The table book..

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PBTRAECH'S INKSTAND.

JLm TBB PO88SB8ION OF MI88 EdGBWOBTH, FBBSBNTED to HBB BT ▲ LULDY.

By beftnty won from soft IUIia^b lAiid,
Here Cnpid, Fetrarch*B Onpid, takes his etaod,
Arch suppliant, welcome to thy fav^te isle.
Close thy spread wings, and rest thee here awhile;
Btill the true heart with kindred strams inspire,
Breathe all a poet*s softness, all his fire ;
Bat if the perjured knight approach this font,
Forbid the 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.

Aiiss Edgeworth,

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THE

TABLE BOOK,

DAILY BEOBEATION Aim INFOBliATION:

OOHCBBinilO

3LE MEN, MANNEBS,
TIMES, SEASONS,

SOLEMNITIES, MERRY-MAKINGS^

■OMIDIB A

COMPLETE HISTOEY OF THE TEAR.

BY WILLIAM HONE./7fro-i s"/^

WITH ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN ENGRAVINGS.
BT O. CBDIESHAMK, WILIAAUS, &&

LONDON: WILLIAM TEQG.

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k'ookquodalz A2n> 00., piiiyTxiia, lonbov :

WO&XS, VBWTOV.

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THE

TABLE BOOK;

BY

WILLIAM HONE.

^tl|^ (Sn;0rabtng8*

CottlBp with CoU, fbctfl. flaidM» reooltoctlooi.
HeidB, antographf, vtow^ proM and Y«rae iwl6r(inn»
NoAet of my miulngs in a lonely walk.
My MendaT oommonicaUona, table-taOi;
NotlooB of books, and tbln^ I rea^l or aee^
ETonta that an, or wera^ or are to be^
FaU In my TABLE BOOK— «nd theooe ailae
To pkaae Um young, and help dlytri tbe wlMb

EVERY SATURDAY.

LONDON:

PUBLISHED FOB WIUJAH HOMES,

BY HUNT AND CLAEKB, TOBKrSTBEET,

COVENT-GAEDEN.

1827.

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PREFACE.

Oh ihe doee of the Evsbt-Dat Book, which oommenoed on New Tear's
Day, 1825, and ended in the last week of 1826, 1 began ihifl work.

The only piospeotaa of the Tablb Book was the eight Tsrsified lines on the
title-page. They appeared on New Year's Day, prefixed to the first number ;
which, with the snccessiYe sheets, to the present date, constitute the yoltune
now in the reader's hands, and the entire of my endeayoTirs daring the half
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 tlie 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 windowHseats had not gone
out of &shion, it might be called a parlour-window book — a good name for a
volume of agreeable reading selected from the book-case, and left l^g about,
for the constant recreation of the family, and the casual amusement of visitors.

W. HONE.
Midgummer, 1827.

335775

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THE FRONTISPIECE.

PETBAKCH'S INKSTAND.

Miss Edocwobtb's lines express her esti-
mation of the gem she has the happiness
j[> own. That lady allowed a few casts
•rom it in bronze, and a gentleman who
possesses one, and who fiivours the ** Table
BoolT with his approbation, permits its
use for a frontispiece to this volume. The
engrafing 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
Gf ecians 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 studv
and desire of men have reposed in such
pleasures, emperors and kings, and other
ooble personages, nay, even persons of in-
ferior degree, luive shown, in tlieir indus-
trious keeping of them when obtained."
Insistmg on the golden mean, as a rule of
happiness, he says, ** I possess an amaxing
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
shambers 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** (obserre It is Petrarch that speaks)
'* crept in among the rich, whereby they may
ittain . one art more of unruly desire." He
repeats, with rivetting force, '** I have great
plenty of books : where such scarcity has
Deen lamented, this is no small possession :
I have an inestiiLahle many of books I**
He was a diligent collector, and a liberal
imparter of these trpa^ure* He c-otpv
poijded with Richard de Bury, an illus-
trious prelate of our own country, eminent
ior his love of learning and learned meut

and sent many precious volumes to EngL
land to enrich the bishop's magnificeii
library. He vividly remarks, •*! deligh
passionately in my books ;** and yet he wh«
had accumulated them largely, estimated
them rightly : he has a saying of bool«
worthy of himself— '' a wise man seeketh
not quantity but sufficiency.**

Petrarch loved the quiet scenes of nature,
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 imnosed, and who am
sometimes restrained from country walks,
by nece:tsity — 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 ; nonf
shall stay him, none shall carry him beyond
his wish ; none shall trouble him ; he hatt
but one labour, the labour of nature — to
go.

In '' The Indicator** there is a paper oi
peculiar beauty, by Mr. Leigh Hunt, <« on
receiving a sprig of myrtle from Vauclusey"
with a paragraph suitable to this occasion *
^ We are supposing that all our readers
are acquaintea with Petrarch. Many of
them doubtless know him intimately,
Should any of them want an introduction
to him, how should we speak of him la the
gross ? We should say, that he was one
of the finest gentlemen and greatest scho-
lars that ever lived ; that he wa« 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 la'ge manuscripts
with his own hand ; that two great cities,
Parts and Rome, contended which should
have the honour of crowning* him ; that he
was crowned publicly, in the metropolis of
the world, with laurel and with myrtle;
that he was the friend of fiooraccio the
father of luliaii prose ; and lastly, that his

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PETRARCH^S INKSTAND.

|p«atest renown neTertheless, as well as the

Sredominant feelings of his existence, arose
om the long love he bore for a lady of
ATignon, 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 accountSy
A-om 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 he
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
renne the passion for all modem 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-
ve nee, consisting of a little deep glen of
j^reen 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.

T1)e following is a translation by sir
William Jones, of

AN ODE, BY PETRARCH,

To THE FOVHTAIK OF VaLOIIIUSA

Te dear and aparklinir ttrMmtl

(Warm'd bj the vuaj beaint)
Thvovfk whnm traMpareat ottsUI Laura plaj'd ;

Ye booghs that deek tke frore.

Wbere Sprtag ker ekaplete wove,
WkUe Laara laj beaeatk the qeiTeriag sliade ;

Sweet keriie I aad blaskiag Aoweir I

That erowa job veraal bowen.
For ever fatal, yet for oyer dear i

Aad je. that heard mj sight

Whea int ahe eham'd mj ejee,
Boft^reathiaggaleol ny d jiag aoooats hear.

If Hcav'k has fiz'd mj doooi.

That I«vo most qalU eoMeaa

M7 handag heart, aad doeeajr^jres la dcatl»

Ah I great this slight reqaest,—

That here mj on ntay reet,
Whea to its ouusiod flies aiy vital breath.

