the prize is won 1

So he who hopes the palm to gain,

So often sought and sought in vain,

Must year by year, as roand by round,

Iu easy circles leave the ground :

*Tis time has taught him how to rise,

And naturalized him to the skies.

Full many a day Pope trod the vales,

Mid " silver streams and murmuring gales.''

Long fear'd the rising hills to tread,

Nor ever dared the mountain-head.

It needs not Milton to display,
Who let a life-time slide away,
Before he swept the sounding string.
And soar'd on Pegasean wing,
Nor Homer's ancient form to show
The Laurel takes an age to grow ;
And he who gives his name to fate,
Must plant it early, reap it late ;
Nor pluck the blossoms as they spring,
So beautiful, yet perishing.

More I would say but, see, the paper
Is nearly out and so's my taper.
So while I've space, and while I've light,
I'll shake your hand, and bid good-night.

F. P. H.

Croydon, Dec. 17,1826.

gnertrotes.

GENERAL WOLFE.

It is related of this distinguished officer,
that his death-wound was not received *by
the common chance of war.

Wolfe perceived one of the sergeants of
his regiment strike a man under arms, (an
act against which he had given particular
orders,) and knowing the man to be a good
soldier) reprehended the aggressor with
much warmth, and threatened to reduce
him to the ranks. This so far incensed the
sergeant, that he deserted to the enemy,
where he meditated the means of destroying
the general. Being placed in the enemy's
left wing, which was directly opposed to
the right of the British line, where Wolfe
commanded in person, he aimed at his old
commander with his rifle, and effected his
deadly purpose.

DR. KING His PUN.

The late Dr. King, of Oxford, by actively
interfeiing in some measures which mate-
rially affected the university at large, be-
came very popular with some individuals,
and as obnoxious with others. The mode
of expressing disapprobation at either of
the universities in the senate-house, or
schools, is by scraping with the feet : but
deviating from the usual custom, a party
was made at Oxford to hiss the doctor at
the conclusion of a Latin oration he had to
make in public. This was accordingly
done : the doctor, however, did not suffer
himself to be disconcerted, but turning
round to the vice-chancellor, said, very
gravely, in an audible voice, " Laudatur afe
His."

jftforuarp.

Conviviality and good cheer may con-
vert the most dreary time of the year into
a season of pleasure ; and association ot
ideas, that great source of our keenest plea-
sures, may attach delightful images to the
howling wind of a bleak winter's night,
and the hoarse screeching and mystic hoot-
ing of the ominous owl.*

WINTER.

When icicles hang by the wall.

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall.
And milk comes frozen home in pail ;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

Ttt-who;

Tu-whit tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw :
Then roasted crabs hiss in the bowl.
And nightly sings the staring owl,

Tn-who ;

Tu-whit tu-who, a merry note.
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Shakspeart.

To " keel" the pot is an ancient spelling
for " cool," which is the past participle of
the verb : see Tooke's " Diversions of Pur-
ley," where this passage is so explained.

* Dr. Forster's Perennial Calendar.

25*

THE TABLE BOOK.

254

Monument at lucerne, fcesffgnrti fop

To THE MEMORY OF THE Swiss GUARDS WHO WERE MASSACRED AT THE
ON THE TENTH OF AUGUST, 1792.

The engraving above is executed from
a clay figure, modelled by a Swiss artist
from the original. It was obligingly sent
to the editor, for the present purpose, by
the gentleman to whom it belongs. The
model was presented to him by a friend, who,
in answer to his inquiries on the subject,
wrote him a letter, of which the following
is an extract :

" The Terra Incognita you mention
comes from Lucerne, in Switzerland, and is
the model of a colossal work, cut in the
solid rock, close to that city, on the grounds
of general Pfyffer. It is from a design fur-
nished by Thorwaldsen, which is shown
close by. The < L'envoi,' as don Armado
calls it, is as follows : ' The Helvetian
lion, even ir. death, protects the lilies of
France.' The monument was executed by
the Swiss, in memory of their countrymen,

Vvit. I. 9

who were massacred, on the 10th of August,
at the Tuilleries, in defending Louis XVI.
from the sans culottes. The names of those
who perished are engraved beneath the lion."
The particulars of the dreadful slaughter,
wherein these helpless victims fell, while
defending the palace and the person of the
unfortunate monaich, are recorded in dif-
ferent works within the reach of every
person who desires to be acquainted with
the frightful details. About sixty who
were not killed at the moment, were taken
prisoners, and conducted to the town-hall
of the commons of Paris, for summary
trial : but the ferocious 'females who mingled
in the mobs of those terrifying times, rushed
in bodies to the place, with cries of ven-
geance, and the unhappy men were de-
livered up to their fury, and every indi-
vidual was murdered on the spot.

255

THE TABLE BOOK.

&arritfe

No. VI.

[From the "Chaste Maid in Cheapside,"
a Comedy, by Thomas Middleton,
1620.]

Citizen to a Knight complimenting his
Daughter.

Pisb, stop your words, good Knight, 'twill make her

blush else,
Which are wound too high for the Daughters of the

Freedom ;

Honour, and Faithful Servant I they are compliments
For the worthy Ladies of White Hall or Greenwich ;
^v'u plain, sufficient, subsidy words serve us, Sir.

Master Allwit (a Witter) describes his
contentment.

I am like a man

Finding a table furnish'd to his hand,
CAs mine is still for me), prays for the Founder,
Bless the Right worshipful, the good Founder's life :
I thank him, he * has maintain'd my house these ten

years ;

Not only keeps my Wife, but he keeps me.
He gets me all my children, and pays the nurse
Weekly or monthly, puts me to nothing,
Rent, nor Church dues, not so much as the Scavenger ;
The happiest state that ever man was born to.
I walk out in a morning, come to breakfast,
Find excellent cheer, a good fire in winter ;
Look in my coal-house, about Midsummer eve.
That's full, five or six chaldron new laid up ;
Look in my back yard, I shall find a steeple
Made up with Kentish faggots, which o'erlooks
The water-house and the windmills. I say nothing,
Bat smile, and pin the door. When she lies in,
(As now she's even npon the point of grunting),
A Lady lies not in like her; there's her imbossings,
Embroiderings, spanglings, and I know not what,
As if she lay with all the gaudy shops
In Gresham'a Burse about her ; then her restoratives,
Able to set up a young 'Pothecary,
And riphly store the Foreman of a Drug shop ;
Her sugars by whole loaves, her wines by rundlets,
I see these things, bat like a happy man
I pay for none at all, yet fools think it mine ;
I have the name, and in his gold 1 shine :
And where some merchants would in soul kiss hell.
To buy a paradise for their wives, and dye
Their conscience in the blood of prodigal heirs,
To deok their Night-piece ; yet, all this being done,
Eaten with jealousy to the inmost bone ;
These torments stand I freed of. 1 am as clar
From jealonsy of wife, as from the charge.
O two miiaculons blessings 1 'tis the Knight,
Has ta'en that labour quite out of my hands.

I may sit still, and play ; he's jealous for me,
Watches her steps, sets spies. I live at ease.
He has both the cost and torment ; when the string
Of his heart frets, I feed fat, laugh, or sing.

I'll go bid Gossips * presently myself,
That's all the work I'll do ; nor need I stir,
But that it is my pleasure to walk forth
And air myself a little ; I am tyed
To nothing in this business ; what I do
Is merely recreation, not constraint.

Rescue from Bailiffs by the Watermen.

I had been taken by eight Serjeants,

But for the honest Watermen, I am bound to 'em.
They are the most requiteful'st people living ;
For, as they get their means by Gentlemen,
They're still the forward'st to help Gentlemen.
You heard how one 'scaped out of the Blackfriars f
But a while since from two or three varlets,
Came into the house with all their rapiers drawn,
As if they'd dance the sword-dance on the stage,
With candles in their hands, like Chandlers' Ghosts I
Whilst the poor Gentleman, so pursued and banded.
Was by an honest pair of oars safe landed.

[From " London Chanticleers," a rude
Sketch of a Play, printed 1659, but
evidently much older.]

Song in praise of Ale.

Submit, Bunch of Grapes,
To the strong Barley ear ;
The weak Wine no longer
The laurel shall wear.

Sack, and all drinks else,
Desist from the strife ;
Ale's the only Aqua Vitae,
And liquor of life.

Then come, my boon fellows,
Let's drink it around ;
It keeps us from grave,
Though it lays us on ground.

Ale's a Physician,
No Mountebank Bragger ;
Can cure the chill Ague,
Though it be with the Stagger.

Ale's a strong Wrestler,
Flings all it hath met ;
And makes the ground slippery,
Though it be not wet.

A rich old Knight; who keeps Allwit's Wif.

* To his Wife's Lying-in.
t Alsatia, I presume.

257

THE TABLE BOOK.

258

Ale is both Ceres,
And good Neptune too ;
Ale's froth was the sea.
From which Venus grw.

Ale is immortal ;
And be there no stop*
In bonny lads' quaffing,
Can live without hops.*

Then come, my boon fellows,
Let's driuk it around ;
It keeps us from grave,
Though it lays us on ground.

C. L.

2Brama.

.CHARLOTTE CHARKE.

The novel called " Mr. Dumont," by
this unfortunate woman, was published in
the year 1755 in one volume, twelves, by
H. Slater, of Drury-lane, who may be pre-
sumed to have been the bookseller that
accompanied Mr. Whyte to her miserable
dwelling, for the purpose of hearing her
read the manuscript. Since the account at
col. 125, I met with an advertisement of
November, 1742, from whence it appears
that she and her daughter, "Miss Charke,"
performed at one of those places of public
amusement at that period, when, to evade
the law, under pretence of a musical en-
tertainment, a play and the usual after-
piece were frequently represented by way
of divertisement, although they constituted
the sole attraction. The notice referred to
is altogether a curiosity : it runs thus :

" For the Benefit of a Person who has a
mind to get Money : AT THE NEW THEATRE
in James-street near the Haymarket, on
Monday next, will be performed a CONCERT
of vocal and instrumental Musick, divided
into Two Parts. Boxes 3s. Pit 2s. Galleryl*.
Between the two parts of the Concert will
be performed a Tragedy, call'd THE FATAL
CURIOSITY, written "by the late Mr. Lillo,
author of George Barnwell. The part of
Mrs. Wilmot by Mrs. CHARKE (who ori-
ginally performed it at the Haymarket;)
The rest of the parts by a Set of People
who will perform as well as they can, if
not as well as they wou'd, and the best can

The original distinction of Beer from the old Drink
of our Forefathers, which was made without that in-
gredient

do no more. With variety of Entertainments,
viz. Act I. A Preamble on the Kettle drums,
by Mr. Job Baker, particularly, Larry
Orovy, accompanied with French Horns.
Act II. A new Peasant Dance by Mons.
Chemont and Madem Peran, just arriv'd
piping hot from the Opera at Paris. To
which will be added a Ballad-Opera, call'd
THE DEVIL TO PAY ; The part of Nell by
Miss CHARKE ivho performed Princess
Elizabeth at Southwark. Servants will be
allow'd to keep places on the stage Par-
ticular care will be taken to perform with
the utmost decency, and to prevent mis-
takes, the Bills for the day will be blue and
black, &c." *

THE BLOODY HAND.
For the Table Book,

One December evening, the year before
last, returning to T , in the northern ex-
tremity of W , in a drisling rain, as I
approached the second milestone, I observ-
ed two men, an elder and a younger, walk-
ing side by side in the horse-road. The
elder, whose appearance indicated that of a
labourer in very comfortable circumstances,
was in the path directly in front of my
horse, and seemed to have some intention
of stopping me ; on my advancing, how-
ever, he quietly withdrew from the middle
of the road to the side of it, but kept his
eyes firmly fixed on me, which caused also,
on my part, a particular attention to him.
He then accosted me, " Sir, I beg your
pardon." " For what, my man ?" " For
speaking to you, sir." " What have you
said, then ?" " I want to know the way to
S ." " Pass on beyond those trees, and
you will see the spire before you." " How
far is it off, sir ?" " Less than two miles."
" Do you know it, sir?" " I was there
twenty minutes ago." " Do you know the
gentleman there, sir, that wants a man to
go under ground for him ?" " For what
purpose ?" (imagining, from the direction
in which I met the man, that he came from
the mining districts of S , I expected that
his object was to explore the neighbour-
hood for coals.) His answer immediately
turned the whole train of my ideas. " To
go under ground for him, to take on' the
bloody hand from his carriage." " And
what is that to be done for?" " For a
thousand pounds, sir. Have you not heard
any thing of it, sir?" " Not a word."
Well, sir, I was told that the gentleman
lives here, at S , at the hall, and that he
offers a thousand pounds to any man that

259

THE TABLE BOOK.

will take off the bloody hand from his car-
riage." " I can assure you this is the first
word I have heard on the subject." " Well,
sir, I have been told so ;'' and then, taking
off his hat, he wished me a good morning.

I rode slowly on, but very suddenly
heard a loud call, " Stop, sir, stop !" I
turned my horse, and saw the man, who
had, I imagined, held a short parley with
his companion, just leaving him, and run-
ning towards me, and calling out, " Stop,
sir." Not quite knowing what to make of
this extraordinary accost and vehement
call, I changed a stout stick in my left
hand to my right hand, elevated it, gathered
up the reins in my left, and trotted my
horse towards him ; he then walked to the
side of the road, and took off his hat, and
said, " Sir, I am told that if the gentleman
can get a man to go under ground for him,
for seven years, and never see the light,
and let his nails, and his hair, and his
beard grow all that time, that the king will
then take off the bloody hand from his car-
riage.'' " Which then is the man who
offers to do this ? is it you, or your com-
panion ?" " I am the man, sir." " O, you
intend to undertake to do this ? ' " Yes,
sir." " Then all that I can say is, that I
now hear the first word of it from yourself."
At this time the rain had considerably in-
creased, I therefore wished the man a good
morning, and left him.

I had not, however, rode above a hundred
and fifty yards before an idea struck me,
that it would be an act of kindness to ad-
vise the poor man to go no further on such
a strange pursuit ; but, though I galloped
after them on the way I had originally
directed them, and in a few minutes saw
two persons, who must have met them, had
they continued their route to S , I could
neither hear any thing of them, nor see
them, in any situation which I could ima-
gine that they might have taken to as a
shelter from the heavy rain. 1 thus lost an
opportunity of endeavouring to gain, from
the greatest depths of ignorance, many
points of inquiry I had arranged in my own
mind, in order to obtain a developement
of the extraordinary idea and unfounded
offer, on which t'he poor fellow appeared to
have so strongly set his mind.

On further inquiry into the origin of this
strange notion of the bloody hand in he-
raldry, and why the badge of honour next
to nobility, and perpetuated from the an-
cient kings of Ulster, should fall, in two
centuries, into indelible disgrace, I find
myself in darkness equal to that of the
anticipated cavern of the poor deluded

man, and hitherto without an aid superic?
to himself. Under these circumstances,
present the inquiry to you, and shall be
among many others, greatly gratified to se*
it set in a clear light by yourself, or some
friendly correspondent.

I am, sir,
1827. .

ORGANS IN CHURCHES,

THE TEMPLE CHURCH.

After the Restoration, the number of
workmen in England being found too few
to answer the demand for organs, it was
thought expedient to make offers of encou-
ragement for foreigners to come and settle
here ; these brought over Mr. Bernard

Schmidt and Harris ; the former,

for his excellence in his art, deserves to live
in the remembrance of all who are friends
to it.

Bernard Schmidt, or, as we pronounce
the name, Smith, was a native of Germany,
but of what city or province in particular
is not known. He brought with him two
nephews, the one named Gerard, the other
Bernard ; to distinguish him from these,
the elder had the appellation of father
Smith. Immediately upon their arrival,
Smith was employed to build an organ for
the royal chapel at Whitehall, but, as it
was built in great haste, it did not answer
the expectations of those who were judges
of his abilities. He had been but a few
months here before Harris arrived from
France, with his son Renatus, who had
been brought up in the business of organ-
making under him ; they met with little
encouragement, for Dallans and Smith had
all the business of the kingdom : but, upon
the decease of Dallans in 1672, a competi-
tion arose between these two foreigners,
which was attended with some remarkable
circumstances. The elder Harris was in
no degree a match for Smith, but his son
Renatus was a young man of ingenuity
and perseverance, and the contest between
Smith and the younger Harris was carried
on with great spirit. Each had his friends
and supporters, and the point of preference
between them was hardly determined by
that exquisite piece of workmanship by
Smith, the organ now standing in the Tem-
ple church; of the building whereof, the
following is the history.

On the decease of Dallans and the eldei
Harris, Renatus Harris and father Srnitt

261

THE TABLE BOOK.

232

becair.e great rivals in their employment,
and there were several trials of skill betwixt
them ; but the famous contest was at the
Temple church, where a new organ was
going to be erected towards the latter
end of king Charles II. 's time. Both
made friends for that employment ; and as
the society could not agree about who
should be the man, the master of the Temple
and the benchers proposed that each should
set up an organ on each side of the church.
In about half or three quarters of a year
this was done: Dr. Blow, and Purcell, who
was then in his prime, showed and played
father Smith's organ on appointed days to
a numerous audience ; and, till the other
was heard, everybody believed that father
Smith would certainly carry it.

Harris brought Lully, organist to queen
Catharine, a very eminent master, to touch
his organ. This rendered Harris's organ
popular, and the organs continued to vie
with one another near a twelvemonth.

Harris then challenged father Smith to
make additional stops against a set time ;
these were the vox humane, the cremona
or violin -stop, the double courtel or bass
flute, with some others.

These stops, as being newly invented,
gave great delight and satisfaction to a nu-
merous audience; and were so well imitated
on both sides, that it was hard to adjudge the
advantage to either : at last it was left to
the lord chief justice Jeffries, who was of
that house ; and he put an end to the con-
troversy by pitching upon father Smith's
organ ; and Harris's organ being taken
away without loss of reputation, Smith's
remains to this day.

Now began the setting up of organs in
the chiefest parishes of the city of London,
where, for the most part, Harris had the
advantage of father Smith, making two
perhaps to his one ; among them some are
very eminent, viz. the organ at St. Bride's,
St. Lawrence near Guildhall, St. Mary Axe,
&c.

Notwithstanding Harris's success, Smith
was considered an able and ingenious
workman ; and, in consequence of this
character, he was employed to build an
organ for the cathedral of St. Paul. The
organs made by him, though in respect of
the workmanship they are inferior to those
of Harris, and even of Dallans, are yet
justly admired ; and, for the fineness of
their tone, have never yet been equalled.

Harris's organ, rejected from the Temple
by judge Jeffries, was afterwards purchased
for the cathedral of Christ-church, at Dub-
lin, and set up there. Towards the close

of George ll.'s reign, Mr. Byfield was
sent for from England to repair it, which
he objected to, and prevailed on the chapter
to have a new one made by himself, he al-
lowing for the old one in exchange. When
he had got it, he would have treated with
the parishioners of Lynn, in Norfolk, for
the sale of it: but they, disdaining the
offer of a second-hand instrument, refused
to purchase it, and employed Snetzler to
build them a new one, for which they paid
him seven hundred pounds. Byfield dying,
his widow sold Harris's organ to the parish
of Wolverhampton for five hundred pounds,
and there it remains to this day. An emi-
nent master, who was requested by the
churchwardens of Wolverhampton to give
his opinion of this instrument, declared it
to be the best modern organ he had ever
touched.*

MISERIES OF TRAVELLING.

STEAM versus COACH.

For the Table Book.

" Now there is nothing gives a man such spiritf.
Leavening his blood as Cayenne doth a curry,

As going at full speed "

Don Juan, . xO. v. 72.

If the number of persons who have been
killed, maimed, and disfigured for life, in
consequence of stage-coach mishaps, could
be ascertained, since the first establish-
ment of steam-packets in this country '
and, on the other hand, the number who
have been similarly unfortunate by steam-
boilers bursting, we should find that the
stage-coach proportion would be in the
ratio of ten to one ! A solitary " blow up"
of a steam-packet is " noised and pro-
claimed " from the Land's End to the other
extremity of the island ; while hundreds of
coach-accidents, and many of them fatal,
occur, which are never heard of beyond the
village, near to which the casualty takes
place, or the neighbouring ale-house.
These affairs it is to the interest of the
proprietors to " hush up," by means of a
gratuity to the injured, rather than have
their property ruined by an exposure in a
court of justice. Should a poor man have
a leg or an arm broken, through the care-
lessness of a drunken coachman, his po-
verty prevents his having recourse to law.
Justice, in these cases, nine times in
ten, is entirely out of the question, and an
arrangement, between him and the pro-
prietors, is easily effected ; the unfortunate

Hawkiu*.

263

THE TABLE BOOK.

264

fellow rather receiving fifty or a hundred
pounds " hush money," than bring his
action, when, perhaps, from some technical
informality in the proceedings, (should he
find a lawyer willing to act for him, being
poor,} ne would be nonsuited, with all the
costs of both parties on his own shoulders,
and be, moreover, ruined for ever, in both
purse and person. These remarks were
suggested by reading an American work,
some time since, on the above subject,
from which I have extracted the following

Stage-coach Adventures.

INSIDE. Crammed full of passengers
three fat, fusty, old men a young mother
and sick child a cross old maid a poll-
parrot a bag of red herrings double-
barreled gun, (which you are afraid is
loaded) and a snarling lap-dog, in addi-
tion to yourself awaking out of a sound
nap, with the cramp in one leg, and the
other in a lady's band-box pay the damage
(four or five shillings) for " gallantry's
sake" getting out in the dark, at the
half-way-house, in the hurry stepping into
the return coach, and finding yourself the
next morning at the very spot you had
started from the evening before not a
breath of air asthmatic old man, and child
with the measles windows closed in con-
sequence unpleasant smell shoes filled
with warm water look up and find it's the
child obliged to bear it no appeal shut
your eyes, and scold the dog pretend
sleep, and pinch the child mistake
pinch the dog, and get bit execrate the
child in return black looks " no gentle-
man " pay the coachman, and drop a
piece of gold in the straw not to be
found fell through a crevice coachman
says, "he'll find it" can't get out
yourself gone picked up by the 'ostler.
No time for " blowing up " coach off for
next stage lose your money get in
lose your seat stuck in the middle get
laughed at lose your temper turn sulky,
and turned over in a horse-pond.

OUTSIDE. Your eye cut out by the lash
of a clumsy coachman's whip hat blown
off, into a pond, by a sudden gust of wind
seated between two apprehended mur-
derers, and a noted sheep-stealer in irons,
who are being conveyed to gaol a drunken
'ellow, half asleep, falls off the coach, and,
in attempting to save himself, drags you
along with him into the mud musical
guard, and driver, " horn mad " turned
over-- -one leg under a bale of cotton, the
other under the coach hands in breeches
poc?;sts head in a hamper of wine lots

of broken bottles versus broken heads cut
and run send for surgeon wounds dress-
ed lotion and lint, four dollars take
post-chaise get home lay down, and
laid up.

INSIDE AND OUTSIDE. Drunken coach-
man horse sprawling wheel off pole
breaking, down hill axle-tree splitting
coach overturning winter, and buried in
the snow one eye poked out with an um-
brella, the other cut open by the broken
window reins breaking .impudent guard
hurried at meals imposition of inn-
keepers five minutes and a half to swallow
three and sixpennyworth of vile meat
waiter a rogue " Like master, like man "
half a bellyfull, and frozen to death in-
ternal grumblings and outward complaints
no redress walk forward while the
horses are changing take the wrong turn-
ing lose yourself and lose the coach
good-by to portmanteau curse your ill
luck wander about in the dark and find
the inn at last get upon the next coach
going the same road stop at the next inn
brandy and water, hot, to keep you in
spirits warm fire pleasant company
heard the guard cry " All right?" run out,
just in time to sing out " I'm left," as
the coach turns the corner after it " full
tear " come up with it, at the end of a
mile get up " all in a blowze " catch
cold sore throat inflammation doctor
warm bath fever DIE.

GASPARD.

THE UGLY CLUB.
From a New York Paper.

THE MEMBERS of the UGLY CLUB are
requested to attend a special meeting at
UGLY-HALL, 4, Wall street, on Monday-
evening next, at half- past seven o'clock
precisely, to take into consideration the
propriety of offering to the committee of
defence the services of their ugly carcasses,
firm hearts, sturdy bodies, and unblistered
hands. His UGLINESS being absent, this
meeting is called by order of

His HOMELINESS.
Aug. 13.

SCIPIO'S SHIELD.

In 1656, a fisherman on the banks of the
Rhone, in the neighbourhood of Avignon,

26A

THE TABLE BOOK.

266

was considerably obstructed in his work by
some heavy body, which he feared would
injure the net ; but by proceeding slowly
and cautiously, he drew it ashore untorn,
and found that it contained a round sub-
stance, in the shape of a large plate or
dish, thickly encrusted with a coat of hard-
ened mud ; the dark colour of the metal
beneath induced him to consider it as iron.
A silversmith, accidentally present, encou-
raged the mistake, and, after a few affected
difficulties and demurs, bought it for a
trifling sum, immediately carried it home,
and, after carefully cleaning and polishing
his purchase, it proved to be of pure silver,
perfectly round, more than two feet in dia-
meter, and weighing upwards of twenty
pounds. Fearing that so massy and valua-
ble a piece of plate, offered for sale at one
time and at one place, might produce sus-
picion and inquiry, he immediately, without
waiting to examine its beauties, divided it
into four equal parts, each of which he dis-
posed of, at different and distant places.

One of the pieces had been sold, at
Lyons, to Mr. Mey, a wealthy merchant of
that city, and a well-educated man, who
directly saw its value, and after great pains
and expense, procured the other three frag-
ments, had them nicely rejoined, and the
treasure was finally placed in the cabinet of
<he king of France.

This relic of antiquity, no less re-
markable for the beauty of its workman-
ship, than for having been buried at the
bottom of the Rhone more than two thou-
sand years, was a votive shield, presented
to Scipio, as a monument of gratitude and
affection, by the inhabitants of Carthago
Nova, now the city of Carthagena, for his
generosity and self-denial, in delivering one
of his captives, a beautiful virgin, to her
original lover. This act, so honourable to
the Roman general, who was then in the
prime vigour of manhood, is represented
on the shield, and an engraving from it
may be seen in the curious and valuable
work of Mr. Spon.

The story of " Scipio's chastity," which
this shield commemorates, is related by
Livy to the following effect. The wife of
the conquered king, falling at the general's
feet, earnestly entreated that the female
captives might be protected from injury
and insult. Scipio assured her, that she
should have no reason to complain.

" For my own part," replied the queen,
" my age and infirmities almost ensure me

against dishonour, but when I consider the
age and complexion of my fellow captives,
(pointing to a crowd of females,) I feel
considerable uneasiness."

" Such crimes," replied Scipio, " are
neither perpetrated nor permitted by the
Roman people ; but if it were not so, the
anxiety you discover, under your present
calamities, to preserve their chastity, would
be a sufficient protection :" he then gave the
necessary orders.

The soldiers soon after brought him,
what they considered as a rich prize, a vir-
gin of distinction, young, and of such ex-
traordinary beauty, as to attract the notice
and admiration of all who beheld her.
Scipio found that she had been betrothed,
in happier days, to Allucius, a young Spa-
nish prince, who was himself a captive.
Without a moment's delay, the conqueror
sent for her parents and lover, and addressed
the latter in the following words :

" The maid to whom thou wert shortly
to have been married has been taken priso-
ner : from the soldiers who brought her to
me, I understand that thy affections are
fixed upon her, and indeed her beauty con-
firms the report. She is worthy of thy
love ; nor would I hesitate, but for the stern
laws of duty and honour, to offer her my
hand and heart. I return her to thee, not
only inviolate, but untouched, and almost
unseen ; for I scarcely ventured to gaze on
such perfection ; accept her as a gift worthy
receiving. The only condition, the only
return I ask, is, that thou wilt be a friend
to the Roman people."

The young prince in a transport of de-
light, and scarcely able to believe what he
saw and heard, pressed the hand of Scipio
to his heart, and implored ten thousand
blessings on his head. The parents of the
happy bridegroom had brought a large sum
of money, as the price of her redemption ;
Scipio ordered it to be placed on the
ground, and telling Allucius that he insisted
on his accepting it as a nuptial gift directed
it to be carried to his tent.

The happy pair returned home, repeating
the praises of Scipio to every one, calling
him a godlike youth, as matchless in the
success of his arms, as he was unrivalled
in the beneficent use he made of his victo-
ries.

Though the story is known to most read-
ers, its relation, in connection with the
discovery of the valuable present from the
conquered city to its illustrious victor,
seemed almost indispensable, and perhaps
the incident can scarcely be too fami-
liar

THE TABLE BOOK,

$ JBron^e Antique, founto in tlx Cfcames,

IN DIGGING FOR THE FOUNDATION OF NEW LONDON BRIDGE, JANUARY, 1827.

It is presumed that this article, from its
peculiar curiosity, will be welcomed by
every lover and preserver of antiquities.

To the Editor.

Sir, The remarkable vessel from which
this drawing is taken, was discovered a few
days since, by a labourer employed in
sinking one of the coffer-dams for the new
London bridge, embedded in clay, at a
depth of about thirty feet from the bed of
the river. It is of bronze, not cast, but sculp-
tured, and is in so perfect a state, that the
edges of the different parts are as sharp as
if the chisel had done its office but yes-
terday. The only portion which has suf-
fered decay is the pin that attached the lid
to the other part, which crumbled away as
soon as exposed to the air.

At first, it was conjectured that this vessel
was used for a lamp ; but the idea was
soon abandoned, as there was no part cal-
culated to receive the wick ; and the space
to contain the oil was so small that it
would not have admitted of more oil than
was sufficient for one hour's consumption,
or two, at farthest.

One of the members of the Antiquarian
Society has given it as his opinion, that it
w.'i'j used for sacrificial purposes, and in-
U//.ed to receive wine, which, after being

put in, was to be poured out through the
mouth, the under jaw being evidently pro-
truded to an unnatural distance on this
account.

The upper part of the head forms the
lid, which the horns serve as a handle to
raise ; the bottom of the neck is flat, so thai
it may stand securely.

That it represents a head of Bacchus
will be evident, at first glance, as it is en-
circled with a torse of ivy ; but the features
being those of a Nubian, or Carthaginian,
prove that it must have an older date than
that of the Romans, who borrowed their
first ideas of Bacchic worship from the
Egyptians. Perhaps it might have been
part of their spoils from Carthage itself,
and have been highly valued on that ac-
count. Certain however it is, that this
curiosity (destined for the British Museum)
must have laid below the bosom of father
Thames for many centuries ; but how if
came there, and at such a depth in the
clay, we can only guess at ; and till Jona-
than Oldbuck, alias Monkbarns, rise from
the dead to set us right, it is to be feared
that there will be left nothing but conjec-
ture respecting it.

There is some account, but not very well
supported, of the course of the Thames
having once been diverted : should this

269

THE TABLE BOOK.

*ro

gnotfrer Wfeto of tfoe same ancient

SHOWING THE MOUTH, AND THE ORIFICE AT THE TOP OF THE HEAD.

however be true, it is possible that the
head, of which we are now speaking, might
have been dropped on the then dry bottom ;
the bed of the river must, in that case, have
been afterwards considerably raised.

I remain, yours, respectfully,

M. BLACKMORE.
WandswortJi, Feb. 9, 1827.

P. S. The Romans always represent
their satyrs with Roman noses, and I be-
lieve that Bacchus alone is crowned with
ivy ; the fauns and the rest being crowned
with vine leaves.

It would be easy to compose a disserta-
tion respecting Bacchus, which would be
Highly interesting, and yet throw little light
on this very remarkable vessel. The rela-
tion of any thing tending to elucidate its
probable age or uses will be particularly
esteemed.

In addition to the favour of Mr. Black-
more's letter and drawing, he obligingly
obtained the vessel itself, which being-
placed in the hands of Mr. S. Williams, he
executed the present engravings of the
exact size of the original : it is, as Mr.
Rlackmore has already mentioned, in the
finest possible preservation.

Probably the insertion of this remark-
able relique of antiquity, turned up from
the soil of our metropolitan river, may
induce communications to the Table Book
of similar discoveries when they take place.
At no time were ancient remains more
regarded : and illustrations of old manners
and customs, of all kinds, are here espe-
cially acceptable.

JACK O' LENT.

This was a puppet, formerly thrown at,
in our own country, during Lent, like
Shrove-cocks. Thus, in " The Weakest
goes to the Wall," 1600, we read of " a
mere anatomy, a Jack of Lent ;" and in
Greene's " Tu quoque," of " a boy that is
throwing at his Jick o' Lent ;'' and again,
in the comedy of ' Lady Alimony," 1659 :

-" Throw) ig cudgels

At Jack a Lents or Shrove-cocks."
Also, in Ben Jonson's " Tale of a Tub:"

On ao Ash-Wednesday,

When thou didst stand six weeks the Jack o' Lent,
For boys to hurl three throws a penny at thee."

So, likewise, in Beaumont and Fletcher's
' Tamer tamed :"

271

THE TABLE BOOK.

272

'If I forfeit,

Make me a Jack o' Lent, and break my shins
For untaggM points and counters."

Further, in Quarles' " Shepheard's Ora-
cles," 1646, we read :

" How like a Jack a Lent

He stands, for boys to spend their Shrcve-tide throws,
Or like a puppet made to frighten crows."*

From the "Jack o' Lent," we derive
the familiar term among children, " Jack
o' Lanthorn,"

>f)rdbe Cuesfoap

AND

OTrtrmsfoap.

The copious particulars respecting these
festivals, which have been brought together
in another place,+ admit of some addition.

In France and other parts of the conti-
nent, the season preceding Lent is universal
carnival. At Marseilles, the Thursday be-
fore Lent is called le Jeudigras, and Shrove
Tuesday le Mardi gras. Every body joins
in masquerading on these nights, and both
streets and houses are full of masks the
whole night long. The god of fritters, if
such a god there be, who is worshipped in
England only on Shrove Tuesday, is wor-
shipped in France on both the Thursday
and Tuesday. Parties meet at each other's
houses to a supper of fritters, and then set
off masquerading, which they keep up to a
very late hour in the morning.

On Ash-Wednesday, which has here
much more the appearance of a festival
than of a fast, there is a ceremony called
" interring the carnival.'' A whimsical
figure is dressed up to represent the carni-
val, which is earned in the afternoon in
procession to Arrens, a small village on the
sea-shore, about a mile out of the town,
where it is pulled to pieces. This ceremony
is attended in some way or other by every
inhabitant of Marseilles, whether gentle or
simple, man or woman, boy or girl. The
very genteel company are in carriages,
which parade backwards and forwards upon
the road between the town and the village,
for two or three hours, like the Sunday pro-
cessions in Hyde-park. Of the rest of the
company, some make parties to dine at
Arrens, or at the public-houses on the road ;

others make water parties; but the majority
only go and walk about, or sit upon the
rocks to see and be seen. It was one of
the most delightful evenings imaginable ;
the air was inexpressibly mild; the road where
the carriages parade is about half way up
the rocks, and this long string of carriages
constantly moving, the rocks filled with
thousands and thousands of spectators, and
the tranquil sea gilded by the setting sun,
and strewed over with numberless little
barks, formed altogether one of the most
beautiful and picturesque scenes that could
be presented. We sat down on a little
detached piece of rock almost encircled by
the sea, that we might have full enjoyment
of it, and there remained till some time
after the glorious sun had disappeared for
the night, when we walked home by a
lovely bright moonlight, in a milder even-
ing, though in the month of February, than
we often find in England at Midsummer.*

Naogeorgus, in the " Popish Kingdome,"
mentions some burlesque scenes practised
formerly on Ash Wednesday. People went
about in mid-day with lanterns in their
hands, looking after the feast days which
they had lost on this the first day of the
Lent fast. Some carried herrings on a pole,
crying " Herrings, herrings, stinking her-
rings ! no more puddings !"

And hereto joyne they foolish playes,
and doltish doggrel rimes,

And what beside they can invent.
belonging to the times.

Others, at the head of a procession, car-
ried a fellow upon staves, or " stangs," to
some near pond or running stream, and
there plunged him in, to wash away what
of feasting-time might be in him. Some
got boys to accompany them through the
town singing, and with minstrels playing,
entered the houses, and seizing young girls
harnessed them to a plough ; one man held
the handles, another drove them with a
whip, a minstrel sung drunken songs, and
a fellow followed, flinging sand or ashes as
if he had been sowing, and then they drovw

' both plough and maydens through

some pond or river small,
And dabbled all with durt, and wringing

wett as they may bee
To supper calle, and after that

to daunsing lustilee.

* Brand's Popular Antiquities.
t The Eoery-Day Book

* Miss Plutnptr*.

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CARNIVAL IN SPAIN.

" Carnival," properly so called, accord-
ing to Mr. Blanco White, is limited to
Quinquagesima Sunday ,and the two follow-
ing days, a period which the lower classes
pass in drinking and rioting in those streets
where the meaner sort of houses abound,
and especially in the vicinity of the large
courts, or halls, called Corrales, surrounded
with small rooms or cells, where numbers
of the poorest inhabitants live in filth,
misery, and debauch. Before these horrible
places, are seen crowds of men, women,
and children, singing, dancing, drinking,
and pursuing each other with handfuls of
hair-powder. I have never seen, however,
an instance of their taking liberties with
any person above their class; yet, such
bacchanals produce a feeling of insecurity,
which makes the approach of those spots
very unpleasant during the carnival.

At Madrid, where whole quarters of the
town, such as Avapie"s and Maravillas, are
inhabited exclusively by the rabble, these
" Saturnalia " are performed upon a larger
scale. Mr. White says, I once ventured
with three or four friends, all muffled in
our cloaks, to parade the Avapies during
the carnival. The streets were crowded
with men, who, upon the least provocation,
eal or imaginary, would have instantly
used the knife, and of women equally
ready to take no slight share in any quarrel :
for these lovely creatures often carry a
poniard in a sheath, thrust within the upper
part of the left stocking, and held up by
the garter. We were, however, upon our
best behaviour, and by a look of compla-
cency on their sports, and keeping at the
most respectful distance from the women,
came away without meeting with the least
disposition to insolence or rudeness.

A gentleman, who, either out of curio-
sity or depraved taste, attends the amuse-
ments of the vulgar, is generally respected,
provided he is a mere spectator, and ap-
pears indifferent to the females. The
ancient Spanish jealousy is still observable
among the lower classes ; and while not a
sword is drawn in Spain upon a love-
quarrel, the knife often decides the claims
of more humble lovers. Yet love is by no
means the main instigator of murder among
us. A constitutional irritability, especially in
the southern provinces, leads, without any
more assignable reason, to the frequent
shedding of blood. A small quantity of
wine, nay, the mere blowing of the easterly
wind, called " Solano," is infallibly attended

with deadly quarrels in Andalusia, The
average of dangerous or mortal wounds, en
every great festival at Seville, is, I believe,
about two or tliree. We have, indeed, a
well-endowed hospital named de los He-
ridos, which, though open to all persons
who meet with dangerous accidents, is,
from this unhappy disposition of the people,
almost confined to the wounded. The
large arm-chair, where the surgeon in at-
tendance examines the patient just as he is
brought inj usually upon a ladder, is known
in the whole town by the name of " Silla
de los Guapos," the Bullies' chair. Every
thing, in fact, attests both the generality
and inveteracy of that horrible propensity
among the Spaniards.*

THE LIEGE ALMANAC.

The celebrated almanac of " Francis
Moore, physician," to whose predictions
thousands are accustomed to look with im-
plicit confidence and veneration, is rivalled,
on the continent, by the almanac of
Liege, by " Matthew Laensberg," who
there enjoys an equal degree of celebrity.

Whether the name of Laensberg is a real
or an assumed name is a matter of grea 1 .
doubt. A tradition, preserved in the family
of the first printers of the work, ascribes it
to a canon of St. Bartholomew, at Liege,
who live'd about the conclusion of the six-
teenth century, or at the beginning of the
seventeenth. This is further corroborated,
by a picture of a canon of that church
which still exists, and which is conjectured
by many to represent the inventor of the
celebrated almanac of Liege. Figure to
yourself an old man, seated in an arm
chair, his left hand resting on a globe, and
his right holding a telescope. At his feet
are seen different mathematical instruments,
several volumes and sheets of paper, with
circles and triangles drawn upon them.
His eyes are large and prominent ; he has
a dull, heavy look, a nose in the form of a
shell, and large ears, which are left un-
covered by a greasy cap. His large mouth,
half open, announces surliness and pe-
dantry; frightful wrinkles furrow his face,
and his long bushy beard covers an enor-
mous band. This man is, besides, muffled
up in an old cassock, patched in several
places. Under his hideous portrait is the
inscription "D. T. V. Bartholomsi Ca-
nonicus et Philosophise Professoi."

Such is the picture given by a person

Doblado's Letters from Spa. a.

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276

who examined this portrait, and who,
though he was at the pains to search the
registers of the chapter of Liege, was unable
to find any name that at all corresponded
with the above designation. Hence it may
be fairly concluded, that the canon, whose
portrait has just been exhibited, assumed
the name of Matthew Laensbert, or Laens-
berg, as well as the title of professor of
philosophy, for the purpose of publishing
his almanac, with the prognostications,
which have rendered it so celebrated.

The earliest of these almanacs known to
exist is of the year 1636. It bears the
name of Matthew Lansbert, mathematician,
and not Laensberg, as it is now written.
In the middle of the title is seen the por-
trait of an astronomer, nearly resembling
that which is still placed there. Afler the
printer's name, are. the words, " with per-
mission of the superior powers." This is
repeated in the eleven first almanacs, but
in that for 1647, we find, " with the favour
and privilege of his highness." This pri-
vilege, granted by Ferdinand of Bavaria,
prince of Liege, is actually inserted. It
gives permission to Leonard Streete to
print Matthew Laensberg's almanac, and
Forbids other printers to make copies of it,
upcn pain of confiscation, and other penal-
ties.

The name of this prophet, spelt Lans-
bert in the first almanacs, has since been
regularly written Laensberg. It is to this
privilege of the prince bishop of Lifege that
Voltaire alludes in these lines of his Epistle
to the king of Denmark :

Et quand vons icrirez sur 1'almanac de
Ne parlez des saisons qu'avec un privilege.

The four first pages of the Liege almanac
for 1636, are occupied by a piece entitled
" The Twelve Celestial Signs governing
the Human Body." Cancer, for instance,
governs the breast, the belly, and the lungs,
with all their diseases. This was at that
time the fashionable system of astrology,
which was succeeded by many others,
equally ill-founded, and equally popular.
Yet it is a fact, that could scarcely be be-
lieved, were it not stated in an advertise-
ment prefixed, that the physicians mani-
fested a jealousy lest the prophet of Liege
should extend his dominion over the heal-
ing art. They obtained an order that every
thing relating to the influence of the celes-
tial signs on diseases should be suppressed,
?nd this retrenchment took place, for the
first time, in 1679. The principal part,
however, was preserved, and still ensures
the success of this wonderful performance.

It consists of general predictions concern-
ing the variations of the seasons, and the
occurrences of the year. In each month
are marked the days when there will be
rain, and those that will be dry ; whether
there will be snow or hail, high winds,
storms, &c. Sterne alludes to this in his
Tristram Shandy, when he says, " I have
observed this 2Gth of March, 1759, a rainy
day, notwithstanding the almanac of Liege."

The general predictions mention the oc-
currences that are to take place in every
month. Accident has frequently been won-
derfully favourable to the prophet ; and he
owes all his reputation and celebrity to the
luck of having announced the gaining of a
battle, or the death of some distinguished
person. An anecdote of Madame Du-barri,
at that time all-powerful at the court of
Louis XIV., is not a little singular.

When the king was attacked with the
malady which put an end to his life, that
lady was obliged to leave Versailles. She
then had occasion, says the author of her
life, to recollect the almanac of Liege,
which had given her great uneasiness, and
of which she had suppressed all the copies
she was able. Amongst the predictions for
the month of April, in that almanac, was
the following : " A lady, in the highest
favour, will act her last part." She fre-
quently said, " I wish this odious month
of April were over." According to the
prediction, she had really acted " her last
part," for the king died in the following
month, May 1774.*

DISCOVERY OF MADEIRA.

In the year 1 344, in the reign of Peter IV.
king of Arragon, the island of Madeira,
lying in 32 degrees, was discovered, by an
Englishman, named Macham, who, sailing
from England to Spain with a lady whom
he had carried off, was driven to the island
by a tempest, and cast anchor in the har-
bour or bay, now called Machiccv, after the
name of Macham. His mistress being sea-
sick, he took her to land, with some of his
company, where she died, and the ship
drove out to sea. As he had a tender
affection for his mistress, he built a chapel
or hermitage, which he called "Jesus,"
and buried her in it, and inscribed on her
tombstone his and her name, and the occa-
sion of their arrival there. In the island
are very large trees, of one of which he

* Reposito* v of Art.

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278

and his men made a boat, and went to sea
in it, and were cast upon the shore of
Africa, without sail or oars. The Moors
were infinitely surprised at the sight of
them, and presented Macham to their king,
who sent him and his companions to the
king of Castile, as a prodigy or miracle.

In 1395, Henry III. of Castile, by the
information of Macham, persuaded some
of his mariners to go in search of this island,
and of the Canaries.

In 1417, king John II. of Castile, his
mother Catherine being then regent, one
M. Ruben, of Bracamont, admiral of
France, having demanded and obtained of
the queen the conquest of the Canaries,
with the title of king for a kinsman of
his, named M. John Betancourt, he de-
parted from Seville with a good army.
And it is affirmed, that the principal mo-
tive that engaged him in this enterprise
was, to discover the island of Madeira,
which Macham had found.

TOMB OF MACHAM'S ANNA.

The following elegiac stanzas are founded
on the preceding historical fact. Macham,
having consigned the body of his beloved
mistress to the solitary grave, is supposed
to have inscribed on it the following pa-
thetic lines :

O'er my poor ANNA'S lowly grave
No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring;

But angels, as the high pines wave.
Their half-heard ' Miserere ' sing I

No flow'rs of transient bloom at eve,
The maidens on the turf shall strew ;

Nor sigh, as the sad spot they leave,
Sweets to the sweet a long adieu I

But in this wilderness profound,
O'er her the dove shall build her nest ;

And ocean swell with softer sound,
A Requiem to her dream of rest !

Ah ! when shall I as quiet be,

When not a friend or human eye
Shall mark, beneath the mossy tree.

The spot where we forgotten lie ?

To kiss her name on this cold stone.
Is all that now on earth I crave ;

For in this world I am alone
Oh ! lay me with her ir- the grave.

guaiacum, there is a very singular story
on this subject.

The relations of a rich German ecclesias-
tic, carrying him to drink the waters for the
recovery of his health, and passing by the
house of a famous quack, he inquired what
was the reverend gentleman's distemper?
They told him a total debility, loss of appe-
tite, and a great decay in his senses. The
empiric, after viewing his enormous chin,
and bodily bulk, guessed rightly at the
cause of his distemper, and proposed, for a
certain sum, to bring him home, on a day
fixed, perfectly cured. The patient was
put into his hands, and the doctor treated
him in the following manner : He fur-
nished him every day with half a pound of
excellent dry biscuit; to moisten this, he
allowed him three pints of very good spring
water ; and he suffered him to sleep but a
few hours out of the twenty-four. When
he had brought him within the just propor-
tion of a man, he obliged him to ring a
bell, or work in the garden, with a rolling-
stone, an hour before breakfast, and foui
hours in the afternoon. At the stated day
the doctor produced him, perfectly re-
stored.

Nice eating destroys the health, let it be
ever so moderate ; for the stomach, as every
man's experience must inform him, finds
greater difficulty in digesting rich dishes
than meats plainly dressed. To a sound
man sauces are needless ; to one who is
diseased, they nourish not him, but his dis-
temper ; and the intemperance of his taste
betrays him into the hands of death, which
could not, perhaps, have mastered his con-
stitution. Lewis Cornaro brought himself
into a wretched condition, while a young
man, by indulging his taste ; yet, when he
had once taken a resolution of restraining
it, nature did that which physic could not ;
it restored him to perfect health of body,
and serenity of rnind, both of which he en-
joyed to extreme old age.

GOOD EATING.

That " a sharp stomach is the best
sauce, 1 ' is a sayiug as true as it is common.
In Ulrick Button's bock on the virtues of

HEADING ALOUD.

BT MARGARET DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE.

1671.

- To read lamely or crookedly, and
not evenly, smoothly, and thoroughly, en-
tangles the sense. Nay, the very sound of
the voice will seem to alter the sense of the
therm; ; and though the sense will be there
in despite of the ill voice, or ill reading,
vet it will be concealed, or discovered to

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its disadvantages. As an ill musician, (or
indeed one that cannot play at all,) instead
of playing, puts the fiddle out of tune,
(and causeth a discord,) which, if well
played upon, would sound harmoniously ;
or if he can play but one tune, plays it on
all sorts of instruments ; so, some will read
with one tone or sound of voice, though
the passions and numbers are different ;
and some again, in reading, wind up their
voices to such a passionate screw, that they
whine or squeal, rather than speak or read :
others fold up their voices with such dis-
tinctions, that they make that triangular
which is four-square ; and that narrow,
which should be broad ; and that high,
which should be low ; and low, that should
be high : and some again read so fast, that
the sense is lost in the race. So that writ-
ings sound good or bad, as the readers,
and not as their authors are : and, indeed,
such advantage a good or ill reader hath,
that those that read well shall give a grace
to a foolish author ; and those that read ill,
do disgrace a wise and a witty one. But
there are two sorts of readers ; the one that
reads to himself, and for his own benefit ;
the other, to benefit another by hearing it :
in the first, there is required a good judg-
ment, and a ready understanding : in the
other, a good voice and a graceful delivery :
so that a writer must have a double desire ;
the one, that lie may write well ; the other,
that he may be read well.

By LAVATER.

Who in the same given time can pro-
duce more than many others, has vigour ;
who can produce more and better, has
talents ; who can produce what none else
can, has genius.

Who, without pressing temptation, tells
a lie, will, without pressing temptation, act
ignobly and meanly.

Who, under pressing temptations to lie,
adheres to truth, nor to the profane betrays
aught of a sacred trust, is near the summit
of wisdom and virtue.

All affectation is the vain and ridiculous
attempt of poverty to appear rich.

Who has no friend and no enemy, is one
of the vulgar ; and without talents, powers,
or energy.

The more honesty a man has, the less he
affects the air of a saint the affectation of
sanctity is a blot on the face of piety.

Love as if you could hate and might be
hated, is a maxim of detested prudence in
real friendship, the bane of all tenderness,
the death of all familiarity. Consider the
fool who follows it as nothing inferior to
him who at every bit of bread trembles at
the thought of its being poisoned.

There are more heroes than saints (heroes
I call rulers over the minds and destinies of
men ;) more saints than humane characters.
He, who humanizes all that is within and
around himself, adore : I know but of one
such by tradition.

He who laughed at you till he got to
your door, flattered you as you opened it
felt the force of your argument whilst he
was with you applauded when he rose,
and, after he went away, execrated you
has the most indisputable title to an arch-
dukedom in hell.

Let the four-and-twenty elders in heaven
rise before him who, from motives of hu-
manity, can totally suppress an arch, full-
pointed, but offensive ban mot.

THE PARLIAMENT CLUBS.

Before the year 1736, it had been usual
for gentlemen of the House of Commons
to dine together at the Crown-tavern in
Palace-yard, in order to be in readiness to
attend the service of the house. This club
amounted to one hundred and twenty, be-
sides thirty of their friends coming out of
the country. In January, 1736, sir Robert
Walpole and his friends began to dine in
the same manner, at the Bell and Sun in
King-street, Westminster, and their club
was one hundred and fifty, besides absent
members. These parties seem to have
been the origin of Brookes's and White's
clubs.

RIGHT AND LEFT HAND.

Dr. Zinchinelli, of Padua, in an essay
" On the Reasons why People use the
Right Hand in preference to th^Left," will
not allow custom or imitation to be the
cause. He affirms, that the left arm cannot
be in violent and continued motion without
causing pain in the left side, because there
is the seat of the heart and of the arterial
system ; and that, therefore, Nature herself
compels man to make use of the right
hand.

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282

THE DEATH OF LEILA.
For the Table Book.

Twas moonlight LEILA sat retir'd

Upon the tow'ring beach,
Watching the waves, " like one inspir'd "

With things beyond her reach :
There was a calmness on the water
Suited to Sorrow's hapless daughter,
For consolation seem'd to be
Mixt up with its solemnity I

The stars were shedding far and wide

Their twinkling lights of peerless blue ;
And o'er the undulating tide

The breeze on balmy pinions flew ;
The scene might well have rais'd the soul
Above misfortune's dark controul.
Had not the hand of Death been laid
On that belov'd and matchless maid !

I watch'd the pale, heart-broken girl,

Her shatter'd form, her look insane,
I saw her raven locks uncurl

With moisture from the peaceful main :
I saw her wring her hands with grief,
Like one depriv'd of Hope's relief,
And then she sigh'd, as if bereft /
Of the last treasure heav'n had left !