This pleasiag hope wiU smooth

Mj aaiions mtad, aad soothe
The paags of that iaeritable hoar ;

Mj spirit will aot gneve

Her Bortal red to leaTo
la these calm shades, aad this saehaatier hewor

Haplj, the gviltj maid

Thioegh joa acraston'd glade
To Bi J sad toBdb will take her loael j waj

Where fint her beaat j's light

O'erpower'd sij dassled sight,
Whsa love oe this fair border bade im strayi

There, sorrowiag, shall she see,

fieaeath aa aged tree.
Her tree, bat hapless lover's h>wlj bieri

Too late her teader sighs

Shall Belt the pit jing skies,
Aad her soft reil shall hide the |

O I weHpremember'd day,

Whea oa joa bank she la j»
Meek ia her pride, aad ia her rigoor auld |

The jonag aad bloom^ag flowen,

Falling ia fragraat showeia,
Shoae oe her neck, and oa her boson satiTd

Some 00 her maatle hung^

Some ia her locks were stmag,
like orieat gems ia rings of flamiag gold i

Soice, in a spiej clond

Desoeading, eallM aloud,
•* Here Lore aad Yoath the reins of empire holL*

I view*d the heaveal j maid ;

Aad, rapt la wonder, said^
** The groTse of &den ga«« this angel birth ,

Her look, her Toice, her smile.

That migat all Hearea beghiln.
Wafted m J sool aboTO the reahns of earth .

The star-bespangled skies

Wars open*d to m j ejes s
Sighing I said, ■* Whenee rose this glittering seew t

Since that anspieioeji hoar,

Thb bank, aad odoroot bower,
Mj SBoraiag oonch, and ereaing haant have beca.

Well marst thoa blasa. m j sung,

To Isave tne rorai tnroog
Aad i J tass artless to mj Laara's ear ,

Bat, were th j poet's fire

Ardeat as his desire,
Thoa wert a song that Heavea might stoop to hear

It is within probability to imagine, that
the original of this ** ode*' may hive beeft
impressed on the paper, by Petraich% pen,
from the inkstand or the frontispiece.

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THE

TABLE BOOK.

FoRMSALT, a ** Table Book*' was a memo-
nodum book, oq wbich any thing was
graved or written without ink. It is men-
tioned by Shakspeare. Polonios, on disclos-
mg Ophelia's affection for Hamlet to the
king, mqnires

fUa bot low OB Hm wiBfl^
what Biglit 700,

Or mj dear majarty. yanr q«MB Iwre, thiak.
If I had pUjTd tht dMk, or taUs-book r*

Dr. Henry More, a divine, and moralist,

ef the succeeding century, observes, that

! ** Nature makes clean the table-hook first,

j and then portrays upon it what she pleas-

I eth." In this sense, it might have been

: used instead of a takula roMa^ or sheet of

, blank writing paper, adopted by Locke as

an illustration of the human mind in its

mcipiency. It is figuratively introduced

to nearly the same purpose by Swift: he

tells us that

*^atar^t hxt taiila-book, our teadar lonk,
wt aenwl all o*er with old aad tmptf raki^
8tal0 mmoraBdona of tha aehoola.*^

Dryden says, « Put into your TabU^Booh
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 TabU Booh was.

Table books, or tableU, of wood, existed
before the time of Homer, and among the
Jews before the Christian era. The table
books of the Romans were nearly like ours,
wbich 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 thcM with a style,
one end of which was pointed for that pur-
pose, and the other end rounded or flattened,
for effiicing or scraping out. Styles were
made of nearly ail the metals, as well as of
booe and ivory ; they were differently formed,
and resembled ornamented skewers; the
common style was iron. More anciently,
the leaves of the Ubie book were without
wax, and maiks were made by the iron
style on the bare wood. The Anglo-Saxon
style was rety handsome. Dr. Pegge was
of opinion that the welUknown jewel of
Alfred, preserved -in the Ashmolean
mioeum at Oxford, was the head of the
style sent by that king with Gregory's
Pastoral to Athelney.f

A gentleman, whose ptofoand knowledge
of domestic autiquitieB surpass^ that of

preceding antiquaries, and remains uon-
valled by his contemporaries, in his ^ Illus-
trations of Shakspeare,'' notices Hamlet's
expression, ** My <aMe«,^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 oi
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 tae leaves. He says that
in the middle ages there were table books
of ivory, and sometimes, of late, in (he 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.,

« Aad therafoM wiU ba wipa kta Ubloa daaa
Aad keep do teU Ule to hia meaiorj.*'

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

•» A pair of tables aU of feory.
And a pointel jpoUsked fetiablf ,
Aad wrote alvaj tke aamea, an be stood,
Of alls folk tbat y%y bam aaj 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 'onger applicable.

A correspondent, understood to be Mr
Douce, in Dr. Aikin's ^ Athenseum,*' sub
teqoently says, ** I happen to possess 1
table-book of Shakspeare's time. It is 1
little book, neariy square, being three inches
wide and something less than four in lenf;ih,
bound stoutly in calf, and fastening with
four strings of broad, stitmg, brown tape.
The title as follows : ' Writing Tables, with
a Kalender for xxiiii yeeres, with sundrie
necessaiie rales. The Tabler made by
Robert Triple. London, Imprinted for the
Company of Stationers.* Thr tables are
inserted immediately after the almanack.
At first sight they appear like what we
call asses-skin, the colour being precisely

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THE TABLE BOOK

the same, but the leases are thicker : what-
ever smell they may have had is lost, and
there is no gloss upon them. It might be
supposed that the gloss has been worn off ;
but this is not the case, for most of the
tables have never been written on. Some
of the edi^es being a little worn, show that
the middle of the leaf consists of paper ;
the composition is laid on with great
nicety. A siWer style was used, which is
sheathed in one of the covers, and which
produces an impression as distinct, and as
easily obliterated as a black-lead pencil.
The tables are interleaved with common
paper."

In July, 1808, the date of the preceding
communication, I, too, possessed a table
Sook, and silver style, of an age as ancient,
tfnd similar to that described ; except that
tt had not " a Kalender," Mine was
hrought to me by a poor person, who found
it in Covent-garden on a market day.
There were a few ill-spelt memoranda
respecting vegetable matters formed on its
leaves with the style. It had two antique
slender brass clasps, which were loose ; the
ancient binding had ceased from long wear
to do its office, and I confided it to Mr. Wills,
the almanack publisher in Stationers*-court,
for a better cover and a silver clasp. Each
being ignorant of what it was, we spoiled
*' a tabU-book of Shakspeare*s time.**

The most affecting circumstance relating
to a table book is in the life of the beau*
tiful and unhappy ** Lady Jane Grey.*'
** Sir John Gage, constable of the Tower,
when he led her to execution, desired her
to bestow on him some small present,
which he might keep as a perj^etual memo-
rial of her : she gave him her table-hook^
wherein she had just written three sentences,
on seeinjr her husband's body ; one in
Greek, another in Latin, and a third in
English. The purport of them was, that
human justice was against his body, but
the divine mercy would be favourable to
ha soul ; and that, if her fault deserved
punishment, her youth at least, and her
imprudence, were worthy of excuse, and
that God and posterity, she trusted, would
show her fiivour."*

Having shown what the ancient table
book was, it may be expected that I should
Wf something about

Table Book.
The title is to be received in a larger
sense than the obsolete signification : the

« Ol4i«arv Vf Mr. Arehii. Nms.

old table books were for private use— mine
is for the public ; and the more the public
desire it, the more I shall be gratified. I
have not the folly to suppose it will pass
from my table to every table, but I think thai
not a single sheet can appear on the tabl«
of any fiimily without communicating 8om«
information, or affording some diversion.