Slowly I sought the cheerless spot
Where LEILA lay, absorb'd in care,

Bat she, poor girl ! discern'd me not,
Nor dreamt that friendship linger'd there I

Her grief had bound her to the earth,

And clouded all her beauty's worth ;

And when her'clammy hand I press'd,

She seem'd of feeling dispossess'd !

Yet there wore motion, sense, and life,
Kema.ii....-, ... iii.it shatter'd frame.
As if existing by the strife

Of feelings none but Love can name I
I spoke, she answer'd not I took
Her hand with many a fearful look
Her languid eyes I gaz'd upon,
And press'd her lips but she was gone 1

B. W. R.

Islington, 1827.

RATTING.

There are three methods proposed for
lessening the number of rats.

I. Introduce them at table as a delicacy.
They would probably be savoury food, and
if nature has not made them so, the cook
may. Rat pie would be as good as rook
pie; and four tails intertwisted like the
serpents of the delphic tripod, and rising
into a spiral obelisk, would crest the crust
more fantastically than pigeon's feet. After

a whi'le they might be declared game by
the legislature, which would materially ex-
pedite their extirpation.

II. Make use of their fur. Rat-skin
robes for the ladies would be beautiful,
warm, costly, and new. Fashion requires
only the two last qualities ; it is hoped
the two former would not be objection-
able.

III. Inoculate some subjects with the
small-pox, or any other infectious disease,
and turn them loose. Experiments should
first be made, lest the disease should as-
sume in them so new a form as to be capa-
ble of being returned to us with interest.
If it succeeded, man has means in his hand
which would thin the hyenas, wolves,
jackals, and all gregarious beasts of prey.

N. B. If any of our patriotic societies
should think proper to award a gold medal,
silver cup, or other remuneration to either
of these methods, the projector has left his
address with the editor.*

BUNGAY HAND-BILL.

(Copy.)

PONY LOST.

On February 21st, 1822, this devil bade
me adieu.

LOST, stolen, or astray, not the least
doubt but run away, a mare pony that is
all bay : if I judge pretty nigh, it is about
eleven hands high ; full tail and mane, a
pretty head and frame ; cut on both
shoulders by the collar, not being soft nor
hollow : it is about five years old, which
may be easily told ; for spirit and for
speed, the devil cannot her exceed.

Whoever can give information or bring
the said runaway to me, JOHN WINTER,
Glass-stainer and Combustible-maker, Up-
per Olland Street, Bungay, shall be hand-
somely rewarded for their trouble.

NOMINATIVE CASE.

Sancho, prince of Castile, being present
at a papal consistory at Rome, wherein the
proceedings were conducted in Latin, which
he did not understand, and hearing loud
applause, inquired of his interpreter what
caused it : " My lord," replied the inter-
preter, " the pope has caused you to be
proclaimed king of Egypt." " It does not
become us," said the grave Spaniard, " U
be wanting in gratitude ; rise up, and pro
claim his holiness caliph of Bagdad."

Dr. Aikin's Athenaeum.

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204

DISCOUNT FOR CASH.

The following anecdote is related in a
journal of the year 1789 :

A service of plate was delivered at the
duke of Clarence's house, by his order, ac-
companied by the bill, amounting to 1500/.,
which his royal highness deeming exor-
bitant, sent back, remarking, that he con-
ceived the overcharge to be occasioned by
the apprehension that the tradesman might
be kept long out of his money. He added,
that so far from its being his intention to
pay by tedious instalments, or otherwise
distress those with whom he dealt, he had
laid it down as an invariable principle, to
discharge every account the moment it be-
came due. The account was returned to
his royal highness the next morning, with
three hundred pounds taken off, and it was
instantly paid.

SPORTING.

A wit said of the late bishop of Durham,
when alive, " His grace is the only man in
England who may kill game legally without
a stamped license : if actually taken with
a gun in his hand, he might exclaim in the
words of his own grants ' I Shute, by
divine permission.' "

" STOP AND READ."

We have seen this requisition on the
walls till we are tired : in a book it is a
novelty, and here, I hope it may enforce its
claim. For thy sake, gentle reader, I am
anxious that it should ; for, if thou hast a
tithe of the pleasure I had, from the peru-
sal of the following verses, I expect com-
mendation for bidding thee '' stop and
read."

THE FIRST OF MARCH.

The bud is in the bough

And the leaf is in the bud,
And Earth's beginning now

In her veins to feel the blood,
Which, warm'd by summer's sun

In th' alembic of the vine,
From her founts will overrun

In I* rnddy gush of wine.

The perf ume and the bloooi

That shall decorate the flower,
Are quickening in the gloom

Of their subterranean bower ;
And the juices meant to feed

Trees, vegetables, fruits.
Unerringly proceed

To their preappointed roots.

How awful the thought

Of the wonders under ground.
Of the mystic changes wrought

In the silent, dark profound;
How each thing upwards tends

By necessity decreed,
And a world's support depends

On the shooting of a seed 1

The Summer's in her ark,

And this sunny-pinion'd day
Is commission'd to remark

Whether Winter holds her sway ;
Go back, thou dove of peace,

With the myrtle on thy wing,
Say that floods and tempests cease,

And the world is ripe for Spring.

Thou hast fann'd the sleeping Earth

Till her dreams are all of flowers,
And die waters look in mirth

For their overhanging bowers ;
The forest seems to listen

For the rustle of its leaves.
And the very skies to glisten

In the hope of summer eves.

Thy vivifying spell

Has been felt beneath the wave.
By the dormouse in its cell,

And the mole within its cave ;
And the summer tribes that creep,

Or in air expand their wing,
Have started from their sleep,

At the summons of the Spring.

The cattle lift their voices

From the valleys and the hills,
And the feather'd race rejoices

With a gush of tuneful bills ;
And if this cloudless arch

Fills the poet's song with glee,
O thou sunny first of March,

Be it dedicate to thee I

This beautiful poem has afforded me
exquisite gratification. Till I saw it printed
in Mr. Dyce's " Specimens of British Po-
etesses," I was ignorant that a living lady
had written so delightfully. Without a
friend at my elbow to instruct me whether
jf should prefix " Miss " or " Mrs." to her
felicitous name, I transcribe as I find it
in Mr. Dyce's volume FELICIA HEMANS.

THE TAIU.V, ttOOK.

Upon my *oul it' a fact."

MATTHEWS

and Self.

For the Table Book.

" Is the master at home, sir?" said a
broad-shouldered Scotchman (wearing a
regimental coat of the -- regiment, and
with his bonnet in his hand) to myself,
who had answered a ring at the office-bell.
I replied that he was not. " Weel, that's
onlucky, sir," said he, " for ye see, sir, a
hae goten a pertection here, an' a hae
been till a' the Scotchmen that a can hear
ony thing o', but they hae a' signed for the
month ; an' a hae a shorteness o' brith, that
wunna lat me wurk or du ony thing ; an'
a'd be vary glaid gin a cud git doon to
Scoteland i' the nixt vaissel, for a hanna' a
baubee; an', as a sid afore, a canna wurk,
ao' gin maister B. wud jist sig-n ma pertec-

Vol. I. 10

tion, a hae twa seagnatures, an' a'd gi.
awa' p the morn." For once I had told no
lie in denying Mr. B. to his visitor, and,
therefore, in no dread of detection from
cough, or other viva voce evidence, I usher-
ed the " valiant Scot " into the sanctum of a
lawyer's clerk.

There is a very laudable benevolent
institution in London, called the " Scottish
Hospital," which, on proper representa-
tions made to it, signed by three of it*
members, (forms whereof are annexed, in
blank, to the printed petition, which is
given gratuitously to applicants,) will pass
poor natives of Scotland to such parts of
their father-land as they wish, free of ex-
pense, and will otherwise relieve their
wants; but each member is only allowed

287

THE TABLE BOOK.

2fi8

to sign one petition each month. This poor
fellow had come in hopes of obtaining Mr.
B.'s signature to his request to be sent
home ; and, while waiting to procure it,
told me the circumstances that had reduced
him to ask it.

He was a native of , where the rents

had lately been raised, by a new laird, far
beyond the capabilities of the tacksmen.
They had done their best to pay them had
struggled long, and hard, with an ungrate-
ful soil but their will and industry were
lost ; and they were, finally, borne down
by hard times, and harsh measures. Twas
hard to leave the hearths which generations
of their forefathers had shadowed and hal-
lowed 'twas yet harder to see their infants'
lips worrying the exhausted breast, and to
watch the cheeks of their children as they
grew pale from want and to see their
frolics tamed by hunger into inert stupidity.
An American trader had just touched at
their island, for the purpose of receiving
emigrants, and half its inhabitants had
domiciled themselves on board, before her
arrival had been known twelve hours. Our
poor Scot would fain have joined them,
with his family and parents, but he lacked
the means to provide even the scanty store
of oatmeal and butter which they were re-
quired to ship before they could be allowed
to step on deck ; so, in a fit of distress and
despair, he left the home that had never
been a day out of his sight, and enlist-
ed with a party of his regiment, then at

, for the sole purpose of sending

to the afflicted tenants of his " bit housey,"
the poor pittance of bounty he received,
to be a short stay 'twixt them and starva-
tion.

He had been last at St. John's, New-
foundland ; " and there," said he, indig-
nantly, " they mun mak* a cook's orderly
o' me, as gin a war' nae as proper a man
as ony o' them to carry a musket ; an' they
sint me to du a* the odd jobes o' a chap
that did a wife's-wark, tho' there were a
gude fivety young chaps i' the regiment that
had liked it wul aneugh, and were better
fetfing for the like o' sican a place than
mysel. And so, sir," he continued, " thar
a was, working mysel intill a scalding
heat, and than a'd geng out to carry in the
cauld water ; an' i' the deeing o't, a got a
cauld that sattled inwardly, an' garr'd me
hae a fivre an' spit blood. Weel, sir, aifter
mony months, a gote better ; but oh ! a was
unco weak, and but a puir creature frae a
strong man afore it: but a did na mak
muckle o't, for a thought ay, gin ony thing
cam o't to disable rne, or so, that a should

hae goten feve-pence or sax-pence
an' that had been a great help.''

Oh ! if the rich would but take

the trouble to learn how many happy haarts
they might make at small expense ind
fashion their deeds to their knowledge
how many prayers might nightly ascind
with their names from grateful bosoms to
the recording angel's ears and how much
better would the credit side of their account
with eternity appear on that day, when
the great balance must be struck !

There was a pause for my narrator's
breath failed him ; and I took the oppor-
tunity of surveying him. He was about
thirty, with a half hale, half hectic cheek ;
a strong red beard, of some three days'
growth, and a thick crop of light hair,
such as only Scotchmen have one of the
Cain's brands of our northern brethren
it curled firmly round his forehead ; and
his head was set upon his broad shoulders
with that pillar of neck which Adrian in
particular, and many other of the Roman
emperors, are represented with, on their
coins, but which is rarely seen at present.
He must, when in full health, have
stood about five feet seven ; but, now, he
lost somewhat of his height in a stoop,
contracted during his illness, about the
chest and shoulders, and common to most
people affected with pulmonary complaints :
his frame was bulky, but the sinews seemed
to have lost their tension ; and he looked
like " one of mig-ht," who had grappled
strongly with an evil one in sore sickness.
He bore no air of discontent, hard as his lot
was ; yet there was nothing theatrical in
his resignation. All Scotchmen are pre-
destinarians, and he fancied he saw the
immediate hand of Providence working out
his destiny through his misfortunes, and
against such interference he thought it vain
to clamour. Far other were my feelings
when I looked on his fresh, broad face, and
manly features, his open brow, his width
of shoulders, and depth of chest, and heard
how the breath laboured in that chest for
inefficient vent

" May be," said he catching my eye
in its wanderings, as he raised his own
from the ground, " May be a'd be better,
gin a were doon i' wun nain place." I
was vext to my soul that my look had
spoken so plainly as to elicit this remark.
Tell a man in a consumption that he looks
charmingly, and you have opened the
sluices of his heart almost as effectually, to
your ingress, as if you had really cured
him. And yet I think this poor fellow
said what he did, rather to please one which

THE TABLE BOOK.

he saw took an interest in him, than to
flatter himself into a belief of recovery, or
from any such existing belief; for, shortly
after, when I asked him what he would do
in Scotland, " A dunna ken wat a mun
du," he replied ; " a canna du ony labour-
ing wark, an' a ha na goten ony trade ;
but, ye see, sir, we like ay to die what*
wer're born ; and my faither, an' my gran'-
faither afore him forbye, a' my ither kin,
an' the mither that bore me, there a' i' the

nook o' kirk-yaird ; an' than my wife

an twa bairnies :" There was a pause

in the soldier's voice ; he had not learnt
the drama of mendicity or sentimentality,
but, by ! there was a tear in his eye.*
I hate a scene as much as Byron did, but I
admire a feeling heart, and pity a sorrow-
ful one the tear did not fall. I

looked in his face when I heard his voice
again ; his eye glistened, and the lash was

wet, but the tear was gone And there

stood I, whose slender body scarcely com-
prehended one half of the circumference of
his muscular frame. " And the hand of
Death is here !" said I ; and then I turned
my eyes upon myself, and almost wondered
how my soul dwelt in so frail a tenement,
while his was about to escape from such a
seeming fastness of flesh.

After some further conversation, he told
me his regiment had at one time been
ordered off for Africa against the Ashan-
tees ; and sure never mortal man regretted
counter orders on such grounds as he did
those which balked his expectations of a
visit to Sierra Leone. " A thought," said
he, " wur regiment woud ha gien to
Aifrica against the Aishantees an a was
in hopes it wud it's a didly cli-
mate, an' there was nae money goten out
o' the laist fray ; but thin perhaps its
jist as well to die in ae place as anither
but than we canna bring wursels to feel it,
tho' we may think it an' than ye see, sir,
as a sid afore, a hae twa bairnies, an gin a'd
laid doon wi' the rast, the mither o' them
might hae goten the widow's pension for

them an' hirsel." The widow's

pension ! sixpence a-day for a woman and
two children and death to the fourth per-
son as the only price of it ! Hear this,
shade of Lempriere ! Manlius and the
Horatii died to save a country, and to pur-
chase earthly immortality by their deaths
but here's a poor fellow willing to give up

the ghost, by sword, plague, pestilence or
famine, to secure a wife and two children
two-pence each, per day !

Look to it, ye three-bottle beasts, or
men as the courtesy of a cringing world
calls you look to it, when ye toast the
next loidly victor "with three times three!"
Shout 'till the roof rings, and then think,
amid the din of your compeers, of the
humble dead of those who walk silently in
the path of the grave, and of the widowed
and fatherless. Commanders die for glory,
for a funeral procession, or a title, or wealth
for those they leave behind ; but who
speaks of the private, who dies with a
wound for every pore? he rots on the earth;
or, with some scores or hundreds of his
comrades, a few inches beneath it ; and his
wife gets " sixpence a day !"

Poor fellow, thought I, as I looked on my
narrator were I a king but kings cannot
scrape acquaintance with every man in tae
ranks of their forces but had I been your
officer, I think you should not have wanted
your pension for the few days that are to
shine on you in this world ; and, had you
fallen, it should have gone hard with me.
but your wife and two children should have
had their twopence each per day and,
were I a man of fortune, I would be proud
to keep the life in such a heart, as long as
God would permit and so saying, or
thinking and blinking away the dimness
of humanity from my eye I thru&t my hand
into my pocket, and gave him SIXPENCE.

Reader ! smile not ; I am but a poor

harum scarum headed mortal 't was all I
had, " in possession, expectancy, remainder,
or reversion "

J. J. K.

" L" The ACCUSING SPIRIT flew up to heaven's

chancery with the oath, and blushed as he gave it in
the BECOR0IN& ANQEL, us he wrote it down, dropped a
tear upon the word, and blotted it out for ever !"
S'trae. ED.]

The following poem originates in a le-
gend which is still popular in many parts
of the highlands of Scotland : that a female
branch of the noble family of Douglas
contracted an imprudent marriage with a
kerne, or mountain peasant, who was
drowned in the Western Islands, where he
had escaped for concealment from the per-
secutions of the offended family of his wife.
She survived him eighteen years, and
wandered a maniac over the mountains ,
where, as superstition alleges, she is even
now to be seen at daybreak. The stanzas
are supposed to be the extempore recita-
tions of an old bard to a group of attentive
villagers.

THE TABLE BOOK.

29?

THE LADY OF THE HILL.

Poor girl ! she seem'd of an unearthly mould,

A thing superior to the frowns of fate ;
But never did my tearful eyes behold

A maid so fair, and so disconsolate ;
Yet was she once a child of high estate,

And nurst in spendour, till an envious gloom
Sunk her beneath its harsh o'erpowering weight :

Robb'd her pale features of their orient bloom,

And with a noiseless pace, mov'd onwards to the
tomb.

She walk'd upon the earth, as one who knew
The dread mysterious secrets of the grave ;

For never o'er her eye of heav'nly blue
Lighten'd a smile ; but like the ocean wave

That roars, unblest with sunshine, through the cave
Rear'd in the depths of Snowden, she had flown

To endless grief for refuge ; and would rave,
And tell to the night-winds her tale unknown,
Or wander o'er the heath, deserted and alone.

And when the rain beat hard against the hill.
And storms rush'd by upon their wing of pow'r,

Ixjnely she'd stray beside the bubbling rill,
Or fearless list the deep-voic'd cataract's roar ;

And when the tempest's wrath was heard no more
She wander'd home, the mountain sod to dress

With many a wreath, and many a summer flow'r :
And thus she liv'd, the sister of distress,
The solitude of love, nurst in the wilderness.

She was the child of nature ; earth, sea, sky,
Mountain and cataract, fern-clad hill and dale

Possess'd a nameless charm in her young eye.
Pure and eternal, for in Deva's vale

Her heart first listen'd to a lover's tale,
Breath'd by a mountain kerne ; and every scene

That wanton'd blithely in the od'rous gale,
Had oft beheld her lord's enamour'd mien,
As tremblingly she sought each spot where he had
been.

But she is gone ! The cold earth is her pillow,
And o'er her blooms the summer's sweetest flow'r ;

A nd o'er her ashes weeps the grateful willow
She lov'd to cherish in a happier hour

Mute is the voice that breath'd from Deva's bow'r
Chill is the soul of the neglected rover ;

We saw the death-cloud in destruction low'r
O'er her meek head, the western waves roll'd over
The corse of Lira she lov'd, her own devoted lover.

But oft, when the faint sun is in the west,
And the hush'd gales along the ocean die,

Strange sounds reecho from her place of rest.
And sink into the heart most tenderly

The bird of evening hour, the humming bee.
And the wild music of the mountain rill.

Seem breathing sorrow as they murmur by.
And whispering to the night, while all is still,
The tale of the poor girl the " Lady of the Hill."

W. F. D. Indicator.

Customs.

HIGHLAND WEDDINGS.
BY JOHN HA.Y ALLAN, ESQ.

There is not probably, at the present
day, a more social and exhilarating con-
vocation than a highland wedding among
the lower orders. The ancient hospitality
and kindliness of character fills it with
plenty and good humour, and gathers from
every side all who have the slightest claim
in the blood, name, and friendship of the
bride or bridegroom. That olden attach-
ment, which formerly bound together the
superiors and their dependants, yet so far
influences their character as to bring them
together at the same board upon this occa-
sion. When a wedding is to take place,
the attendance of the chief, or laird, as well
as that of the higher tacksmen, is always
solicited by the respective parties, and
there are few who would refuse this mark
of consideration and good- will. The clans-
men are happy in the honour which they
receive, and the " Duinne-Uasal" is pleased
with the regard and respect which renders
the countenance of his presence necessary
to his people.

Upon the day of the wedding, the friends
of the bridegroom and the bride assemble
at the house of their respective parents,
with all the guns and pistols which can be
collected in the country. If the distance of
the two rendezvous is more than a day's
march, the bridegroom gathers his friends
as much sooner as is necessary to enable
them to be with the bride on the day and
hour appointed. Both parties are exceed-
ingly proud of the numbers and of the rank
which their influence enables them to
bring- ; they therefore spare no pains to
render the gathering of their friends as full
and as respectable as possible. The com-
pany of each party dines at the house of
their respective parents. Every attainable
display of rustic sumptuousness and rustic
gallantry is made to render the festival
worthy of an occasion which can happen
but once in a life. The labour and the care
of months have been long providing the
means wherewith to furnish the feast with
plenty, and the assistants with gayety ; and
it is not unfrequent that the 'savings of a
whole year are expended to do honour to
this single day.

When the house is small, and the com-
pany very numerous, the partitions are fre-
quently taken down, and the whole " biel "
thrown into one space. A large table, the

THE TABLE BOOK.

294

entire length of the house, is formed of deal
planks laid upon tressels, and covered with
a succession of table-cloths, white though
coarse. The quantity of the dinner is an-
swerable to the Space which it is to cover :
it generally consists of barley broth, or
cock-a-leeky, boiled fowls, roasted ducks,
oints of meat, sheep's heads, oat and barley
cakes, butter, and cheese ; and in summer,
frothed buttermilk, and slam. In the glens
where goats are kept, haunches of these
animals and roasted kids are also added to
che feast. In the olrlen time, venison and all
kinds of game, from the cappercalich to the
grouse, were also furnished ; but since the
breach of the feudal system, and its privi-
leges, the highland lairds have become like
other proprietors in the regulation of their
game, and have prohibited its slaughter to
their tenants upon pain of banishment.

Yet the cheer of the dinner is not so re-
markable as the gear of the guests. No
stranger who looked along the board could
recognise in their " braws " the individuals
whom the day before he had seen in the
mill, the field, or the " smiddie." The men
are generally dressed to the best of their
power in the lowland fashion. There are
still a few who have the spirit, and who
take a pride, to appear in the noble dress
of their ancestors. These are always con-
sidered as an honour and an ornament to
the day. So far however has habit altered the
custom of the people, even against their own
approbation, that notwithstanding the con-
venience and respect attached to the tar-
tans, they are generally laid aside. But
though the men are nothing deficient in the
disposition to set themselves off in the low-
land fashions, from ihe superior expense of
cloth and other materials of a masculine
dress, they are by no means so gay as the
lasses. Girls, who the yester even were
seen bare-headed and bare-footed, lightly
dressed in a blue flannel petticoat and dark
linen jacket, are now busked in white
frocks, riband sashes, cotton stockings on
their feet, and artificial flowers on their
heads. The " merchant's 5 ' and the miller's
daughters frequently exhibit the last fashion
from Edinburgh, and are beautified and
garnished with escalloped trimmings, tabbed
sleeves, tucks, lace, gathers, and French
frills! As it has been discovered that
tartan is nothing esteemed in London, little
or none is to be seen, except in the red
plaid or broached tunic of some old wife,
whose days of gaytty are past, but who still
loves that with which she was gay in her
youth. It is to be regretted that Dr. Sa-
muel Johnson had not lived to witness

these dawnirgs of reason and Improvement;
his philosophical mind might have rejoiced
in the symptoms of .approaching " civiliza-
tion, '' among the highlanders.

The hour of dinner is generally about one
o'clock; the guests are assembling for two
hours before, and each as he enters is pre-
sented with a glass of " uisga " by way of
welcome. When the company is seated,
and the grace has been said, the bottle
makes a regular round, and each empties a
bumper as it passes. During the meal
more than one circle is completed in the
same manner ; and, at the conclusion, an-
other revolutionary libation is given as a
finale. As soon after dinner as his march
will allow, the bridegroom arrives: his ap-
proach is announced at a distance by a
continual and running discharge of fire-
arms from his party. These signals aie
answered by the friends of the bride, and
when at length they meet, a general but
irregular feu-de-joie announces the arrival.
The bridegroom and his escort are then re-
galed with whiskey, and after they have
taken some farther refreshment the two par
ties combine, and proceed in a loose pre-
cession to the " clachan."

Sometimes, and particularly if there hap-
pens to be a few old disbanded sergeants
among them, the whole " gathering" marches
very uniformly in pairs ; and there is
always a strict regulation in the support
of the bride, and the place of the bride-
groom and his party. The escort of the
former takes precedency in the procession,
and the head of the column is generally
formed of the most active and best armed
of her friends, led by their pipes. Imme-
diately after this advanced guard, come the
bride and the females of her party, accom-
panied by their fathers, brothers, and other
friends. The bride is supported on one
side by a bridesman, and on the other by a
bridesmaid ; her arms are linked in theirs,
and from the right and left hand of the
supporters is held a white scarf or hand-
kerchief, which depends in a festoon across
the figure of the bride. The privilege of
supporting the bride is indispensably con-
fined to the bridesman and bridesmaid,
and it would be an unacceptable pi^ce of
politeness for any other persons, however
high their rank, to offer to supply their
place. The bridegroom and his party, witk
their piper, form the rear of the procession,
and the whole is closed by two young girls
who walk last at the airay, bearing in a
festoon between them a white scarf, simi'ai
to that held before the bride. During th
march the pipes generally play the olu

THE TABLE BOOK.

296

Scots air, " Fye, lets a' to the Bridal," and
the parties of the bride and brMegroom
endeavour to emulate each other in the
discharge of their fire-arms. In this order
the bridal company reaches the church, and
each pipe as it passes the gate of the sur-
rounding cemetry becomes silent. In the
old time the pipers played round the out-
side of the clachan during the performance
of the service, but of later years this custom
has been discontinued. The ritual of the
mairiage is very simple: a prayer for the
happiness and guidance of the young
couple who are about to enter upon the
troubled licle of life; a skort exhortation
upon the duties of the station which they
are to undertake, and a benediction by the
imposition of the hands of the minister, is
all the ceremonial of the union, and an-
nounces to them that they are " no longer
two, but one flesh."

In the short days of winter, and when
the bridegroom has to come from a distance,
it is very frequent that the ceremony is not
performed until night The different cir-
cumstances of the occasion are then doubly
picturesque and affecting : while the caval-
cade is yet at a distance, the plaintive peal-
ing of the pipes approaching upon the still-
ness of the night, the fire-arms flashing
upon the darkness, and their reports re-
doubled by the solitary echoes of the moun-
tains, and when, at length, the train draws
near, the mingled tread of hasty feet, the
full clamour of the pipes, the mixed and
confused visionry of the white figures of the
girls, and the dark shadows of the men,
with here and there the waving of a plaid
and the glinting of a dirk, must be striking
to a stranger, but wake inexpressible emo-
tions in the bosom of a Gael, who loves the
people and the customs of his land.

The scene is still more impressive at the
clachan. I have yet before me the groups
of the last wedding at which I was present
in the highlands. The churcK was dimly
lighted for the occasion ; beneath the pulpit
stood the minister, upon whose head eighty-
five winters had left their trace : his thinned
hair, bleached like the "cana," hung in ring-
lets on his neck; and the light falling
feebly from above, shed a silvery gleam
across his lofty forehead and pale features,
as he lifted his look towards heaven, and
stretched his hands above the betrothed
pair who stood before him. The bride-
groom, a hardy young highlander, the fox-
hunter of the district, was dressed in the
.lull 'a tans; and the bride, the daughter of
a neighbouring shepherd, was simply at-
tiretl m white, with a buncli of white roses

in her hair. The dark cheek and keen eye
of the hunter deepened its hue and its light
as he held the hand which had been placed
in his, while the downcast face of the bride
scarcely showed distinctly more than her far.
forehead and temples, and seemed, as the
light shone obliquely upon them, almost as
pale as the roses which she wore ; her slim
form bent upon the supporting arm of the
bridesmaid the white frill about her
neck throbbing with a light and quick
vibration.

After the ceremony of the marriage is
concluded, it is the privilege of the brides-
man to salute the bride. As the party
leave the church, the pipes again strike up,
and the whole company adjourns to the
next inn, or to the house of some relation
of the bride's ; for it is considered " un-
lucky " for her own to be the first which
she enters. Before she crosses the thresh-
old, an oaten cake is broken over her head
by the bridesman and bridesmaid, and dis-
tributed to the company, and a glass of
whiskey passes round. The whole party
then enter the house, and two or three
friends of the bridegroom, who act as mas-
ters of the ceremonies, pass through the
room with a bottle of whiskey, and pour
out to each individual a glass to the health
of the bride, the bridegroom, and their
clans. Dancing then commences to the
music of the pipes, and the new-married
couple lead off the first reel. It is a cus-
tomary compliment for the person of highest
rank in the room to accompany her in the
next. During the dancing the whiskey-
bottle makes a revolution at intervals ; and
after the reels and strathspeys have been
kept up for some time, the company re-
tires to supper. The fare of the supper
differs little from that of the dinner; and
the rotation of the whiskey-bottle is as
regular as the s\m which it follows.

[At highland festivals the bottle is always
circulated sun-ways, an observance which
had its rise in the Druidical " deas'oil," and
once regulated almost every action of the
Celts.]

When the supper is announced, each
man leads his partner or some female friend
to the table, and seating himself at her side,
takes upon himself her particular charge
during 1 the meal; and upon such occasions,
as the means of the bride and bridegroom
do not permit them to bear the expenses of
the supper, he is expected to pay her share
of the reckoning as well as his own. After
supper the dancing again commences, and
is occasionally inspired by the before-
noticed circumvolutions of the " Uisga na

207

THE TABLE BOOK.

Baidh." The bride and bridegroom, and
such as choose repose rather than merri-
ment, teure to take a couple of hours' rest
hefore dawn ; but the majority keep up the

anting till day. Towards morning many
of the company begin to disperse; and
when it is well light, breakfast is given to
all who remain. Tea, multitudes of eggs,
cold meat, a profusion of oat cakes, barley
it stones," arid sometimes wheat bread,

brought, perhaps, a distance of thirty miles,
constitute the good cheer of this meal. When
it is concluded, the bride takes leave of the
majority of her friends, and accompanied
oniy by her particular intimates and rela-
tions, sets off with the bridegroom and his
parly for her future residence. She is ac-
companied by her neighbours to the march
of her father, or the tacksman under whom
he lives, and at the burn-side (for such is
generally the boundary) they dance a
parting reel : when it is concluded, the
oride kisses her friends, they return to their
dwellings, and -slie departs for her new
nome. When, however, the circumstances
of the bridegroom will permit, all those
wno were present at the house of the bride,
are generally invited to accompany her on
ner way, and a renewal of the preceding
festivities takes place at the dwelling of
the bridegroom. ,

Upon these occasions it is incredible the
fatigue which the youngest girls will un-
dergo : of this one instance will give a
sufficient proof. At a wedding which hap-
pened at Cladich by Loch Awe side, there
were present as bridesmaids, two girls, not
above fourteen years of age, who had
walked to the bridal from Inbherara, a dis-
tance of nine miles. They attended the
bride to the clachan of Inishail, and back to
her father's house, which is four miles far-
ther. During the night none were more
blithe in the dance, and in the morning
after breakfast they accompanied the rest
of the party to the house of the bridegroom
at Tighndrum ; the distance of this place is
eighteen miles : and thus, when they hal
finished their journey, the two young brides-
maids had walked, without rest, and under
the fatigue of dancing, a distance of thirty-
one miles.

Such is the general outline of a highland
wedding. In some districts, a few other of
the ancient customs are yet retained : the
throwing of the stocking is sometimes
practised ; but the blessing of the bridal
couch disappeared with the religion of the
popes.*

* Note fo tlie Bridal of Cafilchairn, by J. H. Allan.
Fgq.

FLINGING THE STOCKING.

Mr. Brand collects a variety of par-
ticulars respecting this wedding custom.

A curious little book, entitled " The
West -country Clothier undone by a Pea-
cock," says, " The sack-posset must b?
eaten and the stocking flung, to see who can
first hit the bridegroom on the nose." Mis-
son, a traveller in England at the begin-
ning of the last century, relates, concerning
this usage, that the young men took the
bride's stocking, and the girls those of the
bridegroom ; each of whom, sitting at the
foot of the bed, threw the stocking over
their heads, endeavouring to make it fall
upon that of the bride, or her spouse : if
the bridegroom's stockings, thrown by the
girls, fell upon the bridegroom's head, it
was a sign that they themselves would soon
be married : and a similar prognostic was
taken from the falling of the bride's stock-
ing, thrown by the young men. The usage
is related to the same effect in a work en-
titled " Hymen," &c. (8vo. 1760.) " The
men take the bride's stockings, and the
women those of the bridegroom : they then
seat themselves at the bed's feet, and throw
the stockings over their heads, and when-
ever any ore hits the owner of them, it is
looked upon as an omen that the person
will be married in a short time: and though
this ceremony is looked upon as mere play
and foolery, new marriages are often occa-
sioned by such accidents. Meantime the
posset is got ready and given to the married
couple. When they awake in the morn-
ing, a sack-posset is also given them." A
century before this, in a " A Sing-Song on
Clarinda's Wedding," in R. Fletcher's
"Translations and Poems, 1656,'' is the
following stanza :

" This clutter ore, Clarinda lay
Half-bedded, like the peeping day

Behind Olimpus" cap ;
Whiles at her head each twitt'ring girle
The fatal stocking quick did whirle

To know the lucky hap."

And the "Progress of Matrimony, in
" The Palace Miscellany," 1733, says.

" Then come all the younger folk in,
With ceremony throw the stocking ;
Backward, o'er head, in turn they toss'd it,
Till in sack-posset they had lost it.
Th' intent of flinging thus the hose.
Is to hit him or her o' th' nose:
Who hits the mark, thus, o'er left shoulder
Must married be, ere twelve months older.'

This adventuring against the most j.-ro-
minent feature of the face is further men-

299

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300

tkntt' in "The Country Wedding," a
pocin, in the Gentleman's Magazine, for
March 1735, vol. v. p. 158.

" Bid the lasses and lads to the merry brown bowl,
While rashers of bacon shall smoke on the coal :
Then Roger and Bridget, and Robin and Nan,
Hit 'em e.ach on the nose, with the hose if you can."

Dunton's "British Apollo," 1708, con-
tains a question and answer concerning
this old usage.

" Q. Apollo, say, whence 'tis I pray.

The ancient custom came.
Stockings to throw (I'm sure you know)
At bridegroom and his dame ?

" A When Britons bold, bedded of old,

Sandals were backward thrown ;
The pair to tell, that, ill or well.
The act was all their own."

If a more satisfactory explanation of the
custom could be found, it should be at the
reader's service. The practice prevails on
the continent as well as in this country,
hut its origin is involved in obscurity.

<arrirft

No. VII.

[From " Fortune by Land and Sea," a
Comedy, by T. Heywood, and W. Row-
ley, 1655.]

Old Forest forbids his Son to sup with
tome riotous gallants ; who goes notwith-
standing, and is slain.

Scene, a Tavern.

Roiniworth, Foster, Goodwin. To them enterl Frank
Forest.

Rain. Now, Frank, how stole you from your father's

arms?

You have been school'd, no doubt Fie, fie upon't.
Ere I would live in such base servitude
To an old greybeard ; "sfoot, I'd hang myself.
A man cannot be merry, and drink drunk,
But he must be control'd by gravity.

Frank. pardon him ; you know, he is my fatter,
And what he doth is but paternal love.
Though I be wild, I'm not yet so past reason
His person to despise, though I his counsel
Cannot severely follow.

Bain. 'Sfoot, he is a fool.

Frank. A fool 1 you are a

Fast. Nay, gentlemen

Frank. Yet I restrain my tongur.
Hoping yon t-peak out of some spleenful rn-hness,
And no deliberate malice ; and it may b
YOM are sorry that a word so unreverent,

To wrong so good an aged gentleman,
Should pass you unawares.

Rain. Sorry, Sir Boy ! you will not take exceptions ?

Frank. Not against you with willingness, whom I
Have loved so long. Yet you might think me a
Most dutiless and ungracious son to give
Smooth countenance unto my father's wrong.
Come, I dare swear

Twas not your malice, and I take it so.
Let's frame some other talk. Hear, gentlemen

Rain. But hear me, Boy ! it seems, Sir, you arc
angry

Frank. Not thoroughly yet

Rain. Then what would anger thee ?

Frank. Nothing from you.

Rain. Of all things under heaven
What would'st thou loathest have me do ?

Frank. 1 would

Not have you wrong my reverent father ; and
I hope you will not.

Rain. Thy father's an old dotard.

Frank. I would not brook this at a monarch's hand,
Much less at thine.

Rain. Aye, Boy ? then take you that.

Frank. Oh I am slain.

Good. Sweet Cuz, what have you done? Shift fo*
yourself.

Ram. Away. Exeunt.

Enter Two Drawers.

1st Dr. Stay the gentlemen, they have killed a mac
O sweet Mr. Francis. One run to his father's.

2d Dr. Hark, hark, I hear his father's voice below
'tis ten to one he is come to fetch him home to suppet
and now he may carry him home to his grave.

Enter the Host, old Forest, and Susan his daughter

Host. You must take comfort, Sir.

For. Is he dead, is he dead, girl?

Sus. Oh dead, Sir, Frank is dead.

For. Alas, alas, my boy ! I have not the heart
To look upon his wide and gaping wounds.
Pray tell me, Sir, does this appear to yon
Fearful and pitiful to yon that are
A stranger to my aead boy ?

Host. How can it otherwise ?

For. O me most wretched of all wretched men I
If to a stranger his warm bleeding wounds
Appear so grisly and so lamentable.
How will they seem to me that am his father?
Will they not hale my eye-brows from their rund*.
And with an everlasting blindness strike them ?

Sta. Oh, Sir, look here.

For. Dost Ion? to have me blind ?
Then I'll behold them, since I know thy mind.
Oh me !

Is this my son that doth so senseless lie.
And swims in blood ? my soul shall fly with his
Unto the land of rest. Behold I crave,
Being kill'd with grief, we both may have one grave.

Sut. Alas, my father's dead too! gentle Sir,
Help to retire his spirits, over travaij'd
With age and sorrow.

Host. Mr. Forest

30)

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302

S- Father

For. What says my girl ? good mo -row. What's a

clock.

That you are up so early? call up Frank ;
Tell him he lies too long a bed this morning.
He was wont to call the sun up, and to raise
The early lark, and mount her 'mongst the clouds.
Will he not np ? rise, rise, thou sluggish boy.

Sus. Alas, he cannot, father.

For. Cannot, why ?

Sttt. Do you not see tis bloodless colour pale ?

Fur. Perhaps he's sickly, that he looks so pale.

Sus. Do you not feel his pulse no motion keep.
How still he lies ?

For. Then is he fast asleep.

$tu. Do you not see his fatal eyelid close ?

For. Speak softly; hinder not his soft repose.

Sus. Oh see you not these purple conduits ruii ?
Know you these wounds ?

For. Oh me 1 ray murder'd son 1

Enter young Mr. Forett.

Y. For. Sister 1

Sus. O brother, brother !

Y. For. Father, how cheer you, Sir ? why, you were

wont

To store for others comfort, that by sorrow
Were any ways distress'd. Hare you all wasted,
And spared none to yourself?

0. For. O Son, Son, Son,
See, alas, see where thy brother lies.
He dined with me to day, was merry, merry,
Aye, that corpse was ; he that lies here, see here.
Thy murder'd brother and m.y son was. Oh see,
Dost thou not weep for him ?

Y. For. I shall find time ;
When you have took some comfort, I'll begin
To monrn his death, and scourge the murderer's sin.

0. For. Oh, when saw father such a tragic sight.
And did outlive it ? never, son, ah never,
From mortal breast ran such a precious river.

Y. For. Come, father, and dear sister, join with me ;
Let us all learn our sorrows to forget.
He owed a death, and he hath paid that debt.

If I were to be consulted as to a Re-
print of our Old English Dramatists, I
should advise to begin with the collected
lays of Hey wood. He was a fellow Actor,
ind fellow Dramatist, with Shakspeare.
He possessed not the imagination of the
latter ; but in all those qualities which
gained for Shakspeare the attribute of
gentle, he was not interior to him. Gene-
rosity, courtesy, temperance in the depths
of passion ; sweetness, in a word, and gen-
tleness ; Christianism ; and true hearty
Anglicism of feelings, shaping that Chris-
tianism ; shine throughout his beautiful
writings in a manner more conspicuous
than in those of Shakspeare, but only more
conspicuous inasmuch as in Heywood these
qualities are primary ,in the other subordinate
o poetry. I love them both equally, but

Shakspeare has most of my wonder. Hey-
wood should be known to his countrymen,
as he deserves. His plots are almost inva-
riably English. I am sometimes jealous,
that Shakspeare laid so few of his scenes at
home. I laud Ben Jonson, for that in one
instance having framed the first draught of
his Every Man in his Humour in Italy,
he changed the scene, and Anglicised his
characters. The names of them in the
First Edition, may not be unamusing.

Men.

Lorenzo, Sen.
Lorenzo, Jun.
Prospero.
Thorello.

Women.
Guilliaua.
Biaucha.
Hesperida.
Tib (the same in English..

Stephano (Master Stephen.)

Dr. Clement (Justice Clement.)

Bobadilla (Bobadil.)

Musco.

Cob (the same in English.)

Peto.

Pizo.

Matheo (Master Mathew.)

How say you, Reader? do not Master
Kitely, Mistress Kitely, Master Kiiowell,
Brainworm, &c. read better than these Cis-
alpines ?

C.L.

St'IIp Bootsf.

For the Table Book.

On January 6th, 1815, died at Lynn
Norfolk, at an advanced age, (supposed

THE TABLE BOOK.

301

about seventy, this eccentric individual,
whose proper name, William Monson, had
oecoine nearly obliterated by his profes-
sional appellation of Billy Boots ; having
followed the humble employment of shoe-
olack for a longer period than the greater
part of the inhabitants could remember.
He was reported, (and he always professed
himself to be,) the illegitimate son of a
nobleman, whose name he bore, by a Miss
Cracroft. Of his early days little is known,
except from the reminiscences of conversa-
tion which the writer of this article at times
held with him. From thence it appears,
that having received a respectable educa-
tion, soon after leaving school, he quitted
his maternal home in Lincolnshire, and
threw himself upon the world, from whence
he was sought out by some of his paternal
brothers, with the intention of providing
and fixing him in comfortable circumstan-
ces ; but this dependent life he abhorred,
and the wide world was again his element.
After experiencing many vicissitudes,
(though possessing defects never to be
overcome, a diminutive person, a shuf-
fling, slip-shod gait, and a weak, whining
voice,) he joined a company of strolling
players, and used to boast of having per-
formed -"Trueman," in " George Barnwell :"
from this he imbibed an ardent histrionic
cacoethes, which never left him, but occu-
pied many of his leisure moments, to the
latest period of his life. Tired of rambling,
he fixed his residence at Lynn, and adopt-
ing the useful vocation of shoe-blank, be-
came conspicuous as a sober, inoffensive,
and industrious individual. Having, by
these means, saved a few guineas, in a luck-
less hour, and when verging towards his
fiftieth year, he took to himself a wife, a
darhing female of more favourable appear-
ance than reputation. In a fews days from
the tying of the gordian knot, his precious
metal and his precious rib took flight to-
gether, never to return ; and forsaken Billy
whined away his disaster, to every pitying
inquirer, and continued to brush and spout
till time had blunted the keeu edge of
sorrow.

Notwithstanding this misfortune, Billy
made no rash vow of forswearing the sex,
but ogled every mop-squeezer in the town,
who would listen to his captivating elo-
quence, and whenever a roguish Blousa-
linoi consented to encourage his addresses,
he was seen early an 1 late, like a true de-
votee snuffing a pilgrimage to the shrine of
his devotions. In a summer evening after
the labour of the day, on these occasions,
and on these occasions only, he used to

clean himself and spruce up, in his best
suit, which was not improperly termed his
courting suit a worn-out scarlet coat,
reaching to his heels, with buttons of the
largest dimensione the other part of his
dress corresponding. When tired of the
joke, his faithless inamorata, on some frivo-
lous pretence, contrived to discard him,
leaving him to " fight his battles o'er again,"
and seek some other bewitching fair one,
who in the end served him as the former ;
another and another succeeded, but still
poor Billy was ever jilted, and still lived a
devoted victim to the tender passion.

Passionately fond of play-books, of which
he had a small collection as uninviting to
the look as himself in his working dress
and possessing a retentive memory, he
would recite, not merely the single charac-
ter, but whole scenes, with all the dramatis
personse. His favourite character, however,
was " Shylock ;" and here, when soothed
and flattered, he exhibited a rich treat to
his risible auditors in the celebrated trial
scene, giving the entire dialogue, suiting
the action and attitude to the words, in a
style of the most perfect caricatural origi-
nality. At other times, he would select
" The Waterman," and, as " Tom Tug,"
warble forth, "Then farewell my trim-built
wherry," in strains of exquisitely whining
melody. But, alas ! luckless wight ! his
only reward was ridicule, and for applause
he had jokes and quizzing sarcasms.

Like most of nature's neglected eccen-
trics, Billy was a public mark of derision,
at which every urchin delighted to aim.
When charges of " setting the river Thames
on fire !" and " roasting his wife on a grid-
v ron !" were vociferated in his ears, proudly
conscious of his innocence of such heinous
crimes, his noble soul would swell with
^age and indignation; and sometimes stones,
at other times his brushes, and oftentimes
his pot of blacking, were aimed at the
ruthless offender, who frequently escaped,
while the unwary passer-by received the
marks of his vengeance. When unmolested,
he was harmless and inoffensive.

Several attempts, it is said, were made
towards the latter part of his life to settle
an annuity on him; but Billy scorned such '
independence, and maintained himself till
death by praiseworthy industry. After a
few days' illness, he sank into the grave,
unhonoured and unnoticed, except by the
following tribute to his memory, written by
a literary and agricultural gentleman in the
neighbourhood of Lynn, and inserted iu
the " Norwich Mercury" newspaper of that
period. j.

305

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ELEGIAC LINES ON WILLIAM MONSON,
LATE OF LYMN, AN ECCENTRIC CHARAC-
TER; COMMONLY Y'CLEPT BILLY BOOTS.

Imperial Fate, who, with promiscuous course,
Exerts o'er high and low his influence dread ;

Impell'd his shaft with unrelenting force,
And laid thee, Billy, 'mongst the mighty dead !

Yet "though, when borne to thy sepulchral home,
No pomp funereal grac'd thy poor remains,

Some " frail memorial " should adorn thy tomb,
Some trifling tribute from th'e Muse's strains.

Full fifty years, poor Billy 1 hast thou budg'd,
A care-worn shoe-black, up and down the streets ;

From house to house, with slip-shod step hast trudg'd,
'Midst summer's rays, and winter's driving sleets.

Report allied thee to patrician blood,

Yet, whilst thy life to drudg'ry was confin'd,

Thy firmness each dependent thought withstood,
And prov'd, thy true nebility of mind.

With shuffling, lagging gait, with visage queer,
Which seem'd a stranger to ablution's pow'r,

In tatter'd garb, well suited to thy sphere,
Thou o'er life's stage didst strut thy fretful hour.

O'er boots and shoes, to spread the jetty hue,
And give the gloss, thou Billy, wert the man,

No boasting rivals could thy skill outdo
Not " Day and Martin," with their fam'd japan.

On men well-bred and perfectly refin'd,
An extra polish conld thine art bestow ;

At feast or ball, thy varnish'd honeurs shin'd,
Made spruce the trader, and adorn'd the beau.

When taunting boys, whom no reproof could tame,

On thee their scoffs at cautious distance shed,
A shoe or brush, impetuous wouldst thou aim,
Wing'd with resentment, at some urchin's bead.

With rage theatric often didst thon glow,
(Though ill adapted for the scenic art ;)

As Denmark's prince soliloquiz'd in woe,
Or else rehears'd vindictive Shylock's part.

Brushing and spouting, emulous of fame,

Oft pocketing affronts instead of cash,
.n logo's phrase, sometimes thou might'st exclaim

With too much truth, " who steals my pnree steals
trash."

Peace to thine ashes ! harmless in thy way,
Long wert thou emp'ror of the shoe-black train,

And with thy fav'rite Shakspeare we may nay,
We "ne'er shall look upon thy like again."

2Brama.

" THE GREAT UNKNOWN
KNOWN.

Friday the 23d of February, 1827, is tc be
regarded as remarkable, because on that day
" The Great Unknown" confessed himself.
The disclosure was made at the first annual
dinner of the " Edinburgh Theatrical
Fund," then held in the Assembly Rooms,
Edinburgh : Sir WALTER SCOTT in the
chair.

Sir WALTER SCOTT, after the usual toasts
to the King and the Royal Family, re-
quested, that gentlemen would fill a bum-
per as full as it would hold, while he would
say only a few words. He was in the habit
of hearing speeches, and he knew the feel-
ing with which long ones were regarded.
He was sure that it was perfectly unneces-
sary for him to enter into any vindication of
the dramatic art, which they had come here
to support. This, however, he considered
to be the proper time and proper occasion
for him to say a few words on that love of
representation which was an innate feeling
in human nature. It was the first amuse-
ment that the child had it grew greater as
he grew up ; and, even in the decline of
life, nothing amused so much as when a
common tale is well told. The first thing
a child does is to ape his schoolmaster, by
flogging a chair. It was an enjoyment na-
tural to humanity. It was implanted in
our very nature, to take pleasure from such
representations, at proper times, and on
proper occasions. In all ages the theatri-
cal art had kept pace with the improvement
of mankind, and with the progress of letters
and the fine arts. As he had advanced
from the ruder stages of society, the love of
dramatic representations had increased, and
all works of this nature had been improved
in character and in structure. They had
only to turn their eyes to the history of an-
cient Greece, although he did not pretend
to be very deeply versed in ancient history.
Its first tragic poet commanded a body of
troops at Marathon. The second and next,
were men who shook Athens with their
discourses, as their theatrical works shock
the theatre itself. If they turned to F.'&r-ce,
in the time of Louis XIV., that ere. hi
the classical history of that country v they
would find that it was referred tc by ull
Frenchmen as the golden age of the dranx
there. And also in England, in the tiir.c
of queen Elizabeth, the drama began to
mingle deeply and wisely in the geserz.
politics of Europe, not only not receiving

307

THE TABLE BOOK.

308

laws from others, but giving laws to the
world, and vindicating the nghts of man-
Kind. (Cheers.") There had been various
times when the dramatic art subsequently
fell into disrepute. Its professors had been
stigmatized : and laws had been passed
against them, less dishonourable to them
than to the statesmen by whom they were
proposed, and to the legislators by whom
they were passed. What were the times in
which these laws were passed? Was it not
when virtue was seldom inculcated as a
moral duty, that we were required to relin-
quish the most rational of all our amuse-
ments, when the clergy were enjoined
celibacy, and when the laity were denied
the right to read their Bibles ? He thought
that it must have been from a notion of
penance that they erected the drama into an
ideal place of profaneness, and the tent of
sin. He did not mean to dispute, that
there were many excellent persons who
thought differently from him, and they were
entitled to assume that they were not guilty
of any hypocrisy in doing so. He gave
them full credit for their tender consciences,
in making these objections, which did not
appear to him relevant to those persons,
if they were what they usurped themselves
to be ; and if they were persons of worth
and piety, he should crave the liberty to tell
them, that the first part of their duty was
charity, and that if they did not choose to
go to the theatre, they at least could not
deny that they might give away, from their
superfluity, what was required for the relief
of the sick, the support of the aged, and
the comfort of the afflicted. These were
duties enjoined by our religion itself.
(Loud cheers.} The performers were in a
particular manner entitled to the support or
regard, when in old age or distress, of those
who had partaken of the amusements of
those places which they rendered an orna-
ment to society. Their art was of a pecu-
liarly delicate and precarious nature. They
had to serve a long apprenticeship. It was
very long before even the first-rale geniuses
could acquire the mechanical knowledge of
the stage business. They must languish
long in obscurity before they could avail
themseJves of their natural talents ; and
after that, they had but a short space of
time, during which they were fortunate if
they couid provide the means of comfort in
the decline of life. That came late, and
lasted but a short time ; after which they
were ieft dependent. Their limbs failed,
their teeth were loosened, their voice was
lost, and they were left, after giving happi-
ness to others, in a most disconsolate state.

The public were liberal and generous to
those deserving their protection. It was a sad
thing to be dependant on the favour, or, he
might say, in plain terms, on the caprice
of the public ; and this more particularly
for a class of persons of whom extreme
prudence was not the character. There
might be instances of opportunities being
neglected ; but let them tax themselves,
and consider the opportunities they had
neglected, and the sums of money they had
wasted ; let every gentleman look into his
own bosom, and say whether these were
circumstances which would soften his own
feeling, were he to be plunged into distress.
He put it to every generous bosom to
every better feeling to say what consola-
tion was it to old age to be told that you
might have made provision at a time which
had been neglected (loud cheers) and to
find it objected, that if you had pleased you
might have been wealthy. He had hitherto
been speaking of what, in theatrical lan-
guage, was -called " stars," but they were
sometimes fallen ones. There were another
class of sufferers naturally and necessarily
connected with the theatre, without whom
it was impossible to go on. The sailors had
a saying, " every man cannot be a boats-
wain." If there must be persons to act
Hamlet, there must also be people to act
Laertes, the King, Rosencrantz, and Guil~
denstern, otherwise a drama cannot go on.
If even Garrick himself were to rise from
the dead, he could not act Hamlet alone.
There must be generals, colonels, command-
ing officers, and subalterns ; but what were
the private soldiers to do ? Many had mis-
taken their own talents, and had been driven
in early youth to try the stage, to which
they were not competent. He would know
what to say to the poet and to the artist.
He would say that it was foolish, and he
would recommend to the poet to become a
scribe, and the artist to paint sign-posts
(Loud laughter.} But he could not send the
player adrift; for if he could pot play Ham-
let, he must play Guildenstern. Where
there were many labourers, wages must be
low, and no man in such a situation could
decently support a wife and family, and
save something of his income for old age.
W : hat was this man to do in latter life T
Were they to cast him off like an old hinge,
or a piece of useless machinery, which had
done its work ? To a person who had con-
tributed to our amusement, that would be
unkind, ungrateful, and unchristian. His
wants were not of his own making, but
arose from the natural sources of sickness
and old age It could not be denied that

309

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3tO

tl ere was one class of sufferers to whom no
imprudence could be ascribed, except on
first entering on the profession. After
putting his hand to the dramatic plough,
he could not draw back, but must continue
at it, and toil, till death released him ; or
charity, oy its milder assistance, stepped in
to render that want more tolerable. He
had little more to say, except that he sin-
cerely hoped that the collection to-day,
from the number of respectable gentlemen
present, would meet the views entertained
by the patrons. lie hoped it would do so.
They should not be disheartened. Though
they could not do a great deal, they might
do something. They had this consolation,
that every thing they parted with from their
superfluity would do some good. They
would sleep the better themselves when
they had been the means of giving sleep to
others. It was ungrateful and unkind that
those who had sacrificed their youth to our
amusement should not receive the reward
due to them, but should be reduced to hard
fare in their old age. They could not
think of poor Falstaft' going to bed without
his cup of sack, or Macbeth fed on bones
as marrowless as those of Banquo. (Loud
cheers and laughter.} As he believed that
they were all as fond of the dramatic art
as he was in his younger days, he would
propose that they should drink " The
Theatrical Fund,'' with three times three.

Mr. MACKAY rose on behalf of his bre-
thren, to return their thanks for the toast
just drank.

Lord MEADOWBANK begged to- bear
testimony to the anxiety which they all felt
for the interests of the institution which it
was for this day's meeting to establish. For
himself, he was quite surprised to find his
humble name associated with so many
others, more distinguished, as a patron of
t the institution. But he happened to hold
a high and important public station in the
country. Jt was matter of regret that he
had so little the means in his power of be-
ing of service ; yet it would afford him at
all times the greatest pleasure to give as-
sistance. As a testimony of the feelings
with which he now rose, he begged to pro-
pose a health, which he was sure, in an as-
sembly of Scotsmen, would be received,
not with an ordinary feeling of delight, but
with rapture and enthusiasm. He knew
that it would be painful to his feelings if
he were to speak of him in the terms which
his heart prompted ; and that he had shel-
tered himself under his native modesty from
tne apolause which he deserved. But it
was gratifyins at last to know that these

clouds were now dispelled, and that the
" great unknown " " the mighty Magician 1 '
(here the room literally rung with applause*
for some minutes) the Minstrel nf our
country, who had conjured up, not the
phantoms of departed ages, but realities,
now stood revealed before the eyes and
affections of his country. In his presence
it would ill become him, as it would be
displeasing to that distinguished person, to
say, if he were able, what every man must
feel, who recollected the enjoyment he had
had from the great efforts of his mind and
genius. It had been left for him, by his
writings, to give his country an imperish-
able name. lie had done more for that
country, by illuminating its annals, by illus-
trating the deeds of its warriors and states-
men, than any man that ever existed, or
was produced, within its territory. He had
opened up the peculiar beauties of his na-
tive land to the eyes of foreigners. He had
exhibited the deeds of those patriots and
statesmen to whom we owed the freedom
we now enjoyed. He would give " The
health of Sir Walter Scott."

This toast was drank with enthusiastic
cheering.

Sir WALTER SCOTT certainly did not
think, that, in coming there that day, he
would have the task of acknowledging,
before 300 gentlemen, a secret which, con-
sidering that it was communicated to more
than 20 people, was remarkably well kept.
He was now before the bar of his country,
and might be understood to be on trial
before lord Meadowbank, as an offender ;
yet he was sure that every impartial jury
would bring in a verdict of " not proven. 1 '
He did not now think it necessary to enter
into reasons for his long silence. Perhaps
he might have acted from caprice. He had
now to say, however, that the merits of these
works, if they had any, and their faults,
were entirely imputable to himself. (Long
and loud cheering.) He was afraid to think
on what he had done. *' Look on't again
I dare not." He had thus far unbosomed
himself, and he knew that il would be re-
ported to the public. He meant, when he
said that he was the author, that he was the
total and undivided author. With the ex-
ception of quotations, there was no. a single
word that was not derived from himself, or
suggested in the course of his reading. The
wand was now broken and the rod buried.
They would allow him further to say, with
Prospero, " Your breath it is that has filled
my sails," and to crave one single toast in
the capacity of the author of those novels ,
and he would dedintf a bumper to the

311

THE TABLE BOOK.

312

health of one who had represented some of
those characters, of which he had endea-
voured to give the skeleton, with a degree
of liveliness which rendered him grateful.
He would propose the health of his friend
fiailie Nicol Jarvie ; (loud applause ;) and
he was sure that, when the author of IVa-
verley and Rob Roy drank to Nicol Jarvie,
it would be received with that degree of
applause to which that gentleman had al-
ways been accustomed, and that they would
take care that, on the present occasion, it
should be prodigious ! (Long and vehe-
ment applause.)

Mr. MACKAY, who spoke with great hu-
mour in the character of Bailie Jarvie.
" My conscience ! My worthy father, the
Deacon, could not have believed that his
son could hae had sic a compliment paid
to him by the Great Unknown."

Sir WALTER SCOTT. " Not unknown
noiv, Mr. Bailie."

After this avowal, numerous toasts were
duly honoured ; and on the proposal of
" the health of Mrs. Siddons, senior, the
most distinguished ornament of the stage,"
Sir WALTER SCOTT said, that if any thing
could reconcile him to old age, it was the
reflection that he had seen the rising as well
as the setting sun of Mrs. Siddons. He
remembered well their breakfasting near
to the theatre waiting the whole day
the crushing at the doors at six o'clock
and their going in and counting their fin-
gers till seven o'clock. But the very first
step the very first word which she uttered,
was sufficient to overpay him for all his
labours. The house was literally electrified ;
and it was only from witnessing the effects
of her genius, that he could guess to what
a pitch theatrical excellence could be car-
ried. Those young fellows who had only
seen the setting sun of this distinguished
performer, beautiful and serene as that was,
must give the old fellows who had seen its
rise leave to hold their heads a little higher.

Sir WALTER SCOTT subsequently gave
" Scotland, the Land of Cakes." He would
give every river, every loch, every hill, from
Tweed to Johnnie Groat's house every
lass in her cottage, and countess in her
castle ; and may her sons stand by her, as
their fathers did before them, and he who
would not drink a bumper to his toast, may
he never drink whiskey more.

Mr. H. G. BELL proposed the health of
"James Sneridan Knowles."

Sir WALTER SCOTT. Gerrtlemen, I crave
a bumper all over. The last toast reminds
me of a neglect of duty. Unaccustomed to
a public dutv of this kind, errors in con-

ducting the ceremonial of it may be excused,
and omissions pardoned. Perhaps I have
made one or two omissions in the course of
the evening, for which I trust you will grant
me your pardon and indulgence. One
thing in particular I have omitted, arid I
would now wish to make amends for it by
a libation of reverence and respect to the
memory of Shakspeare. He was a man ot
universal genius, and from a period soon
after his own era to the present day, he has
been uni/ersally idolized. When I come
to his honoured name, I am like the sick
man who hung up his crutches at the shrine,
and was obliged to confess that he did not
walk better than before. It is indeed diffi.
cult, gentlemen, to compare him to any
other individual. The only one to whom
I can at all compare him, is the wonderful
Arabian dervise, who dived into the body
of each, and in that way became familiar
with the thoughts and secrets of their
hearts. He was a man of obscure origin,
and as a player, limited in his acquirements ;
but he was born evidently with a universal
genius. His eyes glanced at all the varied
aspects of life, and his fancy portrayed with
equal talents the king on the throne, and
the clown who crackled his chestnuts at a
Christmas fire. Whatever note he took,
he struck it just and true, and awakened a
corresponding chord in our own bosoms.
Gentlemen, I propose " The memory ot
William Shakspeare."

Glee- " Lightly tread his hallowed
ground."

Sir WALTER rose after the glee, and
begged to propose as a toast the health
of a lady whose living merits were not a
little honourable to Scotland. This toast
(said he) is also flattering to the national
vanity of a Scotchman, as the lady whom I
intend to propose is a native of this coun
try. From the public her works have met
wi'th the most favourable reception. One
piece of hers, in particular, was often acted
here of late years, and gave pleasure of no
mean kind to many brilliant and fashion-
able audiences. In her private character,
she (he begged leave to say) was as remark-
able as in a public sense she was for her
genius. In short, he would, in one word,
name " Joanna Baillie."

Towards the close of the evening, Sir
WALTER observed : There is one who
ought to be remembered on this occasion.
He is indeed well entitled to our great
recollection one, in short, to whom the
drama in this city owes much. He suc-
ceeded, not without trouble, and perliap
at some considerable sacrifice, in gratitude

313

THE TABLE BOOK..

ing a theatre. The younger part of the
company may not recollect the theatre to
which I allude ; but there are some who
with me may remember, by name, the the-
atre in Carrubber's-close. There Allan
Ramsay established his little theatre. His
own pastoral was not fit for the stage, but
it has its own admirers in those who love
the Doric language in which it is written ;
and it is not without merits of a very pecu-
liar kind. But, laying aside all considera-
tions of his literary merit, Allan was a good,
jovial, honest fellow, who could crack a
bottle with the best. " The memory of
Allan Ramsay."

Mr. P. ROBERTSON. I feel that I am
about to tread on ticklish ground. The
talk is of a new theatre, and a bill may be
presented for its erection, saving always,
and provided the expenses be defrayed and
carried through, provided always it-be not
opposed. Bereford-park, 01 some such
place, might be selected, provided always
due notice was given, and so we might
have a playhouse, as it were, by possibility.

Sir WALTER SCOTT. Wherever the new
theatre is built, I hope it will not be large.
There are two errors" which we commonly
commit the one arising from our pride,
the other from our poverty. If there are
twelve plans, it is odds but the largest,
without any regard to comfort, or an eye to
the probable expense, is adopted. There
was the college projected on this scale, and
undertaken in the same manner, and who
shall see the end of it? It has been build-
ing all my life, and may probably last
during the lives of my children, and my
children's children. Let it not be said
when we commence a new theatre, as was
said on the occasion of laying the founda-
tion-stone of a certain building, " Behold
the endless work begun." Play-going folks
should attend somewhat to convenience.
The new theatre should, in the first place,
be such as may be finished in eighteen
months or two years ; and, in the second
place, it should be one in which we can
hear our old friends with comfort. It is
betier that a theatre should be crowded now
and then, than to have a large theatre,
with benches continually empty, to the
discouragement of the actors, and the dis-
comfort of the spectatois.

Sir WALTER immediately afterwards said,
" Gentlemen, it is now wearing late, and I
shall request permission to retire. Like
Partridge, I may say, ' non sum qualis eram.'
At my time of day, I can agree with Lord
Jgleby, as to the rheumatism, and say,
"There 's a twinge.' I hope, therefore, you

will excuse me for leaving the chair."
(The worthy baronet then retired amidst
long, loud, and rapturous cheering.)

These extracts* contain the substance of
Sir Walter Scott's speeches on this memo-
rable occasion. His allusions to actors and
the drama are, of themselves, important ;
but his avowal of himself as the author of
the " Waverley Novels," is a fact of pecu-
liar interest in literary history. Particular
circumstances, however, had made known
the " Great Unknown " to several persons
in London some months previously, though
the fact had not by any means been gene-
rally circulated.

POWELL, THE FIRE-EATER.

" Oh 1 for a muse oifire !"

One fire burns out another burning.
The jack-puddings who swallow flame at
" the only booth " in every fair, have ex-
tinguished re.nembrance of Powell the fire-
eater a man so famous in his own day,
that his name still lives. Though no jour-
nal records the time of his death, no line
eulogizes his memory, no stone marks his
burial-place, there are two articles written
during his lifetime, which, being noticed
here, may " help his fame along " a little
further. Of the first, by a correspondent
of Sylvanus Urban, the following is a suffi-
cient abstract.

Ashbourn, Derbyshire, Jan. 20, 1755.

Last spring, Mr. Powell, the famous fire-
eater, did us the honour of a visit at this
town; and, as he set forth in his printed
bills, that he had shown away not only be-
fore most of the crowned heads in Europe,
but even before the Royal Society of Lon-
don, and was dignified with a curious and
very ample silver medal, which, he said, was
bestowed on him by that learned body, as
a testimony of their approbation, for eating
what nobody else could eat, I was prevailed
upon, at the importunity of some friends,
to go and see a sight, that so many great
kings and philosophers had not thought
below their notice. And, I confess, though
neither a superstitious nor an incurious
man, I was not a little astonished at his
wonderful performances in the fire-eating
way.

From the report of the "Edinburgh Evening Cou-
rant" of Saturday, 24th Feb. 1827 ! m * The Times"
of the Tuesday following.

315

THE TABLE BOOK.

After many restless days and nights, and
the profoundest researches into the nature
of things, I almost despaired of accounting
for the strange phenomenon of a human
und perishable creature eating red hot coals,
aken indiscriminately out of a large fire,
broiling steaks upon his tongue, swallowing
huge draughts of liquid fire as greedily as
a country squire does roast beef and strong
beer. Thought I to myself, how can that
element, which we are told is ultimately to
devour all things, be devoured itself, as
familiar diet, by a mortal man ? Here I
stuck, and here I might have stuck, if I
had not met with the following anecdote
by M. Panthot, doctor of physic and mem-
ber of the college of Lyons :

" The secret of fire-eating was made
public by a servant to one Richardson, an
Englishman, who showed it in France about
the year 1667, and was the first performer
of the kind that ever appeared in Europe.
It consists only in rubbing the hands, and
thoroughly washing the mouth, lips, tongue,
teeth, and other parts that are to touch the
fire, with pure spirit of sulphur. This burns
and cauterizes the epidermis, or upper skin,
till it becomes as hard as thick leather, and
every time the experiment is tried it be-
comes still easier than before. But if, after
it has been very often repeated, the upper
skin should grow so callous and horny as
to become troublesome, washing the parts
affected with very warm water, or hot wine,
will bring away all the shrivelled or parched
epidermis. The flesh, however, will con-
tinue tender and unfit for such business till
it has been frequently rubbed over again
with the same spirit.

." This preparative may be rendered
much stronger and more efficacious, by
mixing equal quantities of spirit of sulphur,
sal ammoniac, essence of rosemary, and
juice of onions.

" The bad effects which frequently swal-
lowing red-hot coals, melted sealing wax,
rosin, brimstone, and other calcined and
inflammable matter, might have had upon
his stomach, were prevented by drinking
plentifully of warm water and oil, as soon
as he left the company, till he had vomited
all up again."

My author further adds, that any person
who is possessed of this secret, may safely
walk over burning coals, or red-hot plough-
shares ; and he fortifies his assertion by the
example of blacksmiths and forgemen,
many of whom acquire such a degree of
callosity, by often handling hot things,
that they will carry a glowing bar of iron
in their naked hands, without hurt.

Whether Mr. Powell will take it kindly
of me thus to have published his secre:,
cannot tell ; but as he now begins to d~tf
into years, has no children that I know cf,
and may die suddenly, or without making
a will, I think it is a great pity so genteel
an occupation should become one of the
artes perditce, as possibly it may, if proper
care is not taken ; and therefore hope, after
this information, some true-hearted English-
man will take it up again for the honour of
his country, when he reads in the news-
papers, Yesterday died, much lamented, the
famous Mr. Powell. He was the best, if
not the only fire-eater in this toorld, and it
is greatly to be feared his art is dead with
him.

Notwithstanding the preceding disclosure
of Powell's " grand secret," he continued
to maintain his good name and reputation
till after Dr. Johnson was pensioned, in the
year 1762. We are assured of the fact by
the internal evidence of the following ar-
ticle, preserved by a collector of odd things,
who obtained it he knew not how :

GENIUS UNREWARDED.

We have been lately honoured with the
presence of the celebrated Mr. Powell,
who, I suppose, must formerly have existed
in a comet ; and by one of those unfore-
seen accidents which sometimes happen to
the most exalted characters, has dropped
from its tail.

His common food is brimstone and fire,
which he licks up as eagerly as a hungry
peasant would a mess of pottage ; he feeds
on this extraordinary diet before princes
and peers, to their infinite satisfaction ; and
such is his passion for this terrible element,
that if he were to come hungry into your
kitchen, while a sirloin was roasting, he
would eat up the fire, and leave the beef.

It is somewhat surprising, that the friends
of real merit have not yet promoted him,
living, as we do, in an age favourable to
men of genius : Mr. Johnson has been re-
warded with a pension for writing, and
Mr. Sheridan for speaking well ; but Mr.
Powell, who eats well, has not yet been
noticed by any administration. Obliged to
wander from place to place, instead o<
indulging, himself in private with his fa-
vourite dish, he is under the uncomfortable
necessity of eating in public, and helping
himself from the kitchen fire of some paltry
alehouse in the country.

O tempora ! O mores ! *

Lounger's Common Place Book

air

THE TABLE BOOK.

318

rf) jfafr, at iSrougft, OTestmordartfc

For the Table Book

This fair is held always on the second
Thursday in March : it is a good one for
cattle ; and, in consequence of the great
show, the inhabitants are obliged to shut
up their windows; for the cattle and the
drivers are stationed in all parts of the
town, and few except the jobbers venture
out during the time of selling.

From five to six o'clock the preceding
evening, carts, chiefly belonging to York-
shire clothiers, begin to arrive, and con-
tinue coming in until the morning, when,
at about eight or nine, the cattle fair be-
gins, and lasts till three in the afternoon.
Previously to any article being sold, the
fair is proclaimed in a manner depicted
jolerably well in the preceding sketch. At
ten, two individuals, named Matthew Horn

VOL. T. J 1 .

and John Deighton, having furnished them-
selves with a fiddle and clarinet,walk through
the different avenues of the town three
times, playing, as they walk, chiefly " God
save the King ;" at the end of this, some
verses are repeated, which I have not the
pleasure of recollecting; but I well remem-
ber, that thereby the venders are autho-
rized to commence selling. After it is re-
ported through the different stalls that
" they've walked the fair," business usually
commences in a very brisk manner.

Mat. Horn has the best cake booth in the
fair, and takes a considerable deal more
money than any " spice wife," fas women
are called who attend to these dainties.)
Jack Deighton is a shoemaker, and a tole-
rably good musician. Coals are also
brought for sale, which, with cattle, mainly
constitute the morning fair.

319

THE TABLE BOOK.

At the close of the cattle fair, the town is
swept clean, and lasses walk about with their
" sweethearts," and the fair puts on another
appearance. "Cheap John's here the day,"
with his knives, combs, bracelets, &c. &c.
The " great Tom Mathews," with his gal-
lanty show, generally contrives to pick up
a pretty bit of money by his droll ways.
Then " Here's spice Harry, gingerbread,
Harry Harry Harry !" from Richmond,
with his five-and-twenty lumps of ginger-
bread for sixpence. Harry stands in a
cart, with his boxes of " spice " beside him,
attracting the general attention of the whole
fair, (though he is seldomer here than at
Brough-hill fair.) There are a few shows, viz.
Scott's sleight of hand, horse performances,
8cc. &c. ; and, considering the size of the
town, it has really a very merry-spent fair.
At six o'clock dancing begins in nearly all
the public-houses, and lasts the whole of
" a merry neet."

Jack Deighton mostly plays at the
greatest dance, namely, at the Swan inn ;
and his companion, Horn, at one of the
others ; the dances are merely jigs, three
reels, and four reels, and country dances,
and 710 more than three sets can dance at a
time. It is a matter of course to give the
fiddler a penny or two-pence each dance ;
sometimes however another set slips in
after the tune's begun, and thus trick the
player. By this time nearly all the stalls
are cleared away, and the " merry neet " is
the only place to resort to for amusement.
The fiddle and clarinet are to be heard
every where ; and it is astonishing what
money is taken by the fiddlers. Some of
the " spice wives," too, stop till the next
morning, and go round with their cakes at
intervals, which they often sell more of than
before.

At this festival at Brough, the husband-
men have holiday, and many get so tipsy
that they are frequently turned off from
their masters. Several of the " spice
wives " move away in the afternoon to
Kirby Stephen, where there is a very large
fair, better suited to their trade, for it com-
mences on the day ensuing. Unfortunately,
I was never present at the proclamation.
From what I saw, I presume it is in con-
sequence of a charter, and that these people
offer their services that the fair-keepers may
commence selling their articles sooner. I
never heard of their being paid for their
trouble. They are constantly attended by
a crowd of people, who get on the carts
and booths, and, at the end, set up a loud
huzza !"

W. H. H.

THE TWELVE GEMS

OF THE TWELVE MONTHS.

For the Table Book.

It is a Polish superstition, that each
month has a particular gem attached to it,
which governs it, and is supposed to influ-
ence the destiny of persons born in that
month; it is therefore customary among
friends, and lovers particularly, to present
each other, on their natal day, with some
trinket containing their tutelary gem, ac-
companied with its appropriate wish ; this
kind fate, or perhaps kinder fancy, gene-
rally contrives to realize according to their
expectations.

JANUARY.

Jacinth, or Garnet denotes constancy and
fidelity in every engagement.

FEBRUARY.

Amethyst preserves mortals from strong
passions, and ensures peace of mind.

MARCH.

Bloodstone denotes courage and secrecy
in dangerous enterprises.

APRIL.

Sapphire, or Diamond denotes repentance
and innocence.

MAY.
Emerald, successive love.

JUNE.
Agate ensures long-life and health.

JULY.

Ruby, or Cornelian ensures the forgetful-
ness or cure of evils springing from friend-
ship or love.

AUGUST.
Sardonic ensures conjugal felicity.

SEPTEMBER.

Chrysolite preserves from, or cures folly.
OCTOBER.

Aquamarine, or Opal denotes misfortune
and hope.

NOVEMBER.
Topaz ensures fidelity and friendship.

DECEMBER.

Turquoise, or Malakite denotes the most
brilliant success and happiness in every
circumstance of life.

. M. S.

321

THE TABLE BOOK.

No. VIII.

[From the "Game at Chess," a Comedy,
by Thomas Middleton, 1624.]

Popish Priest to a great Court Lady,
whom he hopes to make a Convert of.

Let me contemplate ;

With holy wonder season my access,

And by degrees approach the sanctuary

Of umnatch'd beauty, set in grace and goodness.

Amongst the daughters of men 1 have not found

4 more Catholical aspect. That eye

Doth promise single life, and meek obedience.

Upon those lips (the sweet fresh buds of youth)

The holy dew of prayer lies, like pearl

Dropt from the opening eyelids of the morn

Upon the bashful rose. How beauteously

A gentle fast (not rigorously imposed)

Would look upon that cheek ; and how delightful

The courteous physic of a tender penance,

(Whose utmost cruelty should not exceed

The first fear of a bride), to beat down frailty 1

("From the "Virgin Widow," a Comedy,
1649 ; the only production, in that kind,
of Francis Quarles, Author of the Em-
blems.]

Song.

How blest are they that waste their weary hoars

In solemn groves and solitary bowers,

Where neither eye nor ear

Can see or hear

The frantic mirth

And false delights of frolic earth ;

Where they may sit, and pant,

And breathe their pursy souls ;

Where neither grief consumes, nor griping want

Afflicts, nor sullen care contronls.

Away, false joys ; ye mnrther where ye kiss :

There is no heaven to that, no life to this.

[From " Adrasta," a Tragi -comedy, by
John Jones, 1635.]

Dirge.

Die, die, ah die 1

We all must die :

'Tis Fate's decree ;

Then ask not why.

When we were framed, the Fates consulted!/

Did make this law, that all things born should die.

Yet Nature strove,

And did deny

We should be slaves

To Destiny.

At which, they heapt

Such raitery;

That Nature's telf

Did wish to die :

And thank their goodness, that they would forest*

To end our cares with such a mild decree.

Another.

Come, Lovers, bring your cares,
Bring sigh-perfumed sweets ;
Bedew the grave with tears,
Where Death with Virtue meets.
Sigh for the hapless hour,
That knit two hearts in one ;
And only gave Love power
To die, when 'twas begun.

[From " Tancred and Gismund," acted be-
fore the Court by the Gentlemen of the
Inner Temple, 1591.]

A Messenger brings to Gismnnd a cup
from the King her Father, enclosing the
heart of her Lord, whom she had espoused
without his sanction.

Mets. Thy father, O Queen, here in this cup hath

ent

The thing to joy and comfort thee withal,
Which thou lovedst best : ev'n as thou wast content
To comfort him with his best joy of all.

Oit. I thank my father, and thee, gentle Squire ;
For this thy travail ; take thou for thy pains
This bracelet, and commend me to the King.
* * *

So, now is come the long-expected hour,
The fatal hour I have so looked for.
Now hath my father satisfied his thirst
With guiltless blood, which he so coveted.
What brings this cup? aye me, I thought no less ;
It is my Earl's, my County's pierced heart.
Dear heart, too dearly hast thou bought my love.
Extremely rated at too high a price.
Ah my dear heart, sweet wast thou in thy life.
But in thy death thou provest passing sweet.
A fitter hearse than this of beaten gold
Could not be lotted to so good a heart.
My father therefore well provided thus
To close and wrap thee up in massy gold
And therewithal to send thee unto me.
To whom of duty thou dost best belong.
My father hath in all his life bewrayed
A princely care and tender love to me *
But this surpasseth, in his latter days
To send me this mine own dear heart to me.
Wert not thou mine, dear heart, whilst that my lov
Danced and play'd upon thy golden strings?
Art thou not mine, dear heart, now that my love
Is fled to heaven, and got him golden wings ?
Thou art mine own, and still mine own shall b.
Therefore my father sendeth thee to me.
Ah pleasant harbourer of my heart's thought I
Ah sweet delight, the quickener of my soul !
Seven times accursed be the hand that wrought

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324

Thee this despite, to mangle thee so foul
Vet in this wound I see my own true love,
And in this wound thy magnanimity,
And in this wound I see thy constancy.
Go, gentle heart, go rest thee in thy tomb ;
Receive this token as thy last farewell.

She kistcth it.

Thy own true heart anon will follow thee,
Which panting hasteth for thy company.
Thus hast thou run, poor heart, thy mortal race,
And rid thy life from fickle fortune's snares,
Thus hast thou lost this world and worldly cares ,
And of thy foe, to honour thee withal,
Receiv'd a golden grave to thy desert.
Nothing doth want to thy just funeral,
But my salt tears to wash thy bloody wound ;
Which to the end thou mightst receive, behold,
My father sends thee in this cup of gold :
And thou shall have them ; though I was resolved
To shed no tears ; but with a cheerful face
Once did I think to wet thy funeral
Only with blood, and with no weeping eye.
This done, my soul forthwith shall fly to thee ;
For therefore did my father send thee me.

Nearly a century after the date of this
Drama, Dryden produced his admirable
version of the same story from Boccacio.
The speech here extracted may be compared
with the corresponding passage in the Si-
gismonda and Guiscardo, with no disad-
vantage to the elder performance. It is
quite as weighty, as pointed, and as pas-
sionate.

C. L.

THE DEAN OF BADAJOS.
BY THE ABBE BLANCHET.

The dean of the cathedral of Badajos
was more learned than all the doctors of
Salamanca, Coimbra, and Alcala, united ;
he understood all languages, living and
dead, and was perfect master of every
science divine and human, except that,
unfortunately, he had no knowledge of
magic. He was inconsolable when he re-
flected on his ignorance in that sublime
art, till he was told that a very able ma-
gician resided in the suburbs of Toledo,
named don Torribio. He immediately
saddled his mule, departed for Toledo, and
aiighted at the door of no very superb
dwelling, the habitation of that great man.

" Most reverend magician," said he,
addressing himself to the sage, " I am
the c'ean of Badajos. The learned men of
Spain all allow me to be their superior ;

but I am come to request from you a much
greater honour, that of becoming your
pupil. Deign to initiate me in the mys-
teries of your art, and doubt not but jou
shall receive a grateful acknowledgment,
suitable to the benefit conferred, and your
own extraoidinary merit."

Don Torribio was not very polite, though
he valued himself on being intimately ac-
quainted with the highest company below.
He told the dean he was welcome to seek
elsewhere for a master; for that, for his
part, he was weary of an occupation which
produced nothing but compliments and
promises, and that he should but dishonour
the occult sciences by prostituting them to
the ungrateful.

" To the ungrateful !" exclaimed the dean :
" has then the great don Torribio met
with persons who have proved ungrateful ?
And can he so far mistake me as to rank
me with such monsters?" He then repeated
all the maxims and apophthegms winch he
had read on the subject of gratitude, and
every refined sentiment his memory could
furnish. In short, he talked so well, that
the conjuror, after having considered a
moment, confessed he could refuse nothing
to a man of such abilities, and so ready at
pertinent quotations.

" Jacintha," said don Torribio to his old
woman, " lay down two partridges to the
fire. I hope my friend the dean will do
me the honour to sup with me to night."
"At the same time he took him by the hand
and led him into the cabinet ; when here, he
touched his forehead, uttering three mys-
terious word?, which the reader will please
to remember, " Ortobolan, Pistafrier,
Onagriouf." Then, without further pre-
paration, he began to explain, with all
possible perspicuity, the introductory ele-
ments of his profound science. The new
disciple listened with an attention which
scarcely permitted him to breathe ; when,
on a sudden, Jacintha entered, followed by
a little old man in monstrous boots, and
covered with mud up to the neck, who
desired to speak with the dean on very
important business. This was the postilion
of his uncle, the bishop of Badajos, who
had been sent express after him, and who
had galloped without ceasing quite to
Toledo, before he could overtake him. He
came to bring him information that, some
hours after his departure, his grace had
been attacked by so violent an apoplexy
that the most terrible consequences were
to be apprehended. The dean heartily,
that is inwardly, (so as to occasion no
scandal,) execrated the disorder, the patient,

325

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and the courier, who had certainly all three
chosen the most impertinent time possible.
He dismissed the postilion, bidding him
make haste back to Badajos, whither he
tvould presently follow him; and instantly
returned to his lesson, as if there were
Do such things as either uncles or apo-
plexies.

A few days afterwards the dean again
received news from Badajos : but this was
worth hearing. The principal chanter, and
two old canons, came to inform him that his
uncle, the right reverend bishop, had
been taken to heaven to receive the reward
of his piety; and the chapter, canonically
assembled, had chosen him to fill the vacant
bishopric, and humbly requested he would
console, by his presence, the afflicted church
of Badajos, now become his spiritual bride.

Don Torribio, who was present at this
harangue, endeavoured to derive advantage
from what he had learned ; and taking
aside the new tishop, after naving paid
him a well-turned compliment on his pro-
motion, proceeded to inform him that he
had a son, named Benjamin, possessed of
much ingenuity, and good inclination, but
in whom he had never perceived either
taste or talent for the occult sciences. He
had, therefore, he said, advised him to turn
his thoughts towards the church, and he
had now, he thanked heaven, the satisfac-
tion to hear him commended as one of the
most deserving divines among all the
clergy of Toledo. He therefore took the
liberty, most humbly, to request his grace
to bestow on don Benjamin the deanery of
Badajos, which he could not retain together
with his bishopric.

" I am very unfortunate," replied the
prelate, apparently somewhat embarrassed ;
" you will, I hope, do me the .justice to
believe that nothing could give me so great
a pleasure as to oblige you in every request ;
but the truth is, I have a cousin to whom I
am heir, an old ecclesiastic, who is good
for nothing but to be a dean, and if I do
not bestow on him this benefice, I must
embroil myself with my family, which would
be far from agreeable. But," continued
fie, in an affectionate manner, " will you
Hot accompany me to Badajos ? Can you be
so cruel as to forsake me at a moment when
Jt is in my power to be of service to you ?
Be persuaded, my honoured master, we
will go together. Think of nothing but the
improvement of your pupil, and leave me
to provide for don Benjamin ; nor doubt,
out sooner or later, I will do more for him
than you expect. A paltry deanery in the
lemotest part of Estremadura is not a

benefice suitable to the son of such a man
as yourself."

The canon law would, no do'Vbt, have
construed the prelate's offer into simony.
The pioposal however was accepted, nor
vas any scruple made by either of these
two very intelligent persons. Don Torribio
followed his illustrious pupil to Badajos,
where he had an elegant apartment as-
signed him in the episcopal palace ; and
was treated with the utmost respect by the
diocese as the favourite of his grace, and a
kind of grand vicar. Under the tuition of
so able a master the bishop of Badajos
inade a rapid progress in the occult sciences.
At first he gave himself up to them, with
an ardour which might appear excessive;
but this intemperance grew by degrees
more moderate, and he pursued them with
so much prudence that his magical studie"
never interfered with the duties of his
diocese. He was well convinced of the-
truth of a maxim, very important to be
remembered by ecclesiastics, whether ad-
dicted to sorcery, or only philosophers and
admirers of literature that .it is not suffi-
cient to assist at learned nocturnal meetings,
or adorn the mind with embellishments of
human science, but that it is also the duty
of divines to point out to others the way
to heaven, and plant in the minds of their
hearers, wholesome doctrine and Christian
morality. Regulating his conduct by these
commendable principles, this learned pre-
late was celebrated throughout Christendom
for his merit and piety : and, " when he
least expected such an honour," was pro-
moted to the archbishopric of Compostella.
The people and clergy of Badajos lamented,
as may be supposed, an event by which
they were deprived of so worthy a pastor ;
and the canons of the cathedral, to testify
their respect, unanimously conferred on
him the honour of nominating his suc-
cessor.

Don Torribio did not neglect so alluring
an opportunity to provide for his son. He
requested the bishopric of the new arch-
bishop, and was refused with all imaginable
politeness. He had, he said, the greatest
veneration for his old master, and was both
sorry arid ashamed it was " not in his
power" to grant a thing which appeared so
very a trifle, but, in fact, don Ferdinand de
Lara, constable of Castile, had asked the
bishopric for his natural son ; and though
he had never seen that nobleman, he had,
he said, some secret, important, and what
was more, very ancient obligations to him.
It was therefore an indispensable duty to
prefer an old benefactor to a new one

THE TABLE BOOK.

328

But don Torribio ought not <o be discou-
raged at this proof of his justice ; as he
might learn by that, what he had to expect
when his turn arrived, which should cer-
tainly be the first opportunity. This anec-
dote concerning the ancient obligations of
the archbishop, the magician had the good-
ness to believe, and rejoiced, as much as
he was able, that his interests were sacri-
ficed to those of don Ferdinand.

Notlfing was now thought of but pre-
parations for their departure to Compostella,
where they were to reside. These, how-
ever, were scarcely worth the trouble,
considering the short time they were des-
tined to remain there ; for at the end of a
few months one of the pope's chamberlains
arrived, who brought the archbishop a
cardinal's cap, with an epistle conceived in
the most respectful terms, in which his
holiness invited him to assist, by his
counsel, in the government of the Christian
world ; permitting him at the same time
to dispose of his mitre in favour of whom
he pleased. Don Torribio was not at
Compostella when the courier of the holy
father arrived. He had been to see his
son, who still continued a priest in a small
parish at Toledo. But he presently re-
turned, and was not put to the trouble of
asking for the vacant archbishopric. The
prelate ran to meet him with open arms,
" My dear master," said he, " I have two

?'eces of good news to relate at once,
our disciple is created a cardinal, and
your son shall shortly be advanced to
the same dignity. I had intended in the
mean time to bestow upon him the arch-
bishopric of Compostella, but, unfortunately
for him, and for me, my mother, whom we
left at Badajos, has, during your absence,
written me a cruel letter, by which all my
measures have been disconcerted. She will
not be pacified unless I appoint for my
successor the archdeacon of my former
church, don Pablas de Salazar, her in-
timate friend and confessor. She tells me
it will " occasion her death" if she should
not be able to obtain preferment for her
dear father in God. Shall I be the death
of my mother ?"

Don Torribio was not a person who
could incite or urge his friend to be guilty
of parricide, nor did he indulge himself in
the least resentment against the mother of
the prelate. To say the truth, however,
this mother was a good kind of woman,
nearly superannuated. She lived quietly
with her cat and her maid servant, and
scarcely knew the name of her confessor.
Was it likely, thon, that she had procured

don Pablas his archbishopric ? Was it not
more than probable that he was indebted
for it to a Gallician lady, his cousin, at
once devout and handsome, in whose
company his grace the archbishop had
frequently been edified during his residence
at Compostella? Be this as it may, don
Torribio followed his eminence to Rome.
Scarcely had he arrived at that city ere the
pope died. The conclave met all the
voices of the sacred college were in favour
of the Spanish cardinal. Behold him there-
fore pope.

Immediately after the ceremony of his
exaltation, don Torribio, admitted to a
secret audience, wept with joy while he
kissed the feet of his dear pupil. He
modestly represented his long and faithful
services, reminded his holiness of those
inviolable promises which he had renewed
before he entered the conclave, and instead
of demanding the vacant hat for don Ben-
jamin, finished with most exemplary mo-
deration by renouncing every ambitious
hope. He and his son, he said, would
both esteem themselves too happy if his
holiness would bestow on them, together
with his benediction, the smallest temporal
benefice ; such as nn annuity for life, suf-
ficient for the few vvauts of an ecclesiastic
and a philosopher.

During this harangue the sovereign
pontiff considered within himself how to
dispose of his preceptor. He reflected he
was no longer necessary ; that he already
knew as much of magic as was sufficient
for a pope. After weighing every circum-
stance, his holiness concluded that don
Torribio was not only an useless, but a
troublesome pedant ; and this point deter-
mined, he replied in the following words :

" We have learned, with concern, that
under the pretext of cultivating the occult
sciences, you maintain a horrible intercourse
with the spirit of darkness and deceit ; we
therefore exhort you, as a father, to expiate
your crime by a repentance proportionable
to its enormity. Moreover, we enjoin you
to depart from the territories of the church
within three days, under penalty of being
delivered over to the secular arm, and its
merciless flames."

Don Torribio, without being alarmed,
immediately repeated the three mysterious
words which the reader was desired to
remember ; and going to a window, cried
out with all his force, " Jacintha, you need
spit but one partridge ; for my friend, the
dean, will not sup here to-night."

This was a thunderbolt to the imaginary
pope. He immediately recovered fiom the

32&

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330

trance, into which be had been thrown by
the three mysterious words. He perceived
that, instead of being in the Vatican, he
was still at Toledo, in the closet of don
Torribio ; and he saw, by the clock, it was
not a complete hour since he entered that
fatal cabinet, where he had been entertained
by such pleasant dreams.

In that short time the dean of Badajos
had imagined himself a magician, a bishop,
a cardinal, and a pope ; and he found at
last that he was only a dupe and a knave.
All was illusion, except the proofs he had
given of his deceitful and evil heart. He
instantly departed, without speaking a
single word, and rinding his mule where he
had left her, returned to Badajos.

For the Table Book.

" You look but oa the outside of affairs."

KINO JOHN.

Oh ! why do we wake from the alchymist's dream
To relapse to the visions of Doctor Spurzheim ?
And why from the heights of philosophy fall,
For the profitless plans of Phrenology Gall ?

To what do they tend ?

What interest befriend ?
By disclosing all vices, we burn away shame,

And virtuous endeavour

Is fruitless for ever,
If it lose the reward that self-teaching may claim.

On their skulls let the cold-blooded theorists seek
Indications of soul, which we read on the cheek ;
In the glance in the smile in the bend of the brow
We dare not tell when, and we cannot tell how.

More pleasing our task,

No precepts we ask ;

'Tis the tact, 'tis the instinct, kind Nature has lent,
For the guide and direction of sympathy meant.
And altho' in our cause no learn'd lecturer proses,
We reach the same end, thro' a path strew'd with roses.
'Twixt the head and the hand, be the contact allow'd,
Of the road thro' the eye to the heart we are proud.
When we feel like the brutes, like the brutes we may

show it,

But no lumps on the head mark the artist or poet.
The gradations of genius you never can find,
Since no matter can mark the refinements of mind.
'Tis the coarser perceptions alone that you trace,
But what swells in the heart must be read in the face.
That index of feeling, that key to the sou],
No art can disguise, no reserve can control.
*Tis the Pharos of love, tost on oceans of doubt,
'Tis the Beal-nre of rage when good sense puts about.
A.3 the passions may paint it a heaven or a hell.
And 'tis always a study not model as well.

TO THE RHONE
For the Table Book

Thou art like our existence, and thy waves.

Illustrious river ! seem the very type
Of those events which drive us to our graves,

Or rudely place us in misfortune's gripe !
Thou art an emblem of our changeful state,

Smooth when the summer magnifies thy chanas.
But rough and cheerless when the winds create

Rebellion, and remorseless winter arms
The elements with ruin I In thy course

The ups and downs of fortune we may trace-
One wave submitting to another's force,

The boldest always foremost in the race :
And thus it is with life sometimes its calm
Is pregnant with enjoyment's sweetest balm ;
At other times, its tempests drive us down
The steep of desolation, while the frown
Of malice haunts us, till the friendlier tomb
Protects the victim she would fain consume !

B. W. B.
Upper Park Terrace.

ADVICE.

Would a man wish to offend his friends?
let him give them advice.

Would a lover know the surest method
by which to lose his mistress? let him
give her advice.

Would a courtier terminate his sove-
reign^ partiality? let him offer advice.

In short, are we desirous to be univer-
sally hated, avoided, and despised, the
means are always in our power. We have
but to advise, and the consequences are in-
fallible.

The friendship of two young ladies
though apparently founded on the rock a
eternal attachment, terminated in the fol-
lowing manner : " My dearest girl, I do
not think your figure well suited for danc-
ing ; and, as a sincere friend of yours, I
advise you to refrain from it in future." The
other naturally affected by such a mark of
sincerity, replied, " I feel very much obliged
to you, my dear, for your advice ; this
proof of your friendship demands some re-
turn : I would sincerely recommend you
to relinquish your singing, as some of your
upper notes resemble the melodious squeak-
ing of the feline race."

The advice of neither was followed the
one continued to sing, and the other to
dance and they never met but as ene-
mies.

THE TABLE BOOK.

332

Commp % of 29urf)am.

For the Table Book.

Tommy Sly, whose portrait is above, is
a well-known eccentric character in the city
of Duiham, where he has been a resident
in the poor-house for a number of years.
We knew not whether his parents were rich
r poor, where he was born, or how he
spent his early years all is alike " a mys-
tery ;" and all that can be said of him is,
that he is " daft." Exactly in appearance
as he is represented in the engraving,
he dresses in a coat of many colours, at-
tends the neighbouring villages with spice,
sometimes parades the streets of Durham
with " pipe-clay for the lasses," and on
" gala days" wanders up and down with a
cockade in his hat, beating the city drum,
which is good-naturedly lent him by the
corporation. Tommy, as worthless and
insignificant as he seems, is nevertheless

" put out to use :" his name has often
served as a signature to satirical effusions ;
and at election times he has been occasion-
ally employed by the Whigs to take the dis-
tinguished lead of some grand Tory proces-
sion, and thereby render it ridiculous; and
by way of retaliation, he has been hired by
the Tories to do the same kind office for
the Whigs. He is easily bought or sold,
for he will do any thing for a few halfpence.
To sum up Tommy's character, we may say
with truth, that he is a harmless and in-
offensive man ; and if the reader of this
brief sketch should ever happen to be in
Durham, and have a few halfpence to spare,
he cannot bestow his charity better than by
giving it to the " Custos Rotulorum " of
the place as Mr. Humble once ludicrously
called him poor TOMMY SLY.

Ex DUNELMEHSIS.

THE TABLE BOOK.

334

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
BURIAL FEES.

The following particulars from a paper
before me, in the hand-writing of Mr.
Cell, were addressed to his " personal re-
presentative" for instruction, in his absence,
during a temporary retiiement from official
duty in August, 1810.

FEES

In the Cloisters 19 6

If a grave-stone more 440

In the Abbey 54 18

If a grave-stone more 770

Peers, both in the Cloisters and

Abbey, the degree of rank

making a difference, Mr, Cat-
ling had perhaps write to

Mr. Gell, at post-office,

Brighton, telling the party

that it will be under l50.

They might, therefore, leave

that sum, or engage to pay

Mr. Gell.
Mt. Glanvill can tell about the

decorations.

Penalty for burying in linen -

Always take full particulars of
age and death.

2 10

The abbey-church of Westminster may
be safely pronounced the most interesting
ecclesiastical structure in this kingdom.
Considered as a building, its architecture,
rich in the varieties of successive ages, and
marked by some of the most prominent
beauties and peculiarities of the pointed
style, affords an extensive field of gratifica-
tion to the artist and the antiquary. Rising
in solemn magnificence amidst the palaces
and dignified structures connected with the
seat of imperial government, it forms a
distinguishing feature in the metropolis of
England. Its history, as connected with a
great monastic establishment, immediately
under the notice of our ancient monarchs,
and much favoured by their patronage,
abounds in important and curious particu-
lars.

But this edifice has still a stronger
claim to notice it has been adopted as a
national structure, and held forward as an
object of national pride. Whilst contem-
plating these venerable walls, or exploring

the long aisles and enriched chapels, the
interest is not confined to the customary
recollections of sacerdotal pomp : ceremo-
nies of more impressive interest, and of the
greatest public importance, claim a priority
of attention. The grandeur of architectural
display in this building is viewed with ad-
ditional reverence, when we remember that
the same magnificence of effect has imparted
increased solemnity to the coronation of
our kings, from the era of the Norman
conquest.

At a very early period, this abbey-church
was selected as a place of burial for the
English monarchs ; and the antiquary and
the student of history view their monu-
ments as melancholy, but most estimable
sources of intelligence and delight. In the
vicinity of the ashes of royalty, a grateful
and judicious nation has placed the remains
of such of her sons as have been most
eminent for patriotic worth, for valour, or
for talent ; and sculptors, almost from the
earliest period in which their art was ex-
ercised by natives of England, down to the
present time, have here exerted their best
efforts, in commemoration of those thus
celebrated for virtue, for energy, or for in-
tellectual power.*

23ap.

THE LEEK.

Written by WILLIAM LEATHART, Llyivydd.

Sung at the Second Anniversary of the
Society of UNDEB CYMRY, St. David's
Day, 1825.

AIR Pen Rhaw.
I.

If bards tell true, and hist'ry's page
Is right, why, then, I would engage
To tell you all about the age,

When Caesar used to speak ;
When dandy Britons painted, were
Dress'd in the skin of wolf or bear,
Or in their own, if none were there,

Before they wore THE LEEK.
Ere Alfred hung in the highway,
His chains of gold by night or day ;
And never had them stol'n away,

His subjects were so meek.
When wolves they danc'd o'er field and fen ;
When austere Druids roasted men ;
But that was only now and then.

Ere Welshmen wore THE LEEK.

Mr. Brayley ; in Neale's Hist, and Antiq. of WsV
minster Abbey

335

THE TABLE BOOK.

336

"II.

Like all good things this could not last.
And Saxon gents, as friends, were ask'd,
Cur Pictish foes .to drive them past

The wall : then home to seek,
Instead of home, the cunning chaps
Resolv'd to stop and dish the APs,
Now here they are, and in their caps

To day they wear THE LEEK.
Yet tho' our dads, they tumbled out,
And put each other to the rout,
We sons will push the bowl about ;

We're here for fun or freak.
Let nought but joy within us dwell ;
Let mirth and glee each bosom swell ;
And bards, in days to come, shall tell,

How Welshmen love THE LEEK.

THE WELSH HARP.

MR. LEATHART is the author of " Welsh
Pennillion, with Translations into English,
adapted for singing to the Harp," an
eighteenpenny pocket-book of words of
ancient and modern melodies in Welsh and
English, with a spirited motto from Mr.
Leigh Hunt. " The Ancient Britons had
in them the seeds of a great nation even in
our modern sense of the word. They had
courage, they had reflection, they had ima-
gination. Power at last made a vassal of
their prince. There were writers in those
times, harpers, and bards, who made the
instinct of that brute faculty turn cruel out
of fear. They bequeathed to their country-
men the glory of their memories ; they and
time together have consecrated their native
hills, so as they never before were conse-
crated."

According to the prefatory dissertation
of Mr. Leathart's pleasant little manual,
" Pennillion singing " is the most social
relic of ancient minstrelsy in existence. It
originated when bard ism flourished in this
island ; when the object of its members
was to instil moral maxims through the
medium of poetry, and the harp was then,
as it still is, the instrument to which they
chanted. There is evidence of this use of
the harp in Caesar and other Latin writers.
The bards were priest and poet; the harp
was their inseparable attribute, and skill in
playing on it an indispensable qualification.
'A knowledge of this instrument was neces-
sary, in order to establish a claim to the
title of gentleman ; it occupied a place in
every mansion ; and every harper was en-
titled to valuable privileges. A " Pen-
cerdd," or chief of song, and a " Bardd
Feulu," or domestic bard, were among the
necessary appendages to the king's court.

The former held his lands free, was stationed
by the side of the " judge of the palace,"
and lodged with the heir presumptive. He
was entitled to a fee on the tuition of all
minstrels, and to a maiden fee on the mar-
riage of a minstrel's daughter. The fine for
insulting him was six cows and eighty
pence. The domestic bard also held his
land free ; he had a harp from the king,
which he was enjoined never to part with ;
a gold ring from the queen, and a beast out
of every spoil. In the palace he sang im-
mediately after the chief of song, and in
fight at the front of the battle. It is still
customary for our kings to maintain a Welsh
minstrel.

One of the greatest encouragers of music
was Gruffydd ap Cynan, a sovereign of
Wales, who, in the year 1 100, summoned a
grand congress to revise the laws of min-
strelsy, and remedy any abuse that might
have crept in. In order that it should be
complete, the most celebrated harpers in
Ireland were invited to assist, and the re-
sult was the establishing the twenty-four
canons of music ; the MS. of which is
in the library of the Welsh school, in
Gray's Inn-lane. It comprises several tunes
not now extant, or rather that cannot be
properly deciphered, and a few that are
well known at the present day. A tune is
likewise there to be found, which a note
informs us was usually played before king
Arthur, when the salt was laid upon the
table ; it is called " Gosteg yr Halen," or
the Prelude of the Salt.

The regulations laid down in the above
MS. are curious. A minstrel having en-
tered a place of festivity was not allowed
to depart without leave, or to rove about at
any time, under the penalty of losing his
fees. If he became intoxicated and com-
mitted any mischievous trick, he was fined,
imprisoned, and divested of his fees for
seven years. Only one could attend a
person worth ten pounds per annum, or
two a person worth twenty pounds per an-
num, and so forth. It likewise ordains the
quantum of musical knowledge necessary
for the taking up of the different degrees,
for the obtaining of which three years seems
to have been allowed.

The Welsh harp, or " Telyn," consists of
three distinct rows of strings, without
pedals, and was, till the fifteenth century,
strung with hair. The modern Welsh harp
has two rows of strings and pedals.

Giraldus Cambrensis, in his Itinerary,
speaking of the musical instruments of the
Welsh, Irish, and Scotch, says, Wales uses
the harp, " crwth," and bag-pipes; Scot-

337

THE TATTLE BOOK.

338

land the harp, "crwth," and drum; Ireland
the harp and drum only ; and, of all, Wales
only retains her own.

The " crwth " is upon the same principle
as the violin ; it has however six strings,
four of which are played upon with a bow,
the two outer being struck by the thumb as
an accompaniment, or bass ; its tone is a
mellow tenor, but it is now seldom heard,
the last celebrated player having died about
forty years since, and with him, says the
editor of the Cambrian Register, " most
probably the true knowledge of producing
its melodious powers." From the player of
this instrument is derived a name now
common, vrz. " Crowther" and " Crowder"
(Crwthyr) ; it may be translated " fiddler,"
and in this sense it is used by Butler in his
Hudibras.

Within the last few years, the harp has
undergone a variety of improvements, and
it is now the most fashionable instrument ;
yet in Wales it retains its ancient form and
triple strings ; " it has its imperfections,"
observes Mr. Parry, " yet it possesses one
advantage, and that is its unisons,'' which
of course are lost when reduced to a single
row.

There would be much persuasion neces-
sary to induce " Cymru " to relinquish her
old fashioned " Telyn," so reluctant are a
national people to admit of changes. When
the violin superseded the " crwth," they
could not enjoy the improvement.

Pennillion chanting consists in singing
stanzas, either attached or detached, of
various lengths and metre, to any tune
which the harper may play ; for it is irre-
gular, and in fact not allowable, for any
particular one to be chosen. Two, three,
or four bars having been played, the singer
takes it up, and this is done according as
the Pennill, or staaza, may suit ; he must
end precisely with the strain, he therefore
commences in any part he may please. To
the stranger it has the appearance of begin-
ning in the middle of a line or verse, but
this is not the case. Different tunes require
a different number of verses to complete it ;
sometimes only one, sometimes four or six.
It is then taken up by the next, and thus
it proceeds through as many as choose to
join in the pastime, twice round, and ending
with the person that began.