On the title-page there are a few lines
which briefly, yet adequately, describe the
collections in my Table Book : and, as re-
gards my own << sayings and doings,** the
pievailing disposition of my mind is per-
haps sufficiently made known throu he
Every-Day Book. In the latter pi. .la-
tion, I was inconveniently limited a to
room ; and the labour I had there prescribed
to myself, of commemorating every day,
frequently prevented me from topics that
would have been more agreeable to my
readers than the ^ two grains of wheat in
a bushel of chaff,'* which I often consumed
my time and spirits in enleavouring to
discover — and did not always find.

In my Table Bookj which I hope will
never be out of " season," I take the liberty
to *' annihilate both time and space,** to
the extent of a few lines or days, and lease,
and talk, when and where I can, according
to my humour. Sometimes I present an
offering of ** all sorts,*' simpled from out-
of-the-way and in-the-way books; and, at
other times, gossip to the public, as to an
old friend, diffusely or briefly, as I chance
to be more or less iu the giving ^ vein,"
about a passing event, a work ju&t read, a
print in my hand, the thing I last thought
of, or saw, or heard, or, to be plain, about
** whatever comes uppermost.*' In short,
my collections and recollections come forth
just as I happen to suppose they may be
most agreeable or serviceable to those
whom I esteem, or care for, and by whom
I desire to be respected.

My Table Book is enriched and diver>
sified by the contributions of my friends ;
the teemings of time, and the press, give it
novelty ; and what I know of works of art,
with something of imagination, and the
assistance of artists, enable me to add pic-
torial embellishment. My object is to
blend information with amusement, and
utility with diversion.

Mt Table Book, therefore, is a senes
of continually shifting scenes— a kind off
literary kaleidoscope, combining popular
Ibrms with singular appearances— by which
youth and age of all ranks may be amused ;
and to which, I respectfully trust, many
will gladly add something, to imorove its
Tiewi.

2

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0t^t to tjje #eto |iean

From the Every Day Book; set to Muiuc for the Table Book,

By J. K.

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All hail to the birth of the Year! See g^u1deo-hair*d

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mounting- his dew - spang^lcd car. Stern Winter con-geals every

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snoirj perukfi On the head of each hM - pEitod tree.

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*•* For tte rvmumag Ttnes Me the Bvny-Doj/ Book* ▼«!• H. p. 9S

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THE TABLE BOOK.

HAOUAK-UEICH.

Anciently on new year's day the Bo-
mans were accustomed to carrv small pre-
sents, as new year's gnfts, to the senators,
under whose protection thev were severally
placed. In the reigns of the emperors,
they flocked in such numbers with valuable
ones, that Tarious 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
(hence has been derived the fiishion of giv-
ing a pair of gloves upon particular occa-
sions, as at marriages, funerals, fcc. New
year*s gifts continue to be received and
given by all ranks of peoole, 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 raisins^
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 toe appren.
tice boys against the wall, and evei^ 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 Hagman 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

•Xv«r]r4U7Book,Lft.

by a rabble at his he*ls, and knocking at
certain doors, sings a barbarous iong, be-
ginning witli —

*• To-nin^t H k tlM aew jmTt B^bt. to-m^nw b

th« daj ;
We art come abovt for oar nAt sad for onr ray,
Aa we ns'd to do ia old kiar Hennr*! dav s
Siay, feUowi, nag^ Hagmn Meigkr Bie.

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 Aaffman,
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 Aytmfumh 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 biith 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 kapmm sig.
nifies? It is the devil to be in the bouse ;
that is the meaning of its Hebrew original.*'*

SONNET

OK TBS NEW TEAB,

Wkeo wa look back OB bowB loBf past away,
Aad every eireaautaaee of joy, or WM
That foei to make tkii etraage berniliog sk0«r

CallTd Ufe, as tkoagh it ifere of yesterdaj.

We start to lean oar <iaiokBeee of decay.
Still iiee aawearied Time ^-oa fctiU we fo
Aad wkither ?— -Uato eadleao weal or woe.

As we kare wroogbt oor parts ia this brief plmy .

Tet maay kare I seea wboee tkia blaaehed looks
Bat ill beoame a bead wkers FoUy dwelt.

Who kariaf past tkis storm with all its shocks.
Had BOthiac learnt from what they saw or Mt:

Brare spirits I that caa look, with heedlees eys^

Ob doom anehaageaUe, aad fiat etenity.

• Clafksoa*s Kstary of Rtcbmead, eitsd by a «
"^t.A.B.

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0nttquft(n(.

Westminstea Abbet.

The loUowing lettery written by Horace
Walpole, in relation to the tomljs, is curious.

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

chary Pearce, dean of Westminster, and
editor of Lx>nginu5, &c.

Strawberry-hia, 1761.

I heard lately, that Dr. ^ » very

learned personage, had consented to let the
comb 01 Aylmer de Valence, earl of Pem*
broke, a very great personage, be removed
Tor Wolfe's mocument ; thtft at first he had
objected, but was wrought upon bv being
told that kight 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-
Dus. 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, dvil indeed, and commending my
xeal 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 onl^
the man wno 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
nnwiUing 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 Lncan 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 i^und for my mother's funeral— tnat the
chapter of Westminster sell their church
over and over again : the ancient monu-
ments tumble upon one's head through
t*tM* neglect, as one of them did, and killed
M 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.

£fpgrapf)fral iSUmoranlia.

CoMSTARY Influence.
Brantome relates, that the duchess of

Angoulftme, in the sixteenth century, being
awakened during the night, she was sur-
prised at an extraordinary brightness which
illuminated her chamber ; aporeaending ii
to be the fire, she reprimauGed 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 T
exclaimed she, 'Mhis 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 supposeid to indicate the deaths of
sovereigns, or revolutions in their govern-
ments.

Two Painteiis.
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 pnsoner 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
requuite for painting were given to the
artist, who took for his subject a group of
soldiers playing at cards in the comer of a
prison. When Rubens saw the picture, he
cried out that it was done by Brouwer,
whose works he had often seen, and aa
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 hu 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 Ko-
bens, and died shortly afterwards, in oou-
sequenee of a dissolute course of life.

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BEPBESENTATION OF A PAGEANT VEHICLE AND PLAY.

The itoto, Md rerereaM, and show,
Wen so ftttractiTs, foUu would go
From all parts, vfrj year, to Mt
Theaa pageant-plaTi at CoTentry.

This engrftTiDg is from a very curious Pag^eants or Dramatic MysteriM, andentl/
print in >Ir. Sharp's ** Dissertation on the performed at Coventry."

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TOE TABLE BOOK.