These convivial harp meetings are gene-
rally conducted with great regularity, and
are really social ; all sing if they please, or
all are silent. To some tunes there are a
great number of singers, according to the
ingenuity required in adapting Pennillion
Yet even this custom is on the decline.

In South Wales, the custom has been
long lost ; on its demise they encouraged
song writing and singing, and they are still
accounted the best (without the harp) in
the principality. In North Wales song-
singing was hardly known before the time
of Huw Morus, in the reign of Charles I.,
nor is it now so prevalent as in the south.

In the year 1176, Rhys ap Gruffydd
held a congress of bards and minstrels at
Aberteifi, in which the North Welsh bards
came off as victors in the poetical contest,
and the South Welsh were adjudged to
excel in the powers of harmony.

For the encouragement of the harp and
Pennillion chanting, a number of institu-
tions have lately been formed, and the
liberal spirit with which they are conducted
will do much towards the object ; among
the principal are the " Cymmrodorion," or
Cambrian Societies of Gwynedd, Powys,
Dyfed, Gwent, and London ; the " Gwyned-
digion," and " Canorion," also in London.
The former established so long since as
1771, and the "Undeb Cymry," or United
Welshmen, established in 1823, for the
same purpose. In all the principal towns
of Wales, societies having the same object
in view have been formed, among which
the " Brecon Minstrelsy Society " is par-
ticularly deserving of notice. The harp
and Pennillion singing have at all times
come in for their share of encomium by the
poets, and are still the theme of many a
sonnet in both languages.

From more than a hundred pieces in Mr.
Leathart's " Pennillion," translations of a
few pennills, or stanzas, are taken at ran-
dom, as specimens of the prevailing senti-
ments.

The man who loves the sound of harp,

Of song, and oile, and all that's dear,
Where angels hold their blest abode,

Will cherish all that's cherish'd there.
Bat he who loves not tune nor strain,

Nature to him no love has given,
You'll see him while his days remain,

Hateful both to earth and heaven.

Fsir is yon harp, and sweet the song,
That strays its tuneful strings along,
And would not such a minstrel too.
This heart to sweetest music woo ?
Sweet is the bird's melodious lay
In summer morn upon the spray,
But from my Gweno sweeter far,
The notes of friendship after war.

Woe to him, whose every bliss
Centers in the burthen'd bowl ;

Of all burthens none like this.
Sin's sad burthen on the soul ;

339

THE T/iBLE BOOK.

340

Ti of craft and lies th seeker,
Murder, theft, and wantonness,

Weakens strong men, makes weak weaker,
Shrewd men foolish, foolish less.

Ah 1 what avails this golden coat,
Or all the warblings of my throat,

While I in durance pine ?
Give me again what nature gave,
'Tis all I ask, 'tis all I rave,

Thee, Liberty divine !

To love his language in its pride,
To love his land tho' all deride,

Is a Welshman's ev'ry care,
And love those customs, good and old,
Practised by our fathers bold.

We travel, and each town we pass
Gives manners new, which we admire,

We leave them, then o'er ocean toss'd

Thro' rough or smooth, to pleasure nigher,

Still one thought remains behind,

'Tis home, sweet home, our hearts desire.

Wild in the woodlands, blithe and free,
Dear to the bird is liberty ;
Dear to the babe to be caress'd,
And fondled on his nurse's breast,
Oh 1 could I but explain to thee
How dear is Merlon's land to me.

Low, ye hills, in ocean lie,
That hide fair Merion from mine eye,
One distant view, oh ! let me take.
Ere my longing heart shall break.

Another dress will nature wear
Before again I see my fair;
The smiling fields will flowers bring,
And on the trees the birds will sing ;
Bat still one thing unchang'd shall be,
That is, dear love, my heart for thee.

The original Welsh of these and other
translations, with several interesting parti-
culars, especially the places of weekly harp-
meetings and Pennillion-singing in London,
may be found in Mr. Leathart's agreeable
compendium.

THE WINTER'S MORN.

Artist unseen ! that dipt in frozen dew

Hast on the glittering glass thy pencil laid.
Ere from yon sun the transient visions fade,

Swift let me trace the forms thy fancy drew !

Thy towers and palaces of diamond hue,
Rivers and lakes of lucid crystal made,
Acd hung in air hoar trees of branching- shad-i,

Tbat liquid pearl distil : thy scenes renew,

Whate'er old oards, or jater fictions feign.
Of secret grottos underneath the wave.
Where nereids roof with spar the amber cave ,

Or bowers of bliss, where sport the fairy train,
Who frequent by the moonlight wanderer seen
Circle with radiant gems the dewy green.

SOTHEBY.

MRS. AURELIA SPARR.
For the Table Book.

Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is a maiden lady,
rather past fifty, but fresh and handsome
for her age : she has a strong understand-
ing, a retentive memory, a vast deal of
acquired knowledge, and with all she is the
most disagreeable woman breathing. At
first she is amusing enough to spend an
evening with, for she will tell you anecdotes
of all your acquaintance, and season them
with a degree of pleasantry, which is not
wit, though something like it. But as a
jest-book is the most tiresome reading in
the world, so is a narrative companion the
most wearisome society. What, in short,
is conversation worth, if it be not an ema-
nation from the heart as well as head ; the
result of sympathy and the aliment of
esteem?

Mrs. Aurelia Sparr never sympathized
with any body in her life : inexorable to
weaknesses of every kind, more especially
to those of a tender nature, she is for
ever taxing enthusiasm with absurdity,
and resolving the ebullition of vivacity into
vanity, and the desire to show off. She is
equally severe to timidity, which she for
ever confounds with imbecility. We are
told, that " Gentle dulness ever loved a
joke." Now Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is neither
gentle nor dull ; it would be a mercy to her
hearers if she were either, or both : never-
theless, she chuckles with abundant glee
over a good story, is by no means particular
as to the admission of unpleasant images
and likes it none the worse for being a
little gross. But woe to the unlucky wight
who ventures any glowing allusion to love
and passionate affection in her hearing !
Down come the fulminations of her wrath,
and indecency immorality sensuality
&c. &c. &c. are among the mildest of the
epithets, or, to keep up the metaphor, (a
metaphor, like an actor, should always
come in more than once,)..the bolts which
the tempest of her displeasure hurls down
upon its victim. The story of Paul and

34!

THE TABLE BOOK.

343

Virginia she looks upon as very improper,
while the remembrance of some of the
letters in Humphrey Clinker dimples her
broad face with retrospective enjoyment.

If pronouns had been tangible things,
Mrs. Aurelia Sparr would long ago have
worn out the first person singular. Her
sentences begin as regularly with " I," as
the town-crier's address does with " O yes,"
or as a French letter ends with " 1'assurance
des sentimens distingues." While living
with another lady in daily and inevitable
intercourse, never was she known to say,
" We shall see we shall hear we can go
we must read." It was always " I, I, 1.''
Tu the illusion of her egotism, she once
went so far as to make a verbal monopoly
of the weather, and exclaimed, on seeing
the rosy streaks in the evening sky, " I
think 1 shall have a fine day to-morrow."
If you forget yourself so far, in the queru-
'ous loquacity of sickness, as to tell her of
any ailment, as " My sore-throat is worse
than ever to-night " she does not rejoin,
"What will you take?" or "Colds are
always worse of an evening, it may be
setter to-morrow ;" or propose flannel or
gargle, or any other mode of alleviation,
like an ordinary person ; no ! she flies back
from you to herself with the velocity of a
coiled-up spring suddenly let go ; and says,
" I had just such another sore-throat at
Leicester ten years ago, I remember it was
when I had taken down my chintz bed-
curtains to have them washed and glazed."
Then comes a mammoth of an episode,
huge, shapeless, and bare of all useful mat-
ter : telling all she said to the laundress,
with the responses of the latter. You are
not spared an item of the complete process :
first, you are blinded with dust, then soaked
in lye, then comes the wringing of your
imagination and the calico, then the bitter-
ness of the gall to refresh the colours ; then
you are extended on the mangle, and may
fancy yourself at the court of king Pro-
crustes, or in a rolling-press. All the while
you are wondering how she means to get
round to the matter in question, your sore-
throat. Not she ! she cares no more for
your sore-throat than the reviewers do for a
book with the title of which they head an
article ; your complaint was the peg, and
her discourse the voluminous mantle to be
hung on it. Some people talk with others,
and they are companions; others at their
company, and they are declaimers or sati-
rists ; others to their friends, and they are
conversationists or gossips, according as
they talk of things or persons. Mrs. Aure-
lia Sparr talks neither 'to vou, nor with you,

nor at you. Listen attentively, or show your
weariness by twenty devices of fidgetiness
and preoccupation, it is all the same to
Mrs. Aurelia Sparr. She talks spontane-
ously, from an abstract love of hearing her
own voice ; she can no more help talking,
than a ball can help rolling down an in-
clined plane. She will quarrel with you
at dinner, for she is extremely peevish and
addicted to growling over her meals ; and
by no means so nice as to what comes out
of her mouth as to what goes into it ; and
then, before you can fold your napkin, push
back your chair and try to make good your
escape, she begins to lay open the errors,
failures, and weaknesses of her oldest and
best friends to your cold-blooded inspection,
with as little reserve as an old practitioner
lecturing over a " subject." Things that no
degree of intimacy could justify her in im-
parting, she pours forth to a person whom
she does not even treat as a friend ; but
talk she must, and she had no other topic
at hand. Thus, at the end of a siege, guns
are charged with all sorts of rubbish for lack
of ammunition.

Mrs. Aurelia Sparr not only knows all
the modern languages, but enough o ^Q
ancient to set up a parson, and every di; t
of every county she has ever been in. If
you ask her the name of any thing, she will
give you a polyglot answer ; you may have
the satisfaction to know how the citizens oi
every town and the peasants of every pro-
vince express themselves, on a matter you
may never have occasion to name again
But I earnestly recommend you never to
ask anything; it is better to go without
hearing one thing you do want to hear,
than to be constrained to hear fifty things
that are no more to you than I to Hecuba-
not half so much as Hecuba is to me. Mrs.
Aurelia Sparr is not easy to deal with ;
she looks upon all politeness as affectation,
and all affectation as perfidy : she palsies
all the courtesies of life by a glum air of
disbelief and dissatisfaction. When one
sees nobody else, one forgets that such
qualities as urbanity, grace, and benignity
exist, and is really obliged to say civil
things to one's self, to keep one's hand in.
Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is more eminent as a
chronicler than as a logician ; some of her
conclusions and deductions are not self-
evident. For instance she interprets a rea-
sonable conformity to the dress and man-
ners of persons of other countries, while
sojourning among them, into " hating one's
own country." Command of temper is
" an odious, cold disposition.'' Address,
and dexterity in female works, what good

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344

ladies in England term notability, are
deemed by her " frivolous vanity," &c. &c.
Sic. She has learnt chemistry, and she
distils vexation and bitterness from every
person and every event geometry, and
she can never measure her deportment to
circumstances algebra, merely to multi-
ply the crosses of all whose fate makes them
parallel with her navigation, and she does
but tack from one absurdity to another,
without making any way mathematics,
and she never calculates how much more
agreeable a little good-nature would make
her than all her learning history, and
that of her own heart is a blank per-
spective, without ever learning to place self
at the " vanishing point" and all lan-
guages, without ever uttering in any one of
tfiem a single phrase that could make the
eyes of the hearer glisten, or call a glow on
the cheek of sympathy. Every body allows
that Mrs. Aurelia Sparr is very clever
poor, arid praise, what is it worth ?

OTfne.

EWART'S OLD PORT.
To J. C Y, ESQ.

ON RECEIVING FROM HIM A PRESENT OP
A WINE-STRAINER. 1825.

This life, dear C y, who can doubt ?

Resembles much friend Ewart's * wine ;

When first the ruby drops flow out.
How beautiful, how clear they shine !

And thus awhile they keep their tint,
So free from ev'n a shade, that some

Would smile, did you but dare to hint,
That darker drops would ever come.

But soon, alas, the tide runs short ;

Each minute makes the sad truth plainer;

Till Life, like Ewart's crusty Port,
When near its close, requires a strainer.

This, Friendship, can, alone, supply,

Alone can teach the drops to pass,
If not with all their rosiest dye,

At least, unclouded, through the glass.

Nor, C y, could a boon be mine,

Of which this heart were fonder, vainer,

Than thus, if Life be like old wine,
To have thy friendship for its strainer !

A vender of capital old Port in Swallow-street.

For many years the goodness of Mr.
Ewart's old Port has been duly appreciated
by his private friends. The preceding

verses, in The Times of Monday, (March 5,
1827,) have disclosed "the secret," and
now, probably, he will " blush to find it
fame." The knowledge of his " ruby
drops " should be communicated to all who
find it necessary to " use a little wine for
their stomach's sake, and their often infir-
mities." Can the information be conveyed
in more agreeable lines ?

A NATURAL COMPLIMENT.

As the late beautiful duchess of Devon-
shire was one day stepping out of her car-
riage, a dustman, who was accidentally
standing by, and was about to regale him-
self with his accustomed whiff of tobacco,
caught a glance of her countenance, and
instantly exclaimed, " Love and bless you,
my lady, let me light my pipe in your
eyes !" It is said that the duchess was so
delighted with this compliment, that she
frequently afterwards checked the strain of
adulation, which was constantly offered
to her charms, by saying, " Oh ! after the
dustman's compliment, all others are in-
sipid."

PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ.
BY SIR WILLIAM JONES.

Sweet maid, if thou wonldst charm my sight,
And bid these arms thy neck infold;

That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand.

Boy ! let yon liquid ruby flow,
And bid thy pensive heart be glad,

Whate'er the frowning zealots say :
Tell them their Eden cannot show
A stream so clear as Rocnabad,
A bower so sweet as Mosellay.

O ! when these fair, perfidious maids.
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest,

Their dear destructive charms display ;
Each glance my tender breast invades,
And robs my wounded soul of rest ;
As Tartars seize their deitin'd prey.

In vain with love our bosoms glow
Can all our tears, can all our sighs.

New lustre to those charms impart ?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art ?

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THE TABLE BOOK.

346

Speak not of fate : a)t 1 change the theme,
And talk of odours, talk of wine,

Talk of the flowers that round ns bloom :
Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream :
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,

Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.
Beauty has such resistless power,
That ev'n the chaste Egyptian dame

Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy ;
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came

A youth so lovely and so coy !
But ah, sweet maid ! my counsel hear,
(Youth shall attend when those advise
Whom long experience renders sage)
While music charms the ravish'd ear ;
While sparkling cups delight our eyes,

Be gay ; and scorn the frowns of age.
\VTiat cruel answer have I heard !
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still:

Can aught be cruel from thy lip ?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip ?
Go boldly forth, my simple lay.
Whose accents flow with artless ease,

Like orient pearls at random strung :
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say;
But O ! far sweeter, if they please,
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.

" OUR LIVES AND PROPERTIES."
BY MR. WILLIAM MUTTON, F. A. S. S.

If we survey this little world, vast in our
idea, but small compared to immensity, we
shall find it crusted over with property,
fixed and movable. Upon this crusty
world subsist animals of various kinds ;
one of which, something short of six feet,
moves erect, seems the only one without a
tail, and takes the lead in the command of
this property. Fond of power, and con-
scious that possessions give it, he is ever
attempting, by force, fraud, or laudable
means, to arrive at both.

Fixed property bears a value according
to its situation ; 10,000 acres in a place
like London, and its environs, would be an
immense fortune, such as no man ever pos-
sessed ; while 10,000, in some parts of the
globe, though well covered with timber,
would not be worth a shilling -no king
fo govern, no subject to submit, no market
to exhibit property, no property to exhibit ;
instead of striving to get possession, he
would, if cast on the spot, strive to get
away. Thus assemblages of people mark a
place with value

Movable property is of two sorts ; that
which arises from the earth, with the assist-

ance of man ; and the productions of art,
which wholly arise from his labour. A
small degree of industry supplies the wants
of nature, a little more furnishes the com-
forts of life, and a farther proportion affords
the luxuries. A man, by labour first re-
moves his own wants, and then, with the
overplus of that labour, purchases the
labour of another. Thus, by furnishing a
hat for the barber, the hatter procures a wig
for himself: the tailor, by making a coat
for another, is enabled to buy cloth for his
own It follows, that the larger the num-
ber of people, the more likely to cultivate
a spirit of industry ; the greater that in-
dustry, the greater its produce ; conse-
quently, the more they supply the calls of
others, the more lucrative will be the re-
turns to themselves.

It may be asked, what is the meaning of
the word rich ? Some have termed it, a
little more than a man has ; others, as
much as will content him; others again,
the possession of a certain sum, not very
small. Perhaps all are wrong. A man
may be rich, possessed only of one hundred
pounds ; he may be poor, possessed of one
hundred thousand. He alone is rich,
whose income is more than he uses.

Industry, though excellent, will .perform
but half the work ; she must be assisted by
economy ; without this, a ministerial for-
tune will be defective. These two quali-
ties, separated from each other, like a knife
from the handle, are of little use ; but, like
these, they become valuable when united.
Economy without industry will barely ap-
pear in a whole coat ; industry without
economy will appear in rags. The first is
detrimental to the community, by prevent-
ing the circulation of property ; the last is
detrimental to itself. It is a singular re-
mark, that even industry is sometimes the
way to poverty. Industry, like a new cast
guinea, retains its sterling value ; but, like
that, it will not pass currently till it receives
a sovereign stamp : economy is the stamp
which gives it currency. 1 well knew a
man who began business with 1500/. In-
dustry seemed the end for which he was
made, and in which he wore himself out.
While he laboured from four in the mom-
ing till eight at night, in the making of
gimlets, his family consumed twice his
produce. Had he spent less time at the
anvil, and more in teaching the lessons of
frugality, he might have lived in credit.
Thus the father was ruined by industry,
and his children have, for many }'ears, ap-
peared on the parish books. Some people
are more apt to get than to keep.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

348

Though a man, by his labour, may treat
himself with many things, yet he seldom
grows rich. Riches are generally acquired
by purchasing the labour of others. He
who buys the labour of one hundred people,
may acquire ten times as much as by his
own.

What then has that capricious damsel,
Fortune, to do in this chain of argument?
Nothing. He who has capacity, attention,
and' economy, has a fortune within himself.
She does not command him, he commands
her.

Having explained the word riches, and
pointed out the road to them, let us exa-
mine their use. They enable a man with
great facility to shake off an old friend,
once an equal ; and forbid access to an
inferior, except a toad-eater. Sometimes
they add to his name, the pretty appendage
of Right Honourable, Bart, or Esq. addi-
tions much coveted, which, should he hap-
pen to become an author, are an easy
passport through the gates of fame. His
very features seem to take a turn from his
fortune, and a curious eye may easily read
in his face, the word consequence. They
change the tone of his voice from the sub-
missive to the commanding, in which he
well knows how to throw in a few graces.
His style is convincing. Money is of sin-
gular efficacy ; it clears his head, refines
his sense, points 4iis joke. The weight of
his fortune adds weight to his argument.
If, my dear reader, you have been a silent
spectator at meetings for public business,
or public dinners, you may have observed
many a smart thing said unheeded, by the
man without money ; and many a paltry
one echoed with applause, from the man
with it. The room in silent attention hears
one, while the other can scarcely hear him-
self. They direct a man to various ways of
being carried who is too idle to carry him-
self; nay, they invert the order of things,
for we often behold two men, who seem
hungry, carry one who is full fed. They
add refinement to his palate, prominence to
his front, scarlet to his nose. They fre-
quently ward off old age. The ancient
rules of moderation being broken, luxury
enters in all her pomp, followed by a gro-jp
of diseases, with a physician in their train,
and the rector in his. Phials, prayers,
tears, and galley-pots, close the sad scene,
and the individual has the honour to rot in
state, before old age can advance. His
place may be readily supplied with a. joyful
mourner.*

History of Birmingham.

A MUSICAL CRASH.

The Rev. Mr. B , when residing at

Canterbury, was reckoned a good violon-
cello player ; but he was not more dis-
tinguished for his expression on the instru-
ment, than for the peculiar appearance of
feature whilst playing it. In the midst of
the adagios of Corelli or Avison, the mus-
cles of his face sympathised with his fiddle-
stick, and kept reciprocal movement. His
sight, being dim, obliged him often to snuff
the candles ; and, when he came to a bar's
rest, in lieu of snuffers, he generally em-
ployed his fingers in that office ; and, lest
he "should offend the good housewife by
this dirty trick, he used to thrust the
spoils into the sound-holes of his violoncello.
A waggish friend resolved to enjoy him-
self " at the parson's expense," as he
termed it; and, for that purpose, popped
a quantity of gunpowder into B.'s instru-
ment. Others were informed of the trick.,
and of course kept a respectable distance.
The tea equipage being removed, music
became the order of the evening ; and,

after B had tuned his instrument, and

drawn his stand near enough to snuff his
candles with ease, feeling himself in the
meridian of his glory, he dashed away at

Vanhall's 47th. B came to a bar's

rest, the candles -,vere snuffed, and he
thrust the ignited wick into the usual place ;
fitfragor, bang went the fiddle to pieces,
and there was an end of harmony that
evening.

FASHIONABLE RELIGION.
A French gentleman, equally tenacious
of his character for gallantry and devotion,
went to hear mass at the chapel of a fa-
vourite saint at Paris ; when lie came
there, he found repairs weie doing in the
building which prevented the celebration.
To show that he had not been defective in
his duty and attentions, he pulled out a
richly decorated pocket-book, and walking
with great gravity and many genuflexions
up the aisle, very carefully placed a card of
his name upon the principal altar.

A POLITE TOWN.

Charles II. on passing through Bodmin,
is said to have observed, that " this was the
politest town he had ever seen, as one half
of the houses appeared to be bowing, and
the other half uncovered." Since the days
of Charles, the houses are altered, but the
inhabitants still retain their politeness,
especially at elections.

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ancient Sritfe* $tllar, Walie Crutfsi awbep,#ortft

Who first uprear'd this venerable stone.
And how, by ruthless hands, the column fell,
And how again restor'd, I fain would tell.

A few years ago, an artist made a water-
colour sketch oi this monument, as a pic-
turesque object, in the romantic vicinage
of Llangollen ; from that drawing he per-
mitted the present, and the following are
some particulars of the interesting me-
morial.

Mr. Pennant, during his " Tour in
Wales," entered Merionethshire, " into that
portion for ever to be distinguished in the
Welsh annals, on account of the hero it
produced, who made such a figure in the
beginning of the fifteenth century." This
tract retains its former title, '* Glyn-

*rdv?y," or the valley of the Dee. It

VOL.' I. 12.

once belonged to the lords of Dinas Bran.
After the murder of the two eldest sons of
the last lord, the property had been usurp-
ed by the earl of Warren, and that noble-
man, who appears to have been seized
with remorse for his crime, instead of
plunging deeper in guilt, procured from
Edward I. a grant of the territory to the
third son, from whom the fourth in descent
was the celebrated Owen Glyndwr.*

In this valley, about a quarter of a mile
from Vatle Crucis Abbey, Mr. Pennant

His quarrel with Howel Sele forms an article
the Every-Day Book, vol. ii. p. 10211038.

33 J

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352

found the present monument. It was
thrown from its base, and lay in the hedge
of a meadow. He figures it by an engrav-
ing of the pillar in an upright position,
showing the fracture of the lower part as it
then appeared in relation to the square
socket-stone, its original supporter. Mr.
Pennant calls it the " remainder of a round
column, perhaps one of the most ancient of
any British inscribed pillar now existing ;"
and he thus proceeds :

" It was entire till the civil wars of the
last century, when it was thrown down and
broken, by some ignorant fanatics, who
thought it had too much the appearance of
a cross to be suffered to stand. It probably
bore the name of one ; for the field it lies
in is still called ' Llwyn-y-Groes,' or the
Grove of the Cross, from the wood that
surrounded it. It was erected at so early
a period, that there is nothing marvellous
if we should perceive a tincture of the old
idolatry, or at least of the primeval cus-
toms of our country, in the mode of it when
perfect.

"The pillar had never been a cross ; not-
withstanding folly and superstition might,
in later times, imagine it to have been one,
and have paid it the usual honours. It
was a memorial of the dead ; an improve-
ment on the rude columns of Druidical
times, and cut into form, and surrounded
with inscriptions. It is among the first
lettered stones that succeeded the ' Meini-
hirion,' ' Meini Gwyr,' and ' Llechau.'
It stood on a great tumulus ; perhaps
always environed with wood, (as the mount
is at present,) according to the custom of
the most ancient times, when standing pil-
lars were placed ' under every green tree.'

" It is said that the stone, when complete,
was twelve feet high. It is now reduced
to six feet eight. The remainder of the
capital is eighteen inches long 1 . It stood
enfixed in a square pedestal, still lying in
the mount ; the breadth of which is five
feet three inches; the thickness eighteen
inches.

" The beginning of the inscription gives
us nearly the time of its erection, ' Con-
cenn filius Cateli, Cateli filius Brochmail,
Brochmail filius Eliseg, Eliseg filius Cnoil-
laine, Concenn itaque pronepos Eliseg edi-
ficavit hunc lapidem proavo suo Eliseg'

" This Concenn, or Congen, was the
grandson of Brochmail Yseithroc, the same
who was defeated in 607, at the battle of
Chester. The letters on the stone were
copied by Mr. Edward Llwyd : the inscrip-
tion is now illegible ; but, from the copy
taken by that great antiquary, the alphabet

nearly resembles one of those in use in tne
sixth century.

" One of the seats of Concenn and Eliseg
was in this country. A township adjacent
to the column bears, from the last, the
name of Eglwyseg; and the picturesque
tiers of rocks are called Glisseg for the same
reason. The habitation of this prince of
Powys in these parts was probably Dinas
Br&n, which lies at the head of the vale of
Glisseg. Mr. Llwyd conjectures that this
place took its name from the interment of
Eliseg."

Mr. Pennant continues to relate that
" There are two ways from this pillar : the
usual is along the vale, on an excellent
turnpike road leading to Ruthyn ; the other
is adapted only for the travel of the horsemen,
but far the more preferable, on account of
the romantic views. I returned by Valle
Crucis ; and, after winding along a steep
midway to the old castle, descended ; and,
then crossing the rill of the Bran, arrived
in the valley of Glisseg ; long and narrow,
bounded on the right by the astonishing
precipices, divided into numberless parallel
strata of white limestone, often giving
birth to vast yew-trees; and, on the left,
by smooth and verdant hills, bordered by
pretty woods. One of the principal of the
Glisseg rocks is honoured with the name
of Craig-Arthur; another, at the end of
the vale called Craig y Forwyn, or the
Maiden's, is bold, precipitous, and termi-
nates with a vast natural column. This
valley is chiefly inhabited (happily) by an
independent race of warm and wealthy
yeomanry, undevoured as yet by the great
men of the country."

The " Tour in Wales " was performed
by Mr. Pennant in 1773 ; and his volume,
containing the preceding account of the
" Pillar of Eliseg," was published in 1 778.
In the following year, the shaft was reared
from its prostrate situation on its ancient
pedestal, as appears by the following in-
scription on the cplumn, copied by the
artist who made the present drawing of the
monument.

QUOD HUJUS VETEEIS MONUMEHT1

SUPEREST
DIU EX OCULIS KEMOTUM

ET KEGLECTUM
TANDEM RESTITUIT

T. LLOYD

DE
TREVOR HALL

A.D.

M. DCC. LAX. IX.

353

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354

It is not in my power to add more
respecting this venerable memorial of
early ages than, that, according to a
printed itinerary, its neighbourhood is at
this time further remarkable for the self-
seclusion of two ladies of rank. At about
two miles' distance is an elegant cottage,
situated on a knoll, the retreat of lady
Elizabeth Butler and Miss Ponsonby ; who,
turning from the vanity of fashionable life,
have fixed their residence in this beautiful
vale.

ACCOUNT OF A STONE-EATER.
BY FATHER PAULIAN.

The beginning of May, 1760, was
brought to Avignon, a true lithophagus ot
stone-eater. He not only swallowed flints
of an inch and a half long, a full inch
broad, and half an inch thick ; but such
stones as he could reduce to powder, such
as marble, pebbles, &c. he made up into
paste, which was to him a most agreeable
and wholesome food. 1 examined this
man with all the attention I possibly could ;
I found his gullet very large, his teeth ex-
ceedingly strong, his saliva very corrosive,
and his stomach lower than ordinary, which
I imputed to the vast number of flints he
had swallowed, being about five and twenty,
one day with another.

Upon interrogating his keeper, he told
me the following particulars. " This stone-
eater," says he, " was found three years ago
in a northern inhabited island, by some of
the crew of a Dutch ship, on Good Friday.
Since I have had him, I make him eat raw
flesh with his stones ; I could never get him
to swallow bread. He will drink water,
wine, and brandy ; which last liquor gives
him infinite pleasure. He sleeps at least
twelve hours in a day, sitting on the ground
with one knee over the other, and his chin
resting on his right knee. He smokes
almost all the time he is not asleep, or is
not eating." The keeper also tells me, that
some physicians at Paris got him blooded ;
that the blood had little or no serum, and
in two hours' time became as fragile as
coral.

This stone-eater hitherto is unable to
pronounce more than a few words, Oui,
non, caillou, bon. I showed him a fly
through a microscope : he was astonished
at the size of the animal, and could not be
induced to examine it. He has been taught

to make the sign of the cross, and was bap-
tized some months ago in the chu<ch of Si,
Come, at Paris. The respect he shows to
ecclesiastics, and his ready disposition to
please them, afforded me the opportunity of
satisfying myself as to all these particulars ;
and I am fully convinced that hp is no
cheat.*

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A STONE
EATER.

A FRAGMENT.

I was born by the side of a rocky cave
in the Peak of Derbyshire ; before I was
born, my mother dreamed I should be an.
ostrich. I very early showed a disposition
to my present diet; instead of eating the
pap offered to me, I swallowed the spoon,
which was of hard stone ware, made in
that country, and had the handle broken
off. My coral served me in the doable
capacity of a plaything and a sweetmeat;
and as soon as I had my teeth, I nibbled at
every pan and mug that came within my
reach, in such a manner, that there was
scarcely a whole piece of earthenware to be
found in the house. I constantly swallowed
the flints out of the tinder-box, and so de-
ranged the economy of the family, that my
mother forced me to seek subsistence out
of the house.

Hunger, they say, will break stone walls :
this I experienced ; for the stone fences lay
very temptingly in my way, and I made
many a comfortable breakfast on them.
On one occasion, a fanner who had lost
some of his flock the night before, finding
me early one morning breaking his fences,
would hardly be persuaded that I had no
design upon his mutton I only meant to
regale myself upon his wall.

When I went to school, I was a great
favourite with the boys ; for whenever there
was damson tart or cherry pie, I was well
content to eat all the stones, and leave
them the fruit. I took the she'll, and gave
my companions the oyster, and whoever
will do so, I will venture to say, will be
well received through life. I must confess,
however, that I made great havock among
the marbles, of which I swallowed as many
as the other boys did of sugar-plums. I
have many a time given a stick of barley-
sugar for a de'icious white alley ; and it
used to be the diversion of the bigger boys
to shake me, and hear them rattle in my

* Gentleman's Magazine.

3*5

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stomach. While I was there, I devoured
the greatest part of a stone chimney-piece,
which had been in the school time out of
mind, and- borne the memorials of many
generations of scholars, all of which were
more swept away by my teeth, than those
of time. I fell, also, upon a collection of
spars and pebbles, which my master's
daughter had got together to make a grotto.
For both these exploits I was severely flog-
ged. I continued, however, my usual diet,
except that for a change I sometimes ate
Norfolk dumplins, which I found agree
with me very well. I have now continued
this diet for thirty years, and do affirm it
to be the most cheap, wholesome, natural,
and delicious of all food.

I suspect the Antediluvians were Litho-
phagi : this, at least, we are certain of, that
Saturn, who lived in the golden age, was a
stone-eater ! We cannot but observe, that
those people who live in fat rich soils are
gross and heavy ; whereas those who in-
habit rocky and barren countries, where
there is plenty of nothing but stones, are
healthy, sprightly, and vigorous. For my
own part, I do not know that ever I was ill
in my life, except that once being over per-
suaded to venture on some Suffolk cheese,
it gave me a slight indigestion.

I am ready to eat flints, pebbles, mar-
bles, freestone, granite, or any other stones
the curious may choose, with a good appe-
tite and without any deception. I am
promised by a friend, a shirt and coarse
frock of the famous Asbestos, that my food
and clothing may be suitable to each other.

FRANCIS BATTALIA.

In 1641, Hollar etched a print of Francis
Battalia, an Italian, who is said to have
eaten half a peck of stones a day. Re-
specting this individual, Dr. Bulwer, in his
" Artificial Changeling," says he saw the
man, that he was at that time about thirty
years of age ; and that " he was born with
two stones in one hand, and one in the
other, which the child took for his first
nourishment, upon the physician's advice;
and afterwards nothing else but three or
four pebbles in a spoon, once in twenty-
four hours " After his stone-meals, he was
accustomed to take a draught of beer :
" and in the interim, now and then, a pipe
of tobacco; for he had been a soldier in
Ireland, at the siege of Limerick ; and upon
his return to London was confined for some
time upon suspicion of imposture."

<arricfe

No. IX.

[From the " Two Angry Women of Abing-
don," a Comedy, by Henry Porter,
1599.]

Proverb-monger.

This formal fool, your man, speaks ntoght but Pro

verbs ;

And, speak men what they can to him, he'll answer
With some rhyme-rotten sentence, or old saying,
Such spokes as th* Ancient of the Pari>h use
With " Neighbour, it's an old Proverb and a true,
Goose giblets are good meat, old sack better than new :"
Then says another, " Neighbour, that is true."
And when each man hath drunk his gallon round,
(A penny pot, for that's the old man's gallon),
Then doth he lick his lips, and stroke his beard,
That's glued together with the slavering drops
Of yesty ale ; and when he scarce can trim
His gouty fingers, thus he'll fillip it,
And with a rotten hem say, " Hey my hearts,"
M Merry go sorry," " Cock and Pye, my heartt ;"
And then their saving-penny-proverb comes,
And that is this, " They that will to the wine,
By'r Lady, mistress, shall lay their penny to mine."
This was one of this penny-father's bastard* ;
For on my life he was never begot
Without the consent of some great Proverb-monger.

She Wit.

Why, she will flout the devil, and make blush

The boldest face of man that ever man saw.

He that hath best opinion of his wit,

And hath his brain-pan fraught with bitter jests

(Or of his own, or Klol'n, or howsoever),

Let him stand ne'er so high in's own conceit,

Her wit's a sun that melts him down like butter,

And makes him sit at table pancake-wise,

Flat, flat, and ne'er a word to say ;

Yet she'll not leave him then, but like a tyrant

She'll persecute the poor wit-beaten man,

And so be-bang him with dry bobs and scoffs,

When he is down ("most cowardly, good faith I)

As I have pitied the pool patient.

There came a Farmer's Son a wooing to her,

A proper man, well-landed too he was,

A man that for his wit need not to ask

What time a year 'twere need to sow hi oats,

Nor yet his barley, no, nor when to reap,

To plow his fallows, or to fell his trees,

Well experienced thus each kind of way ;

After a two months' labour at the most,

(And yet 'twas well he held it out so long),

He left his Love ; she had so laced his lips,

He could say nothing to her but " God be with y."

Why, she, when men have dined, and call'd for oneesc

Will strait maintain jests bitter to digest ;

And then some one will fall to argument,

THE TABLE BOOK.,

Who if he ov-. -master her with reason,
Then she'll begin to buffet him with mocks.

Mastei Goursey proposes to his Son a
Wife.

Frank Gowsey. Ne'er trust me, father, the shape of

marriage,

Which I do see in others, seems so severe,
I dare not put my youngling liberty
Under the awe of that instruction ;
And yet I grant, the limits of free youth
Going astray are often restrain'd by that.
But Mistress Wedlock, to my summer thoughts,
Will be too curst, I fear : O should she snip

My pleasure-aiming mind, I shall be sad ;
And swear, when I did marry, I was mad.
Old Ooursey. But, boy, let my experience teach thee

this;

(Yet in good faith thou speak'st not much amiss) ;
When first thy mother's fame to me did come,
Thy grandsire thus then came to me his son,
And ev'n my words to thee to me he said ;
And, as thou say'st to me, to him I said,
But in a greater huff and hotter blood :
I tell ye, on youth's tiptoes then I stood.
Says he (good faith, this was his very say),
When I was young, I was but Reason's fool ;
And went to wedding, as to Wisdom's school :
It taught me much, and much I did forget ;
But, beaten much by it, I got some wit :
Though I was shackled from an often-scout,
Yet I would wanton it, when I was out ;
'Twas comfort old acquaintance then to meet.
Restrained liberty attain'd is sweet,
Thus said my father to thy father, son ;
And thou may'st do this too, as I have done.

Wandering in the dark all night.
O when will this same Year of Night have end ?
Long-look'd for Day's Son, when wilt thou ascend?
Let not this thief-friend misty veil of night
Encroach on day, and shadow thy fair light ;
Whilst thou comest tardy from thy Thetis' bed.
Blush forth golden-hair and glorious red.
O stay not long, bright lanthern of the day,
To light my mist-way feet to my right way.

The pleasant Comedy, from which these
Extracts are taken, is contemporary with
some of the earliest of Sbakspeare's, and is
no whit inferior to either the Comedy of
Errors, or the Taming of the Shrew, for
instance. It is full of business, humour,
and merry malice. Its night-scenes are
peculiarly sprightly and wakeful. The ver-
sification unencumbered, and rich with
compound epithets. Why do we go on
with ever new Editions of Ford, and Mas-
singer, and the thrice reprinted Selections
of Dodsley ? what we want is as many

/olumes more, as these latter consist of,
filled with plays (such as this), of which we
know comparatively nothing. Not a third
part of the Treasures of old English Dra-
matic literature has been exhausted. Are
we afraid that the genius of Shakspeare
would suffer in our estimate by the disclo-
sure ? He would indeed be somewhat
lessened as a miracle and a prodigy. But
he would lose no height by the confession.
When a Giant is shown to us, does it de-
tract from the curiosity to be told that he
has at home a gigantic brood of brethren,
less only than himself? Along with him,
not from him, sprang up the race of mighty
Dramatists who, compared with the Otways
and Rowes that followed, were as Miltons
to a Young or an Akenside. That he was
their elder Brother, not their Parent, is evi-
dent from the fact of the very few direct
imitations of him to be found in their
writings. Webster, Decker, Heywood, and
the rest of his great contemporaries went
on their own ways, and followed their in-
dividual impulses, not blindly prescribing
to themselves his tract. Marlowe, the true
(though imperfect) Father of our tragedy,
preceded him. The comedy of Fletcher is
essentially unlike to that of his. 'Tis out of
no detracting spirit that I speak thus, for
the Plays of Shakspeare have been the
strongest and the sweetest food of my mind
from infancy ; but I resent the comparative
obscurity in which some of his most valua-
ble co-operators remain, who were his dear
intimates, his stage and his chamber-fellows
while he lived, and to whom his gentle
spirit doubtlessly then awarded the full
portion of their genius, as from them to-
ward himself appears to have been no
grudging of his acknowledged excellence.

C. L.

AGRESTILLA.
For the Table Book.

There is a story in the Rambler of a lady
whom the great moralist calls Althea, who
perversely destroyed all the satisfaction of
a party of pleasure, by not only finding, but
seeking for fault upon every occasion, and
affecting a variety of frivolous fears and
apprehensions without cause. Female fol-
lies, like " states and empires, have their
periods of declension ;" and nearly half a
century has passed away since it has been
deemed elegant, or supposed interesting, to
scream at a spider, shudder in a boat, or

THE TABLE BOOK.

360

assert, with vehemence of terror, that a
gun, though ascertained not to be charged,
may still " go off." The tendency to fly
from one extreme to the other has ever been
the characteristic of weak minds, and the
party of weak minds will always support
itself by a considerable majority, both
among women and men. Something may
be done by those minor moralists, modestly
termed essayists and novelists, who have
brought wisdom and virtue to dwell in
saloons and drawing-rooms. Mrs. H. More
and Miss Edgeworth have pretty well writ-
ten down the affectation of assuming " the
cap, the whip, the masculine attire," and
the rage for varnishing and shoe-making
has of itself subsided, by the natural effect
of total incongruity between the means and
the end. Ladies are now contented to be
ladies, that is, rational beings of the softer
sex, and do not affect to be artists or me-
chanics. Nevertheless, some peculiarities
of affectation do from time to time shoot
up into notice, and call for the pruning-
knife of the friendly satirist.

AGRESTILLA is an agreeable, well-in-
formed person of my own sex, from whose
society I have derived great pleasure and
advantage both in London and Paris. A
few weeks since, she proposed to me to
accompany her to spend some time in a
small town in Normandy, for the benefit of
country air: to this plan I acceded with
great readiness ; an apartment was secured
by letter, and we proceeded on our journey.

I have lived too long in the world ever
to expect unmixed satisfaction from any
measure, and long enough never to neglect
any precaution by which personal comfort
is to be secured. To this effect I had re-
presented, that perhaps it might be better
to delay fixing on lodgings till we arrived,
lest we should find ourselves bounded to
the view of a market-place or narrow street,
with, perchance, a butcher's shop opposite
our windows, and a tin-man or tallow-
chandler next door to us. Agrestilla re-
plied, that in London or Paris it was of
course essential to one's consideration in
society to live in' a fashionable neighbour-
hood, but that nobody minded those things
" in the country." In vain I replied, that
consideration was not what I considered,
but freedom from noise and bad smells : I
was then laughed at for my fastidiousness,
'< Who in the world would make difficul-
ties about such trifles in the country, when
one might be out of doois from morning
till night !"

We arrived at the place of our destina-
iior ; ray mind expanded with pleasure at

the sight of large rooms, wide staircases,
and windows affording the prospect of ver-
dure. The stone-floors and the paucity of
window curtains, to say nothing of blinds
to exclude the sun, appeared to me incon-
veniences to be remedied by the expendi-
ture of a few francs ; but -Agrestilla, as
pertinacious in her serenity as Althea in
her querulousness, decided that we ought
to take things in the rough, and make any-
thing do ' ; in the country." Scraps of
carpet and ells of muslin are attainable by
unassisted effort, stimulated by necessity,
and I acquired and maintained tolerable
ease of mind and body, till we came to
discuss together the grand article of society.
My maxim is, the best or none at all. I
love conversation, but hate feasting and
visiting. Agrestilla lays down no maxim,
but her practice is, good if possible if not,
second-best ; at all events, a number of
guests and frequent parties. Though she
is not vain of her mind or of her person,
yet the display of fine clothes and good
dishes, and the secret satisfaction of shining
forth the queen of her company, make up
her enjoyment : Agrestilla's taste is gre-
garious. To my extreme sorrow and ap-
prehension, we received an invitation to
dine with a family unknown to me, and
living nine miles off! To refuse was im-
possible, the plea of preengagement is in-
admissible with people who tell you to
" choose your day," and as to pretending
to be sick, I hold it to be presumptuous and
wicked. The conveyance was to be a cart!
the time of departure six in the morning!
Terrified and aghast, I demanded, " How
are we to get through the day ?" No work I
no books ! no subjects of mutual interest
to talk upon ! " Oh ! dear me, time soon
passes ' in the country ;' we shall be three
hours going, the roads are very bad, then
comes breakfast, and then walking round
the garden, and then dinner and coming
home early." This invitation hung over
my mind like an incubus, like an eye-
tooth firm in the head to be wrenched out,
like settling-day to a defaulter, or auricu-
lar confession to a ceremonious papist and
bad liver. My only hope was in the wea-
ther. The clouds seemed to be for ever
filling and for ever emptying, like the
pitchers of the Danaides. The street, court,
and yarden became all impassable, without
the loan of Celestine's sabuts (nnglice
wooden shoes.) Celestine is a stout Nor-
man girl, who washes the dishes, and wears
a holland-Hiob and a linsey-woolsey petti-
coat. Certainly, thought I, in my foolish
secu:ity, while this deluge continues no-

361

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36-2

body will think of visiting " in the coun-
try." But vain and illusive was my hope !
Agrestilla declared her intention of keeping
her engagement " if it rained cats and
dogs ;" and the weather cleared up on the
eve of my execution, and smiled in derision
of my woe. The cart came. Jemmy Daw- n
son felt as much anguish in his, but he did
not feel it so long. We were lumbered
with inside packages, bundles, boxes, and
baskets, accumulated by Agrestilla ; I pro-
posed their being secured with cords (lashed
is the sea-term) to prevent them from roll-
ing about, crushing our feet and grazing our
legs at every jolt. Agrestilla's politeness
supprest an exclamation of amazement,
that people could mind such trifles " in the
country !" for her part, she never made
difficulties. Being obliged to maintain the
equilibrium of my person by clinging to
each side of the cart with my two hands, I
had much to envy those personages of the
Hindu mythology, who are provided with
six or seven arms : as for my bonnet it was
crushed into all manner of shapes, my brain
was jarred and concussed into the incapa-
city to tell whether six and five make eleven
or thirteen, and my feet were " all mur-
dered," as the Irish and French say. What
exasperated my sufferings was the reflection
on my own folly in incurring so much posi-
tive evil, to pay and receive a mere com-
pliment ! Had it been to take a reprieve
to a dear friend going to be hanged, to
carry the news of a victory, or convey a
surgeon to the wounded, I should have
thought nothing and said less of the matter;
but for a mere dinner among strangers, a
long day without interest and occupation !
really I consider myself as having half
incurred the guilt of suicide. Six or seven
times al least, the horse, painfully dragging
us the whole way by the strain of every
nerve" and sinew, got stuck in the mud, and
was to be flogged till he plunged out of it.
More than once we tottered upon ridges of
incrusted mud, when a very little matter
would have turned us over. I say nothing
about Rutland I abhor and disdain a pun
but we did nothing but cross ruts to
avoid puddles, and cress them back again
to avoid stones, and the ruts were all so
deep as to leave but one semicircle of the
wheel visible. I never saw such roads
the Colossus of Rhodes would have been
knee-deep in them. At last we arrived
Agrestilla as much out of patience at my
calling it an evil to have my shins bruised
black and blue, while engaged in a party of
pleasure " in the country," as I to find the
expedition all pain arid no pleasure. We

turned out of the cart in very bad condi-
tion ; all our dress " clean put on," as the
housewives say, rumpled and soiled, oui
limbs stiff, our faces flushed, and by far too
fevered to eat, and too weary to walk. How
I thought, like a shipwrecked mariner, not
upon my own " fireside," as English no-
velists always say, but upon my quiet,
comfortable room, books, work, indepen-
dence, and otium with or without dignitate
(let others decide that.) Oh ! the fag of
talking when one has nothing to say, smil-
ing when one is ready to cry, and accept-
ing civilities when one feels them all to be
inflictions ! Of the habits, the manners,
the appearance, and the conversation of
our hosts, I will relate nothing; I have
eaten their bread, as the Arabs say, and
owe them the tribute of thanks and silence.
Agrestilla was as merry as possible all day;
she has lived in the company of persons of
sense and education, but nobody expects
refinement " in the country !" In vain I
expostulate with her, pleading in excuse of
what she terms my fastidiousness, that I
cannot change iny fixed notions of elegance,
propriety, and comfort, to conform to the
habits of those to whom such terms are as
lingua franca to a Londoner, what he nei-
ther understands nor cares for.

It is easy to conform one's exterior to
rural habits, by putting on a coarse straw
hat, thick shoes, and linen gown, but the
taste and feeling of what is right, the men-
tal perception must remain the same. No-
thing can be more surprising to an English
resident in a country-town of France, than
the jumble of ranks in society that has taken
place since the revolution. I know a young
lady whose education and manners render
her fit for polished society in Paris ; her
mother goes about in a woollen jacket, and
dresses the dinner, not from necessity, for
that I should make no joke of, but from
taste ; and is as arrant an old gossip as ever
lolled with both elbows over the counter of
a chandler's shop. Her brother is a garde
dn corps, who spends his life in palaces and
drawing-rooms, and she has one cousin a
little pastry-cook, and another a washer-
woman. They have a lodger, a maiden
lady, who lives on six hundred francs per
annum, (about twenty-four pounds,) and of
course performs every menial office for her-
self, and, except on Sundays, looks like an
old weeding-woman ; her brother has been
a judge, lives in a fine house, buys books
and cultivates exotics. Low company is
tiresome in England, because it is ignorant
and stupid ; in France it is gross and dis-
gusting. The notion of being merry and

363

THE TABLE BOOK.

entertaining is to tell gross stories; the
demoiselles sit and say nothing, simper and
look pretty: what a pity it is that time
should change them into coarse, hard-
featured commdres, like their mothers ! The
way in Normandy is to dine very early, and
remain all the evening in the dinner-room,
instead of going into a fresh apartment to
take coffee. Agrestilla does not fail to
conform to the latter plan in Paris, because
people of fashion do so, and Agrestilla is a
fashionable -woman, but she wonders I
should object to the smell of the dinner
" in the country." I have been strongly
tempted to the crime of sacrilege by robbing
the church for wax candles, none being to
be got at " the shop." My incapacity for
rural enjoyments and simple habits is ma-
nifest to Agrestilla, from my absurdly ob-
jecting to the smell of tallow-candles " in
the country." Agrestilla's rooms are pro-
fusely lighted with wax in Paris, " but
nobody thinks of such a thing ' in the coun-
try ' for nearly a month or two," as if life
were not made up of months, weeks, and
hours !

I am afraid, Mr. Editor, that I may have
wearied you by my prolixity, but since all
acumen of taste is to disappear, when we
pass the bills of mortality, I will hope that
my communication may prove good enough
to be read in the country.

FEMALE FRIENDSHIP.

Joy cannot claim a purer bliss,

Nor grief a dew from stain more clear,
Than female friendship's meeting kiss.

Than female friendship's parting tear.
How sweet the heart's full bliss to pour
To her, whose smile must crown the store !

How sweeter still to tell of woes
To her, whose faithful breast would share
In every grief, in every care,

Whose sigh can lull them to repose t
Oh ! blessed sigh ! there is no sorrow,
But from thy breath can sweetness borrow ;
E'en to the pale and drooping flower
That fades in love's neglected hour ;
E'en with her woes can friendship's pow'r

One happier feeling blpnd :
'Tis from her restless bed to creep,
And sink like wearied babe to sleep,
On the soft coach her sorrows steep,
Tle boecm cf a friend.

Miss Mitford.

LINES TO A SPARROW.

WHO COMES TO MY WlNDOW EVER'/
MORNING FOR HIS BREAKFAST.

Master Dicky, my dear,

You have nothing to fear,
Your proceedings I mean not to check, sir ;

Whilst the weather benumbs,

We should pick up our crumbs,
So, I prithee, make free with a peck, sir.

I'm afraid it's too plain
You're a villain in grain,
But in that you resemble your neighbours.
For mankind have agreed
It is right to suck seed,
"Then, like you, hop the twig with their labour*.

Besides this, master Dick,

You of trade have the trick.
In all branches you traffic at will, sir t

You have no need of shops

For your samples of hops,
And can ev'ry day take up your bill, lr.

Then in foreign affairs

You may give yourself airs,
For I've heard it reported at home, sir.

That you're on the best terras

With the diet of Worms,
And have often been tempted to Rome, sir.

Thus you feather your nest

In the way you like best,
And live high without fear of mishap, sir ;

You are fond of your grub,

Have a taste for some shrub,
And for gin there you understand (rap, sir.

Tho' the rivers won't flow

In the frost and the snow,
And for fish other folks vainly try, sir ;

Yet you'll have a treat.

For, in cold or in heat,
You can still take a perch with s.fly, sir.

In love, too, oh Dick,

(Tho' you oft when love-sick
On the course of good-breeding may tramp]* ;

And though often henpeck'd,

Yet) you scorn to neglect
To set all mankind an cggsample.

Your opinions, 'tis true,

Are flighty a few.
But at this I, for one, will not grumble ;

So your breakfast you've got.

And you're off like a shot,
Dear Dicky, your humble cum tumble.*

Examiner Feb. 12, 1815.

365

THE TABLE BOOK.

300

But* $0tofr*on, Bellman of JBur&anu

And who gave thee that jolly red nose ?
Brandy, cinnamon, ale, and cloves,
That gave me the jolly red nose.

OLD SONO.

THE BISHOP OF BUTTERBY.

A SKETCH, BY ONE OF HIS PREBENDARIES.

For the Table Booh

I remember reading in that excellent
little periodical. "The Cigar," of the red
nose of the friar of Dillow, which served
the holy man in the stead of a lantern, when
he crossed the fens at night, to visit the
fair lady of the sheriff of Gloucestershire.
Whether the nose of the well-known eccen-
tp'c now under consideration ever lighted
Ins path, when returning from Shinclifle

feast, or Houghton-le-spring hopping
whether it ever

" Brightly beam'd his path above.
And lit his way to his ladye love "

this deponent knoweth not ; bui, certainly,
if ever nose could serve for such purposes,
it is that of Hut. Alderson, which is the
reddest in the city of Durham save and
excepting, nevertheless, the nose of fat
Hannah, the Elvet orange-woman. Yes
Hut. thou portly living tun ! thou animated
lump of obesity ! thou hast verily a mos>
iolly nose! Keep it out of my sight, .