CoTentry is distinguished in the history
of the dramfty because, under the title of
** Ludus Cw€Mtn€B^ there exists a manu-
•cript Tolume of roost curious early plays,
not yet printed, nor likely to be, unless
there are sixty persons, at this time suffici-
•otly concerned for our ancient literature
and manners, to encourage a spirited gen-
tleman to print a limited number of copies.
[f hj any accident the manuscript should
be destroyed, these pla^s, 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
horn the originals in the British Museum.*
Mr. Sharp's taste and attainments qua«
lifying him for the task, and his residence
At Coventry aifording 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
focts, 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 Tolume.
I Very little has been known respecting
the suge ^ properties,'* before the rise of
the regular drama, and therefore the abun-
dant matter of that nature, adduced by this
gentleman, is pecubariy valuable. With
•* The Taylors' and Shearemens' Pagant,"
complete from the original manuscript, *ie
gives the songs and the original muMie^
cngraTed 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' comuany. *' By a
▼anety 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 c>r maul, discovered by the writer of
this Dissertation, in an antique chest within
the Cappers' chapel, (together with an iron

• Bv a BOtioe in Mr. SUrp^t ** DtMertatioD,** be pro-
poMS 10 vnblisk the " Coroitrjr Mjateriet,** with nota
Md illwtratioBS, in two Tota. ocUto: 100 copi<« w
iwfal paper, at three foiaewi: and SS, oa imperial
auer, at ire Mtaeak Kotwithstaadinf he limits tha
•Btir* i«prcMMB to theie 1S5 copies, aad wiU oom-
meaea to prtnt ae iooa ai the noma of tixtj rabMnbera
ate Mt to hta pablishett , it aowan that thie maU
naber ia sol vet eom«leta. The fact la mcationed
hei«.beeaiiaeitwinV nproach to tha af e if each m
9nmn -a Mt amiiraee^

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 an*^ a tower,
constructed upon four or six wheels; in
the lower room the performers dressed,
and in the higher room they played. Tliis
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 citv ; the floor was strewed
with rushes; and to conceal the lower
room, wherein thf 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 ap))ea ranee 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-cheapini;, 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 sceptre 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. Jolin's
Eve, the corporation giants, morris dancers,
minstreb, and waites.

I could not resist the very htting op-
portunity on the opening of the new year,
and of the Table Book together, to introduce
a memorandum, that so important an a^
cession has accrued to our carious literal

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

« The Thing to a T."
A young man, brought up in ihe 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 Tackt. Unfortu-
nately he had omitted the top to hisT, and
the order stood twenty gross of black Jack*.
His correspondent, on receiving the letter,
recollected a man, near Fleet-market, who
made quart and pint (in pots, ornamented
with painting, and which were called black
JacJu, and to him he gave the order
for the twenty gross of htack Jack*. 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 aflerwards dis-
coursing upon his father's blunder, was
told by bis friend, in a jocose strain, to
order a gross of warming-pans, and see
whether the well-informed correspondents
in London would have the sagacity to con-
sider such articles necessiry 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 sjreat
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 p^arties returned to Eng-
land with fortunes, and often told the story
of the blackjacks and warming-pans over
the bottle, adding, that ** Nothing is lost in
a good market/'

BooKd.

-GiTtBji

Learo to enjoy mjMlf. Tlmt place, that <lo%

Cootain my books, tke best oompaaions, is

To ma a f lorions conrt, where hourly I

Converse with the old sages and philosophers;

And sometimes for Tariety, I oonfer

With kings and emperors, and weigh thrir oooaaali i

Calling their rictories, if oi^astly got.

Unto a Mtrict aeeount; and in my fancy.

Deface their ill-placed sUtass. Can I then

Part with such constant pleasures, to embraca

Uncertain Taaities ? No : be it your cars

To augment a heap of wealth! it shall b« mine

To inorease in knowledge. f'LBTOHaB.

I KAOI NATION.

Imagination enriches every thing. A
great library contains Dot 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, " rejoicings
like a bridegroom." The commonest things
becomes like Aaron's rod, that budded.
Pope called up the spirits of the Cabala to
wait upon a lock of nair, and justly ffave it
the honours of a consteMation ; 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 vivitied, 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 lighted 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.— Let^^il
Hunt.

Actors.
Madame RoUan, who died in 1786, in
the seventy-fifth year of her age, was a
principal dancer on Covent-garden stage in

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1731, and followed her profession, by pri-
▼ate teaching, to the last year of her life.
She had so rooch celebrity in her day, that
haTing one evening sprained her ancle, no
less an actor than Quin was ordered by the
manager to make an apology to the audi*
•Boe for her not appearing in the dance.
Quin, who looked upon all dancers as '* the
mete garnish of tne 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
yon^ that the dance intended for this night
19 obliged to be postponed, on account of
mademoiselle RoUan having dislocated her
ancle : I wish it had been her neck.''

InQuin'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-
fiint, 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, I think it is high time you should
bum hi> tiace/'

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

** Ton from b«, torn ftom mt, wUdi war did tkev
telwlitrr

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,

* Wkj towBrda Lonf-aera, towards hang-Men."

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

• Ho, bo. did tUj so,
Tb«B ril iboa overtake her,
rU aeon oTortake her.**

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

f^omt fiqiartmnit

Potatoes.
If potatoes, how much soever frosted,
be only carefulh 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- ;
Uined 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 tur( 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 £ite. He
was not less sui prised 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«
tnment, but were, in all respects, remark-
abiv fine, except a few near the spot which
had been uncovered. If farmers Keep their
heaps covered till the frost entirely disap-
pears, they will find their patience amply
rewarded.

24)nDion.

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, (Jree of ejepeme.) 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 thev are found
until their homes are discovered.

From the success which has, within a
short time, been found to result from the
hmmediaie 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 neishbot
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

9

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I board to be plac^ in front of their chapel
'or the same purpose, and printed bills which
jan be very soon filled up, describing the
child lost or found, in the following
forms : —

TtcKET Porters.

CHILD LOST.
in Aft

Smmt

farther partiraUn

CfllLO POUND.
Sex Ag*

Nsia*

Majr be heard of at

Fartlier partieulan

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

Br 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 bis ticket so as to be plainly
seen, under a penalty of 2t. 6d. foi 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 5«.

For

FARES OF TICKET.POttTERS.

every

half
mile

Qr.

Half

One

U

Ty<o

1

Mile.

Mile.

Mile.

Mile.

Miles.

father.

#. d.

•. d.

s. d.

9. d.

«. d.

«. d.

For any Package, Letter, &c. not ex-

, ceedmg56 1bs

0 4

0 6

0 9

1 0

1 6

0 6

Above 56 lbs. and not exceeding

112 lbs

0 6

0 9

I 0

1 6

2 0

0 9

Above 112 lbs. and not exceeding

168 lbs. . • • . '08

1 0

1 6

2 0

2 6

1 0

For every parcel above 14 lbs. 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«. 6if.

Seven, or more, rulers of the society, to
x>nstitute a court.