THE TABLE BOOK.

368

pray thee ! Saint Giles, defend me from
its scorchings! there is fire in its mere pic-
torial representation ! Many a time, I ween,
thou hast mulled thine ale with it, when
sitting with thy pot companions at Mor-
ralies !

Hutchinson Alderson, the subject of the
present biographical notice, is the well-
known bellman of the city of Durham. Of
his parentage and education I am ignorant,
but I have been informed by him, at one of
his " visitations," that he is a native of the
place, where, very early in life, he was
" bound 'prentice to a shoemaker," and
where, after the expiration of his servitude,
he began business. During the period of the
threatened invasion of this nation by the
French, he enlisted in the Durham militia;
but I cannot correctly state what office he
held in the regiment ; the accounts on the
subject are very conflicting aud contradic-
tory. Some have informed me he was a
mere private, others that he was a corporal;
and a wanton wag has given out that he
was kept by the regiment, to be used as a
beacon, in cases of extraordinary emer-
gency. Certain it is that he was in the
militia, and that during that time the ac-
cident occurred which destroyed his hopes
of military promotion, and rendered him
unable to pursue his ordinary calling I
allude to the loss of his right hand, which
happened as follows : A Durham lady,
whose husband was in the habit of employ-
ing Alderson as a shoemaker, had a
favourite parrot, which, on the cage door
being left open, escaped, and was shortly
afterwards seen flying from tree to tree in a
neighbouring wood. Alderson, on being
made acquainted with the circumstance,
proceeded with his gun to the wood, where,
placing himself within a few yards of the
bird, he fired at it, having previously
poured a little water into the muzzle,
which he thoughtlessly imagined would
have the effect of bringing down the bird,
without doing it material injury ; but, un-
happily, the piece exploded, and shattered
his right hand so dreadfully, that imme-
diate amputation was rendered necessary.

For some time after this calamity, Alder-
son's chief employment consisted in taking
care of gentlemen's horses, and cleaning
knives. He was then appointed street-
keeper ; and, during the short time he held
that office, discharged its duty in a very
impartial manner I believe to the entire
satisfaction of all the inhabitants. He has
also, at different periods, been one of the
constables of the parish of Saint Mary le
Bow. About the year 1 822, the office of

bellman to the city of Durham became va-
cant, by resignation, upon which Hut. im-
mediately offered himself as a candidate ;
and, from there being no opposition, and
his being a freeman, he was installed by
the unanimous voice of every member of
the corporation, and he has accordingly
discharged the duties of bellman ever since.
It is in that capacity our artist has repre-
sented him in the cut at the head of the
present sketch. But Hut. Alderson is the
wearer of other dignities.

About three miles from Durham is a
beautiful little hamlet, called Butterby, and
in ancient deeds Beautrove,* and Beautro-
vensis, from the elegance of its situation ;
and certainly its designation is no mis-
nomer, for a lovelier spot the imagination
cannot picture. The seclusion of its walks,
the deep shade of its lonely glens, and the
many associations connected with it, inde-
pendently of its valuable mineral waters,
conspire to rendjer it a favourite place of
resort ; and, were I possessed of the poetic
talent of veterinary doctor Marshall, I
should certainly be tempted to immortalize
its many charms in a sonnet. Butterby
was formerly a place of considerable note ;
the old manor-house there, whose haunted
walls are still surrounded by a moat, was
once the residence of Oliver Cromwell,
whose armorial bearings still may be seen
over one of the huge, antique-fashioned
fire-places. In olden time, Butterby had a
church, dedicated to saint Leonard, of
which not a visible vestige is remaining ;
though occasionally on the spot which an-
tiquaries have fixed upon as its site, divers
sepulchral relics have been discovered. Yet,
to hear many of the inhabitants of Durham
talk, a stranger would naturally believe
that the hamlet is still in possession of
this sacred edifice ; for " Butterby-c/mrcA "
is there spoken of, not as a plate adorning
the antiquarian page, nor even as a ruin to
attract the gaze of the moralizing tourist,
but as a real, substantial, bond fide struc-
ture : the fact is, that, in the slang of Dur-
ham, (for the modern Zion \ has its slang as
well as the modern Babylon,) a Butterby
church-goer is one who does not frequent
any church ; and when such an one is
asked, " What church have you attended
to-day ?" the customary answer is, " I have
been attending service at Butterby.'' About
the year 1823, there appeared in one of
the London journals an account of a mar-
riage, said to have been solemnized at But-

* Vide Mr. Dixon's View of Durham
t Ibid.

369

THE TABLE BOOK.

370

terby-church, between two parties who
never existed but in the fertile brain of the
writer of the paragraph, " By the Rev.
Hutchinson Alderson, rector." From that
time, Hut. Alderson began to be desig-
nated a clergyman, and was speedily dub-
bed A. M. Merit will rise, and therefore
the A. M. became D. D., and Alderson
himself enjoyed the waggery, and insisted
on the young gentlemen of the place touch-
ing their hats, and humbling themselves
when his reverence passed.

Not content with the honours which
already, like laurel branches, had encircled
his brow, Hut. aspired to still greater dis-
tinction, and gave out that Butterby was
a bishop's see, that the late parochial church
was a cathedral, and, in fine, that the late
humble rector was a lordly bishop THE
RIGHT REVEREND HUTCHINSON ALDERSON
LORD BISHOP OF BUTTERBY, or HUT. BUT.
Having thus dubbed himself, he next pro-
ceeded to the proper formation of his cathe-
dral ; named about ten individuals as pre-
bends, (among whom were the writer of this
sketch, and his good friend his assistant
artist,) chose a dean and archdeacon, and
selected a few more humble individuals to
fill the different places of sexton, organist,
vergers, bell-ringers, &c., and soon began,
in the exercise of his episcopal functions,
to give divers orders, oral and written, re-
specting repairs of the church, preaching of
sermons, &c. The last I recollect was a
notice, delivered to one of the prebends by
the bishop in proprid persond, intimating
that, owing to the church having received
considerable damage by a high flood, he
would not be required to officiate there till
further notice.

A cathedral is nothing without a tutelary
saint, and accordingly Butterby-church has
been dedicated to saint Giles. Several
articles have been written, and privately
circulated, descriptive of the splendid archi-
tecture of this imaginary edifice ; every
arch has had its due meed of approbation,
and its saint has been exalted in song,
almost as high as similar worthies of the
Roman catholic church. A legend has
been written 1 beg par.don,/bjrf in one
of the vaults of Bear-park, containing an
account of divers miracles performed by
saint Giles ; which legend is doubtless as
worthy of credit, and equally true, as some
of Alban Butler's, or the miracles of prince
Hohenlohe and Thomas a Becket. Hap-
pening to have a correct copy of the compo-
sition to which I allude, I give it, with full
persuasion that by so doing 1 shall confer a
signal obligation on the rest of my brother

prebends, some of whom are believers in its
antiquity, though, I am inclined to think,
it is, like the ancient poems found in Red-
cliffe-church, and published by the unfor-
tunate Chatterton all " Rowley powley,"
&c. I have taken the liberty to modernize
the spelling.

SAINT GILES
His Holie Legend:

WRITTEN IN LATIN, BY FATHER PETER,
MONK OF BEAUPAIRE, AND DONE INTO
ENGLISH THIS YEAR OF REDEMPTION,
1^55, BY MASTER JOHN WALTON,
SCHOOLMASTER, ST. MAGDALENE HER
CHAPEL YARD DURHAM : AND DEDI-
CATED TO OUR GOOD QUEEN MARY,
WHOM GOD LONG PRESERVE.

O did ye ne'er hear of saint Giles,

The saint of fam'd Butterby steeple >
There ne'er was' his like seen for miles,

Pardie, he astonied the people I
His face was as red as the son,

His eyne were a couple of sloes, sir,
His belly was big as a tun,

And he had a huge bottle nose, sir ;

O what a strange fellow was he '

Of woman he never was born,

And wagers have been laid upon it ;
They found him at Finchale one morn,

Wrapp'd up in an heavenly bonnet :
The prior was taking his rounds,

As he was wont after his incAfast,
He heard most celestial sounds,

And saw something in a tree stick fast,
Like a bundle of dirty old clothes.

Quite frighteu'd, he fell on his knees,

And said thirteen aves and ten credos,
When the thing in the tree gave a sneeze,

And out popp'd a hand, and then three toes:
Now, when he got out of his faint,

He approach'd, with demeanour most humble.
And what should he see but the saint,

Not a copper the worse from his tumble.
But lying all sound wind and limb.

4.
Says the prior, " From whence did you com*,

Or how got you into my garden ?"
But the baby said nothing but mum.

And for the priest car'd not afarden:
At length, the saint open'd his gob,

And said, " I'M from heaven, d'ye see, sir.
Now don't stand there serateUng your nob,

But help rne down out of the tree, sir,

Or I'll soon set your convent a-blzsJ"

371

THE TABLE BOOK.

372

The prior stood quite in a maze.

To hear such an infant so quesrly call,
So, humbling himself, he gave praise

To our lady for so great a miracle :
Saint Giles from the bush then he took,

And led him away to the priory ;
Where for years he stuck close to his book,

A nolle and sanctified friar, he

Was thought by the good folks all round.

In sanctity he pass'd his days,

Once or twice exorcis'd ! demoniac ;
And, to quiet his doubts and his fears.

Applied to a flask of old Coguiac ;
To heaven he show'd the road fair,

And, if he saw sinner look glum or sad,
He'd tell him to drive away care,

And say, " Take a swig of good rum, my lad,
And it will soon give your soul ease."

7.
In miracles too the saint dealt,

And some may be seen to this minute ;
At his bidding he'd make a rock melt,

Tho' Saint Sathanas might be in it :
One evening when rambling out,

He found himself stopp'd by the river,
60 he told it to turn round about,

And let him go quietly over,

And the river politely complied !

8.
To Butterby often he'd stray,

And sometimes look in at the well, sir ;
And if you'll attend to the lay,

How it came by its virtues I'll tell, sir :
One morning, as wont, the saint call'd,

And being tremendously faint then,
He drank of the stuff till te t tall'd,

And out spake the reverecd'saint then,
My blessing be on t!iee for aye I

9.
Thus saying he bent his way home,

Now mark the event which has follow'd,
The fount has from that time become

A cure for sick folks for its hallow'd :
And many a pilgrim goes there

From many a far distant part, sir,
And, piously uttering a prayer,

Blesses the saint's pious heart, sir,

That gave to the fount so much grace.

10.
At Finchale his saintship did dwell,

Till the devil got into the cloister,
And left the bare walls as a shell,

And gulp'd the fat monks like an oyster
So the saint was enforced to quit,

But swore he'd the fell legions all amuse,
And pay back their coin every whit,

Tho' his hide should be flay'd like Bartholemew's,
And red as Saint Uuiutan's red nose.

11.

Another church straight he erected,

Which for its sanctity fam'd much is.
Where sinners and saints are protected,

And kept out of Belzebub's clutches:
And thus in the eve of his days

He still paternosters and aves sung,
His lungs were worn threadbare with praise,

Till death, who slays priors, rest gave his tongue
And sent him to sing in the spheres !

12.

It would be too long to tell here

Of how, when or where, the monks buried him,
Suffice it to say, it seems clear

That somewhere or other they carried him.
His odd life by death was made even,

He popp'd off on one of Lent Sundays,
His corpse was to miracles given,

And his choristers sung " De profandis
Clamavi ad te Domine I"

Finis coronal opus.

Such is the extraordinary legend of saint
Giles, which I leave the antiquaries to sit
in judgment on, and with which I quit the
subject of Butterby-church, wishing that
its good bishop may long continue in
peaceful possession of the see, and in full
enjoyment of all the honours and revenues
connected therewith.

As relating to Butterby, I may be
allowed perhaps to mention, that this place
has afforded considerable amusement to
many young men of wit and humour.
About twenty years ago, the law students,
then in Durham, instituted what they called
the " Butterby manor court," and were in
the habit of holding a sham court at a pub-
lic-house there. A gentleman, who is now
in London, and one of the most eminent
men in the profession, used to preside as
steward ; and was attended by the happy
and cheerful tenantry, who did suit and
service, constituted a homage, and per-
formed other acts and deeds, agreeable to
the purpose for which they were duly and
truly summoned, and assembled.

Hitherto, little has been said respecting
the personal appearance and character of
Hut. Alderson, and therefore, without fur-
ther circumvolution, I hasten to add, that
he is fifty years of age " and upwards," of
the middle size and rather corpulent, of a
very ruddy countenance, is possessed of a
vast fund of anecdote, and is at all times an
agreeable and humorous companion. He
may generally be seen parading the streets
of Durham, as represented by my brother
prebend. Considering his humble rank in
society, he is well-informed ; and if he has

373

THE TABLE BOOK.

374

any failing, it is what has given the beauti-
ful vermilion tint to that which, as it forms
the most prominent feature in his appear-
ance, is made one of the most prominent
features of my memoir. As a crier, I never
liked him his voice is too piano, .and wants
a little of the forte.

In religion, Hut. is a stanch supporter of
the establishment, and regularly attends di-
vine service at St. Mary-le-Bow, where " his
reverence" is allowed an exalted seat in the
1 organ gallery, in which place, but for his
services, I fear my friend, Mr. Weatherell,
the organist, would have difficulty in draw-
ing a single tone from the instrument. His
aversion to dissenters is tremendous, and
he is unsparing in his censure of those who
do not conform to the church ; yet, notwith-
standing this, both Catholics and Unitarians
unaccountably rank amongst his prebends.
In politics, he is a whig of the old school,
and abominates the radicals. At elections,
(for he has a vote both for county and city,
being a leaseholder for livee, and a freeman,)
he always supports Michael Angelo Taylor
and Mr. Lambton. He prides himself on
his integrity, and I believe justly, for he is
one that will never be bought or sold ; if
thousands were offered to him to obtain his
vote, he would spurn the bribe, and throw
the glittering ore in the faces of those who
dared to insult his independent spirit.

It may amuse the reader, if I offer the
following as a specimen of the ridiculous
interruptions Hut. meets with when crying.

THREE RINGS Ding dong ! ding dong !
ding dong !

Hut. To be sold by auction

1 Boy. Speak up ! speak up ! Hut.
Hut. Hod your jaw at the Queen's

1 heed in

2 Boy. The town of Butterby.

Hut. I'll smash your heed wi' the bell
the Queen's heed in the Bailya a large
collection of

3 Boy. Pews, pulpits, and organs.
Hut. I'll rap your canister of valua-
ble buiks the property of

1 Boy. The bishop of Butterby.

Hut. Be quiet, you scamp of a gentle-
man from Lunnon the buiks may be
viewed any time between the hours of one
and three, by applying to

2 Boy. Tommy Sly

Hut. Mr. Thwailes on the premises : the
sale to commence at seven o'clock in the
evening prizizely.

All. Huih ! hooeh ! hooeh 1

Hut. I'll smash some o' your heeds wi'
the bell I knaw thee, Jack ! mind, an' I
doant tell thee mither noo, thou daft fule !

This farce is usually acted every day
in the streets of Durham ; and to be truly
enjoyed it should be witnessed. Having
nothing more of my own to say, I shall
conclude this sketch in the language of
Rousseau. " Voilsi ce que j'ai fait, ce que
j'ai pense. J'ai dit le bien et le mal avec
la mc*me franchise. Je n'ai rien tu de rLau-
vais, rien ajoute" de bon; et s'ilm'est arrive
d'employer quelque ornement indifferent,
ce n'a jamais te que pour remplir un ruide
occasionne par mon defaut de me'moire ;
j'ai pu supposer vrai ce que je savois, avoir
pu 1'fitre jamais ce que je savois tre
faux." *

R. I. P.

To show the high estimation in which
the above character is held by the inhabit-
ants of Durham and Northumberland, a
correspondent relates, that on Saturday
last a select party of gentlemen connected
with the above counties, and chiefly of the
legal and medical professions, dined at the
Queen's-head tavern, Holborn ; where, after
the healths of the king and royal family, a
gentleman present proposed the health of
" the Rev. Dr. Alderson, bishop of But-
terby." In the course of the introductory
speech, allusion was made to Hut.'s many
acquirements, and to his lustrous qualities
as a living ornament of the ancient city of
Durham. The toast was drunk amid the
most enthusiastic applause, and a dignitary
of " Butterby-church " returned thanks for
the honour conferred on his exalted dio-
cesan.

March 12, 1827.

THE DRAYMAN.
For the Table Book.

Lie heavy on him, earth I for he
Laid many a heavy load on thee.

Epig. 23, CHRISTMAS Treat.

The drayman is a being distinct from
other men, as the brewer's horse is distinct
from other horses each seems adapted to
the other's use : the one eats abundantly of
grains, and prospers in its traces the other
drinks porter by the canful, and is hardly
able to button his jerkin. Much of a dray-

Les Confessions, part. i. lir. L

375

THE TABLE BOOK.

376

man's life is spent with his master's team
and barrels. Early rising is his indispens-
able duty ; and, long ere the window-shut-
ters of London shopkeepers are taken
down, he, with his fellow stavesmen, are
seen half way through the streets to the
vender of what is vulgarly called " heavy
wet." Woe to the patience of a crowd,
waiting to cross the roadway, when the
long line, in clattering gear, are passing re-
view, like a troop of unyielding soldiers.
The driver, with his whip, looks as im-
portant as a sergeant-major ; equipped in
his coat of mail, the very pavement trem-
bles with his gigantic tread.* Sometimes
his comrades ride on the shaft and sleep,
to the imminent risk of their lives. Arrived
at their destination, they move a slow and
sure pace, which indicates that " all things
should be taken easy," for " the woild was
not made in a day."

The cellar being the centre of gravity,
the empty vessels are drawn out, and the
full ones drawn in ; but with as much
science as would require Hercules himself
to exercise, and Bacchus to improve. After
these operations are performed, what a
sight it is to behold the drayman at work
over his breakfast, in the taproom if the
weather is cold, or on a bench in view of
a prospect, if the sunshine appears : the
hunch of bread and meat, or a piece of
cheese deposited in the hollow of his hand,
which he divides into no small portions,
are enough to pall the appetite. The
manner in which he clenches the frothy
pot, and conducts it to his mouth, and the
long draft he takes, in gurgles down his
unshorn, summer-like throat, almost war-
rant apprehensions of supply not being
equal to demand, and consequent advance
of price. He is an entire proof of the
lusty quality of his master's porter, for he
is the largest opium-pill in the brewhouse
dispensary. While feeding on the fat of
the publican's larder, his horses are shak-
ing up the corn, so unfeelingly crammed
in hair-bags, to their reeking nostrils. The
drayman is a sort of rough give and take
fellow ; he uses the whip in a brai.gle, and
his sayings are sometimes, like himself,
rather dry. When he returns to the brew-
house, he is to be found in the stable, at
the vat, and in the lower apartments. TO
guard against cold, he prefers a red night-
cap to a Welsh wig, and takes great care o f

I am here reminded of an old epigram on a " Fat
Doctor," in the Christmas Treat, xxxiii.
" Wnen Tadloo treads the streets, the paviers cry
' God bless you. tir!' and lay their rammers by."

the grains, without making scruples. He
is a good preparer, well versed in the art
of refinement knows when his articles
work well, and is an excellent judge of
brown stout. At evening, as his turn re-
lieves him, he takes his next day's orders
at the counting-house, and with clean apron
and face, goes to his club; and sometimes
even ventures to make a benefit speech in
behalf of the sick members, or a disconso-
late widow. Now and then, in his best
white " foul weather," he treats his wife
and nieces to " the Wells," or " the Roy-
alty," taking something better than beer in
his pocket, made to hold his " bunch of
fives," or any other esteemed commodity.
At a " free and easy," he sometimes " rubs
up," and enjoys a " bit of 'bacco " out of
the tin box, wherein he drops his half-
penny before he fills ; and then, like a true
Spectator, smokes the company in a gen-
teel way. If called upon for a song, he
either complains of hoarseness, or of a bad
memory ; but should he indulge the call of
his Vice on his right hand, he may be
heard fifty yards in the wind, after which
he is " knocked down " with thund'rous
applause. He shakes his collops at a good
joke about the " tap," and agrees with Joe
Miller, that

" Care to our coffin adds a nail no doubt,
Bat every grin of laughter draws one out."

An old dog's-eared song-book is the com-
panion to a bung-plug, a slate memo-
randa, and sundry utensils, which are his
pocket residents. He is proud to wear a
pair of fancy garters below knee, and on
Mondays his neckcloth and stockings show
that he was " clean as a new pin yester-
day." Like an undertaker, he smells of
the beer to which he is attached,'and rarely
loses sight of " Dodd's Sermon on Malt."
He ventures to play sly tricks with his
favourite horse, and will give kick for kick
when irritated. His language to his team
is pure low Dutch, untranslatable, but per-
fectly understood when illustrated by a cut.
It may be said that he moves in his own
sphere ; for, though he drives through the
porter world, he spends much of his time
out of the public-house, and is rarely
te-ipse. What nature denies to others,
custom sanctions in him, for " he eats,
drinks, and is merry." If a rough speci-
men of an unsophisticated John Bull were
required, I would present the drayman.

J. R. P

37"

THE TABLE BOOK.

378

SONNET.

FROM THE SPANISH OF QUEVEDO.
For the Table Book.

' En el mundo naciste, no a emmendarle."
In this wide world, beware to think, my friend.
Thy lot is cast to change it, or amend ;
But to perform thy part, and give thy share
Of pitying aid ; not to subdne, but bear.

If prude'nt, thoi raay'st know the world ; if wise,
In virtue strong, thou may'st the world despise ;
For good, be grateful be to ill resign'd,
And to the better world exalt thy mind.

The peril of thy soul in this world fear,
But yet th' Almighty's wondrous work revere ;
See all things good but man ; and chiefly see,
With eye severe, the faults that dwell in thee.
On them exert fhine energies, and try
Thyself to mend, ere judge the earth and sky.

ACQUAINTANCE TABLE.

2 Glances make 1 Bow.

2 Bows .... 1 How d'ye do.

6 How d'ye do's . 1 Conversation.

4 Conversations . . 1 Acquaintance.

CJje

ORIGIN OF

MARKING THE KING'S DISHES

WITH THE COOKS' NAMES.

King George II. was accustomed every
other year to visit his German dominions
with the greater part of the officers of his
household, and especially those belonging
to the kitchen. Once on his passage at
sea, his first cook was so ill with the sea-
sickness, that he could not hold up his
head to dress his majesty's dinner ; this
being told to the king, he was exceedingly
snrry for it, as he was famous for making a
Rhenish soup, which his majesty was very
fond of; he therefore ordered inquiry to
be made among the as? ant-cooks, if any
of them could make tht bove soup. One
aamed Weston (father OT Tom Weiton, the
player) undertook it, and so pleased the
king, that he declared it was full as good
as that made by the first cook. Soon after
the king's return to England, the first cook
died ; when the king was informed of it,
he said, that his steward of the household
always appointed his cooks, but that he
would now nnme one for himself, and there-
fore asking if one Weston was still in the

kitchen, and being answered that he was,
" That man," said he, " shall be my first
cook, for he makes most excellent Rhenish
soup." This favour begot envy among all
the servants, so that, when any dish was
found fault with, they used to say it was
Weston's dressing : the king took notice
of this, and said to the servpnts, it was
very extraordinary, that every dish he dis-
liked should happen to be Weston's ; " in
future,'' said he, " let every dish be marked
with the name of the cook that makes it."
By this means the king detected their arts,
and from that time Weston's dishes pleased
him most. The custom has continued ever
since, and is still practised at the king's
table.

MONEY WEIGHTS AND
MEASURES.

POUND, is derived from the Latin word
pondus.

OUNCE, from uncia, or twelfth, being
the twelfth of a pound troy.

INCH, from the same word, being the
twelfth of a foot.

YARD, from the Saxon word gyrd, or
girth, being originally the circumference
of the body, until Henry I. decreed that it
should be the length of his arm.

HALFPENNY and FARTHING. In 1060,
when William the Conqueror began to
reign, the PENNY, or sterling, was cast,
with a deep cross, so that it might be
broken in half, as a HALp-penny, or in
quarters, for .Fourthings, or Farthings, as
we now call them.

OLD MUG-HOUSES.

The internal economy of a mug-house in
the reign of George I. is thus described by
a foreign traveller :

At the mug-house club inLong-acre,where
on Wednesdays a mixture of gentlemen,
lawyers, and tradesmen meet in a great
room, a grave old gentleman in his grey
hairs, and nearly ninety years" of age, is
their president, and sits in an armed chair
some steps higher than the rest. A harp
plays all the while at the lower end of the
room ; and now and then some one of the
company rises and entertains the rest with
a song, (and by the by some are good mas-
ters.) Here is nothing drank but ale, and
every gentleman chalks on the table as it is
brought in : every one also, as in a coffee-
house, retires when he pleases.

N. B In the time of the parliament's

3',9

'THE TABLE BOOK.

sitting, there are clubs composed of the
members of the commons, where most affairs
are digested before they are brought into
the house.

Wo freehold property no copyhold pro-
perty no leasehold property. In fact, no
property at all ! I live by my wits, as on?
half of the world live, and am therefore
NOT qualified.

GASPARD.

AS DRUNK AS DAVID'S SOW."

A few years ago, one David Lloyd, a SMtJUnJfttt

Welchman, who kept an inn at Hereford,
had a living sow with six leg* which occa-
sioned great resort to the house. David also
had a wife who was much addicted to
drunkenness, and for which he used fre-
quently to bestow on her an admonitory drub-
bing. One day, having taken an extra cup
which operated in a powerful manner, and
dreading the usual consequences, she open-
ed the stye-door, let out David's sow, and
lay down in its place, hoping that a short
unmolested nap would sufficiently dispel
the fumes of the liquor. In the mean time,
however, a company arrived to view the so
much talked of animal ; and Davy, proud
of his office, ushered them to the stye, ex-
claiming, " Did any of you ever see such a
creature before?" " Indeed, Davy," said
one of the farmers, " I never before saw a
sow so drunk as thine in all my life !"
Hence the term " as drunk as David's
sow."

SINGULAR RETURN.
For the Table Book.

An inhabitant of the parish of Clerken-
well being called upon, a short time ago,
to fill up the blanks of a printed circular
under the following heads, in pursuance of
an act of parliament passed in the sixth
yea' of his present majesty's reign, entitled
" An Act for consolidating and amending
the Laws relative to Jurors and Juries,"
sent in his return as follows :

" STREET.'*

Baker-street badly paved rascally
lighted with one old woman of a watch-
man.

M TITLE, QUALITY, CALLING, OR

BUSINESS."

No title no quality no calling, except
when my wife and sixteen children call for
bread and butter and as for business, I
have none. Times are bad, and there's no
business to be done.

" NATURE OF QUALIFICATION ; WHETHER
FREEHOLD, COPYHOLD, OH LEASEHOLD
PROPERTY." Islington.

ISLINGTON.

Thy fields, fair Islington ! begin to bear

Unwelcome buildings, and uaseemly piles ;
The streets are spreading, and the Lord knows where

Improvement's hand will spare the neigWring stile*
The rural blandishments of Maiden Lane

Are ev'ry day becoming less and less,
While kilns and lime roads force ns to complain

Of nuisances time only can suppress.
A few more years, and COPENHAGEN HOUSE

Shall cease to charm the tailor and the snob ;
And where attornies' clerks in smoke carouse,

Regardless wholly of to-morrow's job,
Some Claremont Row, or Prospect-Place shall tiso,

Or terrace, p'rhaps, misnomer'd PABA.DISK I

II.

HAGBUSH LANE.

Poor HAOBUSH LANE I thy ancient charms are goinf

To rack and ruin fast as they can go ;
And where but lately many a flow'r was growing,

Nothing shall shortly be allow'd to grow !
Thy humble cottage, where as yet they sell

No " nut-brown ale," or luscious Stilton cheese
Where dusky gipsies in the summer dwell,

And donkey drivers fight their dogs at ease,
Shall feel ere long the lev'lling hand of taste,

If that be taste which darkens ev'ry field ;
Th'y garden too shall likewise be displac'd,

And no more " cabbage " to its master yield ;
But, in its stead, some new Vauxhall perchance

Shall rise, renown'd for pantomime and dance I

III.

HIGHGATE.

Already, HIOHOATE 1 to thy skirts they bear

Bricks, mortar, timber, in no small degree,
And thy once pure, exhilarating air

Is growing pregnant with impurity 1
The would-be merchant has his " country box "

A few short measures from the dusty road,
Where friends on Sunday talk about the stocks,

Or praise the beauties of his " neat abode t"
One deems the wall-flow'r garden, in the froat,

Unrivall'd for each aromatic bed ;
Another fancies that his old sow's gnmt

" Is so much like the country," and iT.s.Ud
Of living longer down in Crooked-lane,

Resolves, at once, to " raralize " again !

J.O

361

THE TABLE BOOK.

382

The verdant lawns which rise above the rill
Are not unworthy Virgil's past'ral song.

On the west side of Hampstead, in the
middle of one of the pleasant meadows
called Shepherd's fields, at the left-hand of
the footpath going from Belsize-house to-
wards the church, this arch, embedded above
and around by the green turf, forms a con-
duit-head to a beautiful spring : the specific
gravity of the fluid, which yields several
tuns a day, is little more than that of dis-
tilled water. Hampstead abounds in other
springs, but they are mostly impregnated
with mineral substances. The water of
" Shepherd's well," therefore, is in continual
request, and those who cannot otherwise
conveniently obtain it, are supplied through
a few of the villagers, who make a scanty
living by carrying it to houses for a penny
a pail-full. There is no carriage-way to

VOL. I. 1 3.

the spot, and these poor things have mucn
hard work for a very little money.

I first knew this spring 1 in my childhood,
when domiciled with a relation, who then
occupied Belsize-house, by being allowed to
go with Jeff the , under-gardener, whose
duty it was to fetch water from the spring.
As I accompanied him, so a tame magpie
accompanied me : Jeff slouched on with
his pails and yoke, and my ardour to pre-
cede was restrained by fear of some itf
happening to Mag if I did not .ook after
the rogue. He was a wayward bird,
the first to follow wherever I went, but
always according to his own fashion; he
never put forth his speed till he found him-
self a long way behind, so that Jeff always
led the van, and Mag always brought p

383

THE TABLE BOOK.

364

tne rear, making up for long lagging by
long hopping. On one occasion, however,
as soon as we got out of the side-door from
the out-house yard into Belsize-lane, Mag
bounded across the road, and over the
wicket along the meadows, with quick and
long hops, throwing " side-long looks be-
hind," as if deriding my inability to keep
up with him, till he reached the well : there
we both waited for Jeff, who for once was
last, and, on whose arrival, the bird took his
station on the crown of the arch, looking
alternately down to the well and up at Jeff
It was a sultry day in a season of drought,
and, to Jeff's surprise, the water was not
easily within reach ; while he was making
efforts with the bucket, Mag seemed deeply
interested in the experiment, and flitted
about with tiresome assiduity. In a moment
Jeff rose in a rage, execrated poor Mag,
and vowed cruel vengeance on him. On
our way home the bird preceded, and Jeff,
to my continual alarm in behalf of Mag,
several times stopped, and threw stones at
him with great violence. It was not till
we were housed, that the man's anger
was sufficiently appeased to let him ac-
quaint me with its cause : and then I
learned that Mag was a "wicked bird,"
who knew of the low water before he set
out, and was delighted with the mischief.
From that day, Jeff hated him, and tried to
maim him : the creature's sagacity in elud-
ing his brutal intent, he imputed to dia-
bolical knowledge ; and, while my estima-
tion of Jeff as a good-natured fellow was
considerably shaken, I acquired a secret
fear of poor Mag. This was my first ac-
quaintance with the superstitious and dan-
gerous feelings of ignorance.

The water of Shepherd's well is remark-
able for not being subject to freeze. There
is another spring sometimes resorted to near
Kilburn, but this and the ponds in the Vale
of Health are the ordinary sources of public
supply to Hampstead. The chief incon-
venience of habitations in this delightful vil-
lage is the inadequate distribution of good
water. Occasional visitants, for the sake
of health, frequently sustain considerable
injury by the insalubrity of private springs,
and charge upon the fluid they breathe the
mischiefs they derive from the fluid they
drink. The localities of the place afford
almost every variety of aspect and temper-
ature that invalids require : and a constant
sufficiency of wholesome water might be
easily obtained by a few simple arrange-
ments.

March 19, 1827,

No. X.

[From the " Fair Maid of the Exchange,"
a Comedy, by Thomas Heywood,
5637.]

Cripple offers to fit Frank Golding wit ft
ready made Love Epistles.

Frank, Of thy own writing ?

Crip. My own, I assure yon, Sir.

Frank. Faith, thou hast robb'd some sonnet-book or

other,
And now would'st make me think they are thy own.

Crip. Why, think'st thou that I cannot write a Letter,
Ditty, or Sonnet, with judicial phrase,
As pretty, pleasing, and pathetical,
As the best Ovid-iiuitating dunce
In the whole town ?

Frank. I think thou can'st not.

Crip. Yea, I'll swear I cannot.
Yet, Sirrah, I could coney-catch the world,
Make myself famous for a sudden wit,
And be admired for my dexterity,
Were I disposed.

Frsnk. I prithee, how ?

Crip. Why, thus. There lived a Poet in this town,
(If we may term our modern writers Poets),
Sharp-witted, bitter-toDgued ; his pen, of steel;
His ink was temper'd with the biting juice
And extracts of the bitterest weeds that grew ;
He never wrote but when the elements
Of fire and water tilted in his brain.
This fellow, ready to give np his ghost
To Lucia's bosom, did bequeath to me
His Library, which was just nothing
But rolls, and scrolls, and bandies of cast wit,
Such as durst never visit Paul's Church Yard.
Amongst 'em all I lighted on a quire
Or two of paper, fill'd with Songs and Ditties,
And here and there a hungry Epigram ;
These I reserve to my own proper use,
And Pater-noster-like have conn'd them all.
I could now, when I am in company,
At ale-house, tavern, or an ordinary,
Upon a theme make an extemporal ditty
(Or one at least should seem extemporal).
Out of the abundance of this Legacy,
That all would judge it, and report it too,
To be the infant of a sudden wit,
And then were I an admirable fellow.

Frank. This were a piece of cunning.

Crip. I could do more ; for I could make enquiry.
Where the best-witted gallants use to dine,
Follow them to the tavern, and there sit
In the next room with a calve's head and brimstone.
And over-hear their talk, observe their humours,
Collect their jests, put them into a play,
And tire them too with payment to behold
What I have filch'd from them. This I could do

385

THE TABLE BOOK.

386

But O for shame that man should so arraign
Their own fee-simple wits for verbal theft !
Yet men there be that have done this and that,
And more by much more than the most of them. *

After this Specimen of the pleasanter
vein of Heywood, I am tempted to extract
some lines from his " Hierarchic of Angels,
1634 ;" not strictly as a Dramatic Poem,
but because the passage contains a string
of names, all but that of Watson, hie con-
temporary Dramatists. He is complaining
in a mood half serious, half comic, of the
disrespect which Poets in his own times
meet with from the world, compared with
the honors paid them by Antiquity. Then
they could afford them three or four sono-
rous names, and at full length ; as to Ovid,
the addition of Publius Naso Sulmensis ;
to Seneca, that of Lucius Annaeas Cordu-
bensis ; and the like. Now, says he,

Our modern Poets to that pass are driven, . .

Those names are curtail'd which they first had given ;

And, as we wish'd to have their memories drown'd,

We scarcely can afford them half their sound.

Greene, who had in both Academies ta'en

Degree of Master, yet could never gain

To be call'd more than Robin : who, had he

Profest ought save the Muse, served, and been fire*

After a sev'n years prenticeship, might have

(With credit too) gone Robert to his grave.

Marlowe, renown'd for his rare art and wit,

Could ne'er attain beyond the name of Kit ;

Although his Hero and Leander did

Merit addition rather. Famous Kid

Was call'd but Tom. Tom Watson ; though he wrote

Able to make Apollo's self to dote

Upon his Muse ; for all that he could strive,

Yet never could to his full name arrive.

Tom Nash (in his time of no small esteem)

Could not a second syllable redeem.

Excellent Beaumont, in the foremost rank

Of the rarest wits, was never more than Frank.

Mellifluous SHAKSPEARE, whose inchanting quill

Commanded mirth or passion, was but WILL ;

* The full title of this Play is " The Fair Maid of
the Exchange, with the humours of the Cripple of Fen-
church." The above Satire against some Dramatic
Plagiarists of the time, is put into the mouth of the
Cripple, who is an excellent fellow, and the Hero of the
Comedy. Of his humour this extract is a sufficient
specimen ; but he is described (albeit a tradesman, yet
wealthy withal) with heroic qualities of mind and
body; the latter of which he evinces by rescuing his
Mistress (the Fair Maid) from three robbers by the
main force of one crutch lustily applied ; and the
former by his foregoing the advantages which this
action gained him in her good opinion, and bestowing
his wit and finesse in procuring for her a husband, in
the person of his friend Golding, more worthy of her
beauty, than he could conceive his own maimed and
halting limbs to be. It would require some boldness in
a dramatist now-a-days to exhibit such a Character ;
and some luck in finding a sufficient Actor, who would
be willing to personate the infirmities, together with
th virtues, of the Noble Cripple.

And famous Jonson, though his learned pen
Be dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben.
Fletcher, and Webster, of that learned pack
None of the meanest, neither was but Jack ;
Decker but Tom ; nor May, nor Middleton ;
And he's now but Jack Ford, that once were John.

Possibly our Poet was a little sore, that
this contemptuous curtailment of their Bap-
tismal Names was chiefly exercised upon
his Poetical Brethren of the Drama. We
hear nothing about Sam Daniel, or Ned
Spenser, in his catalogue. The familiarity
of common discourse might probably take
the greater liberties with the Dramatic
Poets, as conceiving of them as more upon
a level with the Stage Actors. Or did their
greater publicity, and popularity in con-
sequence, fasten these diminutives upon
them out of a feeling of love and kindness ;
as we say Harry the Fifth, rather than
Henry, when we would express good will ?
as himself says, in those reviving words

Eut into his mouth by Shakspeare, where
e would comfort and confirm his doubting
brothers :

Not Amurath an Amnrath succeeds,
But Harry Harry !

And doubtless Heywood had an indistinct
conception of this truth, when (coming to
his own name), with that beautiful retract-
ing which is natural to one that,. not Sati-
rically given, has wandered a little out of
his way into something recriminative, he
goes on to say :

Nor speak I this, that any here exprest
Should think themselves less worthy than the rest.
Whose names have their foil syllables and sound ;
Or that Frank, Kit, or Jack, are the least wound
Unto their fame and merit. I for my part
(Think others what they please) accept that heart,
Which courts my love in most familiar phrase ;
And that it takes not from my pains or praise,
If any one to me so bluntly come :
I hold he loves me best that calls me Tom.

C. L.

ERRATA.

GARRTCK PLAYS, No. IX.
Col. 357. Last line but two of the last
extract

" Blushing forth golden hair and glorious red "
a sun-bright line spoiled :

Blush for Blushing.

Last line but two of the extract preced-
ing the former, (the end of the old man's
speech)

" Restrained liberty attain'd is sweet,"
should have a full stop.

387

THE TABLE BOOK.

388

These little blemishes kill such delicate
things : prose feeds on grosser punctualities.

Will the reader be pleased to make the
above corrections with a pen, and allow
the fact of illness in excuse for editorial
mischance ?

SNUFF AND TOBACCO.

For the Table Book.

In the year 1 797 was circulated the fol-
lowing :

PROPOSALS for Publishing by Subscrip-
tion, a HISTORY OF SNUFF AND TOBACCO,
in two Volumes.

Vol. I. to contain a Description of the
Nose Size of Noses A Digression on
Roman Noses Whether long Noses are
symptomatic Origin of Tobacco Tobac-
co first manufactured into Snuff Enquiry
who took the first Pinch Essay on Sneez-
ing Whether the ancients sneezed, and at
what Origin of Pocket-handkerchiefs
Discrimination between Snuffing and tak-
ing Snuff; the former applied only to Can-
dles Parliamentary Snufftakers Trou-
bles in the time of Charles the First, as con-
nected with Smoking.

Vol. II. Snufftakers in the Parliamen-
tary army Wit at a Pinch Oval Snuff-
boxes first used by the Round-heads
Manufacture of Tobacco Pipes Disserta-
tion on Pipe Clay State of Snuff during
the Commonwealth The Union Scotch
Snuff first introduced found very pungent
and penetrating Accession of George the
Second Snuff-boxes then made of Gold
and Silver George the Third Scotch
Snuff first introduced at Court The Queen
German Snuffs in fashion Female Snuff-
takers Clean Tuckers, &c. 8cc. Index
and List of Subscribers.

In connection with this subject I beg
to mention an anecdote, related to
me by an old Gentleman who well re-
membered the circumstance :

" When every Shopkeeper had a Sign
hanging out before his door, a Dealer in
Snuff and Tobacco on Fish St. eet Hill, car-
ried on a large uade, especially in To-
bacco, for his Shop was greatly frequented
by Sailors from the Ships in the River. In
the course of time, a Person of the name of
Farr opened a Shop nearly opposite, and
hung out his Sign inscribed ' The best To-
bacco by Farr.' This (like the Shoemaker's
inscription, ' Adam Strong Shoemaker,' so

well known) attracted the attention of the
Sailors, who left the old Shop to buy ' th;
best Tobacco by far.' The old Shopkeeper
observing that his opponent obtained mucir
custom by his Sign, had a new one put up
at his Door inscribed ' Far better Tobacco
than the best Tobacco by Farr.' This had
its effect; his trade returned, and finally
his opponent was obliged to give up busi-
ness.''

W. P.

THE SMOKER'S SONG.
For the Table Book.

For thy sake, Tobacco, I
Would do any thing but die 1

CHARLES LAMO.

There is a tiny weed, man,
That grows far o'er the sea man ;

The juice of which does more bewitch
Than does the gossip's tea, man.

2.
Its name is call'd tobacco,

'Tis used near and far man ;
The car-man chews but I will choose

The daintier cigar, man.

'Tis dainty ev'n in shape, man
So round, so smooth, so long, man I

If yo'i're a churl, 'twill from you hurl
Yonr spleen you'll sing a song, man I

If yon will once permit it
To touch your swelling lip, man,

You soon shall see 'twill sweeter be
Than what the bee doth sip, man I

If e'er you are in trouble,
This will your trouble still, man,

On sea and land 'tis at command,
An idle hour to kill, man !

6.
And if the blind god, Cupid,

Should strike you to the heart, man,
Take up a glass, and toast your lass

And ne'er from smoking part, mam I

7.
And also if you're married,

In Hymen's chains fast bound, man ;
To plague your wife out of her life,

Smoke still the whole year round, rnM I

How sweet 'tis of an evening
When winf ry winds do I'iow, man.

As 'twere in spite, to take a pipe.
And smoke by th' fire's glow, man I

389

THE TABLE BOOK.

390

The sailor in bis ship, man,

When wildly rolls the ware, man,

Kis pipe will smoke, and crack his joke
Aoovc his yawning grave, man I

10.
The soldier, in the tavern,

Talks of the battle's roar, man ;
With pipe in hand, he gives command,

And thus he lives twice o'er jnan 1

11.

All classes in this world, man,
Have each their own enjoyment,

But with a pipe, they're all alike
'Tis every one's employment 1

12.
Of all the varous pleasures

That on this earth there are, man.
There's nought to me affords such glee

As a pipe or sweet cigar, man I

O. N. Y.

Customs an& ;f!arater$*

BY JOHN AUBREY, 1678
Ex MS. CQLL. ASHMOL. Mus. OXFORD.

Education.

There were very few free-schools in
England before the Reformation. Youth
were generally taught Latin in the monas-
teries, and young women had their educa-
tion not at Hackney, as now, scilicit, anno
1678, but at nunneries, where they learnt
needle-work, confectionary, surgery, physic,
(apothecaries and surgeons being at that
time very rare,) writing, drawing, &c. Old
Jackquar, now living, has often seen from
his house the nuns of St. Mary Kingston,
in Wilts, coming forth into the Nymph Hay
with their rocks and wheels to spin, some-
times to the number of threescore and ten,
all whom were not nuns, but young girls
sent there for their education.

Chimneys.

Anciently, before the Reformation, ordi-
nary men's houses, as copyholders, and the
like, had no chimneys, but flues like louver-
holes ; some of them were in being when I
v-as a boy.

Painted Cloths.

In the halls and parlours of great houses
were wrote texts of Scripture on the paint-
ed cloths,

Libels.

The lawyers say, that, before the time of
king Henry VIII., one shall hardly find

an action on the case as for slander, &c.
once in a year, quod nota.

Christmas.

Before the last civil wars, in gentlemen's
houses at Christmas, the first dish that was
brought to the table was a boar's head
with a lemon in his mouth. At Queen's
College in Oxford they still retain this
custom ; the bearer of it brings it into the
hall, singing to an old tune an old Latin
rhyme, " Caput apri defero," &c. The first
dish that was brought up to the table on
Easter-day was a red herring riding away
on horseback, i. e. a herring ordered by
the cook something after the likeness of a
man on horseback, set in a corn salad.

Easter.

The custom of eating a gammon of bacon
at Easter, which is still kept up in many
parts of England, was founded on this, viz.
to show their abhorrence to Judaism at that
solemn commemoration of our Lord's
resurrection. In the Easter holydays was
the clerk's ale for his private benefit, and
the solace of the neighbourhood.

Salutations.

The use of " Your humble servant''
came first into England on the marriage of
queen Mary, daughter of Henry IV. of
France, which is derived from Votre trt
humble serviteur. The usual salutation
before that time was, " God keep you !"
" God be with you !" and among th'e vul-
gar, " How dost do?" with a thump on the
shoulder.

Court Rudeness.

Till this time the court itself was un-
polished and unmannered. King James's
court was so far from being civil to wo-
men, that the ladies, nay the queen herself,
could hardly pass by the king's apartment
without receiving some affront.

Travellers in France.
At the parish priests' houses in France,
especially in Languedoc, the table-cloth
is on the board all day long, and ready for
what is in the house to be put thereon for
strangers, travellers, friars, and pilgrims;
so 'twas, I have heard my grandfather say,
in his grandfather's time.

Private Heralds.

Heretofore noblemen and gentlemen o
fair estates had their heralds, who wore
their coat of arms at Christmas, and at
other solemn limes, and cried " Largesse"
thrice.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

392

At Tomarton, in Gloucestershire, an-
ciently the seat of the Rivers, is a, dungeon
thirteen or fourteen feet deep ; about four
feet high are iron rings fastened to the
wail, which was probably to tie offending
villains to, as all lords of manors had this
power over their villains,(or soccage tenants,)
and had all of them no doubt such places
for their punishment. It is well known,
all castles had dungeons, and so I believe
had monasteries, for they had often within
themselves power of life and death.

In days of yore, lords and gentlemen
lived in the country like petty kings ; had
jura regalia belonging to their seigniories,
had their castles and boroughs, had gallows
within their liberties, where they could try,
condemn, and execute. Never went to
London but in parliament-time, or once a
year to do their homage to the king.
They always ate in gothic halls, at the high
table or oreille, (which is a little room at
the upper end of the hall, where stands a
table,) with the folks at the side-tables. The
meat was served up by watchwords.
Jacks are but of late invention. The poor
boys did turn the spits, and licked the
dripping for their pains. The beds of the
men-servants and retainers were in the
hall, as now in the grand or privy chamber.

Here in the hall, the mumming and the
loaf-stealing, and other Christmas sports,
were performed.

The hearth was commonly in the middle,
whence the saying, " Round about our
coal-fire."

A neat-built chapel, and a spacious hall,
were all the rooms of note, the rest more
small.

Private Armories.

Every baron and gentleman of estate
kept great horses for men at arms. Some
had their armories sufficient to furnish out
some hundreds of men.

Justices' Halls.

The halls of the justices of peace were
dreadful to behold ; the screen was gar-
nished with corselets and helmets gaping
with open mouths, with coats of mail,
lances, pikes, halberds, brown bills, bat-
terdastors, and buckles.

Inns.

Public inns were rare. Travellers were
entertained at religious houses for three
days together, if occasion served.

Gentry Meetings.

The meeting of the gentry were not at
taverns, but in the fields or forests, with

hawks and hounds, and their bugle-horns,
in silken bawderies.

Hawking.

In the last age every gentleman-like
man kept a sparrow-hawk, and the priest
a hobby, as dame Julian Berners teaches
us, (who wrote a treatise on field-sports,
temp. Henry VI. :) it was a divertisement
for young gentlewomen to manne sparrow-
hawks and merlines.

Church-houses Poor-rate*.

Before the Reformation there were no
poor's rates ; the charitable doles given at
religious houses, and church-ale in every
parish, did the business. In every parish
there was a church-house, to which be-
longed spits, pots, crocks, &c. for dressing
provision. Here the housekeepers met
and were merry, and gave their charity.
The young people came there too, and had
dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c.
Mr. A. Wood assures me, there were few
or no alms-houses before the time of king
Henry VIII. ; that at Oxford, opposite to
Christ church, is one of the most ancient in
England. In every church was a poor
man's box, and the like at great inns.

In these times, besides the jollities
above-mentioned, they had their pilgrim-
ages to several shrines, as to Walsingham,
Canterbury, Glastonbury, Bromholm, &c.
Then the crusades to the holy wars were
magnificent and splendid, and gave rise to
the adventures of the knight-errant and
romances ; the solemnity attending proces-
sions in and about churches, and the per-
ambulations in the fields, were great diver-
sions also of those times.

Glass Windows.

Glass windows, except in churches and
gentlemen's houses, were rare before the
time of Henry VIII. In my own remem-
brance, before the civil wars, copyholders
and poor people had none.

Men's Coats.

About ninety years ago, noblemen's and
gentlemen's coats were of the bedels and
yeomen of the guards, i. e. gathered at
the middle. The benchers in the inns of
court yet retain that fashion in the make of
their gowns.

Church-building.

Captain Silas Taylor says, that in days
of yore, when a church was to be built, they

393

THE TABLE BOOK.

394

watched and prayed on the vigil of the
dedication, and took that point of the
horizon where the sun arose for the east,
which makes that variation, so that few
stand true, except those built between the
two equinoxes. I have experimented some
churches, and have found the line to point
to that part of the horizon where the sun
rises on the day of that saint to whom the
church was dedicated.

Before the wake, or feast of the dedi-
cation of the church, they sat up all night
fasting and praying, (viz.) on the eve of
the wake.

New Moon.

In Scotland, especially among the High-
landers, the women make a courtesy to
the new moon ; and our English women in
this country have a touch of this, some of
them sitting astride on a gate or style the
first evening the new moon appears, and
say, " A fine moon, God bless her !" The
like I observed in Herefordshire.

Husbandry Shepherds.

The Britons received the knowledge of
husbandry from the Romans ; the foot and
the acie, which we yet use, is the nearest
to them. In our west country, (and I be-
lieve so in the north,) they give no wages
to the shepherd, but he has the keeping so
many sheep with his master's flock. Plau-
tus hints at this in his Asinaria, act 3,
scene 1, "etiam Opilio," &c.

Architecture.

The Normans brought with them into
England civility and building, which,
though it was gothic, was yet magnificent.

Mr. Dugdale told me, that, about the
time of king Henry III., the pope gave a
bull, or patent, to a company of Italian
architects, to travel up and down Europe
to build churches.

Trumpets Sheriffs' Trumpets.

Upon occasion of bustling in those days,
reat lords sounded their trumpets, and
summoned those that held under them.
Old sir Walter Long, of Draycot, kept a
trumpeter, rode with thirty servants and re-
tainers. Hence the sheriffs' trumpets at
this day.

Younger Brothers.

No younger brothers were to betake
themselves to trades, but were churchmen
or retainers to great men.

Learning, and learned Men.,
From the time of Erasmus till anout
twenty years last past, the learning was
downright pedantry. The conversation and
habits of those times were as starched as
thf ir bands and square beards, and gravity
was then taken for wisdom. The doctors
in those days were but old boys, when
quibbles passed for wit, even in their ser-
mons.

Gentry and their Children.

The gentry and citizens had little learn-
ing of any kind, and their way of breediag
up their children was suitable to the rest.
They were as severe to their children as
their schoolmasters, and their schoolmas-
ters as masters of the house of correction :
the child perfectly loathed the sight of his
parents as the slave his torture.

Gentlemen of thirty and forty years old
were to stand like mutes and fools bare-
headed before their parents ; and the
daughters (grown women) were to stand at
the cupboard-side during the whole time of
her proud mother's visit, unless (as the
fashion was) leave was desired forsooth
that a cushion should be given them to
kneel upon, brought them by the serving-
man, after they had done sufficient penance
in standing.

The boys (I mean the young fellow) had
their foreheads turned up and stiffened
with spittle : they were to stand mannerly
forsooth thus, the foretop ordered as before,
with one hand at the bandstring, and the
other behind.

Fans.