The governor of the society, with the
:ourt of rulers, to make regulations, and
mnex reasonable penalties for the breach
thereof, not exceeding 20«. for eiich offence,
or three months* suspension* They may dis-
charge porters who persist in breach of
(heir 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 20t., by the governor, or the court
of rulers.

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

ilflatmertf.

Oliver Cromwell.

The following is an extract from one of

Richard Symons*s Pocket-books, preserved

imongst the Harleian MSS. in the British

Vfttseum, 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
doaths, which they tooke as a favour, and
also wett sweetmeat!* ; and daubed all the
stooles where 'hey were to sit with wett
sweietmeats; and pulled off Rich his pe-
ruque, and would nave 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 oi
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 Woman 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.^'

Duel with a Bag.
Two gentlemen, one a Spaniard, and
the other a German, who were recom-

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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 bad
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 seii-
tlemen took place in the face of the whole
courL The contest lasted for more than an
hour. At length the Spaniard yielded, and
the German, Khberhard, baron de Talbert,
having planted his rival in the bag, took it
upon his back, and very gallantly laid it at
the feet 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 coo-
iioled, on having put is adversary <* into a

** 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 aUar of
HymeUf have an opportunity of roeetmg
with proper partners. ' Tlie *• 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 m^-
icriben, the amount to be regulated ac-
cording to circumstances, and that they
should be arranged in classes in the fol-
lowing order, viz.

" Ladieg.
* 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 gente*;! figure. Re-
ligion that of my future husband.

*^ 2d Class. I am thirty years of ag^, a
widow, in the giocery line in
London — have children ; d
middle stature, full made, fiiir
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-
sit ion, 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.

'^ Sth Class. I am sixty years of age ; in-
come limited ; active and rathet
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 ai^nuities ; am
of an affable disposition, and very
affectionate. I

** 2d Class. 1 am forty years of age, tajl
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 150/. I
** 3d Class. A tradesman in the city of
Bristol, in a ready-money busif
ness, turning 150/. 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 constitn- .
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- j
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 theoflice. 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* j
quire for Mr. Jameson, up one pair of
stairs. All letters to be post paid.
<*The subscribers are to be f^irniihed

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with t list of descriptioDS, and when one
occurs likely to suit, the parties may cor-
respond; and if mutunllj 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, fleems 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
said 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,
-whome."

** A list of the vicars of Worfield in the
diocese of Dchfield 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 1 707.

Adamson, vicar 56 years : died 1763.
Only 4 vicars in IQQyears.*^

Spllliho Foa a Wake.
Proclamation was made a few years ago,
at Tewkesbury, from a written paper, of
which the following is a copy x— -

** Hobnail's Wake— This his to give
notis on Tusday next— « Hat to be playd
at bac sord fore. Two Belu to be tuseld
fore. A plum cack to be gump in bags
fowr. A pond of backer to be bold for,
and a sbowl to danc lot by wimen,"

THE beauties OF SOMERSET.

A ballad;
Vm A ZommaneUbira an,
Zhew in« bettar if yon cso,

Ib ^ North, Zovth, East, or Wostt
I wai bora in TaaBtoa Omb,
Of bU placM erer Mes

Tko rioboit Bad the bttt. OLD Ballab.

Tbcb, AlUjf CnUr.

That BritoiB*! liko a preooos gnk

8«t IB tha nlrar oeoaa,
Obt SbakspaaiB soag, and aoaa eoBdeaa

Whilst most approre the aotioa,—
Bot Tarioas parts, we bow declare,
Shiae forth ia Tariofis spleadonr,
Afld those bright beams that shine most fair.
The wcstora portioas reader ;~
O the ooQBties, the matckless western ooaadN.
Bat £ir the best,
Of aU the rest.
Is Somerset for erer.
For eome with me, aad well sarrey

Oar hills aad Tallies orer.
Oar Tales, where elear brooks bafabliaf stray

Through BMads of UooaiiBg elorer ;
Our biUs, that rise ia giaat prids^

With hoUow doUs betweea these.
Whose saUe forests, spreading wida,
EBraptars all who *Te seta them;
O theocaatiest&o.

How eoald I here foigetfol be

Of all joor seeaos romantie.
Oar nigged rooks, oar swellingsea.

Where foams the wild Atlaaticl
There's aot aa Edea knowa to msa

That claims saeh admlratioa.
As lorely Colboae's peaeeful glea.

The Tempo of the natioa ;
O the ooBBties, &e.

To Bame etch beaatj ia mj rhjme

Woald proTo a tbib endeaToar,
1*11 therefore sing that doodless clime

Where ^ksmmt uU for erer ;
Where oTer dwells the Age of Gold

la fertile Tales and snnoj.
Which, like the promis'd land of old,

0*etflows with milk aad hoaoj ;
O tha oooBtias, ka.

Bat 0 1 to erowa mj cooBtj's worth,

What all the rest svrpasaas.
There's aot a spot in all the aarfh

Can boast such lord/ laasaa ;
There^s not a spuc boBoalh Che MB

Where hearts ait opea'd widely
Thea let as toast them OTiiy MS.

Ib bowls of BBtiTo aidari
OthaeoaBf&aa,4M.

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Witntbtt^

A VEW Uyorometea.

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

In a white flint bottle is suspended a
piece of metal, about the size or a haste
naty which not only looks extremely beau*
tiful, and contributes to the ornament of a
room, but likewise predicts every possible
diange 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
iDuddy. If placed in a moderate tempera-
ture, it will require no other trouble than
to pour out a common tumbler fiiU of
water, and to put in the same quantity of
fresh. For the first few days it must not
be shaken.

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

The Ren Kitten.

O ikt red red kitten u Mot awaj,
Ke mctn on perlonr beertfa to play S
Be moat live in the draper't booie.
And ekaae the rat, and catch the ino«ee»
And all day long in rilence go
Throogh bale* of eotton ai.d calico.

After the king of Knglaod fan'd,
The rod red kitten was Rafos aam'd.
Aad as king Rnf u iported through
Thicket and brake of the Forest Metr,
The red red kitten Rnfna so
Shall Jamp about the calioo.

Bat ae king Rnfoe chaePd the deer.
And heated the forest lar and near.

Until aa he wateh'd the jampy «inirrel.

He WM ihot by Walter Tyml;

Se, if Fate shall hia death ordain,

8haU kitten Raftn by doge be elaia.

And ead hia thrice three liree of woe

Amem^ the eotton and calico.

SONNET

TO A PaETTT OIRL IN A PASTA T-COOK^S

SHOP.
Sweet Maid, for thou art eiaui of me«y imeett.

Behind thy eooater, lo 1 I ece thee etanding,
Oaa'd at by waatoa waad*rere in the strecle.

While eoto, to cdkei , thy frettjfJUt is handiiy.
Ligkt ae a ^^ appears thy erery motion.

Yet thy repliee I're heard are somrtimee tarf i
I deem thee a jnvterve, yet Ttc a notioa

That warm as hramdied ekerriet is thy heart.
Then be not to fhy lorer like aa tee.

Nor soar as rcsp&crry pimegar to ooe
Who owns thee for a Mj^or^asi so nice^

Kicer than eae^U tyUekeh^ or (an.
I lore thee more than all the girls so natty,
I de^ indeed, my tmeeU my foaoery Pattt.

** HoLLT Night " at Brougb.
Fw the Table Book,

The aocient 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 Biough 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 &8ten 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 shouu of applause. Many of the in-
habitants carry lighted branches and flam-
beaus; and rockets, squibs, &c. are dis-
charged on the jovful occasion. After the
tree is thus earned, and the torrnes 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 ea«:erly 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 oi

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CARRYING THE " HOLLY TREE" AT BROUGH, WESTMORELAND.

To arerj bnaeh » torch thej tie.

To erery torch a light apply.

At OMh new light wnd foiih hiusM

Till aU the tree it in A bl«n :

▲ad then bear it flaming through the toirn,

^ith mingferel^y, and rookett thrown.

ale and spirits, and pass a " merry mght^
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 traTellers. In catholic countnes,
flambeaus and torches always abound in
their ceremonies ; and persons residing in
the streeu through which they pass, testify
their zeal and piety by providing flambeaus
at tlieir own expense, and bringing them
'ighted to the doors of their houses.
* W,H,H.

^ote

CoMMtnncAvtoirt for the Table Book addreeeed l»
me, in a parcel, or ander corer, to the care of the pi^
lishera, will be gladljr received.

NoTicu TO CoaaupowDiirre win appear oc the
wmppen of the moathljr parti onty.

Till T4BLI Book, therefore, aftrr the prcMat sheet,
will be printed contiaiioiulj, without matter ef thta
hind, or the iaterrention of temporary tides, va| lee^
saat to the eye, when the work eomes to be houad in
Tolnmes.

Lastlt, because this is the last opportvaity of the
kind IB mjr power, I beg to add that eooie vainablc
papen which conld not be inelnded in the Sv#fy>/%
Book, wiU appear in the TahU Bjok.

MoBBOvim Lamtlt, I earaestlf soUeit the inmediate
•ctiTitj of njr friends, to oblige and serre oie. by
•eadiPg my tbiag. and every thine tber eaa eolleot oi
recoUeet, which ihry may sappose at all likely M Ru-
der B« TmhU Book tawtraetiTehor diTsrtiBg.

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EMIGRATION OF THE DEER FROM CBANBOURN CHASE, 182fi.

Tb^ gsnlal jMn InereMe the timid herd
nil wood ftnd paston jield » ■caot mpply i

Then troop the deer, w ftt » fllgn«l word.
And in long lines o'er barren downs thej hie.

In eearch what food far vallies maj afford—
Lew fearing man, their ancient enemj.

Than in their natire ohaae to atarre and dla.

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The «leer of Cranbourn chase usoally
average about ten thousand in number. In
the wintet of 1826, they were presumed to
amount to from twelve to fifteen thousand.
This increase is ascribed to th« 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 |)as-
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 Blackroore in
quest of subsistence. There was a large
increase in the number about twelve years
preceding, till the continued deficiency of
rood occasioned a mortality. Very soon
afterwards, however, they again incr«»ased
and emigrated for food to the vallies, as in
the present instance. At tlie former period,
ihe 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 otlier places wherein they are kept,
has been usually regulated by converting
them into Tenison. This is clearly rooie
humane than suffering the herds so to en-
large, that there is scarcely for " every one
a mouthfuH, and no one a bellyfiill.'' It is
also better to pay a good price for good
venison in season, than to baTC poor and
cheap venison from the surplus or starving
animals <* killed off" in mercy to the re-
mainder, or in compliance with the wishes
of landholders whose grounds they invade
in their eitremity.

The emigration of the deer from Cran-
bourn Chase suggests, that m 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.

Cmnbomm.

Cranbourn is a market town and parish in
the hundred of Cranboum,Dorsetshire,about
13 miles south-west from Salisbury, and 93
from London. According to the last census,
it contains 367 houses and 1823 inhabitants,
of 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 countv,
near Cranbourn Chase, which extends

almost to Salisbury. Its market u on a
Thursday, it has a cattle market m the
spring, and its fiurs are on St. Bartholomew'a
and St. Nicholas* d%ys. It is the capital of
the hundred to which it gives its name, and
is a vicarage valued m the king*s books at
£6. \3M.4d, It is a place of high antiqvity,
famous in the Saxon and Nurman times for
Its monastery, its chase, and its lords. The
monastery l>elonged to the Benedictines, of
which the church at the wfsst end of the
town was the priory.*

Affray in the ChoM.
On the night of the 16th of December,
1780, a severe battle was fought between
the kee|>crs and deer-stealers on Chettle
Common, in Bursey-stool Walk. Tlie deeiw
stealers had assembled at Pimpeme, and
were headed by one Blandford, a sergeant
of dragoons, a native of Pimpeme, then
quartered at Blandford. They came in tho
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 ^nd 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
witn their hangers, and one of tne dra-
goon's hands was severed from the arm, |
just above the wrist, and fell on the ground ; i
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 Kev. William
Chafin, the author of ** Anecdotes respect-
ing Cranbourn Chase," says, ** I saw
him there the next day, and his hand
in the vrindow: as soon as he was- well
enough to be removed, he was committed,
with his companions, to Doichester gaol.
The hand was buried in Pimpeme church-
yard, and, as reported, with the ho-
nours of war. Several of these offenders
were labourers, daily employed by Mc
Beckford, and had, the preceding day
dined in his servants' hall, and from thencf
went to join a confederal^ to rob theii
master." They were all tried, found guilty
and condemned to be transported for seven
years ; but, in consideration of their great

• Hatehraa** DoTMt. Capper.

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mffenng from their wounds in prison, the
bttiDane judge, sir Riciiard Perryn, commu-
ted the punishment to confinement for an
indefinite term. The soldier was not dis-
miateii from his majesty's service, but suf-
fered to retire upon half-pav, or pension ;
and set up a shop in London, which he
denoted a game-factor's. He dispersed
hand-bilb in the public places, in order to
get customers, and put one into Mr. Cha-'
no> band in the arch-way leading into
LiDooln's-inn-square. ^'I immediately re-
cognised him,^ says Mr. Chafin, ** as he
did me; and he said, that if I would deal
with him, he would use roe well, for he
had, in times past, had many hares and
pheasants of mine ; and he bad the assur-
ance to ask me, if I did not think it a good
breeding-season for game I**

Buek-kunting,

BtteA-hunting, in former times, was much
more followed, and held in much greater
repute, than dcw. From letters in Mr.
Chafin*s possession, dated in June and July
1681, he mfers, that the summers then were
much hotter than in the greater part of the
last century. The time of meeting at
Cranboum Chase in those days seems in-
variably to have been at four o'clock in the
erening ; it was the custom of the sports-
men to take a slight repast at two o'clock,
and to dine at the most fashionable houn
of the present day. Mr. Chafin deemed
hunting in an evening well-judged, and ad-
vantageous every wav. The deer were at
that time upon their legs, and more easily
foand ; they were empty, and more able to
mn, and to show sport; and as the evening '
advanced, and the dew fell, 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
wnuld be the hunting late in a morning.
What has been mentioned is peculiar to
Buck-hunting only.