The gentlewomen had prodigious fans,
as is to be seen in old pictures, like that in-
strument which is used to drive feathers,
and it had a handle at least half a yard
long ; with these the daughters were often-
times corrected, (sir Edward Coke, lord
chief justice, rode the circuit with such a
fan ; sir William Dugdale told me he was
an eye-witness of it. The earl of Man-
chester also used such a fan,) but fathers
and mothers slashed their daughters in the
time of their besom discipline, when they
were perfect women.

University Flogging.

At Oxford (and I believe at Cambridge)
the rod was frequently used by the tutors
and deans ; and Dr. Potter, of Trinity col-
lege, I knew right well, whipped his pupil
with his sword by his side, when he came
to take his leave of him to go to t'le inns of
court;

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THE TABLE BOOK.

3i>6

mmg Mantis to

Young lambs to sell ! young lambs to sell
If I'd as much money as I could tell.
I'd not come bere with lambs to sell I
Dolly and Molly, Richard and Nell,
Buy my young lambs, and I'll use you well !

This is a " London cry " at the present
time : the engraving represents the crier,
William Listen, from a drawing for which
he purposely stood.

This " public character " was born in the
Gallowgate in the city of Glasgow. He
became a soldier in the waggon-train,
commanded by colonel Hamilton, and
served under the duke of York in Holland,
where, on the 6th of October, 1799, he lost
his right arm and left leg, and his place in
the army. His misfortunes thrust distinc-
tion upon him. From having been a pri-
vate in the ranks, where he would have re-

mained a single undistinguishable cipher 0,
amongst a row of ciphers 000000000
he now makes a figure in the world ; and is
perhaps better known throughout England
than any other individual of his order in
society, for he has visited almost every
town with " young lambs to sell." He
has a wife and four children ; the latter are
constantly employed in making the " young
lambs," with white cotton wool for fleeces,
spangled with Dutch gilt, the head of flour
paste, red paint on the cheeks, two jet
black spots for eyes, horns of twisted shin .
ing tin, legs to correspond, and pink tap

397

THE TABLE BOOK.

398

tied round the neck for a graceful collar.
A full basket of these, and his song-like
cry, attract the attention of the juvenile
population, and he contrives to pick up a
living, notwithstanding the " badness of the
times." The day after last Christmas-day,
his cry in Covent-garden allured the stage-
manager to purchase four dozen of " young
lambs," and at night they were " brought
out" at that theatre, in the basket of a
performer who personated their old pro-
prietor, and cried so as to deceive the
younger part of the audience into a belief
lhat he was their real favourite of the streets.
I remember the first crier of " young
^ambs to sell !" He was a maimed sailor ;
and with him originated the manufacture.
If I am not mistaken, this man, many
years after I had ceased to be a purchaser
of his ware, was guilty of some delin-
quency, for which he forfeited his life : his
cry was

Young lambs to sell 1 young lambs to sell !
Two for a penny young lambs to sell I
Two for a penny young lambs to sell
Two for a penny yonng lambs to sell I
If I'd as much money as I could tell,
I wouldn't cry young lambs to sell !
Yoong lambs to sell yonng lambs to sell
Two for a penny young lambs to sell 1
Young lambs to se e 11,
Young la a mbs to sell !

Though it is five and thirty years ago
since I heard the sailor's musical " cry," it
still sings in my memory ; it was a tenor
of modulated harmonious tune, till, in the
last line but one, it became a thorough
bass, and rolled off at the close with a loud
swell that filled urchin listeners with awe
and admiration. During this chant his
head was elevated, and he gave his full
voice, and apparently his looks, to the
winds ; but the moment he concluded, and
when attention was yet rivetted, his ad-
dress became particular : his persuasive
eye and jocular address flashed round the
circle of " my little masters and mistresses,"
and his hand presented a couple of his
snow white " fleecy charge," dabbled in
gold, " two for a penny !" nor did he re-
sume his song till ones and twos were in
the possession of probably every child who
had a halfpenny or penny at command.
The old sailor's " young lambs" were only
half the cost of the poor soldier's. It may
be doubted whether the materials of their
composition have doubled in price, but the
demand for " young lambs " has certainly
lessened, while the piesent manufacturer
has quite as many wants as the old one,

and luckily possessing a monopoly of the
manufacture, he therefore raises the price
of his articles to the necessity of his cir-
cumstances. It is not convenient to refer
to the precise chapter in the " Wealth of
Nations,"orto verified tables of the increased
value of money, in order to show that the
new lamb-seller has not exceeded "an
equitable adjustment " in the arrangement
of his present prices ; but it is fair to state
in his behalf, that he declares, notwith-
standing all the noise he makes, the carry-
ing on of the lamb business is scarcely
better than pig-shaving; " Sir," says he,
" it's great cry, and little wool." From a
poor fellow, at his time of life, with only
half his limbs to support a large family
this is no joke. Not having been at his
native place for two and twenty years, the
desire to see it once more is strong within
him, and he purposes next Easter to turn
his face northwards, with his family, and
" cry " all the way from London to Glas-
gow. Let the little ones, therefore, in the
towns of his route, keep a penny or two by
them to lay out in " young lambs," and so
help the poor fellow along the road, in this
stage of his struggle through life.

March 19, 1827.

LINES ON HAPPINESS.

For the Table Book.
Like a frail shadow seen in maze,

Or some bright star shot o'er the ocean,
Is happiness, that meteor's blaze,
For ever fleeting in its motion.

It plays within our fancied grasp.

Like a phantasmagorian shade,
Pursued, e'en to the latest gasp,

It still seems hovering in the glade.

Tis but like hope, and hope's, at best,

A star that leads the weary on,
Still pointing to the unpossess'd

And palling that it beams upon.

J. B. O.

HUMAN LIFE.

BY GOETHE.

That life is but a dream is the opinion of
many ; it is mine. When I see the narrow
limits which confine the penetrating, active
genius of man ; when I see that all his
powers are directed to satisfy mere neces-
sities, the only end of which is to prolong
a precarious or painful existence ; that his
greatest care, with regard to certain inquir-
ies, is but a blind resignation; and that

393

THE TABLE BOOK.

we only amuse ourselves with painting bril-
liant figures and smiling landscapes on the
waris of our prison, whilst we see on all
sides the boundary which confines us; when
I consider these things I am silent : I ex-
amine myself; and what do I find ? Alas !
more vague desires, presages, and visions,
than conviction, truth, and reality.

The happiest are those, who, like chil-
dren, think not of the morrow, amuse them-
selves with playthings, dress and undress
their dolls, watch with great respect befoie
the cupboard where mamma keeps the
sweetmeats, and when they get any, eat
them directly, and cry for more; these are
certainly happy beings. Many also are to
be envied, who dignify their paltry employ-
ments, sometimes even their passions, with
pompous titles ; and who represent them-
selves to mankind as beings of a superior
order, whose occupation it is to promote
their welfare and glory. But the man who
in all humility acknowledges the vanity of
these things ; observes with what pleasure
the wealthy citizen transforms his little
garden into a paradise; with what patience
the poor man bears his burden ; and that
all wish equally to behold the sun yet a
little longer ; he too may be at peace. He
creates a world of his own, is happy also
because he is a man ; and, however limited
his sphere, he preserves in his bosom the
idea of liberty.

VALEDICTORY STANZAS.
For the Table Book.

The flower is faded,

The sun-beam is fled,
The bright eye is shaded,

The loved one is dead :
Like a star in the morning

When, mantled in gray,
Aurora is dawning

She vanish'd away.

Like the primrose that blooineth

Neglected to die,
Though its sweetness perfumeth

The ev'ning's soft sigh
Like lightning in summer.

Like rainbows that shine
With a mild dreamy glimmer

In colours divine

The kind and pure hearted,

The tender, the true,
Prom our love has departed

With scarce an adieu :
So briefly, so brightly

In virtue she shone,
As sliooting stars nightly

Thai blaze and are gone.

The place of her slumber

Is holy to me,
And oft as I number

The leaves of the tree,
Whose branches in sorrow

Bend over her urn,
I think of to-morrow

And silently mourn.

The farewell is spoken.

The spirit sublime
The last tie has broken,

That bound it to time ;
And bright is its dwelling

Its mansion of bliss-
How far, far excelling

The darkness of this !

Yet hearts still are beating.

And eyes still are wet-
True, our joys are all fleeting,

But who can forget ?
I know they must vanish

As visions depart,
But oh, can this banish

The thorn from my heart ?

The eye of affection.

Its tribute of tears
Sheds, with fond recollection

Of life's happy years ;
And tho' vain be the anguish

Indulg'd o'er the tomb,
Yet nature will languish

And shrink from its gloom.

Those lips their least motion

Was music to me,
And, like light on the ocean,

Those eyes seem'd to be :
Are they mute and for ever ?

The spell will not break ;
Are they closed must I never

Behold them awake ?

When distress was around me

Thy smiles were as balm.
That in misery found me,

And left me in calm :
Success became dearer

When thou wert with me,
And the clear sky grew clearer

When gaz'd on with thee.

Thon art gone and tho' reason

My grief would disarm,
I feel there's a season

When grief has a charm ;
And 'tis sweeter, far sweeter

To sit by thy grave,
Than to follow Hope's meteor

Down time's hasty wave.

In darkness we laid thee
The earth for thy bed

The couch that we made thee
IB press'd by thee dead :

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THE TABLE BOOK.

402

In sorrow's tiim shrouded,
Our eyes could not see

The glory unclouded
That opened on thee.

Thou canst not, pore spirit,

Return to the dust,
But we may inherit

So humbly we trust
The joys without measure

To which thou art gone,
The regions of pleasure

Where tears are unknown.

EFFECT OF CONSCIENCE.

On the 30th of March, 1789, 360/. was
carried to the account of the public, in
consequence of the following note received
by the chancellor of the exchequer.

" Sir You will herewith receive bank
notes to the amount of 3601. which is the
property of the nation, and which, as an
honest man, you will be so just as to apply
to the use of the state in such manner that
the nation may not suffer by its having
been detained from the public treasury.
You are implored to do this for the ease of
conscience to an honest man."

ftteftott*

HENRY THE GREAT.

PUBLIC LIBEL.

About 1605, Henry IV. of France at-
tempting to enforce some regulations re-
specting the annuities upon the Hotel de
Ville, of Paris, several assemblies of the
citizens were held, in which Francis Miron,
the pre"vot des marchands, addressed the
king s commissioners against the measures
with fervour and firmness. It was rumoured
amongst the people of Paris, that their
magistrate was threatened, for having ex-
erted himself too warmly in their behalf;
they crowded about his house, in order to
defend him, but Miron requested them to
retire, and not to render him really crimi-
nal. He represented that nothing injurious
was to be apprehended, for they had a king
as great and wise, as he was beneficent and
just, who would not suffer himself to be
hurried away by the instigations of evil
counsellors. Yet those whose conduct
Miron had arraigned, endeavoured to per-
suade Henry to punish him, and deprive
him of his office, for disobedient actions,

and seditious discourse. The king's an-
swer contained memorable expressions :
" Authority does not always consist n.
carrying things with a high hand : regard
must be paid to times, persons, and the
subject-matter. I have been ten years in
extinguishing civil discord, I dread its re-
vival, and Paris has cost me too much for
me to risk its loss ; in my opinion, it
would unquestionably be the case, were I
to follow your advice ; for I should be
obliged to make terrible examples, which,
in a few days, would deprive me of the
glory of clemency, and the affection of my
people ; and these I prize as much, and even
more than my crown. I have experienced,
on many occasions, the fidelity and probity
of Miron, who harbours no ill intentions,
but undoubtedly deemed himself bound, by
the duties of his office, to act as he has
acted. If unguarded expressions have
escaped him, I pardon them, on account of
his past services ; and, should he even de-
sire a martyrdom in the public cause, I will
disappoint him of the glory, by avoiding
to become a persecutor and a tyrant."

Henry ended the affair by receiving the
apology and submission of Miron, and re-
voking the orders concerning the annuities,
which had occasioned the popular alarm.*

LIBELLOUS DRAMA.
On the 26th of January, 1607, a plea-
sant farce was acted at the Hotel de Bour-
gogne, at Paris, before Henry IV., his
queen, and the greater part of the princes,
lords, and ladies of the court. The subject
of the piece was a quarrel between a mar-
ried man and his wife. The wife told her
husband, that he staid tippling at the tavern
while executions were daily laid upon their
goods, for the tax which must be paid to
the king, and that all their substance was
carried away. " It is for that very reason,"
said the husband in his defence, " that we
should make merry with good cheer ; for of
what service would all the fortune we could
amass be to us, since it would not belong
to ourselves, but to this same noble king.
I will drink the more, and of the very best :
monsieur the king shall not meddle with
that; go fetch me some this minute; march."
" Ah, wretch !" replied the wife, " would
you bring me and your children to ruin ?"
During this dialogue, three officers of jus-
tice came in, and demanded the tax, and,
in default of payment, prepared to carry
away the furniture. The wife began a loud

Perefixe.

405

THE TABLE BOOK.

404

lamentation ; at length the husband asked
them who they were ? " We belong to Jus-
tice," said the officers : " How, to Justice .'"
replied the husband ; " they who belong to
Justice act in another manner ; I do not
believe that you are what you say.'' Dur-
ing this altercation the wife seized a trunk,
upon which she seated herself. The officers
commanded her, " in the king's name," to
open it ; and after much dispute the trunk
was opened, and out jumped three devils,
who carry away the three officers of justice.
The magistrates, conceiving themselves
to have been insulted by this performance,
caused the actors to be arrested, and com-
mitted them to prison. On the same day
they were discharged, by express command
of the king, who magnanimously told those
that complained of the affront, " You are
fools ! If any one has a right to take offence,
it is I, who have received more abuse than
any of you. I pardon the comedians from
my heart; for the rogues made me laugh
till I cried again."*

CUSTOM AT SCARBOROUGH.

The fish-market is held on the sands, by
the sides of the boats, which, at low water,
are run upon wheels with a sail set, and
are conducted by the fishermen, who dispose
of their cargoes in the following manner.

One of the female fishmongers inquires
the price, and bids a groat ; the fishermen
ask a sum in the opposite extreme : the one
bids up, and the other reduces the demand,
till they meet at a reasonable point, when
the bidder suddenly exclaims, " Het !"
This practice seems to be borrowed from
the Dutch. The purchase is afterwards
retailed among the regular, or occasional
surrounding customers.

LINES TO A BARREL ORGAN.
For the Table Book.

How many thoughts from thee I cull,

Music's humblest vehicle I

From thy caravan of sounds,

Constant in its daily rounds,

Some such pleasure do I find

As when, borne upon the wind,

Toe well-known " bewilder'd chimes **

Plaintively recall those times,

(t ong sincj lost in sorrow's shade,)

When, in some sequester'd glade.

Their simple, stammering tongueb would try

Some heart-moving melody.-

Oldest musical uelight

Of my boyish days I the sight

* L'Ktoil, Hist. d'Kenri IV.

Or sound of thea would charm my feet.

And make my joy of heart complete

How thou luredst listeners

To thy crazy, yearning airs !

Harmonious, grumbling volcano 1

Murm'ring sounds in small piaiw,

Or screaming forth a shrill soprano,

Mingled with the growling bass.

Fragments of some air I trace,

Stifled by the notes which cram it

Scatter'd ruins of the gamut!

Sarcophagus of harmony I

Orpheus* casket ! guarded by

A swain who lives by what he earn*

From the music which he churns :

Every note thou giv'st by turn!.

Not Pindar's lyre more varitty

Possess'd rhan thou I no cloy'd satiety

Feel'st thou at thy perpetual feast

Of sound; nor weariness the least:

Thy task's perform'd with right goodwill.^

Thou art a melodious mill !

Notes, like grain, are dribbled in,

Thou grindest them, and fill'st the bin

Of melody with plenteous store.

Thy tunes are liko the parrot's lore.

Nothing of them dost thou wot,

But rcpeatest them by rote.

Curious, docile instrument!

To skilless touch obedient :

Like a mine of richest ore,

Inexhaustible in itore,

Yielding nt a child's command

All thy wealth unto its hand.

Harmonic-cm peripatetic!

What clue to notes so oft erratic

Hast thou, by which the ear may follow

Through thy labyrinthine hollow,

Which its own echo dost consume,

As stoves devour their own fume.

Mysterious fabric ! cage-like chest f

Behind whose gilded bars the nest

Of unfledg'd melodies is hid

'Neath that brazen coverlid.

In thy bondage-house of song,

Bound in brazen fetters strong,

Immortal harmonies do groan 1

Doleful sounds their stifled moan.

A vulture preys upon their pangs,

Round whose neck their prison hangs ,

Like that tenanted strong box

By eagle found upon the rocks

Of Brobdingnag's gigantic isle.

Like Sysiphus, their endless toil

Is hopeless: their tormentor's claw

Turns the wheel (his will's their law)

Which all their joints and membert ricks.

Ne'er will his cruelty relax.

Miniature in sbape and sound

Of that grind instrument, wuich roual

Old cathedral walls dovh send

Its pealing voice ; whose tones do blend

The clangor of the trumpet's throat,

Aid the silver-stringed lute.

40.5

THE TABLE BOOK.

405

To what else shall I compare the'e ?
Further epithets I'll spare thee.
Honest and despised thing,
To thy memory I cling.
Spite of all thy faults, I own
I love thy " old. familiar " tone.

GASTON.

MINISTERIAL FAVOUR. .
A gentleman who had been long attached
to cardinal Mazarine, reminded the cardinal
of his many promises, and his dilatory per-
formance. Mazarine, who had a great re-
gard for him, and was unwilling to lose
his friendship, took his hand, and explained
the many demands made upon a person in
his situation as minister, which it would be
politic to satisfy previously to other re-
quests, as they were founded on services
done to the state. The cardinal's adherent,
not very confident in his veracity, replied,
" My lord, all the favour I now ask at your
hand is, that whenever we meet in public,
you will do me the honour to tap me on
the shoulder in an unreserved manner."
The cardinal smiled, and in the course of
two or three years tapping, his friend be-
came a wealthy man, on the credit of these
attentions to him; and Mazarine and his
confidant laughed at the public security
which enriched the courtier at so little ex-
pense to the state.

DUDLEY OF PORTSMOUTH.

" I'M A GOING !"

For the Table Book.

Barbers are not more celebrated by a
desire to become the most busy citizens of
the state, than by the expert habit in which
they convey news. Many a tale is invented

' out of a mere surmise, or whisper, for the
gratification of those who attend barbers'
shops. An old son of the scissors and
razor, well known at Portsmouth, was not,

however, quite so perfect a phizio\og\st, as
his more erudite and bristling fraternity.
One evening, as he was preparing his
fronts, and fitting his comb " to a hair,"
two supposed gentlemen entered his shop-
to be dressed ; this being executed with
much civility and despatch, a wager was
laid with old Dudley, (for that was his
name,) that he could not walk in a ring
three feet in diameter, for one hour, and
utter no other words than " I'm a going 1"
Two pounds on each side was on the counter ;
the ring was drawn in chalk; the money chink-
ed in tlie ear, and old Dudley moved in the

circle of his orbit. " I'm a going ! I'm a
going ! I'm a going !" were the only words
which kept time with his feet during the
space of fifty-five minutes, when, on a sud-
den, one of the gentlemen sprang forward,
and taking up the money, put it into his
pocket. This device threw old Dudley off
his guard, and he exclaimed, "That's not
fair!" " Enough !" rejoined the sharpers,
" you've lost the wager." They departed,
leaving him two pounds minus, and to this
day old Dudley is saluted by the appella-
tion of " I'm a going !"

JEHGJADA.

ROYAL DECISION.

In the reign of George I. the sister of
judge Dormer being married to a gentle-
man who afterwards killed a man very
basely, the judge went to move the king
for a pardon. It was impossible that he
could offer any thing to the royal ear in ex-
tenuation of the crime, and therefore he
was the more earnest in expressing his
hope that his majesty would save him and
his family from the infamy the execution of
the sentence would bring upon them. " So,
Mr. Justice," said the king, " what you
propose to me is, that I should transfer the
infamy from you and your family, to me
and my family ; but I shall do no such
thing." Motion refused.

iSfograpfnana.

REV. THOMAS COOKE.
To the Editor.

Sir In reply to the inquiries of your
correspondent G. J. D. at p. 136, I beg to
state, that the person he alludes to was the
translator of Hesiod, immortalized by Pope
in his Dunciad.

The Rev. Thomas Cooke was a profound
Greek and Latin scholar, and consequently
much better versed in the beauties of
Homer, &c. than the irritable translator of
the Iliad and Odyssey : his remarks on, and
expositions of Pope's glaring misconcep-
tions of many important passages of the
ancient bard drew down the satirical ven-
geance of his illustrious translator.

It would, however, appear that Pope
was not the assailant in the first instancy
for in the Appendix to the Dunciad we
find " A list of Books, Papers, and Verses,
in which our author (Pope) was abused,
before the publication of that Poem ;" and
among the said works " The Battle of the

THE TABLE BOOK.

408

Poets, an heroic Poem, by Thomas Cooke,
printed for J. Roberts, folio, 1725," is par-
ticularly mentioned. In book ii. of the
Dunciad, we have the following line,
" Cooke shall be Prior, and Concanen Swift ;"

to which the following note is amended:

'* The man here specified \ -.la thing
called The Battle of the Poets, ' which
Philips and Welsted were the he.oes, and
Swift and Pope utterly routed."

Cooke also published some " malevolent
things in the British, London, and daily
journals, and at the same time wrote letters
to Mr. Pope, protesting his innocence.*'

His chief work was a translation of
" Hesiod, to which Theobald writ notes,
and half notes, which he carefully owned."

Again, in the testimonies of authors,
which precede the Dunciad, we find the
following remark :

" Mr. Thomas Cooke,
" After much blemishing our author's
Homer, crieth out

" Bat in his other works what beauties shine,
While sweetest music dwells in ev*ry line !
These he adrair'd, on these he stamp'd his praises
And bade them live t* enlighten future days !"

I have somewhere read that Cooke was
a native of Sussex ; that he became famous
for his knowledge of the Greek and Latin
languages while at Cambridge ; and was
ultimately settled in some part of Shrop-
shire, where he soon became acquainted
with the family of the youi.vg lady celebrated
by his muse, in the fifth number of the
Table Book, and where he also greatly dis-
tinguished himself as a clergyman, and
preceptor of the younger branches of the
neighbouring gentry and nobility This
may in some measure account for the re-
spectable list of subscribers alluded to
by G. J. D.

It is presumedJiowever, that misfortune
at length overtook him ; for we find, in the
" Ambulator, or London and its Environs,"
under the head " Lambeth," that he lies
interred in the church-yard of that parish,
and that he died extremely poor : he is,
moreover, designated " the celebrated
translator of Hesiod, Terence, &c."

I have seen the poem entitled " The
Immortality of the Soul," mentioned by
G. J. D., though I have no recollection of
its general features or merit ; but of " The
Battle of the Poets " I have a copy ; and
what renders h more rare and valuable is,
that it was Mr. Cooke's own impression of
the work, and has several small produc-
tions upon various occasions, written, I

presume, with his own hand, each having
the signature "Thomas Cooke," on the
blank leaves at the commencement of the
book.

On my return from the continent, I shall
have no objection to intrust this literary
curiosity to your care for a short time,
giving you the liberty of extracting any
(and all if you think proper) of the pieces
written dn the interleaves : and, in the
mean time, I will do myself the pleasure of
selecting one from the number, for inser-
tion in the Table Book, which will, at
least, prove that Mr. Cooke's animosity
was of transient duration, and less virulent
than that of Pope.

It is possible that at some future time I
may be able to enlarge upon this subject,
for the better information of your corres-
pondent ; and I beg, in the interim, to re-
mark that there is no doubt the Annual
Register, from about the year 1750 to
1765, or works of that description, will
fully satisfy his curiosity, and afford him
much more explanation relative to Mr.
Cooke than any communications from
existing descendants.

In Mr. Cooke's copy of " The Battle of
the Poets," the lines before quoted run.
thus :

" But in his other works what beauties shine
What sweetness also dwells in ev'ry line I
These all admire these bring him endless praise,
And crown his temples with unfading bays 1"

I remain, sir,
Your obedient servant and subscriber,

Oxford, Jan. 29, 1827.

VERSES,

OCCASIONED BY THE LAMENTED DEATH
OF MR. ALEXANDER POPE.

POPE ! though thy pen has strove with heedless rage

To make my name obnoxious to the age,

While, dipp'd in gall, and tarnish'd with the spleen,

It dealt in taunts ridiculous and mean,

Aiming to lessen what it could not reach.

And giving license to ungrateful speech,

Still I forgive its enmity, and feel

Regrets I would not stifle, nor conceal ;

For though thy temper, and imperious soul,

Needed, at times, subjection and controul,

There was a majesty a march of sense

A proud display of rare intelligence,

In many a line of that transcendent pen,

We never, perhaps, may contemplate again

An energy peculiarly its own,

Ani sweetness perfectly before unknown !

409

THE TABLE BOOK.

410

Then deign, thou mighty master of the lyre I
T' accept what justice and remorse inspire ;
Justice that prompts the trilling muse to tell,
None ever wrote so largely and so well
Remorse that feels no future bard can fill
The vacant chair with half such Attic skill,
Or leave behind so many proofs of taste,
As those rich poems dulness ne'er disgrac'd 1

Farewell, dear shade ! all enmity is o'er,
Since Pope has left us for a brighter shore,
Where neither rage, nor jealousy, nor hate,
Can rouse the little, nor offend the great ;
Where worldly contests are at once forgot,
In the bright glories of a happier lot ;
And where the dunces of the Dunciad see
Thy genius crown'd with immortality 1

THOMAS COOKE.

DUKE OF YORK

ALBANY AND CLARENCE.

For the Table Book.

In the History of Scotland, there is a re-
inark which may be added to the account
of the dukes of York, at col. 103 ; viz.

Shire of Perth. That part of the county
called Braidalbin, or Breadalbane, lies
amongst the Grampian-hills, and gives
title to a branch of the family of Campbell;
where note that Braid-Albin, in old Scotch,
signifies the highest part of Scotland, and
Drum-Albin, which is the name of a part
thereof, signifies the ridge or back of Scot-
land. Hence it is collected that this is the
country which the ancients called Albany,
and part of the residence of the ancient
Scots, who still retain the name, and
call ihemselves " Albinkich," together with
the Ancient language and habit, continuing
to be a hardy, brave, and warlike people,
and very parsimonious in their way of
living ; and from this country the sons of
the royal family of Scotland took the title
of " duke of Albany ;" and since the union
of the two crowns, it has been found
amongst the royal titles of the dukes of
York.

Respecting the dukedom of Clarence,
which is originally derived from Clare, in
Suffolk, king -Edward III. in the thirty-
sixth year of his reign, for default of issue
male in the former family, created his
third son, Lionel, by reason of his marriage
with the grandaughter of the late earl of
Clare, duke of Clarence, being a word of a
fuller sound than the monosyllable " Clare."

DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS.

Lord George Germain was of a remark-
ably amiable disposition ; and his domes-
tics lived with him rather as humble friends
than menial servants. One day entering
his house in Pall-mall, he observed a large
basket of vegetables standing in the hall,
and inquired of the porter to whom they
belonged, and from whence they came ? Old
John immediately replied, " They are ours,
my lord, from our country-house." " Very
well," rejoined his lordship. At that in-
stant a carriage stopped at " the door, and
lord George, turning round, asked what
coach it was ? " Ours," said honest John.
" And are the children in it ours too ?"
said his lordship, smiling. " Most cer
tainly, my lord, replied John, with the
utmost gravity, and immediately ran to lift
them out.

A LITERARY CHARACTER.

I have long maintained a distinguished
station in our modern days, but I cannot
trace my origin to ancient times, though
the learned have attempted it. After the
revolution in 1688, I -was chief physician
to the king ; at least in my absence he ever
complained of sickness. Had I lived in
ancient days, so friendly was I to crowned
heads, that Cleopatra would have got off
with a sting ; and her cold arm would have
felt a reviving heat. I am rather a friend
to sprightliness than to industry; I have
often converted a neutral pronoun into a
man of talent : I have often amused myself
with reducing the provident ant to indi-
gence ; I never meet a post horse without
giving him a blow ; to some animals I am
a friend, and many a puppy has yelped for
aid when I have deserted him. I am a
patron of architecture, and can turn every
thing into brick and mortar; and so honest
withal, that whenever I can find a pair of
stockings, I ask for their owner. Not even
Lancaster has carried education so far as I
have : I adopt always the system of inter-
rogatories. I have already taught my hat
to ask questions of fact ; and my poultry
questions of chronology. With my trees I
share the labours of my laundry; they scour
my linen ; and when I find a rent, 'tis I
who make it entire.

In short, such are my merits, that what-
ever yours may be, you can never be more
than half as trood as I am.

411

THE TABLE BOOK.

412

ANSWER

TO THE PRECEDING.
A literary character you view.
Known to the moderns only W :
I was physician to king William ;
When absent, he would gay, " how ill I am !"
In ancient days if I had liv'd, the asp
'Which poison'd Egypt's queen, had been a Wasp ;
And the death-coldness of th' imperial arm
With life reviving had again been Warm.
A friend to sprightliness, that neuter it
By sudden pow'r I've chang'd into a Wit.
The vainly-provident industrious ant
With cruel sport I oft reduce to Want ; ,
Whene'er I meet with an unlucky hack,
I give the creature a tremendous Whack:
And many a time a puppy cries for help,
If I desert capriciously the Whelp.
A friend to architecture, I turn all
(As quick as Chelt'nham builders) into Wall.
I'm honest, for whene'er I find some hose,
I seek the owner, loud exclaiming Whose ?
Farther than Lancaster I educate,
My system's always to interrogate ;
Already have I taught my very hat
Questions ot fact to ask, and cry out What?
Questions of time my poultry, for the lien
Cackles chronology, enquiring When ?
My laundry's labour I divide with ashes ;
It is with them the laundress scours and Washes:
And if an ugly rent I find, the hole
Instantly vanishes, becoming Whole.
In short, my merits are so bright to view
How good soe'er you may be, just or true,
You can but halve my worth, for I am double you.
Cheltenham.

THE MERRY MONARCH,
AND " BLYTHE COCKPEN."
While Charles II. was sojourning in
Scotland, before the battle of Worcester,
his chief confidant and associate was the
laird of Cockpen, called by the nick-naming
fashion of the times, " Blythe Cockpen."
He followed Charles to the Hague, and by
his skill in playing Scottish tunes, and his
sagacity and wit, much delighted the merry
monarch. Charles's favourite air was
*' Brose and Butter ;" it was played to
him when he went to bed, and he was
awakened by it. At the restoration, how-
ever, Blythe Cockpen shared the fate of
many other of the royal adherents ; he was
forgotten, and wandered upon the lands he
once owned in Scotland, poor and un-
friended. His letters to the court were
unpresented, or disregarded, till, wearied
and incensed, he travelled to London;
but his mean garb not suiting the rich
doublets of court, he was not allowed to
approach the royal presence. At length,

he ingratiated himself with the king's
organist, who was so enraptured with Cock-
pen's wit and powers of music, that he re-
quested him to play on the organ before
the king at divine service. His exquisite
skill did not attract his majesty's notice,
till, at the close of the service, instead of
the usual tune, he struck up " Brose and
Butter," with all its energetic merriment.
In a moment the royal organist was ordered
into the king's presence. "My liege, it
was not me ! it was not me !" he cried,
and dropped upon his knees. " You !'
cried his majesty, in a rapture, " you could
never play it in your life where's the
man? let me see him." Cockpen pre-
sented himself on his knee. " Ah, Cock-
pen, is that you ? Lord, man, I was like
to dance coming out of the church !" " I
once danced too," said Cockpen, " but that
was when I had land of my own to dance
on." " Come with me," said Charles
taking him by the hand, " you shall dance
to Brose and Butter on your own lands
again to the nineteenth generation ;*' and
as far as he could, the king kept his pro-
mise.

SINGULAR INTERMENT.

The following curious entry is in the
register of Lymington church, under the
year 1736:

" Samuel Baldwin, esq. sojourner in this
parish, was immersed, without the Needles,
aans cMmonie, May 20."

This was performed in consequence of
an earnest wish the deceased had expressed,
a little before his dissolution, in order to
disappoint the intention of his wife, who
had repeatedly assured him, in their domes-
tic squabbles, (which were very frequent,)
that if she survived him, she would revenge
her conjugal sufferings, by dancing on his
grave.

ODD SIGNS.

A gentleman lately travelling through
Grantham, in Lincolnshire, observed the
following lines under a sign-post, on which
was placed an inhabited bee-hive.

Two wonders, Grantham, now are thine,
The highest spire, and a living sign.

The same person, at another public-
house in the country, where London porter
was sold, observed the figure of Britannia
engraved upon a tankard, in a reclining
posture; underneath was the following
motto :

Pray StfP-PonTWt.

113

THE TABLE BOOK.

Brttige, Burftam.

The above engraving is from a litho-
graphic view, published in Durham in
1 820 : it was designed by Mr. Bouet, a
very ingenious French gentleman, resident
there, whose abilities as au artist are of
a superior order.

Elvet bridge consists of nine or ten
arches, and was built by the excellent
bishop Pudsey, about the year 1170. It
was repaired in the time of bishop Fox,
who held the see of Durham from 1494 to
1502, and granted an " indulgence " to all
who should contribute towards defraying
the expense ; an expedient frequently re-
sorted to in Catholic times for the forward-

VoL.l. 14.

ing of great undertakings. It was again
improved, by widening it to twice its
breadth, in 1806.

Upon this bridge there were two chapels,
dedicated respectively to St. James and
St. Andrew, one of which stood on the <"'te
of the old house close to the bridge,
at present inhabited by Mr. Adamson, a
respectable vete-rinary surgeon ; the other
stood on the site of the new houses on the
south side of the bridge, occupied by Mr.
Fenwick and Mr. Hopper. About three
years ago, while clearing away the rubbish,
preparatory to the erection of the latter
houses, some remains of the old chapel

415

THE TABLE BOOK.

416

were discovered : an arch was in a very per-
fect state, but unfortunately no drawing
was made.

It is believed by some, that another
chapel stood on, or near Elvet bridge, dedi-
cated to St. Magdalen ; and the name of
the flight of steps leading from Elvet bridge
to Saddler-street, viz. the Maudlin, or Mag-
dalen-steps, rather favours the supposition.
On the north side of Elvet bridge is a
building, erected in 1632, formerly used as
the house of correction, but which, since
the erection of the new gaol, was sold to
the late Stephen Kemble, Esq., and is now
the printing and publishing office of the
Durham Chronicle. The ground cells are
miserable places : some figures, still visible
on many of the walls, as faces, ships, &c.
she^w to what resources the poor fellows
confined there were driven to amuse them-
selves. This building is said to be haunted
by the restless sprite of an old piper, who,
as the story is, was brought down the river
by a flood, and, on being rescued from the
water, became an inmate of the house of
correction, where he died a few years after-
wards. The credulous often hear his bag-
pipes at midnight. Every old bridge seems
to have its legend, and this is the legend
of Elvet bridge.

The buildings represented by the en-
graving in the distance are the old gaol,
and a few of the adjoining houses. This
gaol, which stood to the east of the castle,
and contiguous to the keep, was originally
the great north gateway to the castle, and
was erected by bishop Langley, who held
the see of Durham from 1406 to 1437. It
divided Saddler-street from the North
Bailey, and was a fine specimen of the
architecture of the age, but, from its con-
fined situation, in a public part of the
city, it was adjudged to be a nuisance, and
was accordingly destroyed in 1820. On
the west side of it is erected an elegant
subscription library and news-room, and on
the opposite a spacious assembly-room ;
these form a striking contrast to the spot in
the state here represented. The present
county gaol is at the head of Old Elvet ; it
is a splendid edifice, and so it should be,
considering that it cost the county 120,000/.

Of bishop Pudsey, the builder of Elvet
bridge, the following account is given in
Hegg's Legend of St. Cuthbert. Speaking
of St. Goodrick, of whom there are par-
ticulars in the Every-Day Book, Hegg
says, " Thus after he had acted all the
miracles of a legend, he ended his scene in
the yeare 1170, not deserving that honour
eonfeired on his cell by the forenamed

bishop Pusar (Pudsey), who told him he
should be seven yeares blind before his
death, so that the bishop deferring his re-
pentance till the tyme of his blindness,
(which Goodrick meant of the eyes of his
understanding) dyed unprovided for death.
But if good works be satisfactorie, then
died he not in debt for his sinnes, who re-
payred and built many of the episcopall
manors, and founded the manor and
church at Darlington, and two hospitals,
one at Alverton, and the other at Sher-
burne, neare Durham. He built also Elvet
bridge, with -two chapels upon it, over the
Weer ; and, lastly, built that beautiful work
the Galilee, now the bishop's consistory, and
hither translated saint Bede's bones, which
lye enterred under a tomb of black marble."

From the above extract, as punctuated in
all the printed copies I have seen, it would
appear that Uegg intended to represent
both the chapels as being over the Weer,
whereas only one was so situated, the other
being on one of the land arches. To render
this passage correct, the words " with two
chapels upon it " should have been inserted
in a parenthesis, which would make the
passage stand thus, " He built also Elvet
bridge, (with two chapels upon it,) over
the Weer." Hegg, with all his humour, is
frequently obscure ; and his legend, which
was for some time in manuscript, has suffered
by the inattention of transcribers ; there
are three different copies in print, and all
vary. The edition printed by the late Mr.
Allan of Darlington, from a manuscript
in the library of Corpus Christi College,
Oxford, and since reprinted by Mr. Hogget
of Durham, is the most correct one, and
from that the above extract is taken.

Bishop Pudsey's memory must always be
dear to the inhabitants of the county of
Durham, as probably no man ever con-
ferred greater service on the county. It
was he who, in order to supply the defici-
ency of Doomsday-book, caused a general
survey to be made of all the demesne lands
and possessions in his bishopric. This
survey is recorded in a small folio of twenty-
four pages, written in a bad hand, and
called " Bolden Buke," now in the archives
at Durham. It contains inquisitions, o^
verdicts of all the several tenures of lands,
services, and customs; all the tenants'
names of every degree ; how much each of
them held at that time, and what rents
were reserved for the same. This book has
been produced, and read in evidence oh
several trials at law, on the part of the suc-
ceeding bishops, in order to ascertain their
property.

417

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418

<arn'rk

No. XI.

[From " Jack Drum's Entertainment," a
Comedy, Author unknown, 1601.]

The free humour of a Noble Housekeeper.

Fortune (a Knighf). I was not born to be my cradle's

drudge,

To choke and stifle up my pleasure's breath,
To poison with the venom'd cares of thrift
My private sweet of life : only to scrape
A heap of muck, to fatten and manure
The barren virtues of my progeny,
And make them sprout 'spite of their want of worth ;
No, I do wish my girls should wish me live ;
Which few do wish that have a greedy sire,
But still expect, and gape with hungry lip,
When he'll give up his gouty stewardship.

Friend. Then I wonder,
You not aspire unto the eminence
And height of pleasing life. To Court, to Court
There burnish, there spread, there stick in pomp,
Like a bright diamond in a Lady's brow.
There plant your fortunes in the flowring spring,
And get the Sun before you of Respect.
There trench yourself within the people's love,
And glitter in the eye of glorious grace.
What's wealth without respect and mounted place ?

Fortune. Worse and worse ! I am not yet dis-

traught,

I long not to be squeez'd with my own weight,
Nor hoist up all my sails to catch the wind
Of the drunk reeling Commons. I labour not
To have an awful presence, nor be feared,
Since who is fear'd still fears to be to feared.
I care not to be like the Horeb calf,
One day adored, and next pasht all in pieces.
Nor do I envy Polyphemian puffs,
Switzers' slopt greatness. I adore the Sun,
Yet love to live within a temperate zone.
Let who will climb ambitious glibbery rounds,
And lean upon the vulgar's rotten love,
I'll not corrival him. The sun will give
As great a shadow to my trunk as his ;
And after death, like Chessmen having stood
In play, for Bishops some, for Knights, and Fawns,
We all together shall be tumbled up
Into one bag.

Let hush'd-calm quiet rock my life asleep ;
And, being dead, my own ground press my bones ;
Whilst some old Beldame, hobbling o'er my grave,
May mumble thus :
' Here lies a Knight whose Money was his Slave. 1 '

Caperwit. Adjectives! would you have a poi-m

without

Adjectives ? they're the flower, ths grace of all our lan-
guage.

A well-chosen Epithet doth give new soul
To fainting Poesy, and makes every verse
A Bride ! With Adjectives we bait our lines,
When we do fish for Gentlewomen's loves,
And with their sweetness catch the nibbling ear
Of amorous ladies ; with the music of
These ravishing nouns we charm the silken tribe.
And make the Gallant melt with apprehension
Of the rare Word. I will maintain 't against
A bundle of Grammarians, in Poetry
The Substantive itself caanot subsist
Without its Adjective.

Friend. But for all that,
Those words would sound more full, methinks, that aw

not

So larded ; and if I might counsel yon,
You should compose a Sonnet clean without 'em.
A row of stately Substantives would march
Like Switzers, and bear all the fields before 'em ;
Carry their weight ; shew fair, like Deeds Enroll'd ;
Not Writs, that are first made and after fill'd.
Thence first came up the title of Blank Verse ;
You know, Sir, what Blank signifies ? when the sense,
First framed, is tied with Adjectives like points,
And could not hold together without wedges :
Hang 't, 'tis pedantic, vulgar Poetry.
Let children, when they versify, stick here
And there these piddling words for want of matter
Poets write Masculine Numbers.

[From the " Guardian," a Comedy, by
Abraham Cowley, 1650. This was the
first Draught of that which he published
afterwards under the title of the " Cutter
of Coleman Street ;" and contains the
character of a Foolish Poet, omitted in
e latter. I give a few scraps of this
iharacter, both because the Edition is
scarce, and as furnishing no unsuitable
corollary to the Critical Admonitions in
the preceding Extract. The " Cutter "
has always appeared to me the link be-
tween the Comedy of Fletcher and of
Congreve. In the elegant passion of
the Love Scenes it approaches the former ;
and Puny (the character substituted for
the omitted Poet) is the Prototype of the
half-witted Wits, the Brisks and Dapper
Wits, of the latter.]

Doggrell, the foolish Poet, described.

the very Emblem of poverty and poor

[From the " Changes," a Comedy, by

James Shirley, 1632.] Cutter.

poetry. The feet are worse patched of his rhymes,

Excess of Epithets, enfeebling to Poetry. than of his stockings. If one line forget itself, and run

Friend. Master Caperwit, before you read, pray tell out beyond his elbow, while the next keeps at home

me, (like him'), and dares not show his head, ht calls that

Hare your verses any Adjective* ? an Ode. * *

419

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420

Tidbit ha. Nay, they mocked and flee, ed at us, as we
suLg the Psalm the last Sunday night.

Cutter. That was that mungrel Rhymer ; by this
light he envies his brother poet John Sternhold, be-
cause he cannot reach his heights. * * *

Ddggrell (reciting hii UWA rerses.) Thus pride dcth

still with beauty dwell.
And like the Baltir o^eaa swell.

Blade. Why the Baltic, Doggrell ?

Doggrell. Why the Baltic ! this 'tis not to Lave
read the Poets. * *

She looks like Kiobe on the mountain's top.

Cutter. That Niobe, Doggrell, you have used worse
than Phoebus did. Not a dog looks melancholy but
he's compared to Niobe. He beat a villainous Tapster
"tother day, to make him look like Niobe.

C. L.

ANCIENT WAGGERY.
For the Table Book.

[From the " Pleasant Conceits of old Hob-
son, the merry Londoner ; full of hu-
mourous Discourses and merry Merri-
ments : 1607."]

How Maister Hobson hung out a lanterns
and candlelight.

In the beginning of queen Elizabeth's
reign, when the order of hanging out lan-
terne and candlelight first of all was brought
up,* the bedell of the warde where Maister
Hobson dwelt, in a dark evening, crieing
up and down, " Hang out your lanternes !
Hang out your lanternes 1" using no other
wordes, Maister Hobson tooke an emptie
lanterne, and, according to the bedells call,
hung it out. This flout, by the lord mayor,
was taken in ill part, and for the same
offence Hobson was sent to the Counter,
but being released, the next night follow-
ing, thinking to amend his call, the bedell
cryed out, with a loud voice, " Hang out
your lanternes and candle !'' Maister Hob-
son, hereupon, hung out a lanterne and
candle unlighted, as the bedell again com-
manded ; whereupon he was sent again to
the Counter ; but the next night, the bedell
being better advised, cryed " Hang out
your lanterne and candle light ! Hang out
your lanterne and candle light !" which
Maister Hobson at last did, to his great
commendations, which cry of lanterne and
candle light -is in right manner used to
this day.

How Maister Hobson found out the Pye-
stealer.

In Christmas Holy-dayes when Maister

* The custom of h mying out lanterns before lamps
wi-rc in ase was earlier that, <|uecn Elizabeth's rei^n.

Hobson's wife had many pyes in the oven,
one of his servants had stole one of them
out, and at the tauerne had merrilie eat it.
It fortuned, the same day, that some of his
friends dined with him, and one of the
best pyes were missing, the stealer thereof,
after dinner, he found out in this manner.
He called all his servants in friendly sort
together into the hall, and caused each of
them to drinke one to another, both wine,
ale, and beare, till they were all drunke ;
then caused hee a table to be furnished
with very goode cheare, whereat hee like-
wise pleased them. Being set altogether,
he saide, " Why sit ye not downe fellows ?"
" We bee set already," quoth they.
" Nay," quoth Maister Hobson, " he that
stole the pye is not yet set." " Yes, that
I doe !" quoth he that stole it, by which
means Maister Hobson knewe what was
become of the pye ; for the poor fellowe
being drunke could not keepe his owne
secretts.

THE FIRST VIOLET.

The spring is come : the violet's gone.
The first-born child of the early s>un ;
With us she is but a winter flower,
The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower
And she lifts up her head of dewy bine
To the youngest sky of the self-same hue.

And when the spring comes with her host
Of flowers that flower beloved the most,
Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse
Her heavenly odour and virgin hues.

Pluck the others, but still remember
Their herald out of dim December
The morning star of all the flowers,
The pledge of daylight's lengthened hours
Nor, midst the roses, e'er forget
The virgin virgin violet.

YORKSHIRE SAYING.
For the Table Book.

" LET'S BEGIN AGAIN LIKE THE CLERK
OF BEESTON."

The clefk of Beeston, a small village
near Leeds, one Sunday, after having sung
a psalm about half way through the first
verse, discovered he had chosen a wrong
tune, on which he exclaimed to the singers,
" Stop lads, we've got into a wrong metre,
let's begin again!" Hence the origin of
the saying, so common in Leeds and the
neighbourhood, " Let's begin again, like
the clerk of Beeston."

T. Q. M

421

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TO CONTENTMENT.

Spark of pure celestial fire,
Port of all the world's desire,
Paradise of earthly bliss,
Heaven of the other world and this ;
Tell me, where thy court abides,
Where thy glorious chariot rides ?

II.

Eden knew thee for a day,

But thou wouldst no longer stay ;

Outed for poor Adam's sin,

By a flaming cherubin ;

Yet thou lov'st that happy shade

Where thy beauteons form was made.

And thy kindness still rexains

To the woods, and flow'ry plains.

III.

Happy David found thee there,
Sporting in the open air ;
As he led his flocks along,
Feeding on his rural song :
Bnt when courts and honours had
Snatch'd away the lovely lad,
Thou that there no room cou'dst 6nd,
Let him go and staid behind.

IV.

His wise son, with care and. pain,
Search'd all nature's frame in vain ;
For a while content to be,
Search'd it round, but found not thee ;
Beauty own'd she knew thee not.
Plenty had thy name forgot :
Music only did arer,
Once you came and danc'd with her.*

PIETRE METASTASIO.

This celebrated Italian lyric and dra-
matic poet was born at Rome, in 1698, of
parents in humble life, whose names were
Trapassi. At ten years of age, he was dis-
tinguished by his talents as an improvvisa-
tore. The eminent jurist, Gravinrx, who
amused himself with writing bad tragedies,
was walking near the Campus Martius one
summer's evening, in company with the
abbe Lorenzini, when they heard a sweet
and powerful voice, modulating verses with
tlie greatest fluency to the measure of the

From Dunton's "Athenian Spoil."

canto improvvho. On approaching the shop
of Trapassi, whence the melody proceeded,
they Avere surprised to see a lovely boy
pouring forth elegant verses on the persons
and objects which surrounded him, and
their admiration was increased by the
graceful compliments which he took an
opportunity of addressing to themselves.
When the youthful poet had concluded,
Gravina called him to him, and, with many
encomiums and caresses, offered him at
piece of money, which the boy politely de-
clined. He then inquired into his situation
and employment, and being struck with the
intelligence of his replies, proposed to his
parents to educate him as his own child.
They consented, and Gravina changed his
name from Trapassi to Metastasio, and gave
him a careful and excellent education for
his own profession.

At fourteen years of age, Metastasio
produced his tragedy of " Giustino," which
so pleased Gravina, that he took him to
Naples, where he contended with and ex-
celled some of the most celebrated impro-
visatori of Italy. He still, however, con-
tinued his study of the law, and with a
view to the only two channels of prefer-
ment which prevail at Rome, also assumed
the minor order of priesthood, whence his
title of abate. In 1718, death deprived
him of his patron, who bequeathed to him
the whole of his personal property, amount-
ing to fifteen thousand crowns. Of too
liberal and hospitable a disposition, he
gradually made away with this provision
and then resolved to apply more closely to
the law. He repaired to Naples, to study for
that purpose, but becoming acquainted with
Brugnatelli, usually called " the Romanina,"
the most celebrated actress and singer in
Italy, he gave himself up entirely to har-
mony and poetry. The extraordinary suc-
cess of his first opera, " Gli Orti Esperidi,"
confirmed him in this resolution, and joining
his establishment to that of " the Romani-
na " and her husband, in a short time he
composed three new dramas, " Cato in
Utica," " Ezio," and " Semiramide." He
followed these with several more of still
greater celebrity, until, in 1730, he received
and accepted an invitation from the court
of Vienna, to take up his residence in that
capital, as coadjutor to the imperial laureate,
Apostolo Zeno, whom he ultimately suc-
ceeded. From that period, the life of
Metastasio presented a calm uniformity for
upwards of half a century. He retained
the favour of the imperial family undimi-
nished, for his extraordinary talents were
admirably seconded by the even tenor o/

THE TABLE BOOK.

his private character, and avoidance of
court intrigue. Indefatigable as a poet, he
composed no less than twenty-six operas,
and eight oratorios, or sacred dramas, be-
sides cantatas, canzoni, sonnets, and minor
pieces to a great amount. The poetical
character istics of Aletastasio are sweetness,
correctness, purity, simplicity , gentle pathos,
and refined and elevated sentiment. There
is less of nature than of elegance and beauty
in his dramas, which consequently appear
insipid to those who have been nourished
with stronger poetic aliment.

Dr. Burney, who saw Metastasio at the
age of seventy-two, describes him as look-
ing like one of fifty, and as the gayest and
handsomest man, of his time of life, he had
ever beheld. He died after a short illness
at Vienna, in April 1782, having completed
his eighty-fourth year, leaving a consider-
able property in money, books, and valua-
bles. Besides his numerous works, which
have been translated into most of the Euro-
pean languages, a large collection of his
letters, published since his death, supplied
copious materials for his biography.*

Mrs. Piozzi gives an amusing account of
Metastasio in his latter days. She says :

' Here (at Vienna) are many ladies of
fashion very eminent for their musical abili-
ties, particularly mesdemoiselles de Marti-
nas, one of whom is member of the acade-
mies of Berlin and Bologna : the celebiated
Metastasio died in their house, after having
lived with the family 'sixty-five years more
or less. They set his poetry and sing it
very finely, appearing to recollect his con-
versation and friendship with infinite ten-
derness and delight. He was to have been
presented to the pope the very day he died,
and in the delirium which immediately
preceded dissolution, raved much of the
supposed interview. Unwilling to hear of
death, no one was ever permitted to men-
tion it before him ; and nothing put him so
certainly out of humour, as finding that
rule transgressed. Even the small-pox was
not to be named in his presence, and who-
ever did name that disorder, though uncon-
scious of the offence he had given, Metas-
tasio would see no more."