^ia;^-hunting is in tome measure a sum-
mer amusement also; but that chase is
generally much too long to be ventured on
m an evening. It would cany the sports-
man too fiir 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, vrith oak*

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

This practice was termed •' blooding the
hounds;" and the voung 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. Quill ; 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 Somenetsoire *.

** lOtn August
1680.
Delivered 8r William, in the
higher Oriai, 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 SpwrU of Cranboum ChM9.

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 person*
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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u> hunting, were hawking^ folconry, and
pockmg.

Packs of hounds were always kept in
the neighbourhood of the chase, and hunted
there in the proper seasons. Tliere were
three sorts of animals of chase besides deer,
VIZ. foxes, hares, and roertincats : the race
of the latter are nearly 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.

Pint Pack of Fox^honniU.
The first real steady pack of fox-hounds
established in the western part of England
was by Thomas Fownes, Esq. of Siepleton,
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
iate 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 nalted, and informed
Mr. Bowes th»t 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 be^n to feather, and
toon 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 havins been drawn, and very soon found
ft second fox, exactly in the same manner
a» before, which broke cover imme<l lately
OTer 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 atienpled to stay the Dorset*
shire hounds in vain. The docs topped the
highest fences, dashed through nerds of
deer and a number of hares, without taking
the least notice of tl em ; and ran in to their
fox^ and killed him aome miles beyond the
park. It was the unanimoui opinion o(
the whole hunt, that it was the finest tun
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 Cranboum
Chase, hunted all the animals promis-
cuously, except the deer, from which they
vrere necessarily kept steady, otherwise they
would not have been suffered to hunt in the
chase at all.

Origin ef Cranhonrn CkoMt,
This royal chase, always called "The
King's Chase,** in the lapse of ages came
into possession of an earl of Salisbury, k
is certain that after one of its eight distind
walks, called Fernditch Walk, was sold to
the earl of Pembroke, the entire remainder
of the chase was alienated to lord Ashley,
aAerwards earl of Shaftesbury. Alderholi
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 oC Cranboum, 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 rans;ers in the different walks in
the year 1670, and afterwards dismember*
iing it« (though according to old records, it
appears to have been dismembered long
before,) by destroying Aldeiholt Walk; b«
sold the remainder to Mr. Freke, of Shro-
ton, in Dorsetshire, from whom it lineall;
descended to the present possessor, lord
Rivers.

Accounts of Cranboum Chase can be
traced to the era when king John, orsomf
other royal personage, had a hunting-seal
at Tollard Koyal, hi the county of Wilts
Hence the name of ^* 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 Johns
House." There are large cypress trees
growing before the house, the relics of
grand terraces may be easily traced* ano

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the remains of a jnirk to which some of
them lead. A gate at the end of the park
at the entrance of the Royal Chase, now
call<^ ^ Alarm Gate," was the place pro-
bably where the horn was blown to call the
keepers to their duty in attjendiiig their
lord in his sports. Tliere is also a venera-
ble old wycti-elm tree, on the Chase side
of the •• Alarm Gate," under which lord
Arundel, the possessor of ToUard Broyal,
holds a court annually, on the first Monday
in the month of September. A view of the
I 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 o^ 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 hnes from sir Philip Sidney, as an au-
, thority for the word. Johnson, limited to a
! mete 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
tufificient idea of " Barley-break." The
shepherd seeks the society of his mistress
wherever he thinks it likely to find her.

Nay eT*B vnto her hone ht oft wonld ga^
Where bold and hnrtkw many play he trin i

SUf parenci likiaf well it shonld be so.
For aimple goodnest shtned in his eyesf

Then did he make her laugh in epire of woe
So as food thoughts of him in aU arise ;

While into none doabt of his lore 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.

Fo** glad desiftt, his late embosom*d gnest.
Yet bat a babe, with milk of night he nnrst :

Desire the more he snckt, more sought the breast
Likr dropsy-rolk, »till drink to be athirst;

Till one fair ev'n an hour ere sun did rest.
Who then In Lion's care did rater first.

By neighbors pray*d, she wrat abroad thereby

At Bmriey-bnak her sweet swift foot to try

Nerer the earth on his round fthoulders bare
A maid train'd up from biithor low degree.

That in her doings better could compare
Muth wi*h r^pect, few word^ with coartesie,

A ^«fttytt«« eomeliness with comely care,
Selifnai4 with mildness, sport with msAesty

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

Then eoaples three be straight allotted there.
They of both end* the middle two do fly;

The two that in mid-place. Hell* ealled were,
Mnst strive with waiting foot, and watching eya.

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

Like some which seek to.MaWe their blottad name

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

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

They false and fearful do their haads undo,

Brother his brother, frirad doth his friend forsake.

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

As perjured cowards in adversity.

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

The game being played out with divert
adventurers

AU to second Barley-hreiik again are bent.

During the second game, Strephon wat
chased by Urania.

Strephon so chased did seem in milk to swim ;

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

Like Nnmid's lions by the hunters ehased,
Thongh they do fly, yet baekwardly do glow

With proud aspect, disdaining greater haste i
What rage in them, that love in him did show ;
But God gives them instinct the man to shun.
And ha by law of Barleffhnak must ran.

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

-it was no right, for his default.

Who would be caught, that she should go^
But so she must. And now the third aasaul t
Of Burtejf-fcrea*.— —

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

For with pretraee from Strephon her to guard.
He met her full, but full of warefulness,

With in-bow'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 mde simplicity
of ancient i»roe«,thi« word in the game of Barlev-breas
was applied in the same manner that it would be ii
ours.

f Ff»meft,Cob«)lete,'i strange, foreign. Ath. Corraoi
ed from/r«Hd, whirh, in Saxon and Gothic, signified »
stranger, or an enemy. Kate*.

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Sot raM did not her letMtf» beamt aagment.

For thef were •▼•ria tkebett degrM,
B«t 7«t a Mttbff forth it aome wajr ImU

As rabiM l«atr« whfla thef rabbcd be*
rhe daiat J dew oa faee and body vent.

As oa ewodt dowen. when moraine's dropo we tee :
Her breath then ihoit, aeem'd k)th fran home to

Which more it moved, the more it tweeter wae.

Happf. O happ7 1 if thef oo might bide

To lee their eyee, with how tne humUeneae,
Thejr looked down to trinmph orer prido;
With how sweet blame she chid their laeoinee^-

riU she brake from their arms

And farewellinff the flock, did homeward wead,
And so. that eToa. the iiffsytwdbdid end.

This game is mentioned by Burton, in
his ** Anatomy of Melancholy ^'^ as one of
our rural sporU, and by several of the
poets, with more or less of description,
though by none so (uUy as Sidney, in the
first eclogue of the " Arcadia," from whence
thepreceding passages are taken.