Mrs. Piozzi adds, " The other peculiari-
ties I could gather from Miss Martinas
were these : that he had contentedly lived
half a century at Vienna, without ever even

wishing to learn its language ; that he had
never given more than five guineas English
money in all that time to the poor ; that he
always sat in the same seat at church, but
never paid for it, and that nobody dared
ask him for the trifling sum ; that he was
grateful and beneficent to the friends who
began by being his protectors, but who, in
the end, were his debtors, for solid benefits
as well as for elegant presents, which it was
his delight to be perpetually making. He
left to them at last all he had ever gained,
without the charge even of a single legacy;
observing in his will, that it was to them
he owed it, and that other conduct would
in him have been injustice. He never
changed the fashion of his wig, or the cut-
or colour of his coat, so that his portrait,
taken not very long ago, looks like those of
Boileau or Moliere at the head of their
works. His life was arranged with such
methodical exactness, that he rose, studied,
chatted, slept, and dined, at the same hours,
for fifty years together, enjoying uninter-
rupted health, which probably gave him
that happy sweetness of temper, or habitual
gentleness of manners, which was never
ruffled, except when his sole injunction was
forgotten, and the death of any person
whatever was unwittingly mentioned before
him. No solicitation had ever prevailed on
him to dine from home, nor had his nearest
intimates ever seen him eat more than a
biscuit with his lemonade, every meal being
performed with even mysterious privacy to
the last. When his end approached by
rapid steps, he did not in the least suspect
that it was coming; and mademoiselle
Martinas has scarcely yet done rejoicing in
the thought that he escaped the preparations
he so dreaded. Latterly, all his pleasures
were confined to music and conversation ;
and the delight he took in hearing the lady
he lived with sing his songs, was visible to
every one. An Italian abate here said,
comically enough, ' Oh ! he always looked
like a man in the state of beatification
when mademoiselle de Martinas accom-
panied his verses with her fine voice and
brilliant finger.' The father of Metastasio
was a goldsmith at Rome, but his son had
so devoted himself to the family he lived
with, that he refused to hear, and took
pains not to know, whether he had in his
latter days any one relation left in the
world."

We have a life of Metastasio, chiefly de-
rived from his correspondence, by Dr.
Burney.

* General Biog. Diet. Diet, of Musicians.

495

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426

A DEATH-BED:

IN A LETTER TO R. H. ESQ. OF B .

For the Table Book.

I called upon you this morning, and
found that you were gone to visit a dying
friend. I had been upon a like errand.
Poor N. R. has lain dying now for almost a
week ; such is the penalty we pay for having
enjoyed through life a strong constitution.
Whether he knew me or not, I know not,
or whether he saw me through his poor
glazed eyes ; but the group I sav/ about
him I shall not forget. Upon the bed, or
about it, were assembled his Wife, their
two Daughters, and poor deaf Robert,
looking doubly stupified. There they were,
and seemed to have been sitting all the
week. I could only reach out a hand to
Mrs. R. Speaking was impossible in that
route chamber. By this time it must be all
over with him. In him I have a loss the
world cannot make up. He was my friend,
and my father's friend, for all the life that I
can remember. I seem to have made
foolish friendships since. Those are the
friendships, which outlast a second genera-
tion. Old as I am getting, in his eyes I
was still the child he knew me. To the
last he called me Jemmy. I have none to
call me Jemmy now. He was the last link

that bound me to B . You are but of

yesterday. In him I seem to have lost the
old plainness of manners and singleness of
heart. Lettered he was not; his reading
scarcely exceeding the Obituary of the old
Gentleman's Magazine, to which he has
never failed of having recourse for these
last fifty years. Yet there was the pride of
literature about him from that slender peru-
sal ; and moreover from his office of archive
keeper to your ancient city, in which he
must needs pick up some equivocal Latin ;
which, among his less literary friends as-
sumed the airs of a very pleasant pedantry.
Can I forget the erudite look with which
having tried to puzzle out the text of a
Black lettered Chaucer in your Corporation
Library, to which he was a sort of Libra-
rian, he gave it up with this consolatory
reflection " Jemmy," said he, " I do not
Know what you find in these very old books,
but I observe, there is a deal of very indif-
ferent spelling in them." His jokes (for he
had some) are ended ; but they were old
Perennials, staple, and always as good as
new. He had one Song, that spake of the
" flat bottoms of our foes coming over in
darkness," and alluded to a threatened In-
vasion, many years since blown over ; this

he reserved to be sung on Christmas Night,
which we always passed with him, and he
sang it with the freshness of an impending
event. How his eyes would sparkle when
he came to the passage :

We'll still make 'em run, and we'll still make 'em

sweat.
In spite of the devil and Brussels' Gazette I

What is the Brussels' Gazette now ? I cry,
while I endite these trifles. His poor girls
who are, I believe, compact of solid good-
ness, will have to receive their afflicted
mother at an unsuccessful home in a petty

village in shire, where for years they

have been struggling to raise a Girls' School
with no effect. Poor deaf Robert (and the
less hopeful for being so) is thrown upon a
deaf world, without the comfort to his
father on his death-bed of knowing him
provided for. They are left almost pro-
visionless. Some life assurance there is ;

but, I fear, not exceeding . Their hopes

must be from your Corporation, which their
father has served for fifty years. Who or
what are your Leading Members now, I
know not. Is there any, to whom without
impertinence you can represent the true
circumstances of the family ? You cannot
say good enough of poor R., and his poor
Wife. Oblige me, and the dead, if you
can.

London, W Feb. 1827. L.

LINES

FOR THE

TABLE BOOK.

What seek'st thou on the heathy lea,

So frequent and alone ?
What in the violet cans't thoa see ?

What in the mossy stone ?

Yon evening sky's empurpled dye

Seems dearer to thy gaze
Than wealth or fame's enrapt'ring name,

Or beauty's 'witching blaze.

Go, mingle in the busy throng
That tread th' imperial mart ;

There listen to a sweeter song
Than ever thrill'd thy heart.

Th treasures of a thousand lands
Shall pour their wealth before thee ;

Friends proffer thee their eager hands
And envious fools adore thee.

Ay I will seek that busy throng.
And turn, with aching breast,

From scenes of tort'ring care and wrong-
To solitude and rest !

Felruary 21, 1827. AMICUS.

427

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4-38

WAVERLEY.

It is a curious, yet well authenticated
fact, that the novel of " Waverley " the
first, and perhaps the best, of the prose
writing of sir Walter Scott remained for
more than ten years unpublished. So far
back as 1805, the late talented Mr. John
Ballantyne announced " Waverley " as a
work preparing for publication, but the an-
nounce excited so little attention, that the
design was laid aside for reasons which
every reader will guess. In those days of
peace and innocence, the spirit of literary
speculation had scarcely begun to dawn in
Scotland ; the public taste ran chiefly on
poetry ; and even if gifted men had arisen
capable of treading in the footsteps of
Fielding, but with a name and reputation
unestablished, they must have gone to Lon-
don to find a publisher. The " magician "
himself, with all his powers, appears to have
been by no means over sanguine as to the
ultimate success of a tale, which has made
millions laugh, and as many weep ; and in
autumn he had very nearly delivered a por-
tion of the MSS. to a party of sportsmen
who visited him in the country, and were
complaining of a perfect famine of wad-
ding. *

3Uttn*

FROM SWITZERLAND.

From the letter of an English artist, now
abroad, accompanied by marginal sketches
with the pen, addressed to a yonng relation,
I am obligingly permitted to take the fol-
lowing

EXTRACT,
Interlaken, Switzerland.
Sunday, Sept. 10, 1826.

I arrived at Geneva, after a ride of a day
and a night, from Lyons, through a delight-
ful mountainous country. The steam-hoat
carried me from Geneva to Lausanne, a
very pretty town, at the other end of the
fine lake, from whence I went to Berne,
one of the principal towns in Switzerland,
and the most beautiful I have seen yet. It
is extremely clean, and therefore it was
quite a treat, after the French towns, which
are filthy.

Berne is convenient residence, both in
sunny and wet weather, for all the streets
have arcades, under which the shops are in
this way,

Tie Tiires, 6th March, from an ' Edinburgh paper."

U LJ

so that people are not obliged to walk in
the middle of the street at all. The town
is protected by strong fortifications, but the
ramparts are changed into charming lawns
and walks. There are also delightful ter-
races on the river side, commanding the
surrounding country, which is enchanting
rich woods and fertile valleys, swelling
mountains, and meadows like velvet; and,
beyond all, the snowy Alps.

At Berne I equipped myself as most
persons do who travel on foot through
Switzerland ; I have seen scores of young
men all in the same pedestrian costume. I
give you a sketch, that you may have a
better idea of it.

The dress is a light sort of smock-frock,
with a leather belt round the waist, a stravr
hat, a knapsack on the back, and a small
bottle, covered with leather, to carry spirits,
fastened round the neck by a leather strap
The long pole is for climbing up the moun-
tains, and jumping over the ice

From Berne I arrived at Thun. The fine
lake of Thun is surrounded by mountains
of various forms, and I proceeded along it
to this place. I have been on the lake of
Brientys and to Lauterbrunnen, where
there is the celebrated waterfall, called the
" Stubach ;" it falls about 800 feet ; the
rocks about it are exceedingly romantic,
and close to it are the snowy mountains,
among which I shoufd particularize the
celebrated " Yung frow," which has never
been ascended.

Inteilaken is surrounded by mountains,

4*9

THE TABLE BOOK.

430

and its scenery for sketches delicious. It
is a village, built nearly all of wood ; the

houses are the prettiest things T ever saw :
they are in this way.

but much more beautiful than I can show
in a small sketch. They are delicately
clean, and mostly have fine vines and
plenty of grapes about them. The stones
on the roof are to keep the wood from
being blown off. Then the people dress
so well, and all look so happy, that it is a
pleasure to be among them. I cannot un-
derstand a word they say, and yet they are
all civil and obliging. If any children
happen to see me drawing out of doors,
they always run to fetch a chair for me
The women are dressed in this manner.

The poor people and ladies are in the
same style exactly : the caps are made of
horsehair, and the hair dressed quite plain
in front, and plaited behind almost to the
ground with black ribbons. They wear
silver chains from each side of the bosom,
to pass under the arms, and fasten on
the back. They are not all pretty, but
they are particularly clean and neat. There
is nothing remarkable in the mer.'s dress,

only that I observe on a Sunday they wear
white nightcaps : every man that I can see
now out of my window has one on ; arid
they are all playing at ball and nine-pins,
just as they do in France. There is an-
other kind of cap worn here made of silk ;
this is limp, and does not look so well.
They have also a flat straw hat.

The women work much more than the
men ; they even row the boats on the
lakes. All the Swiss, however, are very
industrious ; and I like Switzerland altoge-
ther exceedingly. I leave this place to-
morrow, and am going on to the beautiful
valley of Sornen, (there was a view of it in
the Diorama,) and then to the lake of the
four cantons, or lake of Lucerne, and
round the canton of the Valais to Geneva,
and from thence for the lakes of Italy. If
you examine a man for these places, it wiil
be an amusement for you.

Lady Byron has been here for two days;
she is making a tour of Switzerland. There
are several English passing through. I can
scarcely give you a better notion of the
situation of this beautiful little village, than
by saying that it is in a valley between two
lakes, and that there are the most charming
walks you can imagine to the eminences on
the river side, and along the borders of the
lakes. There are more goats here than in
Wales: they all wear a little bell round
their neck ; and the sheep and cows being
similarly distinguished, the movement of
the flocks and herds keep an incessant
tinkling, and relieve the stillness of th
beauteous scenery.

431

TEE TABLE BOOK.

432

<retna

THE BLACKSMITH.

On Friday, March 23, at Lancaster Lent
assizes 1827, before Mr. baron Hullock,
rame on the trial of an indictment against
Edward Gibbon Wakefleld and William
Wakefield, (brothers,) Edward Thevenot,
(their servant,) and Frances the wife of
Edward Wakefield, (father of the brothers,)
for conspiring fey subtle stratagems and
false representations to take and carry away
Ellen Turner, a maid, unmarried, and within
the age of sixteen years, the only child and
heiress of William Turner, from the care of
the Misses Daulby, who had the education
and governance of Miss Turner, and caus-
ing her to contract matrimony with the
said Edward Gibbon Wakefield, without
the knowledge and consent of her father,
to her great disparagement, to her father's
discomfort, and against the king's peace.
Thevenot was acquitted ; the other defend-
ants were found " guilty," and the bro-
thers stood committed to Lancaster-castle.

To a second indictment, under the statute
of 4 and 5 Philip and Mary, against the
brothers, for the abduction of Miss Turner,
they withdrew their plea of " not guilty,"
and pleaded " guilty " to the fifth count.

In the course of the defence to the first
indictment, David Laing, the celebrated
blacksmith of Gretna-green, was examined ;
and, indeed, the trial is only mentioned in
these pages, for the purpose of sketching
this anomalous character as he appeared in
the witness-box, and represented his own
proceedings, according to The Times' re-
port : viz.

In appearance this old man was made to
assume a superiority over his usual com-
panions. Somebody had dressed him in a
black coat, and velvet waistcoat and breeches
of the same colour, with a shining pair of
top boots the shape of his hat, too, re-
sembled the clerical fashion. He seemed
a vulgar fellow, though not without shrewd-
ness and that air of familiarity, which he
might be supposed to have acquired by the
freedom necessarily permitted by persons
of a better rank of life, to one who was
conscious he had the power of performing
for them a guilty, but important ceremony.

On entering the witness-box, he leaned
forward towards the counsel employed to
examine him, with a ludicrous expression
of gravity upon his features, and accom-
panied every answer with a knitting of his
wrinkled brow, and significant nodding of
his head, which gave peculiar force to his

quaintness of phraseology, and occasion-
ally convulsed the court with laughter.

He was interrogated both by Mr. Scarlett
and Mr. Coltman in succession.

Who are you, Laing ?

Why, I live in Springfield.

Well, what did you do in this affair?

Why, I was sent for to Linton's, where
I found two gentlemen, as it may be, and
one lady.

Did you know them ?

I did not.

Do you see them in court ?

Why, no I cannot say.

What did you do ?

Why I joined them, and then got the
lady's address, where she come from, and
the party's I believe.

Wfcat did they do then ?

Why, the gentleman wrote down the
names, and the lady e;ave way to it.

In fact, you married them after the usual
way?

Yes, yes, I married them after the Scotch
form, that is, by my putting on the ring on
the lady's finger, and that way.

Were they both agreeable ?

yes, I joined their hands as man ana
wife.

Was that the whole of the ceremony
was it the end of it ?

1 wished them well, shook hands with
them, and, as I said, they then both em-
braced each other very agreeably.

What else did you do?
I thinkl told the lady that I generally had
a present from 'em, as it may be, of such a
thing as money to buy a pair of gloves,
and she gave me, with her own hand, a
twenty-shilling Bank of England note to
buy them.

Where did she get the note?
How do I know.

What did the gentleman say to you?
Oh, you ask what did he treat me with.
No, I do not ; what did he say to you ?
He did nothing to me; but I did to him
what I have done to many before, that is,
you must know, to join them together ; join
hands, and so on. I bargained many in
that way, and she was perfectly agreeable,
and made no objections.

Did you give them a certificate ?
Oh ! yes, I gave it to the lady.
[Here a piece of paper was identified by
this witness, and read in evidence, pur-
porting to certify that Edward Gibbon
Wakefield and Ellen Turner had been
duly married according to the form
required by the Scottish law. This
paper, except the names and dates.

433

THE TABLE BOOK.

434

was a printed register, at the top of
which was a rudely executed wood-
cut, apparently of the royal arms.]

Did the gentleman and lady converse
freely with you ?

O, yes ; he asked me what sort of wine
they had in Linton's house, and I said they
had three kinds, with the best of Shumpine
(Champagne.) He asked me which I would
take, and I said Shumpine, and so and so ;
while they went into another room to dine,
I finished the wine, and then off I came. I
returned, and saw them still in the very
best of comfortable spirits.

Mr. SCARLETT. We have done with you,
Laing.

Mr. BROUGHAM. But my turn is to
come with you, my gentleman. What did
you get for this job besides the Shumpine ?
Did you get money as well as Shumpine?

Yes, sure I did, and so and so.

Well, how much ?

Thirty or forty pounds or thereabouts, as
may be.

Or fifty pounds, as it may be, Mr. Black-
smith?

May be, for I cannot say to a few pounds.
I am dull of hearing.

Was this marriage ceremony, which you
have been describing, exactly what the law
and church of Scotland require on such
occasions, as your certificate (as you call it)
asserts ?

yes, it is in the old common form..
What ! Do you mean in the old common

form of the church of Scotland, fellow ?

There is no prayer-book required to be
produced, I tell you.

Will you answer me when I ask you,
what do you mean by the old ordinary
form of the church of Scotland, when this
transaction has nothing whatever to do with
that church ? Were you never a clergyman
of that country ?

Never.

How long are you practising this delight-
ful art?

Upwards of forty-eight years I am doing
these marriages.

How old are you ?

1 am now beyond seventy-five.

What do you do to get your livelihood?

I do these.

Pretty doing it is ; but how did you get
your livelihood, say, before these last pre-
cious forty-eight years of your life ?

I was a gentleman.

What do you call a gentleman ?

Being sometimes poor, sometimes rich.

Come now, say what was your occupa-
tion before you took to this trade ?

I followed many occupations

Were you not an ostler ?

No, I were not.

What else were you then ?

Why, I was a merchant once.

That is a travelling vagrant pedlar, us I
understand your term ?

Yes, may be.

Were you ever any thing else in 'the way
of calling?

Never.

Come back now to what you call the
marriage. Do you pretend to say that it
was done after the common old form of the
church of Scotland ? Is not the general
way by a clergyman ?

That is not the general way altoge-
ther.

Do you mean that the common ordinary
way in Scotland is not to send for a clergy-
man, but to go a hunting after a fellow like
you?

Scotland is not in the practice altogethei
of going after clergymen. Many does not
go that way at all.

Do you mean to swear, then, that the
regular common mode is not to go before a
clergyman?

I do not say that, as it may be.

Answer me the question plainly, or else
you shall not so easily get back to this
good old work of yours in Scotland as you
think ?

I say as it may be, the marriages in Scot-
land an't always done in the churches.

I know that as well as you do, for the
clergyman sometimes attends in private
houses, or it is done before a justice depute;
but is this the regular mode ?

I say it ent no wrong mode it is law.
Re-examined by Mr. SCARLETT.

Well, is it the irregular mode ?

No, not irregular, but as it may be un-
regular, but its right still.

You mean your ov?h good old unreguhu
mode ?

Yes ; I have been both in the courts ol
Edinburgh and Dublin, and my marriages
have always been held legal.

What form of words do you use ?

Why, you come before me, and say

Mr. SCARLETT. No, I will not, for I do
not want to be married ; but suppose a
man did who called for your services, what
is he to do ?

Why, it is I that do it. Surely I ask
them, before two witnesses, do you take
one and other for man and wife, and they
say they do, and I then declare them to be
man and wife for ever more, and so and so,
in the Scotch way you observe.

42*

THE TABLE BOOK.

436

The COURT Mr. Attorney, (addressing
Mr. Scarlett, who is attorney-general for
the county palatine,) is it by a fellow like
this, that you mean to prove the custom of
the law of Scotland as to valid marriage ?

Here the blacksmith's examination ter-
minated.

SPRING.

Oh, how delightful to the soul of man,

How like a renovating spirit comes,

Fanning his cheek, the breath of infant Spring !

Morning awakens in the orient sky

With purpler light, beneath a canopy

Of lovely clouds, their edges tipped with gold ;

And from his palace, like a deity,

Darting his lustrous eye from pole to pole,

The glorious sun comes forth, the vernal sky

To walk rejoicing. To the bitter north

Retire wild winter's forces cruel winds

And griping frosts and magazines of snow

And deluging tempests. O'er the moisten'd fields

A tender green is spread ; the bladed grass

Shoots forth exuberant ; th' awakening trees,

Thawed by the delicate atmosphere, put forth

Expanding buds ; while, with mellifluous throat,

The warm ebullience of internal joy,

The birds hymn forth a song of gratitude

To him who sheltered, when the storms were deep,

And fed them through the winter's cheerless gloom.

Beside the garden path, the crocus now
Puts forth its head to woo the genial breeze,
And finds the snowdrop, hardier visitant,
Already basking in the solar ray.
Upon the brook the water-cresses float
More greenly, and the bordering reeds exalt
Higher their speary summits. Joyously,
From stone to stone, the ouzel flits along,
Startling the linnet from the hawthorn bough ;
While on the elm-tree, overshadowing 'deep
The low-roofed cottage white, the blackbird sits
Cheerily hymning the awakened year.

Turn to the ocean howr the scene is changed .
Behold the small waves melt upon the shore
With chastened murmur ! Buoyantly on high
The sea-gulls ride, weaving a sportive dance,
And turning to the sun their snowy plumes.
With shrilly pipe, from headland or from cape,
Emerge the line of plovers, o'er the sands
Fast sweeping ; while to inland marsh the hern,
With undulating wing scarce visible,
Far up the azure concave journies on !
Upon the sapphire deep, its sails unfiirl'd,
Tardily glides along the fisher's boat,
Its shadow moving o'er the moveless tide ;
Th bright wave flashes from the rower's oar,
Glittering in the sun, at measured intervals ;
And, casually borne, the fisher's voice,
Floats solemnly along the watery waste ;
The shepherd boy, enveloped in his plaid,
On the green bank, with blooming furze o'ertopped.
Listens, ana answers with responsive note.

Cmntric B

JAMES CHAMBERS.

This unfortunate being, well known by
the designation of " the poor poet,'' was
born at Soham, in Cambridgeshire, in 1748,
where his father was a leather-seller, but
having been unfortunate in business, and
marrying a second wife, disputes and family
broils arose. It was probably from this
discomfort in his paternal dwelling-place,
that he left home never to return. At first,
and for an uncertain period, he was a maker
and seller of nets and some small wares.
Afterwards, he composed verses on birth-
days and weddings, acrostics on names,
and such like matters. Naturally mild and
unassuming in his manners, he attracted
the attention and sympathy of many, and
by this means lived, or, rather, suffered
life ! That his mind was diseased there
can be no doubt, for no sane being would
have preferred an existence such as his.
What gave the first morbid turn to his feel-
ings is perhaps unknown. His sharp, lively,
sparkling eye might have conveyed un idea
that he had suffered disappointment in the
tender passion ; while, from the serious
tendency of many of his compositions, it
may be apprehended that religion, or false
notions of religion, in his very young days,
operated to increase the unhappiness that
distressed his faculties. Unaided by edu-
cation of any kind, he yet had attained to
write, although his MSS. were scarcely in-
telligible to any but himself; he could spell
correctly, was a very decen-t grammarian,
and had even acquired a smattering ot
Latin and Greek.

From the age of sixteen to seventy years,
poor Chambers travelled about the county
of Suffolk, a sort of wandering bard, gaining
a precarious subsistence by selling his own
effusions, of which he had a number printed
in cheap forms. Among the poorer people ot
the country, he was mostly received with a
hearty welcome; they held him in great
estimation as a poet, and sometimes be-
stowed on him a small pecuniary recom-
pense for the ready adaptation of his poeti-
cal qualities, in the construction of verses
on certain occasions suitable to their taste
or wishes. Compositions of this nature
were mostly suggested to him by his muse
during the stillness of night, while reposing
in some friendly barn or hay-loft. When
so inspired, he would immediately arise and
commit the effusion to paper. His memory
was retentive, and, to amuse his hearers, he
would repeat most of his pieces by heart.

437

THE TABLE BOOK.

438

He wandered for a considerable time in the
west of Suffolk, particularly at Haverhill ;
and Mr. John Webb, of that place, in his
poem entitled " Haverhill," thus notices
him :

An hapless outcast, on whose natal day
No star propitious beam'd a kindly ray.
By some malignant influence doom'd to roam
The world's wide dreary waste, and know no home.
Yet heav'n to cheer him as he pass'd along,
Infus'd in life's sour cup the siveets of song.
Upon his couch of straw, or bed of hay.
The poetaster tun'd the acrostic lay :
On him an humble muse her favours shed.
And nightly musings earn'd his daily bread.
Meek, unassuming, modest shade ! forgive
This frail attempt to make thy memory live.
Minitrel, adieu ! to me thy fate's unknown ;
Since last I saw you, many a year has flowa.
Full oft has summer poured her fervid beams,
Ad winter's icy breath congeal'd the streams.
Perhaps, lorn wretch I unfriended and alone
In hovel vile, thou gav'st thy final groan !
Clos'd the blear'd eye, ordain'd no more to weep,
And sunk, unheeded sunk, in death's long sleep I

Chambers left Haverhill, never to return
to it, in the year 1790. In peregrinating
the country, which he did in every change
of sky, through storms, and through snow,
or whatever might betide, he was often
supported entirely by the spontaneous be-
nevolence of those who witnessed his wan-
derings. In his verses on a snow-storm, he
says :

This vile rainp.ent hangs in tatters ;

No warm garment to defend :
O'et my flesh th* chill snow scatters ;

No snug hut ! no social friend !

About four years before his death, while
sojourning in VVoodbridge, sleeping in a
nnseiable hut on the barrack ground, and
daily wandering about the town, with every
visible mark of misery to distress the eye,
his condition became a libel upon the feel-
ings of the inhabitants of the place ; a few
gentlemen determined he should no longer
wander in such a state of wretchedness,
offered to clothe and cleanse mm, and
provide a comfortable room, bed, &c. and
a person to shave him and wash for him ;
and they threatened, if he would not comply,
to take him home to where he belonged.

His aversion to a poor-house amounted
to horror : he expresses somewhat to that
effect in one of his poems

'Mongst Belial's sons of contention and strife,
To breathe out the transient remains of my life!

This dread operated in behalf of those

who desired to assist him. His wretched
hovel was emptied, its miserable accumu-
lations were consigned to the flames, and
he was put into a new habitation, clothed
from head to foot, and so metamorphosed,
that but few knew him at first sight. A
bedstead and bedding, a chair, table, and
necessary crockery were provided for his
comfort, but the poor creature was often
heard to exclaim, of the cleansing and
burning, that " it was the worst day's work
he ever met with." After a few short weeks
he left this home, and a shilling a week
allowed him by a gentleman, besides some
weekly pence, donations from ladies in the
town, for a life of wandering privation and,
at times, of absolute want, until the closing
scene of his weary pilgrimage. He breathed
his last on the 4th of January, 1827, in an
unoccupied farm-house belonging to Mr.
Thurston of Stradbroke, where he had been
permitted the use of two rooms. Within
a few days before, he had been as well as
usual, but he suddenly became ill, and had
the attention of two women, neighbours,
who provided him warm gruel, and a few
things his situation required. Some one
had given him a warm blanket, and when
he died there was food in the house, with
tenpence halfpenny in money, a few scraps
of poetry, and a bushel of wheat which he
had gleaned in the harvest. A decent coffin
and shroud were provided, and he was
buried in Stradbrook churchyard.*

Chambers was literally one of the poor
at all times; and hence his annals are short
and simple. Disregard of personal ap-
pearance was natural to his poverty-stricken
circumstances and melancholy disposition ;
for the wheel of his fortune was fixed ty
habit, as by a nail in a sure place, to con-
stant indigence. Neglected in his youth,
and without fixed employment, he brooded
throughout life on his hopeless condition,
without a friend of his own rank who
could participate in his sorrows. He was a
lonely man, and a wanderer, who had neither
act nor part in the common ways of the
world.

A DRAMATIC SKETCH.

For the Table Book

Characters Mr. Greenfat, Mrs. Greenfat,
Masters Peter and Humphrey Greenfat,
Misses Theodosia and Arabella Green-
fat, and Mr. John Eelskin.

The Ipswich Journal, January 31, 1827.

439

THE TABLE BOOK.

440

Seen dispersedly in various parts of the
gardens.

Master Peter. Oh my ! what a sweet
place ! Why, the lamps are thicker than
the pears in our garden, at Walworth :
what a load of oil they must burn !

Miss Arabella. Mamma, is that the lady
mayoress, with the ostridge feathers, and
the pink satin gown ?

Mrs. Greenfat. No, my love ; that's
Miss Biddy Wilkins, of Gutter-lane ! (To
a waiter.) You rude fellow, you've trod on
my dress, and your nasty foot has torn off
one of my flounces.

Miss Theodosia. John, (to Mr. Eelskin,)
how very pretty that hilluminated walk
Jtooks. Dear me ! do you see the fountain ?
How vastly reviving this hot weather,
isn't, it ?

Mr. Eelskin. Ah, my beloved Theo-
dosia ! how should I notice the beauties of
the scene in your company when your
eyes are brighter than the lamps, and your
voice is sweeter than the music ? In vain
the fiddlers fiddle, and the singers sing, I
can hear nothing listen to nothing but
my adorable Theodosia !

Master Humphrey. La, papa, what's that
funny round place, with flags on the top,
and ballad women and men with cocked
hats inside?

Mrf Greenfat. That's the Hawkestraw.

Mrs. Greenfat. Hush, my dear; it's
vulgar to talk loud. Dosee, my love, don't
hang so on Mr. John's arm, you'll quite
fatigue him. That's Miss Tunstall Miss
TunstalPs going to sing. Now, my pretty
Peter, don't talk so fast.

Miss Arabella. Does that lady sing in
French, mamma ?

Mrs. Greenfat. No, child, it's a senthe-
mental air, and they never have no mean-
ing ?

Mist Theodosia. That's the overthure to
Friedshots ; Eelskin, do you like it ?

Mr. Eelskin. On your piano I should.
But shall 1 take you out of this glare of
light ? Would you choose a ramble in the
dark walk, and a peep at the puppet-show-
cosmoramas ?

Mr. Greenfat. I hates this squalling.
(Hell rings.} What's that for ?

Mr. Eelskin. That's for the fant-toe-
sheeni, and the balancing man.

Mr. Greenfat. Well then, let's go and
iook at Mr. Fant-toc-sheeni.

Mrs. Greenfat. Oh, goodness, how I'm
squeedged. Pray don't push so, sir I'm
astonished at your rudeness, mam ! You've

trod on my corn, and lamed me for the
evening !

Mr. Greenfat. Sir, how dare you suffer^
your wife to tread on my wife's toes ?

Master Peter. My stars, sister, he's got
a bagginette on his nose !

Mrs. Greenfat. Mr. John, will you put
little Humphy on your shoulder, and
show him the fant-oh-see-ne ?

Master Humphrey. I can see now,
mamma ; there's Punch and Judy, mam-
ma ! Oh, my ! how well they do dance !

Mr. Greenfat. I can see this in the streets
for nothing.

Mrs. Greenfat. Yes, Mr. Greenfat, but
not in such good company !

Mr. Eelskin. This, my beautiful Theo-
closia, is the musical temple ; it's very ele-
gant only it never plays. Them paint-
ings on the walls were painted by Mungo
Parke and Hingo Jones ; the archatechture
of this room is considered veiy fine !

Master Peter. Oh, I'm so hot. (Bell
rings.)

Mr. Eelskin. That's for the hyder-haw-
lics. We'd better go into the gallery, and
then the ladies won't be in the crowd.

Mr. Greenfat. Come along then ; we
want to go into the gallery. A shilling
a-piece, indeed ! I wonder at your impu-
dence ! Why, we paid three and six-
pence a head at the door.

Mr. Eelskin. Admission to the gallery
is h,extra.

Mr. Greenfat. Downright robbery ! I
won't pay a farthing more.

Miss Arabella. See, mamma, water and
fire at once ! how droll !

Mrs. Greenfat. Pray be kind enough to
take off your hat, sir ; my little boy can't
see a bit. Humphy, my dear, hold fast by
the railing, and then you won't lose your
place. Oh, Mr. John, how very close and
sultry it is !

Mr. Greenfat. What outlandish hussey's
that, eh, John ?

Mr. Eelskin. That's the female juggler ;
sir.

Mi** Theodosia. Are those real knives,
do you think, John ?

Mr. Eelskin. Oh, no doubt of it ; only
the edges are blunt to prevent mischief.
\\ ho's this wild-looking man ? Oh, this is
the male juggler : and now we shall have a
duet of juggling !

Mrs. Greenfat. Can you see, Peter?
Bella, my love, can you see? Mr. John,
do you take care of Dosee ? Well, I pur-
test I never saw any thing half so wonder-
ful : did you, Mr. Greenfat I

441

THE TABLE BOOK.

442

Mr. Greenfat. Never : I wonder when it
will be over?

Mr. Eekkin. We'd better not go away ;
the ballet will begin presently, and I'm
sure you'll like the dancing, Miss, for, ex-
cepting the IVestrisis, and your own sweet
self, I never saw better dancing.

Miss Theodosia. Yes, I loves dancing ;
and at the kst Cripplegate ball, the master
of the ceremonies paid me several compli-
ments.

Miss Arabella. Why do all the dancers
wear plaids, mamma ?

Mrs. Greenfat. Because it's a cool dress,
dear.

Mr. Greenfat. Well, if a girl of mine,
whisked her petticoats about in that man-
ner, I'd have her horsewhipped.

Mr. Eelskin. Now we'll take a stroll till
the concert begins again. This is the ma-
rine cave very natural to look at, Miss,
but nothing but paint and canvass, I as-
sure you. This is the rewolving evening
war for the present; after the fire-works, it
still change into his majesty, King George.
Yonder's the hermit and his cat.

Master Peter. Mamma, does that old
man always sit there ?

Mrs. Greenfat. I'm sure I don't know,
child ; does he, Mr. Eelskin ?

Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense it's all gam-
mon !

Mr. Eelskin. This way, my angel; the
concert has recommenced.

Miss Theodosia. Oh, that's Charles Tay-
lor ; I likes his singing ; he's such a merry
fellow : do hancore him, John.

Mrs. Greenfat. Dosee, my dear, you're
too bold ; it was a very impurent song : I
declare I'm quite ashamed of you !

Mr. Greenfat. Never mince matters ;
always speak your mind, girl.

Mr. Eelskin. The fire-works come next.
Suppose we get nearer the Moorish tower,
and look for good places, as Mr. G. dis-
likes paying for the gallery. Now you'll
not be afeard ; there'll not be the least
danger, depend.

Mrs. Greenfat, Is there much smoke,
Mr. John? Do they fire many cannons?
I hates cannons and smoke makes me
cough. (Bell rings.) Run, run, my dears
Humphy, Peter, Bella, run ! Mr. Greenfat,
run, or we shall be too late ! Eelskin and
Dosee are a mile afore us ! What's that
red light? Oh, we shall all. be burnt!
What noise is that ? Oh, it's the bomb in
the Park ! We shall all be burnt !

Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense, woman, don't
frighten the children !

Miss Theodosia. Now you're sure the

rockets won't fall on my new pink bonnet,
nor the smoke soil my French white dress,
nor the smell of the powder frighten me
into fits ? Now you're quite sure of it,
John?

Mr. Eelskin. Quite sure, my charmer : I
have stood here repeatedly, and never had
a hair of my head hurt. See, Blackmore is
on the rope ; there he goes up up up !
Isn't it pretty, Miss ?

Miss Theodosia. Oh, delightful ! Does
he never break his neck ?
. Mr. Eelskin. Never it's insured ! Now
he descends. How they shoot the maroons
at him! Don't be afeard, lovee, they sha'n't
hurt you. See, Miss, how gracefully he
bows to you. Isn't it terrific ?

Miss Theodosia. Is this alii I thought
it would last for an hour, at least. John,
I'm so hungry ; I hope papa means to have
supper?

Master Peter. Mamma, I'm so hungry.
Master Humphrey. Papa, I'm so dry.
Miss Arabella. Mamrna, I want some-
what to eat.

Mrs. Greenfat. Greenfat, my dear, we
must have some refreshments.

Mr. Greenfat. Refreshments ! where will
you get them ? All the boxes are full.
Oh, here's one. Waiter ! what, the devil,
call this a dish of beef? It don't weigh
three ounces ! Bring half a gallon of stout,
and plenty of bread. Can't we have some
water for the children ?

Mr. Eelskin. Shouldn't we have a little
wine, sir ? it's more genteeler.

Mr. Greenfnt. Wine, Eelskin, wine !
Bad sherry at six shillings a bottle !
Couldn't reconcile it to my conscience.
We'll stick to the stout.

Mrs. Greenfat. Eat, my loves. Some
more bread for Bella. There's a bit of fat
for you, Peter. Humphy, you shall have
my crust. Pass the stout to Dosee, Mr.
John. Don't drink it all, my dear !

Mr. Greenfat. Past two o'clock ! Shame-
ful ! Waiter, bring the bill. Twelve shil-
lings and eightpence abominable !
Charge a shilling a pot for stout mon-
strous ! Well, no matter ; we'll walk home.
Come along.

Master Peter. Mamma, I'm so tired.
Miss Arabella. Mamma, my legs ache
so.

Master Humphrey. Papa, I wish you'd
carry me.

Mr. Greenfat. Come along it wiP be
five o'clock before we get home !

\Exeunt omnes.
H.

443

THE TABLE BOOK.

441

TO MY TEA-KETTLE.

For the Table Book.

For many a vtrse inspired by tea,
(A never-failing muse to me)

MY KETTLE, let this tribute flow,

Thy charms to blazon.
And tell thy modest worth, although
Thy face be brazen.

Let others boast the madd'ning bowl.
That raises but to sink the soul,

Thou art the Bacchus that alone

I wish to follow :
From thee I tipple Helicon,
My best Apollo !

Tis night my children sleep no noise
Is heard, except thy cheerful voice ;

For when the wind would gain mine ear,

Thou sing'st the faster
As if thou wert resolv'd to cheer
Thy lonely master.

And to thou dost : those brazen lungs
Vent no deceit, like human tongues :
That honest breath was never known

To turn informer :
And for thy feelings all must own
That none are warmer.

Bat late, another eye and ear
Would mark thy form, thy music hear :
Alas 1 how soon our pleasures fly.

Returning never !

That ear is deaf that friendly eye
Is clos'd for ever !

Be thon then, now, my friend, my guide,
And humming wisdom by my side,
Teach me so patiently to bear

Hot-water troubles,

That they may end, like thine, in air,

And turn to bubbles.

Let me support misfortune's fire
Unhurt ; and, when I fume with ire.
Whatever friend my passion sees,

And near me lingers,
Let him still handle me with ease,
Nor burn his fingers.

TO MY TEA-POT.

For the Table Book.

MT TEA-POT ) while thy lips pour ftrth
For me a stream of matchless worth,

I'll pour forth my rhymes for theej
Don Juan's verse is gross, they say ;
But I will pen a grocer lay,

Commencing " Amo tea."

Yes let Anacreon's votary sip
His flowing bowl with feverish lip,

And breathe abominations ;
Some day he'll be bowfd out for it
He's brewing mischief, while I sit

And brew my Tea-pot-atioat.

After fatigue, how dear to me
The maid who suits me to a T,

And makes the water bubble .
From her red hand when I receive
The evergreen, I seem to give

At T. L. no trouble.

I scorn the hop, disdain the malt,
I hate solutions sweet and salt,

Injurious I vote 'em ;
For tea my faithful palate yearns ;
Thus though my fancy never turnt,

It always is tea-totuml

Yet some assure me whilst I sip,
That thou hast stain'd thy silver lip

With sad adulterations
Slow poison drawn from leaves of sloe.
That quickly cause the quick to go.

And join their dead relations.

Annt Malaprop now drinks noyeau
Instead of Tea, and well I know

That she prefers it greatly :
She says, "Alas ! I give up Tea,
There's been so much adultery

Among the grocers lately !"

She warns me of Tea-dealers' tricks
Those double-dealing men, who mix

Unwholesome drugs with some Tea
Tis bad to sip and yet to give
Up sipping's worse ; we cannot live

Nee sine Tea, nee cum Tea."

OI may my memory, like thy front.
When I am cold, endure the brunt
Of vitriol envy's keen assaults,
And shine the brighter,
And ev'ry rub that makes my faults
Appear the lighter.

SAM SAM'S SON.

Yet still, tenacious of my Tea,
I think the grocers send it me

Quite pure, ('tis what they call so.)
Heedless of warnings, still I get
" Tea ver.:ente die, et

Tea decedente," also.

SAM SAM'S SON.

445

THE TABLE BOOK.

upon Stomt

Irom a sepia drawing, obligingly com- This structuce is spacious and handsome,

municated by J. S. J., the reader is presented and was formerly collegiate, and dedicated

with this view of a church, " hallowed by to the Holy Trinity. A row of limes

being the sepulchral enclosure of the re- trained so as to form an arched avenue,

mains of the immortal Shakspeare." It form an approach to the great door. A

exemplifies the two distinct styles, the representation of a portion of this plea

early pointed and that of the fourteenth entrance is in an engraving of the church

century. The tower is of the first cou- in the " Gentleman's Magazine " for 1807.
struction; the windows of the transepts Another opportunity will occur for rela

possess a preeminent and profuse display ting particulars respecting the venerable

of the mullions and tracery characteristic edifice, and the illustrious bard, whose birth

of the latter period.* and burial at Stratford upon Avon confer

. ,, _ : . on the town imperishable fame.

Mr. Carter, in the Gentleman^ Magazine, 1816

V T OL. I. 15

447

THE TABLE BOOK.

No. XII.

[From the " Brazen Age," an Historical
Play, by Thomas Hey wood, 1613.]

Venus courts Adonis.

Venus. Why doth Adonis fly the Queen of Love,
And shun this ivory girdle of my arms ?
To be thus scarf'd the dreadful God of War
Would give me conqner'd kingdoms. For a kiss,
But half like this, I could command the Sun
Rise "fore his hour, to bed before his time;
And, being love-sick, change his golden beams,
And make his face pale as his sister Moon.
Look on me, Adon, with a stedfast eye,
That in these chrystal glasses I may see
My beauty that charms Gods, makes Men amazed
And stown'd with wonder. Doth this roseat pillow
Offend my Love ?

With my white fingers will I clap thy cheek ;
Whisper a, thousand pleasures in thy ear.

Adonis. Madam, you are not modest. I affect
The unseen beauty that adorns the mind :
This looseness makes you foul in Adon's eye.
If yon will tempt me, let me in your face
Read blusfulness and fear ; a modest fear
Would make your cheek seem much more beautiful.

Venus. wert thou made of stone,

I have heat to melt thee ; I am Queen of Love.

There is no practive art of dalliance

Of which I am not mistress, and can ute.

I have kisses that can murder unkind words,

And strangle hatred that the gall sends forth ;

Touches to raise thee, were thy spirits half dead ;

Words that can pour affection down thy ears.

Love me 1 thou can's t not chuse ; thon shall not chuse.

Adonis. Madam, you woo not well. Men covet not
These proffer'd pleasures, but love sweets denied.
These prostituted pleasures surfeit still ;
Where's fear, or doubt, men sue with best good will.

Venus. Thou canst instruct the Queen of Love in

love.

Thou shalt not, Adon, take me by the hand ;
Yet, if thou needs will force me, take my palm.
I'll frown on him : alas 1 my brow's so smooth,
It will not bear a wrinkle. Hie thee hence
Unto the chace, and leave me ; but not yet :
I'll sleep this night upon Endymion's bank,
On which the Swain was courted by the Moon.
Dare not to come ; thou art in our disgrace :
Yet, if thou come, I can afford thee place I

Phoebus jeers Vulcan.

Vul. Good morrow, Phoebus; what's the news

abroad ?

For thou see'st all things in the world are done,
Men act by day-light, or the sight of sun.

Phceb. Sometime I cast my eye upon the sea.
To see the tumbling seal or porpoise play.
There see I merchants trading, and their sails
Big-bellied with the wind ; sea fights sometimes
Rise with their smoke-thick clouds to dark my beams
Sometimes I fix my face upon the earth,

With my warm fervour to give metals, trees.

Herbs, plants and flowers, life. Here in gardens walk

Loose Ladies with their Lovers arm in arm.

Yonder the laboring Plowman drives his team.

Further I may behold main battles pitcht ;

And whom I favour most (by the wind's help)

I can assist with my transparent rays.

Here spy I cattle feeding ; forests there

Stored with wild beasts ; here shepherds with their

lasses,

Piping beneath the trees while their flocks graze.
In cities I see trading, walking, bargaining,
Buying and selling, goodness, badness, all things
And shine alike on alL

Vul. Thrice happy Phoebus,
That, whilst poor Vulcan is confin'd to Lemnos,
Hast every day these pleasures. What news else ?

Phceb. No Emperor walks forth, but I see his state ;
Nor sports, but I his pastimes can behold.
I see all coronations, funerals,
Marts, fairs, assemblies, pageants, sights and shows.
No hunting, but I better see the cbace
Than they that rouse the game. What see I not ?
There's not a window, but my beams break in ;
No chink or cranny, but my rays pierce through ;
And there I see, O Vulcan, wondrous things :
Things that thyself, nor any God besides,
Would give belief to.
And, shall I teil thee, Vulcan, 'tother day
What I beheld? I saw the great God Mars

Vul. God Mars

Phceb. As I was peeping through a cranny, a-bed

Vul. Abed! with whom? some pretty Wench, I
warrant.

Phceb. She was a pretty Wench.

Vul. Tell me, good Phoebus,
That, when I meet him, I may flout God Mars ;
Tell me, but tell me truly, on thy life.

Phceb. Not to dissemble, Vulcan, 'twas thy Wife I

The Peers of Greece go in quest of
Hercules, and find him in woman's weeds,
spinning with Omphale.

Jason. Our business was to Theban Hercules.
'Twas told ns, he remain'd with Omphale,
The Theban Queen.

Tclamon, Speak, which is Omphale ? or which A.1-
cides ?

Pollux. Lady, our purpose was to Hercules ;
Shew us the man.

Omphale. Behold him here.

Atreus. Where?

Omphale. There, at his task.

Jason. Alas, Ms Hercules I
This is some base effeminate Groom, not he
That with his puissance frighted all the earth.

Hercules. Hath Jason, Nestor, Castor, Telamon,
Atreug, Pollux, all forgot their friend ?
Wa are the man.

Jason. Woman, we know thee not :
We came to seek the Jove -born Hercules,
That in his cradle strangled Juno's snakes,
And triumph'd in the brave Olympic game*.
He that the Cleonean lion slew,

449

THE TABLE BOOK.

Th' Erimanthian bear, the bull of Marathon.
The Lei-Dean hydra, and the winged hart

Tclamon. We would see the Theban
That Caoas slew, Busiris sacrificed,
And to his horses hurl'd stern Diomed
To be devoured.

Pollux. That freed Hesione
From the sea whale, and after ransack'd Troy,
And with his own hand slew Laomedon.

Nestor. He by whom Dercilus and Albion fell ;
He that (Ecalia and Betricia won.

Atreus. That monstrous Geryon with his three heads

vanquish t,

With Linus, Lichas that usurpt in Thebes,
And captived there his beauteous Megara.

Polltea. That Hercules by whom the Centaurs fell.
Great Achelous, the Stymphalides,
And the Cremona giants : where is he ?

Telamon. That trait'rous Nessus with a shaft trans-

fixt.

Strangled Antheus, purged Augeus' stalls,
Won the bright apples of th' Hesperides.

Jason. He that the Amazonian baldrick won ;
That Achelous with his club subdued,
And won from him the Pride of Caledon,
Fair Deianeira, that now mourns in Thebes
For absence of the noble Hercules !

Atreus. To him we came ; but, since he lives not

here.

Come, Lords; we will return these presents back
Unto the constant Lady, whence they came.

Hercules. Stay, Lords

Jason. 'Mongst women ?

Hercules. For that Theban's sake,
Whom you profess to love, and came to seek,
Abide awhile ; and by my love to Greece,
I'll bring before you that lost Hercules,
For whom you came to enquire.

Telamon. It works, it works

Hercules. How have I lost mjielf !
Did we all this ? Where is that spirit become,
That was in us ? no marvel, Hercules,
That thou be'st strange to them, that thus disguised
Art to thyself unknown ! hence with this distaff,
And base effeminate chares ; hence, womanish tires ;
And let me once more be myself again.
Your pardon, Omphale !

ST. MARGARET'S AT CLIFF.
For the Table Book.

Stand still. How fearful

I cannot take leave of this Drama with-
out noticing a touch of the truest pathos,
which the writer has put into the mouth of
Meleager, as he is wasting away by the
operation of the fatal brand, administered
to him by his wretched Mother.

My Bame encreaseth still Oh father CEneus ;
And you Althea, whom I would call Mother,
But that my genius prompts me thou'rt unkind :
And yet farewell t

What is the boasted " Forgive me, but
forgive me !" of the dying wife of Shore in
Rowe, compared with these three little
words ?

C.L.

And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low I
The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air
Show. scarce so gross as beetles : half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade !
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head :
The fishermen thaf walk upon the beach
Appear like mice ; and yon tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock ; her cock, a buoy,
Almost too small for sight : the murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,

Cannot be heard so high.

SHAKSPEARE.

The village of St. Margaret's at Cliff is
situated at a small distance from the South
Foreland, and about a mile from the high
road half way between Dover and Deal.
It was formerly of some consequence, on
account of its fair for the encouragement
of traders, held in the precincts of its
priory, which, on the dissolution of the
monastic establishments by Henry VIII.,
losing its privilege, or rather its utility, (for
the fair is yet held,) the village degenerated
into an irregular group of poor cottages, a -
decent farm-house, and an academy for
boys, one of the best commercial school
establishments in the county of Kent. The
church, though time has written strange
defeatures on its mouldering walls, still
bears the show of former importance; but
its best claim on the inquisitive stranger is
the evening toll of its single bell, which is
generally supposed to be the curfew, but is
of a more useful and honourable character.
It was established by the testament of
one of its inhabitants in the latter part of
the seventeenth century, for the guidance
of the wanderer from the peril of the
neighbouring precipices, over which the
testator fell, and died from the injuries he
received. He bequeathed the rent of a piece
of land for ever, to be paid to the village
sexton for tolling the bell every evening
at eight o'clock, when it should be dark
at that hour

The cliffs in the range eastward of Dover
to the Foreland are the most precipitous,
but not so high as Shakspeare's. They are
the resort of a small fowl of the widgeon
species, but something less than the wid-
geon, remarkable for the size of its egg,
which is larger than the swan's, and of a
pale green, spotted with brown ; it makes
its appearance in May, and, choosing the
most inaccessible part of the precipice, de-
posits its eggs, two in number, in holes.

451

THE TABLE BOOK.

452

how made it is difficult to prove : when the
voung bird is covered with a thin down,
and before any feathers appear, it is taken
on the back of the parent, carried to the
sea, and abandoned to its own resources,
which nature amply supplies means to em-
ploy, in the myriads of mackerel fry that
at that season colour the surface of the deep
with a beautiful pale green and silver.
This aquatic wanderer is said to confine its
visit to the South Foreland and the seven
cliffs at Beachy-head, and is known by the
name of Willy. Like the gull, it is unfit
for the table, but valuable for the downy
softness of its feathers.

It was in this range of Dover cliffs that
Joe Parsons, who for more than forty years
had Exclusively gathered samphire, broke
\is neck in 1823. Habit had rendered the
highest and most difficult parts of these
awful precipices as familiar to this man as
die level below. Where the overhanging
rock impeded his course, a rope, fastened
to a peg driven into a cliff above, served
him to swing himself from one projection
to another ; in one of these dangerous at-
tempts this fastening gave way, and he fell
to rise no more. Joe had heard of Shak-
speare, and felt the importance of a hero.
It was his boast that he was a king too
powerful for his neighbours, who dared not
venture to disturb him in his domain; that
nature alone was his lord, to whom he paid
no quittance. All were free to forage on his
grounds, but none ventured. Joe was twice
wedded ; his first rib frequently attended
and looked to the security of his ropes, and
would sometimes terrify him with threats to
cast him loose ; a promise of future kind-
ness always ended the parley, and a thrash-
ing on the next quarrel placed Joe again in
peril. Death suddenly took Judith from
this vale of tears ; Parsons awoke in the
night and found her brought up in an ever-
lasting roadstead : like a true philosopher
and a quiet neighbour, Joe took his second
nap, and when day called out the busy
world to begin its matin labour, Joe called
in the nearest gossip to see that all was
done that decency required for so good a
wife. His last helpmate survives her hap-
less partner. No one has yet taken posses-
sion of his estate. The inquisitive and
firm-nerved stranger casts his eyes below in
vain : he that gathered samphire is himself
gathered. The anchored bark, the skiff,
the choughs and crows, the fearful precipice,
and the stringy root, growing in unchecked
abundance, bring the bard and Joe Parsons
to remembrance, but no one now attempts
the " dreadful trade."

K. B.

TO A SEA- WE ED
PICKED UP AFTER A STORM.

Exotic ! from the soil no tiller ploughs,
Save the rude surge ; fresh stripling from a grew
Above whose tops the wild sea-monsters rove ,

Have not the genii harbour'd in thy boughs,

Thou filmy piece of wonder ! have not those
Who still the tempest, for thy rescue strove.
And stranded thee thus fair, the might to prove

Of spirits, that the caves of ocean house ?

How else, from capture of the giant-spray,
Hurt-free escapest thou, slight ocean-flower?

As if Arachne wove, thus faultless lay
The full-develop' d forms of fairy-bower ;

Who that beholds thee thus, nor with dismay
Recalls thee struggling thro' the storm's dark hour !*

'MARRIAGE OF THE SEA.

The doge of Venice, accompanied by
the senators, in the greatest pomp, mar-
ries the sea every year.

Those who judge of institutions by their
appearance only, think this ceiemony an
indecent and extravagant vanity ; they ima-
gine that the Venetians annually solem-
nize this festival, because they believe
themselves to be masters of the sea. But
the wedding of the sea is performed with
the most noble intentions.

The sea is the symbol of the republic :
of which the dog-e is the first magis-
trate, but not the master ; nor do the Veni-
tians wish that he should become so. Among
the barriers to his domination, they rank
this custom, which reminds him that he has
no more authority over the republic, which
he governs with the senate, than he has
over the sea, notwithstanding the marriage
he is obliged to celebrate with her. The
ceremony symbolizes the limits of his power,
and the nature of his obligations.

OLD COIN INSCRIPTIONS.

To read an inscription on a silver coin
which, by much wear, is become wholly
obliterated, put the poker in the fire ; when
red hot, place the coin upon it, and the
inscription will plainly appear of a greenish
hue, but will disappear as the coin cools.
This method was practised at the Mint to
discover the genuine coin when the silver
was last called in.

* Poems and Translations from Schiller.

453 THE TABLE BOOK. 4;.

THE LADY AND THE TROUBADOUR.
For the Table Book.

[Kmcagarde, daughter of Jacques de Tourn.iy, Lord of Croiton, in Provence, becoming enamoured of a
Troubadour, by name Enguilbert de Marnef, who was bound by a vow to repair to the Camp of the Cru-
saders in Palestine, besought him on the eve of his departure to suffer her to accompany him : de Marnef
at first resolutely refused ; but at length, overcome by her affectionate solicitations, assented, and was
joined by her the same night, after her flight from her father's chastel, in (he garb of a guild brother of
the joyeuse science.

CHRONKJUK DE POUTAILT,EB ;

Enguilbert ! oh Enguilbert, the sword is in thine hand,

Thou hast vowed before our Lady's shrine to seek the Sainted land :

Thou goest to fight for glory but what will glory be,

If thou lov'st me, and return's! to find a tomb and dust for me ?

Look on me Enguilbert, for I have lost the shame

That should have stayed these tears and prayers from one of Tournay's name :

Look on me, my own bright-eyed Love oh wilt thou leave me say

To droop as sunless flowers do, lacking thee light of my day ?

Oh say that I may wend with thee I'll doff my woman's 'tire,
Sling my Father's sword unto my side, and o'er my back my lyre :
I'll roam with thee a Troubadour, by day by night, thy bride
Speak Enguilbert say yes, or see my heart break if denied.

Oh shouldst thou fall, my Enguilbert, whose lips thy wounds will close ?
Who but thine own fond Emeugarde should watch o'er thy repose ?
And pierced, and cold her faithful breast must be e'er spear or sword
Should ought of harm upon thee wreak, my Troubadour my Lord.

Nay smile not at my words, sweet-heart the Goss hath slender beak
But brings its quarry nobly down I love tho' I am weak
My Blood hath coursed thro' Charlemagne's veins, and better it should flow
Upon the field with Infidels', than here congeal with woe.

Ah Enguilbert my soul's adored 1 the tear is in thine eye ;
Thou wilt not can'st not leave me like the widowed dove to die :
No no thine arm is round me that kiss on my hot brow
Spoke thy assent, my bridegroom love, we are oTnvfor ever now.

J. J. K.

THE GOLDEN TOOTH. Two years afterwards, Ingosteterus,.an-
In 1593, it was reported that a Silesian oth . ei : lea ed man, wrote against the
child, seven years old, had lost all its teeth, ? pl fv! on , wh ^ h ^ndj" had given on this
and that a golden tooth had grown in the 5S g Ru" a ndus immediately re-
place of a natural double one. P h ? d m a most ele g a nt and erudite disser-

In 1595, Horstius, professor of medicine a |.?* .

in the university of Helmstadt, wrote the U L *vma, a very learned man, compiled

history of this golden tooth. He said it a " that had been said relative to this tooth,

was partly a natural event, and partly mi- and subjoined his remarks upon it.

raculous, and that the Almighty had sent it Nothing was wanting to recommend

to this chird, to console the Christians for these 1 . e dlte w "tmgs to posterity, but

their persecution by the Turks. P ro .* that the to ? th was gold a gold-

In the same year, Rullandus drew up sm exam ined it, and found it a natural

another account of the golden tooth. tooth officially gilt.

THE TABLE BOOK

456

LE REVENANT.

" There are but two classes of persons in the world
those who are hanged, and those who are not
hanged : and it has been my lot to belong to the
former."

There is a pathetic, narrative, under
the preceding title and motto in " Black-
wood's Edinburgh Magazine," of the pre-
sent month, (April, 1827.) It is scarcely
possible to abridge or extract from it, and
be just to its writer. Perhaps the following
specimen may induce curiosity to the peru-
sal of the entire paper in the journal just
named.

" I have been hanged, and am alive,"
says the narrator. " I was a clerk in a
Russia broker's house, and fagged between
Broad-street Buildings and Batson's coffee-
house, and the London-docks, from nine in
the morning to six in the evening, for a
salary of fifty pounds a-year. I did this
not contentedly but I endured it ; living
sparingly in a little lodging at Islington
for two years - r till I fell in love with a
poor, but very beautiful girl, who was
honest where it was very hard to be honest;
and worked twelve hours a-day at sewing
and millinery, in a mercer's shop in Cheap-
side, for half a guinea a-week. To make
short of a long tale this girl did not know
how poor I was ; and, in about six months,
I committed seven or eight forgeries, to
the amount of near two hundred pounds.
I was seized one morning I expected it
for weeks as regularly as I awoke every
morning and carried, after a very few
questions, for examination before the lord
mayor. At the Mansion-house I had no-
thing to plead. Fortunately my motions
had not been watched ; and so no one but
myself was implicated in the charge as no
one else was really guilty. A sort of in-
stinct to try the last hope made me listen
to the magistrate's caution, and remain
silent ; or else, for any chance of escape I
had, I might as well have confessed the
whole truth at once. The examination
lasted about half an hour ; when I was
fully committed for trial, and sent away to
Newgate.

" The shock of my first arrest was very
slight indeed ; indeed I almost question if
it was not a relief, rather than a shock, to
me. For months, I had known perfectly
that my eventual discovery was certain. I
tried to shake the thought of this off; but
it was of no use I dreamed of it even in
my sleep ; and I never entered our count-
ing-house of a morning, or saw my master
take up the cash-book in the course of the

day, that my heart was not up in my
mouth, and my hand shook so that I could
not hold the pen for twenty minutes after-
wards, I was sure to do nothing but blun-
der. Until, at last, when I saw our chief
clerk walk into the room, on new year's
morning, with a police officer, I was as ready
for what followed, as if I had had six
hours' conversation about it. I do not be-
lieve I showed for I am sure I did not
feel it either surprise or alarm. My
' fortune,' however, as the officer called
it, was soon told. I was apprehended on
the 1st of January ; and the sessions being
then just begun, my time came rapidly
round. On the 4th of the same month, the
London grand jury found three bills against
me for forgery ; and, on the evening of the
5th, the judge exhorted me to ' prepare for
death,;' for ' there was no hope that, in
this world, mercy could be extended to
me.'

" The whole business of my trial and
sentence passed over as coolly and for-
mally as I would have calculated a ques-
tion of interest, or summed up an under-
writing account. I had never, though I
lived in London, witnessed the proceedings
of a criminal court before ; and I could
hardly believe the composure and indiffer-
ence-r-and yet civility for there was no
show of anger or ill-temper with which I
was treated ; together with the apparent
perfect insensibility of all the parties round
me, while I was rolling on with a speed
which nothing could check, and which in-
creased every moment to my ruin ! I was
called suddenly up from the dock, when
my turn for trial came, and placed at the
bar; and the judge asked, in a tone which
had neither seventy about it, nor compas-
sion nor carelessness, nor anxiety nor
any character or expression whatever that
could be distinguished ' If there was any
counsel appeared for the prosecution ?' A
barrister then, who seemed to have some
consideration a middle aged, gentlemanly-
looking man stated the case against me
as he said he would do very ' fairly and
forbearingly ;' but, as soon as he read the
facts from his brief, ' that only' I heard an
officer of the gaol, who stood behind me,
say ' put the rope about my neck.' My
master then was called to give his evi-
dence ; which he did very temperately
but it was conclusive. A young gentle-
man, who was my counsel, asked a few
questions in cross-examination, after he
had carefully looked over the indictment :
but there was nothing to cross-examine
upon I knew that well enough though I

157

THE TABLE BOOK.

458

was thankful for the interest he seemed to
take in my case. The judge then told me,
I thought more gravely than he had spoken
oefore ' That it was time for me to speak
in my defence, if I had any thing to say.*
I had nothing to say. I thought one mo-
ment to drop down upon my knees, and beg
for mercy ; but, again I thought it would
only make me look ridiculous ; and I only
answered as well as I could ' That I '
would not trouble the court with any de-
fence.' Upon this, the judge turned round,
with a more serious air still, to the jury,
who stood up all to listen to him as he
spoke. And I listened too or tried to
listen attentively as hard as I could ; and
yet with all I could do I could not keep
my thoughts from wandering ! For the
sight of the courtall so orderly, and re-
gular, and composed, and formal, and well
satisfied spectators and all while I was
running on with the speed of wheels upon
smooth soil downhill, to destruction
seemed as if the whole trial were a dream,
and not a thing in earnest ! The barristers
sat round the table, silent, but utterly un-
concerned, and two were looking over
their briefs, and another was reading a
newspaper ; and the spectators in the galle-
ries looked on and listened as pleasantly,
as though it were a matter not of death
going on, but of pastime or amusement ;
and one very fat man, who seemed to be
the clerk of the court, stopped his writing
when the judge began, but leaned back in
his chair, with his hands in his breeches'
pockets, except once or twice that he took
a snuff; and not one living soul seemed to
take notice they did not seem to know
the fact that there was a poor, desperate,
helpless creature whose days were fast
running out whose hours of life were even
with the last grains in the bottom of the
sand-glass among them ! I lost the whole
of the judge's charge thinking of I know
not what in a sort of dream unable to
steady my mind to any thing, and only bit-
ing the stalk of a piece of rosemary that
lay by me. But I heard the low, distinct
whisper of the foreman of the jury, as he
brought in the verdict ' GUILTY,' and
the last words of tlie judge, saying ' that
I should be hanged by the neck until I
was dead ;' and bidding me ' prepare my-
self for the next life, for that my crime was
one that admitted of no mercy in this.'
The gaoler then, who had stood close by
me all the while, put his hand quickly
apon my shoulder, in an under voice, tell-
ing me, to 'Come along!' Going down
the hall steps, two other officers met me;

and, placing me between them, without
saying a word, hurried me across the yard
in the direction back to the prison. As
the door of the court closed behind us, I
saw the judge fold up his papers, and the
jury being sworn in the next case. Two
other culprits were brought up out of the
dock ; and the crier called out for ' The
prosecutor and witnesses against James
Hawkins, and Joseph Sanderson, for bur-
glary !'

- " I had no friends, if any in such a case
could have been of use to me no relatives
but two ; by whom I could not complain
of them I was at once disowned. There
was but one person then in all the world
that seemed to belong to me ; and that one
was Elizabeth Clare ! And, when I thought
of her, the idea of all that was to happen to
myself was forgotten I covered my face
with my hands, and cast myself on the
ground ; and I wept, for I was in despera-
tion. She had gone wild as soon as she
had heard the news of my apprehension
never thought of herself, but confessed her
acquaintance with me. The result was,
she was dismissed from her employment
and it was her only means of livelihood.

" She had been every where to my mas-
ter to the judge that tried me to the
magistrates to the sheriffs to the alder-
men she had made her way eveti to the
secretary of state ! My heart did misgive
me at the thought of death ; but, in despite
of myself, I forgot fear when I missed her
usual time of coming, and gathered from
the people about me how she was em-
ployed. I had no thought about the success
or failure of her attempt. All my thoughts
were that she was a young girl, and
beautiful hardly in her senses, and quite
unprotected without money to help, or a
friend to advise her pleading to strangers
humbling herself perhaps to menials,
who would think her very despair and
helpless condition, a challenge to infamy
and insult. Well, it mattered little ! The
thing was no worse, because I was alive to
see and suffer from it. Two days more,
and all would be over; the demons that
fed on human wretchedness would have
their prey. She would be homeless pen-
nyless friendless she would have been
the companion of a forger and a felon ; it
needed no witchcraft to guess the termina-
tion.

" We hear curiously, and read every day,
of the visits of friends and relatives, to
wretched criminals condemned to die.
Those who read and hear of these things
the most curiously, have little impiession

THE TABLE BOOK.

it*

of the sadness of the reality. It was six
days after my first apprehension, when
Elizabeth Clare came, for the last time, to
isit me in prison ! In only these short
six days her beauty, health, strength all
were gone ; years upon years of toil and
sickness could not have left a more worn-
out wreck. Death as plainly as ever
death spoke sat in her countenance she
was broken-hearted. When she came, I
had not seen her for two days. I could
not speak, and there was an officer of the
prison with us too : I was the property of
the law now ; and my mother, if she had
lived, could not have blest, or wept for me,
without a third person, and that a stranger,
being present. I sat down by her on my
bedstead, which was the only place to sit
on in my cell, and wrapped her shawl
close round her, for it -was very cold wea-
ther, and I was allowed no fire ; and we
sat so for almost an hour without exchang-
ing a word.

" She was got away, on the pretence that
she might make one more effort to save me,
with a promise that she should return
again at night. The master was an elderly
man, who had daughters of his own ;
and he promised for he saw I knew how
the matter was to see Elizabeth safe
through the crowd of wretches among
whom she must pass to quit the prison.
She went, and I knew that she was going
for ever. As she turned back to speak as
the door was closing, I knew that I had
seen her for the last time. The door of my
cell closed. We were to meet no more on
earth. I fell upon my knees I clasped
my hands my tears burst out afresh and
I called on God to bless her."

The mental and bodily sufferings of the
condemned man in his cell, his waking
dreams, and his dead sleep till the morn-
ing of execution, though of intense interest
in the narrative, are omitted here that the
reader may at once accompany the criminal
to the place of execution

" I remember beginning to move for-
ward through the long arched passages
which led from the press-room to the scaf-
fold. 1 saw the lamps that were still burn-
ingfor the daylight never entered here : t
beard the quick tolling of the bell, and the
deep voice of the chaplain reading as he
walked before us

* J am the resurrection and the life, saith
the Lord ; he that believeth in me,
though he were dead, shall live. AnH

though after my skin worms destro;
this body, yet in my flesh shall I see
God!'

" It was the funeral service the order
for the grave the office for those that were
senseless and dead over us, the quick and
the living

" I felt once more and saw ! I felt the
transition from these dim, close, hot, lamp-
lighted subterranean passages, to the open
platform and steps at the foot of the scaf-
fold, and to day. I saw the immense
crowd blackening the whole area of the
street below me. The windows of the
shops and houses opposite, to the fourth
story, choked with gazers. I saw St.
Sepulchre's church through the yellow fo;
in the distance, and heard the pealing of
its bell. I recollect the cloudy, misty
morning ; the wet that lay upon the scaf-
fold the huge dark mass of building, the
prison itself, that rose beside, and seemed
to cast a shadow over us the cold, fresh
breeze, that, as I emerged from it, broke
upon my face. I see it all now the whole
horrible landscape is before me. Tl;e
scaffold the rain the faces of the multi-
tude the people clinging to the house-tops
the smoke that beat heavily downwards
from the chimneys the waggpns filled with
women, staring in the inn-yards opposite-r-
the hoarse low roar that ran through the
gathered crowd as we appeared. I never
saw so many objects at once so plainly
and distinctly in all my life as at that one
glance ; but it lasted only for an instant.

" From that look, and from that instant,
all that followed is a blank "

To what accident the narrator owes his
existence is of little consequence, compared
with the moral to be derived from the sad
story. " The words are soon spoken, and
the act is soon done, which dooms a
wretched creature to an untimely death ;
but bitter are the pangs and the suffer-
ings of the body are among the least of
them that he must go through before he
arrives at it !"

In the narrative there is more than seems
to be expressed. By all who advocate or
oppose capital punishment by every being
with a human heart, and reasoning powers
it should be read complete in the pages
of " Black wood."

4U1

THE TABLE BOOK

$im* Hfflfe, tto B'toradtie

Lang may wor Tyneside lads sae true,

In heart byeth blithe an' mellow.
Bestow the praise that's fairly due

To this bluff, honest fellow
And when he's hamper'd i' the dust.

Still i' wor memory springin'.
The times we've run till like to brust

To hear blind Willie singin'.

WILLIAM PURVIS, or, as he is generally
styled, blind Willie, is a well-known cha-
racter, and native of Newcastle, where he
has resided since his infancy. He was born
blind, and is the son of Margaret Purvis,
who died in All Saints' workhouse, February
7, 1819, in her hundredth year.

Willie is, indeed, as the ingenious Mr.
Sykes calls him in his " Local Records," a
" famous musician," for he has long been
celebrated for his minstrelsy throughout
the northern counties, but more particularly
so in Northumberland. In Newcastle,

NEWCASTLE SONG.

Willie is respected by all from the rudest
to the gentlest heart all love him children
seize his hand as he passes and he is ever
an equally welcome guest at the houses of
the rich and the hovels of the pitmen. The
hoppings of the latter are cheered by the
soul-inspiring sound of his viol : nay, he
is, I may truly say, a very particle of a
pitman's existence, who, after a hard day's
labour, considers it a pleasure of the most
exquisite nature to repair to some neigh-
bouring pot-house, there to enjoy Willie's
music, and listen to the rude ballads he is

463

THE TABLE BOOK.

464

in the habit of composing and singing to
the accompaniment of his own music.
Poor Willie ! may he live long and live
nappy. When he dies many a tear will
fall from eyes that seldom weep, and hearts
that know little of the more refined sensa-
tions of our nature will heave a sigh. Wil-
lie will die, but not his fame will die. In
many of those humorous provincial songs,
with which Newcastle abounds more than
any other town I am acquainted with the
very airs as welt as the words of which pos-
sess a kind of local nationality " Blind
Willie " is the theme. These songs are the
admiration of all who know how to appre-
ciate genuine humour; several of them have
been sung for years, and I venture to pro-
phecy, will be sung by future generations.

Among the characters who have noticed
" Willie " may be mentioned the present
duke of Northumberland, sir Matthew
White Ridley, the late Stephen Kemble,
Esq. and the admirable comedian Mat-
thews. Sir Matthew White Ridley is a
most particular favourite with " Willie,"
and it is no uncommon occurrence to hear
Willie, as he paces along the streets of
Newcastle.muttering to himself " Sir Maffa !
sir Maffa ! canny sir Maffa ! God bless sir
Maffa!"

One of Willie's greatest peculiarities is
thus alluded to by Mr. Sykes : " He has
travelled the streets of Newcastle time out
of mind without a covering upon his head.
Several attempts have been made, by pre-
senting him with a hat, to induce him to
wear one, but after having suffered it for a
day or two it is thrown aside, and the min-
strel again becomes uncovered, preferring
the exposure of his pate to the ' pelting of
the pitiless storm.' " The likeness that ac-
companies this notice is from a large quarto
engraving, published at Newcastle, and
will doubtless be acceptable to numerous
readers of that populous district wherein
blind Willie is so popular.

FARMERS.

1722. 1822.

Man to the plough ; Man tally-ho ;

Wife to the cow ; Miss piano ;

Girl to the sow ; Wife silk and satin ;

Boy to the mow ; Boy Grek and Latia ;

And your rer.ts will be netted. And you'll all be Gazetted

G."

The Timet.

A REVERIE.
For the Table Book.

On a cool delightful evening which
succeeded one of the scorching days of
last summer, 1 sallied forth for a walk in

the neighbourhood of the city of .

Chance led me along a path usually much
frequented, which was then covered thick
with the accumulated dust of a long
drought ; it bore the impression of a thou-
sand busy feet, of every variety of form and
size ; from the first steps of the infant,
whose nurse had allowed it to toddle his
little journey to the outstretched arms of
her who was almost seated to receive him,
to the hobnailed slouch of the carter, whose
dangling lash and dusty jacket annoyed the
well-dressed throng. But three pair of
footsteps, which were so perfect that they
could not long have preceded my own,
more than all, attracted my attention ;
those on the left certainly bore the impress
of the delicately formed foot of a female ;
the middle ones were shaped by the ample
square-toed, gouty shoe of a senior; and
those on the right were as certainly placed
there by the Wellington boot of some
dandy ; they were extravagantly right and
left, the heel was small and high, for the
middle of the foot did not tread on earth.
My imagination was instantly at work,
to tenant these " leathers conveniences ;"
the last-mentioned I felt so certain were
inhabited by an officer of the lancers, or an
hussar who had witnessed Waterloo's bloody
fight, that I could almost hear the tinkle of
his military spur. I pictured him young,
tall, handsome, with black rnustachios, dark
eyes, and, as the poet says,

" His nose was large with curved line
Which some men call the aquiline,
And some do say the Romans bore
Such noses 'fore them to the war."

The strides were not so long as a tall man
would make, but this I accounted for by
supposing they were accommodated to the
hobbling gait of the venerable gentleman
in the centre, who I imagined " of the
old school," and to wear one of those few
self-important wigs, which remain in this
our day of sandy scratches. As these pow-
dered coverings never look well without a
three cocked hat, I had e'en placed one
upon it, and almost edged it with gold lace,
which, however, would not do it had
rather too much of by-gone days : to my
"mind's eye" he was clothed in a snuff-
coloured suit, and one of his feet, which

465

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4G6

was not too gouty to admit of a leather
shoe, had upon it a large silver buckle.
My " high fancy" formed the lady a charm-
ing creature, sufficiently en bon point, with
an exceedingly genteel figure; not such as
two parallel lines would describe, but rather
broad on the shoulders, gently tapering to
the waist, then gradually increasing in a
delicately flowing outline, such as the " sta-
tue that enchants the world" would exhibit,
if animated and clothed in the present
fashionable dress ; her voice, of course,
was delightful, and the mild expression o/
her face to be remembered through life
it could not be forgotten ; in short, she was
as Sterne says, " all that the heart wishes
or the eye looks for in woman." My reverie
had now arrived at its height, my canvass
was full, my picture complete, and I was
enjoying the last delicate touches of creative
fancy, when a sudden turn in the road
placed before me three persons, who, on a
moment's reflection, I felt constrained to
acknowledge as the authors of the footsteps
which had led me into such a pleasing de-
lusion ; but no more like the trio of my
imagination, than " Hyperion to a satyr !"
The dandy had red hair, the lady a red
nose, and the middle man was a gouty
sugar-baker; all very good sort of people,
no doubt, except that they overthrew my
aerial castle. I instantly retraced my
steps, and wa's foolish enough to be sulky,
nay, a very " anatomie of melancholy ;'*
till a draught of " Burton's " liquid amber
at supper made me friends with the world
again

ETA.

HIGHLAND TRADITION.
MACGREGOR.

About the middle of the sixteenth cen-
tury, the eldest son of Lamond, of Cowel,
in Argyleshire, was hunting the red deer in
Glenfine. At the same time the only son
of Macgregor, of Glenstrae, the chief of
that once powerful clan, was on a similar
excursion in the same place, which was the
boundary between the extensive territories
of these two great families. Young La-
mond had pierced a prime hart with an
arrow ; and the noble animal, galled by the
shaft, which stuck in the wound, plunged
into the river, and bent his course into
Macgregor's country. He was followed by
Lamond, who outran all his companions.
It unfortunately fell out, that a hart had
been wounded by the young Macgregor at
the tame time, among his own hills. The

two deer crossed each other in their flight,
and the first that fell was claimed by both
the hunters. The youths, flushed by the
ardour of the chase, and totally unknown
to each other, hotly disputed. They were
armed, as was the fashion of those days,
and fought, and the young Macgregor fell.
Lamond cut his way through the attend-
ants, but was keenly pursued. Having
wonderful fleetness of foot, he made his
way forward ; and ignorant of the country
and of the people, and almost exhausted
with thirst, hunger, anguish, and fatigue,
rushed into the house of Macgregor of
Glenstrae, on whose mercy he threw him-
self, telling him that he had slain a man.
Macgregor received him, and had given
him refreshment, when the pursuers arrived,
and told the unfortunate man the woful
tale that his son had fallen his only
child the last of his ancient race the
hope of his life the stay "of his age. The
old man was at this period left surrounded
by enemies crafty and powerful he, friend-
less and alone. The youth was possessed
of every virtue that a father's heart could
wish ; his destroyer was now in his hands;
but he had pledged his promise for his
safety, and that pledge must be redeemed.
It required all the power and influence of
the aged chief to restrain the fury of his
people from slaying young Lamond at the
moment ; and even that influence, great as
it was, could only protect him, on an as-
surance that on the next morning his life
should be solemnly sacrificed for their
beloved Gregor.

In the middle of the night, Macgregor
led Lamond forth by the hand, and, aware
of his danger, himself accompanied him to
the shore of Lochfine, where he procured a
boat, made Lamond enter it, and ordered
the boatmen to convey him safely acros*
the loch into his own country. " I have
now performed my promise," said the old
man, " and henceforth I am your enemy
beware the revenge of a father for his only
son !"

Before this fatal event occurred, the
persecution against the unfortunate Mac-
gregors had commenced, and this sad acci-
dent did not contribute to diminish it. The
old laird of Glenstrae struggled hard to
maintain his estate and his independence,
but his enemies prevailed against him. The
conduct of young Lamond was grateful and
noble. When he succeeded to the ample
possessions of his ancestors, he beseeched
old Macgregor to take refuge under his
roof. There the aged chief was treated as
a father, and ended his days.

467 .

THE TABLE BOOK.

468

HY-JINKS.
A SCOTCH AMUSEMENT.

This is a drunken sort of game. The
queff", or cup, is filled to the brim, then one
of the company takes a pair of dice, and
cries " Hy-jinks," and throws. The num-
ber he casts points out the person that must
drink; he who threw beginning at himself
number one, and so round, till the number
of the person agree with that of the dice,
(which may fall upon himself, if the num-
ber be within twelve,) then he sets the dice
to him, or bids him take them. He on
whom they fall is obliged to drink, or pay
a small sum of money as forfeit; then he
throws and so on : but if he forgets to cry
" Hy-jinks" he pays a forfeiture. Now, he,
on whom it falls to drink, gets all the for-
feited money in the bank, if he drinks,
and orders the cup to be filled again, and
then throws. If he errs in the articles, he
loses the privilege of drawing the money.
The articles are (1 drink ;) 2 draw ; 3 fill ;
4 cry "Hy-jinks;" 5 count just ; 6 choose
your double man ; viz. when two equal
numbers of the dice is thrown, the person
whom you choose must pay double forfeit,
and so must you when the dice is in his
hand.

A rare project this, and no bubble I can
assure you, for a covetous fellow may save
money, and get himself as drunk as he can
desire in less than an hour's time *

S. S. S.

more would have made it overflow ; to
this emblematic hint he added not a word
but his countenance expressed deep afflio.
tion.

The candidate understood that he could
not be received because the number was
complete, and the assembly full; yet. he
maintained his courage, and began to think
by what expedient, in the same kind of
language, he could explain that a supernu-
merary academician would displace no-
thing, and make no essential difference in
t)ie rule they had prescribed.

Observing at his feet a rose, he picked it
up, and laid it gently upon the surface of
the water, so gently that not a drop of
it escaped. Upon this ingenious reply, the
applause was universal ; the rule slept or
winked in his favour. They presented im-
mediately to him the register upon which
the successful candidate was in the habit
of writing his name. He wrote it accord-
ingly ; he had then only to thank them in
a single phrase, but he chose to thank them
without saying a word.

He figured upon the margin the number
of his new associates, 100; then, having put
a cipher before the figure 1, he wrote
under it " their value will be the same "
0100.

To this modesty the ingenious president
replied with a politeness equal to his ad-
dress : he put the figure 1 before the 100,
and wrote, " they will have eleven times the
value they had 1100."

THE SILENT CLUB.

There was at Amadan a celebrated aca-
demy. Its first rule was framed in these
words :

" The members of this academy shall
think much write little and be as mute
as they can."

A candidate offered himself he was too
.ate the vacancy was filled up they
knew his merit, and lamented their disap-
pointment in lamenting his own. The
president was to announce the event ; he
aesired the candidate should be intro-
duced.

He appeared with a simple and mo-
dest air, the sure testimony of merit. The
president rose, and presented a cup of pure
water to him, so full, that a single drop

Notes on Allan Ramsay's Elegy upon Maggy
Johnston.

CHARLESTOWN UGLY CLUB.*
For the Table Book.

By a standing law of this " ugly club,"
their club-room must always be the ugliest
room in the ugliest house of the town. The
only furniture allowed in this room is a
number of chairs, contrived with the worst
taste imaginable ; a round table made by a
back-woodsman ; and a Dutch looking-
glass, full of veins, which at one glance
would make even a handsome man look a
perfect " fright." This glass is frequently
sent to such gentlemen as doubt their
qualifications, and neglect or decline to
take up their freedom in the club.

When an ill-favoured gentleman first
arrives in the city, he is waited upon, in
a civil and familiar manner, by some of the
members of the club, who inform him that
they would be glad of his company on the
next evening of their meeting ; and the

See eel. 263.

469

THE TABLE BOOK.

470

gentleman commonly thanks the deputation
for the attention of the club, to one so un-
worthy as himself, and promises to consider
the matter.

It sometimes happens, that several days
elapse, and the " strange" gentleman thinks
no more of the club. He has perhaps re-
peatedly looked into his own glass, and won-
dered what, in the name of sense, the club
oould have seen in his face, that should
entitle him to the distinction they would
confer on him.

He is, however, waited upon a second
time by the most respectable members of
the whole body, with a message from the
president, requesting him not to be diffident
of his qualifications, and earnestly desiring
" that he will not fail to attend the club
the very next evening the members will
feel themselves highly honoured by the pre-
sence of one whose appearance has already
attracted the notice of the whole society."

" Zounds !" he says to himself on perus-
ing the billet, " what do they mean by
teasing me in this manner? I am surely
not so ugly," (walking to his glass,) " as
to attract the notice of the whole town on
first setting my foot upon the wharf!"

" Your nose is very long," cries the
spokesman of the deputation. " Noses,"
sa)s the strange gentleman, " are no crite-
rion of ugliness : it's true, the tip-end of
mine would form an acute angle with a
base line drawn horizontally from my under
lip; bull defy the whole club to prove,
. that acute angles were ever reckoned ugly,
from the days of Euclid down to this mo-
ment, except by themselves."

" Ah, sir," answers the messenger, " how
liberal has nature been in bestowing upon
you so elegant a pair of lantern jaws ! be-
lieve me, sir, you will be a lasting honour
to the club."

" My jaws," says the ugly man in a pet,
" are such as nature made them : and
Aristotle has asserted, that all her works
are beautiful."

The conversation ends for the present.
'The deputation leaves the strange gentle-
man to his reflections, with wishes and
hopes that he will consider further.

Another fortnight elapses, and the strange
gentleman, presuming the club have for-
gotten him, employs the time in assuming
petit-maitre airs, and probably makes ad-
vances to young ladies of fortune and
beauty. At the expiration of this period,
he receives a letter from a pretended female,
(contrived by the club,) to the following
purport :

" My dear sir,

"There is such a congeniality between
your countenance and mine, that I cannot
help thinking you and I were destined for
each other. I am unmarried, and have a
considerable fortune in pine-barren land,
which, with myself, I wish to bestow upon
some deserving man ; and from seeing you
pass several times by my window, I know
of no one better entitled to both than your-
self. I am now almost two years beyond
my grand glimacteric, and am four feet four
inches in height, rather less in circumfer-
ence, a little dropsical, have lovely red hair
and a fair complexion, and, if the doctor
do not deceive me, I may hold out twenty
years longer. My nose is, like yours, rather
longer than common ; but then to compen-
sate, I am universally allowed to have
charming eyes. They somewhat incline to
each other, but the sun himself looks ob-
liquely in winter, and cheers the earth with
his glances. Wait upon me, dear sir, to-
morrow evening.

" Yours till death, &c.

" M. M."

" What does all this mean ?'* cries the
ugly gentleman, " was ever man tormented
in this manner ! Ugly clubs, ugly women I
imps and fiends, all in combination to
persecute me, and make my life miserable !
I am to be ugly, it seems, whether I will or
not."

At this critical juncture, the president of
the club, who is the very pink of ugliness
itself, waits upon the strange gentleman,
and takes him by the hand. " My dear
sir," says he, " you may as well walk with
me to the club as not. Nature has designed
you for us, and us for you. We are a set
of men who have resolution enough to dare
to be ugly ; and have long let the world
know, that we can pass the evening, and
eat and drink together with as much social
glee and real good humour as the hand-
somest of them. Look into this Dutch
glass, sir, and be convinced that we cannot
do without you."

" If it must be so, it must," cries the
ugly gentleman, " there seems to be no
alternative ; I will even do as you say !"

It appears from a paper in " The American
Museum " of 1 790, that by this mode the
" ugly club " of Charleston has increased,
is increasing, and cannot be diminished
According to the last accounts, " strange "
gentlemen who do not comply with invita-
tions to join the club in person are elected
" honorary *' members, and their names
enrolled nolens volens.

P. N.

471

THE TABLE BOOK.

472

SUMMER DRINKS.
IMPERIAL.

Take two gallons of water, two ounces
of ginger bruised, and two lemons ; boil
them together ; when lukewarm, pour the
whole on a pound and a half of loaf sugar,
and two ounces of cream of tartar ; add
four table spoonfuls of yeast, and let them
work together for six hours ; then strain
the liquor, and bottle it off in small stone
bottles : it will be ready for use in a few
hours.

SHERBET.

Take nine Seville oranges and three
lemons, grate off the yellow from the rinds,
and put the raspings into a gallon of water,
with three pounds of double refined sugar,
and boil it to a candy height ; then take it
off the fire, and add the pulp of the oranges
and lemons ; keep stirring it till it be
almost cold, then put it in a vessel for use.
LEMON WATER.

Put two slices of lemon, thinly pared,
into a tea-pot, with a little bit of the peel,
and a bit of sugar, or a large spoonful of
capillaire, pour in a pint of boiling water,
and stop it close for two hours.
GINGER BEER.

To four gallons of water, put three
pounds of brown sugar, two ounces of gin-
ger, one ounce and a half of hops, and
about half a pound of fern-root cut small ;
boil these together till there be about three
gallons. To colour it, burn a little sugar
and put it in the liquor. Pour it into a
vessel when cold, add two table-spoonfuls
of barm, and then proceed as with common
beer.

CABBAGE, AND TAILORS.
The Roman name Brassica came, as is
supposed, from " prses^co," because it was
cut off from the stalk : it was also called
Caulis in Latin, on account of the good-
ness of its stalks, and from which the Eng-
lish name Cole, Colwort, or Colewort, is
derived. The word cabbage, by which all
the varieties of this plant are now impro-
perly called, means the firm head or ball
that is formed by the leaves turning close
over each other : from that circumstance we
say the cole has cabbaged. From thence
arose the cant word applied to tailors, who
formerly worked at the private houses of
their customers, where they were often ac-
cused of cabbaging : which means the roll-
ing up pieces of cloth instead of the list
and shreds, which they claim as their due.*

Pbillips's Hist, of Cultivated Vegetables.

APRIL.
FROM THE FRENCH OF REMY BELLEAU.

APRIL ! sweet month, the daintiest of all.
Fair thee befall :

April ! fond hope of fruits that lie
In buds of swathing cotton wrapt,
There closely lap*

Nursing their tender infancy

April ! that dost thy yellow, green, and blue.
Around thee strew,

When, as thou go'st, the grassy floor
Is with a million flowers depaint,
Whose colours quaint

Have diaper'd the meadows o'er

April! at whose glad coming zephyrs rise
With whisper'd sighs,

Then on their light wings brush away,
And hang amid the woodlands fresh
Their aery mesh,

To tangle Flora on her way-
April ! it is thy hand that doth unlock,
From plain and rock,

Odours and hues, a balmy store.
That breathing lie on Nature's breast,
So richly blest,

That earth or heaven can ask no more

April ! thy blooms, amid the tresses laid
Of my sweet maid,

Adown her neck and bosom flow ;
And in a wild profusion there,
Her shining hair

With them hath blent a golden glow

April ! the dimpled smiles, the playful greee,
That in the face

Of Cytherea haunt, are tfcine ;
And thine the breath, that, from the skies,
The deities
Inhale, an offering at thy shrine

'Tis thou that dost with summons bly the and soft.
High up aloft,

From banishment these heralds bring.
These swallows, that along the air
Send swift, and bear

Glad tidings of the merry spring^

April ! the hawthorn and the eglantine,
Purple woodbine,

Streak'd pink, and lily-cup and rose,
And thyme, and marjoram, are spreading,
Where thou art treading,

And their sweet eyes for thee unclose.

The little nightingale sits singing aye '
On leafy spray,

And in her fitful strain doth run
A thousand and a thousand
With voice that ranges

Through every sweet division

473

THE TABLE BOOK.

474

April! it is when them dost come again,
That love is fain

With gentlest breath the fires to wake.
That cover'd up and slumbering lay.
Through many a day,

When winter's chill our veins did slake.

Sweet month, thou seest at this jocund prime
Of the spring time,

The hives pour out their lusty young.
And hear'st the yellow bees that ply,
With laden thigh,

Murmuring the flow'ry wilds among.

MAT shall with pomp his wavy wealth unfold,
His fruits of gold,

His fertilizing dews, that swell
In manna on each spike and stem
And like a gem,

Red honey in the waxen cell.

Who will may praise him, but my voice shall be,
Sweet month for thee ;

Thou that to her do'st owe thy name,
Who saw the sea--wave's foamy tide
Swell and divide,

Whence forth to life and light she came.

ETYMOLOGY.

The following are significations of a few
common terms :

Steward literally means the keeper of
the place ; it is compounded of the two old
words, stede and ward : by the omission of
the first d and e the word steward is
formed.

Marshal means one who has the care of
horses : in the old Teutonic, mare was syno-
nymous with horse, being applied to the
kind ; scale signified a servant.

Mayor is derived from the Teutonic
Meyer, a lover of might.

Sheriff is compounded of the old words
shyre and reve an officer of the county,
one who hath the overlooking of the shire.

Yeoman is the Teutonic word gemen,
corrupted in the spelling, and means a
commoner.

Groom signifies one who serves in an
inferior station. The name of bridegroom
was formerly given to the new-married
man, because it was customary for him to
wait at table on his bride and friends on
his wedding day.

All our words of necessity are derived
from the German ; our words of luxury and
those used at table, from the French. The
sky, the earth, the elements, the names of
animals, household goods, and articles of
food, are the same in German as in Eng-

lish ; the fashions of dress, and every thing
belonging to the kitchen, luxury, and orna-
ment, are taken from the French ; and to
such a degree of exactness, that the names
of animals which serve for the ordinary
food of men, such as ox, calf, sheep, when
alive, are called the same in English as in
German ; but when they are served up for
the table they change their names, and are
called beef, veal, mutton, after the French.*

ORGANS.

For the Table Book.

A few particulars relative to organs, in
addition to those at col. 260, may be in-
teresting to musical readers.

The instrument is of so great antiquity,
that neither the time nor place of invention,
nor the name of the inventor, is identified ;
but that they were used by the Greeks, and
from them borrowed by the Latins, is gene-
rally allowed. St. Jerome describes one
that could be heard a mile off; and says,
that there was an organ at Jerusalem,
which could be ''heard at the Mount of
Olives.

Organs are affirmed to have been first
introduced into France in the reign of
Louis I., A. D. 815, and the construction
and use of them taught by an Italian priest,
who learned the art at Constantinople. By
some, however, the introduction of them
into that country is carried as far back as
Charlemagne, and by others still further.

The earliest mention of an organ, in the
northern histories, is in the annals of the
year 757, when the emperor Constantine,
surnamed Copronymus, sent to Pepin of
France, among other rich presents, a " mu-
sical machine," which the French writers
describe to have been composed of " pipes
and large tubes of tin," and to have imitated
sometimes the " roaring of thunder," and,
at others, the " warbling of a flute."

Bellarmine alleges, that organs were first
used in churches about 660. According to
Bingham, they were not used till after the
time of Thomas Aquinas, about A. D.
1250. Gervas, the monk of Canterbury,
who flourished about 1200, says, they were
in use about a hundred years before his
time. If his authority be good, it would
countenance a general opinion, that organs
were common in the churches of Italy,
Germany, and England, about the tenth
century.

March, 1827. ^_^

Dnteua.

475

THE TABLE BOOK.

476

PERPLEXING MARRIAGES.
At Gwennap, in Cornwall, in March
1823, Miss Sophia Bawden was married
to Mr. R. Bawden, both of St. Day. By
this marriage, the father became brother-in-
law to his son ; the mother, mother-in-law
to her sister ; the mother-in-law of the son,
his sister-in-law ; the sister of the mother-
in-law, her daughter-in-law; the sister of
the daughter-in-law, her mother-in-law ;
the son of the father, brother-in-law to his
mother-in-law, and uncle to his brothers
and sisters ; the wife of the son, sister-in-
law to her father-in-law, and aunt-in-law to
her husband ; and the offspring of the son
and his wife would be grandchildren to
their uncle and aunt, and cousins to their
father.

In an account of Kent, it is related that
one Hawood had two daughters by his
first wife, of which the eldest was married
to John Cashick the son, and the youngest
to John Cashick the father. This Cashick
the father had a daughter by his first wife,
whom old Hawood marrjed, and by her
had a son : with the exception of the for-
mer wife of old Cashick, all these persons
were living at Faversham in February,
1650, and his second wife could say as
follows :

My father is my son, and | My sister is my daughter,
I'm mother's mother; | I'm grandmother to my brother.

STEPS RE-TRACED.

Catherine ae Medicis made a vow, that
if some concerns which she had undertaken
terminated successfully, she would send a
pilgrim on foot to Jerusalem, and that at
every three steps he advanced, he should
go one step back.

It was doubtful whether there could be
found a man sufficiently strong and patient
to walk, and go back one step at every
third. A citizen of Verberie, who was a
merchant, offered to accomplish the queen's
vow most scrupulously, and her majesty
promised him an adequate recompense.
The queen was well assured by constant in-
quiries that he fulfilled his engagement with
exactness, and r*\ his return, he received a
considerable 'sum of money, and was en-
nobled. His coat of arms were a cross
and a branch of palm-tree. His descend-
ants preserved the arms ; but they dege-
nerated from their nobility, by resuming
the commerce which their ancestor quit-
ted.*

* Nouv. Hist, de Diieh. de V'alois.

Circulars.

No. I.

For the Table Book.
WHISTLING JOE.

He whistles as he goes for want of bread.*

Old books declare, in Plufus' shade,
Whistling was once a roaring trade,

Great was the call for nerve and gristle ;
That Charon, with his Styx in view,
Pierced old Phlegethon through and through,

And whist-led in the ferry-whistle

That Polyphemus whistled when
He p-layed the pipe r in a pen,

And sought Ulysses* bark to launch ;
That Troy, King Priam had not lost,
But for the whistlers that were horsedf

Within the horse's wooden paunch.

Jupiter was a whist-ling wight,
And Juno heard him with delight ;

And Boreas was a reedy swain,
Awak'ning Venus from the sea :
But of the Moderns ? Joe is he

That whistles in the streets for gain.

You wonder as you hear the tone
Sound like a herald in a zone

Distinctly clear, minutely sweet;
You list and Joe is dancing, now
You laugh, and Joe returns a bow

Returning in the crooked street.

He scrapes a stick across his arm

And knocks his knees, in need, to charm u

Instead of tabor and a fiddle,
Et omne solis, on his sole !
He, solus omnis, like a pole

Supports his body in the middle. -

Thus, of the sprites that creep, or beg.
With wither'd arm, or wooden leg,

Uncatalogued in Bridewell's missal ;
Joe is the fittest for relief,
He whistles gladness in his grief, 5

And hardly earns it for his whistle.

J. R. P.

* Vide Dryden's Cymon,

" He whistled as he went for want of thought."
t This word rhymes with lost, to oblige the cockneys.
J Like the punning clown in the stocks, that whistled
Over the wood laddie I

" Whistle ! and I will come to thee, my lore."

477

THE THURSDAY BEFORE GOOD FRIDAY.

There are ample particulars of the pre-
sent usages on this day at the chapel royal,
St. James's, in the Every-Day Book, with
accounts of celebrations in other coun-
tries; to these may be added the cere-
monies at the court of Vienna, recently
related by Dr. Bright :

" On the Thursday of this week, which
was the 24th of March, a singular reli-
gious ceremony was celebrated by the
court. It is known in German catholic
countries by the name of the Fusswas-
chungi or the ' washing of the feet.' The
large saloon, in which public court enter-
tainments are given, was fitted up for the
purpose; elevated benches and galleries
were constructed round the room for the
reception of the court and strangers ; and
in the area, upon two 'platforms, tables
were spread, at one of which sat twelve
men, and at the other twelve women. They
had been selected from the oldest and
most deserving paupers, and were suitably
clothed in black, with handkerchiefs and
square collars of white muslin, and girdles
round their waists.

" The emperor and empress, with the
archdukes and archduchesses, Leopoldine
and Clementine, and their suites, having
all previously attended mass in the royal
chapel, entered and approached the table
to the sound of solemn music. The Hun-
garian guard followed, in their most splen-
did uniform, with their leopard-skin jackets
falling from their shoulders, and bearing
trays of different meats, which the emperor,
empress, archdukes, and attendants, placed
on the table, in three successive courses,
before the poor men and women, who
tasted a little, drank each a glass of wine,
and answered a few questions put to them
by their sovereigns. The tables were then
removed, and the empress and her daugh-
ters the archduchesses, dressed in black,
with pages bearing their trains, approached.
Silver bowls were placed beneath the bare
feet of the aged women. The grand cham-
berlain, in a humble posture, poured water
upon the feet of each in succession, from a
golden urn, and the empress wiped them
with a fine napkin she held in her hand.
The emperor performed the same cere-
mony on the feet of the men, and the rite
concluded amidst the sounds of sacred
music. 1 '

VOL. I. 16.

THE TABLE BjOK.

fasten

"VISITING THE CHURCHES" IN FRANCE.

On Good Friday the churches are all
dressed up ; canopies are placed over the
altars, and the altars themselves are de-
corated with flowers and other ornaments,
and illuminated with a vast number of wax
candles. In the evening every body of every
rank and description goes a round of visits
to them. The devout kneel down and re-
peat a prayer to themselves in each ; but
the majority only go to see and be seen
to admire or to criticise the decorations of
the churches and of each other to settle
which are arranged with the most taste,
which are the most superb. This may be
called the feast of caps, for there is scarcely
a lady who has not a new cap for the occa-
sion.

Easter Sunday, on the contrary, is the
feast of hats ; for it is no less general for
the ladies on that day to appear in new hats.
In the time of the convents, the decoration
of their churches for Passion-week was an
object in which the nuns occupied them-
selves with the greatest eagerness. No
girl dressing for her first ball ever bestowed
more pains in placing her ornaments to the
best advantage than they bestowed in de-
corating their altars. Some of the churches
which we visited looked very well, and
very showy : but the weather was warm ;
and as this was the first revival of the
ceremony since the revolution, the crowd
was so great that they were insupportably
hot.

A number of Egyptians, who had accom-
panied the French army on its evacuation
of Egypt, and were settled at Marseilles,
were the most eager spectators, as indeed I
had observed their, to be on all occasions
of any particular religious ceremonies being
performed. I never saw a more ugly or
dirty-looking set of people than they were
in general, women as well as men, -but they
seemed fond of dress and ornament. They
had swarthy, dirty-looking complexions,
and dark hair; but were not by any means
to be considered as people of colour. Their
hair, though dark, had no affinity with that
of the negroes ; for it was lank and greasy,
not with any disposition to be woolly.
Most of the women had accompanied
French officers ascheresamies: the Egyptian
ladies were indeed said to have had in
general a great taste for the French offi-
cers.*

Miss Plnmptrt.

THE TABLE BOOK.

480

PHLEBOTOMY.

Bleeding was much in fashion in the
middle ages. In the fifteenth century, it
was the subject of a poem ; and Robert
Boutevylleyn, a founder, claimed in the
abbey of Pipewell four bleedings per an-
num. Among the monks this operation
was termed " minution."

In some abbeys was a bleeding-house,
called " Fleboto-maria." There were cer-
tain festivals when this bleeding was not
allowed. The monks desired often to be
bled, on account of eating meat.

In the order of S. Victor, the brethren
were bled five times a year ; in September,
before Advent, before Lent, after Easter,
and at Pentecost, which bleeding lasted
three days. After the third day they came
to Mattins, and were in the convent ; on
the fourth day, they received absolution in
the chapter. In another rule, one choir
was bled at the same time, in silence and
psalmody, sitting in order in a cell.*

OLD CEREMONIES, &c.
ORDER OF THE MAUNDAY, MADE AT
GREENWICH ON THE 19xn OF MARCH,
1572; 14 ELIZ. From No. 6183 Add.
MSS. in the British Museum.
Extracted by W. H. DEWHURST

For the Table Book.

FIRST. The hall was prepared with a
long table on each side, and formes set by
them ; on the edges of which tables, and
under those formes, were lay'd carpets and
cushions, for her majestie to kneel when
she should wash them. There was also
another table set across the upper end of
the hall, somewhat above the foot pace, for
the chappelan to stand at. A little beneath
the midst whereof, and beneath the said
foot pace, a stoole and cushion of estate
was pitched for her majestie to kneel at
during the service time. This done, the
holy water, basons, alms, and other things,
being brought into the hall, and the chap-
pelan and poore folkes having taken the
said places, the laundresse, armed with a
faire towell, and taking a silver bason filled
with warm water and sweet flowers, washed
their feet all after one another, and wiped
the same with his towell, and soe making a
crosse a little above the toes kissed them.
After hym within a little while followed the
subalmoner, doing likewise, and after hym
the almoner hymself also. Then lastly, her
majestie came into the hall, and after some

Fosbroke's British Monixchism.

singing and prayers made, and the gospel
of Christ's washing of his disciples' feet
read, 39 ladyes and gentlewomen (for soe
many were the poore folkes, according to
the number of the yeares complete of her
majestie's age,) addressed themselves with
aprons and towels to waite upon her majes-
tie, and she kneeling dowu upon the
cushions and carpets, under the feete of
the poore women, first washed one foote of
every one of them in soe many several
oasons of warm water and sweete flowers,
brought to her severally by the said ladies
and gentlewomen, then wiped, crossed, and
kissed them, as the almoner and others had
done before. When her majestie had thus
gone through the whole number of 39, (of
which 20 sat on the one side of the hall,
and 19 on the other,) she resorted to the
first again, and gave to each one certain
yardes of broad clothe, 1o make a gowne, so
passing to them all. Thirdly, she began at
the first, and gave to each of them a pair
of shoes. Fourthly, to each of them a
wooden platter, wherein was half a side of
salmon, as much ling, six red herrings, and
cheat lofes of bread.* Fifthly, she began
with the first again, and gave to each of
them a white wooden dish with claret wine.
Sixthly, she received of each waiting lady
and gentlewoman their towel and apron,
and gave to each poore woman one of the
same ; and after this the ladies and gentle-
women waited noe longer, nor served as
they had done throwe out the courses be-
fore. But then the treasurer of the cham-
ber (Mr. Hennage) came to her majestie
with 39 small white purses, wherein were
also 39 pence, (as they saye,) after the
number of yeares to her majesties said age,
and of him she received and distributed
them severally. Which done, she received
of him soe manye leather purses alsoe, each
containing 20 sh. for the redemption of her
majestie's gown, which (as men saye) by
ancient ordre she ought to give some of
them at her pleasure ; but she, to avoide
the trouble of suite, which accustomablie
was made for that preferment, had changed
that rewarde into money, to be equally
divided amongst them all, namely, 20 sh. a
peice, and she alsoe delivered particularly
to the whole companye. And so' taking
her ease upon the cushion of estate, and
hearing the quire a little while, her majes-
tie withdrew herself, and the company de-
parted : for it was by that time the sun was
setting.

W. L(AMBERT.)

Manehet, or cheat-bread.

THE TABLE BOOK.
TAKEN BY W. H. DEWHURST FROM THE SAME Mao.

462

EXTRACTS /row the churchivarden's accompts of the parish of St. Helen, in Abingdon,
Berkshire, from the first year of the reign of Philip and Mary, to the thirty-fourth
of Q. Elizabeth, now in the possession of the Rev. Mr. GEORGE BENSON.
With some Observations on them, by the late professor J. WARD.

Ann. MDLV. or 1 & 2 of Phil, and Mary.
Payde for makeinge the roode, and peynt-
ing; the same

for makeinge the herse lights, and

paschall tapers

for makeinge the roode lyghtes

for a legend

for a hollie water pott

Ann. MDLVI. or 2 & 3 of P. and M.

Payde for a boke of the articles

for a shippe of frankencense

for new wax, and makeinge the herse

lights

for the font taper, and the paskall

taper

Receyved for the holye loof lyghts

for the rode lyghtes at Christmas . . .
at the buryall and moncthes mynd of

George Chynche

for 12 tapers, at the yeret mynd of

Maister John Hide

at the buriall and monethcs mynd of

the good wiff Braunche

Ann. MDLVII. or 3 & 4 of P. and M.

Receyved of the parishe of the rode lyghts

at Christmas

of the clarke for the holye loft

at the buryall of Rich. Ballerd for 4

tapers.

Payde for peynting the roode of Marie
and John, the patron of the churche

to fasten the tabernacle where the
patron of the church now standeth

for the roode Marie and John, with
the patron of the churche

for makeing the herse lyghts

for the roode Marie and John, and the
patron of the churche

to the sextin, for watching the sepul-
ter two nyghts

to the suffrigan for hallowing the
churche yard, and