Tlie 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 were
coupled by lot A piece of ground was
then chosen, and divided into three com-
partments, of which the middle one was
called ML It ¥ras the object of the couple
condemned to this division to catch the
others, who advanced from the two ex-
tremities ; in which case a chanee of situa-
tion took place, and hell was filled by th«
couple who were excluded by preoccupa-
tion from the other places : in this eaiehingf
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
oreak hands whenever they found them-
selves hard pressed. When all had been
taken in turn, the last couple were said to
be in keU, and the game ended.**

Within memory, a game called Barley-
break has been played among stacks of
com, 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 '• Arcap
dia," which was played in open ground.
The childish game of " Ta^ " seems derived
from it. There was a "tig," or "tag,"
whose touch made a prisoner, in the York-
shire game.

BAaLA-BREIKIS.

In Scotland there is a game nearly the
fame in lienooination as " Barley-break,"

though differently played. It is termeu
•• Barla-breikis," or *• Barley-bracks." Dr.
Jamteson says it is generally played by
young people, in a corn-vanl about the
stacks; and hence called Barla-^rackM,
" (jne 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 ffame. This inno-
cent sport seems to be almost entirely for-
ffotten in the south of Scotland. It is also
ndling 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 hzrepiatef 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 am. Sir,

** Your most humble servant,

" John Wesley.'

The Diau

Thif shadow on the dial*t faee.

That etealt, from da/ to da/.
With ilow, nnaeen, nnceaeing paee,

Momente, and months, and /ears awaj
This shadow, which in every elime.

Since light aad motion first bcfaa.
Hath held its eonrse sablime;

What is it?— Mortal man I
It is the sc/the of Time.

—A shadow oaly to the ejr*.

It levels all beneath the dty.

• Mr. Arehdeaeoa Namrftaiaesaiy*

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MOCK FUNERAL OF A BATH CHAIRMAN.

A duiimuui Ute '• » dudrman deftd.
And to his grare, bj chairman iped,
Thej wake him, as they march him through
Tha ftcaeta of Bath, to public Tlaw.

To the Editor.

Bath,
Sir,-»1 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 yoti 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 hare 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 hare also ac-
companied it with the above imperfect
■l^etch, as a further illustration of their
oanner of bonring the ** dead^'' alias, ex-

posing a drunkard of their fhitemity. The
followmg is the manner in which the ** ob.
sequies ^ to the intoxicated are performed
If a chairman, known to have been
** dead " drunk over night, does not tp.
pear on his station before ten o*clock on
the succeeding morning, the ** undertaker,"
Angtice, his partner, proceeds, with such a
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 sacriftce to
the ^' jolly God,*" they pull him out of his
nest, hardly permitting him to dress, and

Elace him on the ** bier," — a chainii£n<»
orsej— and, throwiog a coat oTcr him

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«rhich they designate a " pall," they per-
ambulate the circuit of his station in the
following order : —

1. The tArrofi— a man tolling a small
oand-bell.

2. Two m»/et<— each with a black stock-
ing on a stick.

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

4. J%e " corpse '* borne pn the " hearse/'
carried by two chairmen, covered wiih the
aforesaid pall.

The procession is closed by the " mourn-
ers" following after, two and two; as many
joming 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,
[t 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 of the next morning, as
none are exempt who are not at their post
before the prescribed hour.

I am, &c.

W. G.

On Sunday morning, the 31st 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 aye, William GiflTord, Rsq.,
author of the * Baviad and Meviad,* trans-
lator of ' Juvenal and Persius/ and editor
of the * Quarterly Review,' from its com-
mencement down to the be$(inning of the
year just past. To the translation of * Ju-
venal* is prefixed a memoir of himself,
which is perhaps as modest and pleasant a
piece of autobiography as ever was wrii-
ten."— r/ie Ttnws, January 1, 1827.

Interesting

:ffSUmair of iMr. ^fSbrtr.

By HlMSCLF — VEABATIV.

I am about to enter on a very uninteresting
subject: but all my friends tell me that it is
n'cesAxry to account for the long delay of the
loUowing work ; and I can only do it by ad-
vert in:; to the circumstances of my life. Will
tlMS he accepted a.« an apology?

I know but liUlt of my family and 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 Halsbtiry, a parish in the neighbonr-
Dood ot Ashburton ; but whether acqair^ or in-
heritedy I never thought of asking, and do not
know. I

He was probably a native of Devonshire, for
there he spent the last years of his life ; spent
them, too, m 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 bad frequently hunted with bis
hounds.* I

My grandfather was on ill terms with him : I
believe, not without sufficient reason, for he was
extravagant and dssipated. My father never
mentioned his name, but my mother would
sometimes tell me that he had ruined the fiunily i
That he spent much, 1 know ; but I am inclined
to think, that his undutiful conduct occasioned
my 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
I 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 ;
for he was,' on his return from this notable ad*
ventnre, reduced to article himself to a plumber
and glazier, with whom he luckily staid long
enough to learn the business. I suppose his
father was now dead, for he became possessed
of two small estates, manied my mother.t (the
daughter of a carpenier at Asliburton,) 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, I never in-
qtiired ; but I learned from my mother, that aftet
a residence of four or five years, he thoughdessly
engaged in a dangerous frolic, which drove
him once more to sea: this was an attempt to
excite a riot in a Methodbt chaprl ; 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 1
was bom, in Apiil, 1756.

* The niHtter is of no roniieqnenee— no, not even to
myself. From n\y (nrnWy I denved nothing but a naiM«
whi -h in mora, pcrhnpit, thnn f shall leave : bat (to
cherk the mieen of rnde Tnl|pirity) that family was
amonif the ma«r ancient and reitpectable of tkiti part of
the eonntry, and, not more than three genemtiona froai
the preiwnt, wa» conn ted amonf the weallbiest--aK«,
•wel

t He ])%d f(one with Baafylde Moor Carew, than as
old man.

I Hpr maiden name wa<« Klisabftb Caia. My fatkef'a
ebiieUaa aaiaa waa Kdvard*

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The resources of my mother were vciy scanty.
rWej afoie from the rent of three or four small
aektt, which yet remaineii unsold. With these,
Dowever, she aid what she could for me ; and as
•ooB as I was old enough to be tnuted out of her
sif ht, sent me to a schoolmistress of the name of
Psrrel, from whom I learned in due time to .ead.
1 cannot boast much of my acquis! lions at this
school ; they consisted merely of the contents of
the •* Child's Spelling Book:** but from my
Biotber, who had stored up t|ie literature of a
country town, which, shout half a century ago,
amounted to little more than what was dissemi-
nated by itinerant ballsd-Kingers, or rether,
readers, I had acquired much curious knowledge
of Catskio, and the Golden Bull, and the BooJy
Gardener, and many other histories equally in-
atnictive and amuiing.

My lather returned from sea in 1764. He
had been at the siege of the Havannah ; and
though he received more than a hundred pounds
for priie money, and his wages were consider-
able; yet, as he had not acquired any strict
habits of economy, he brought home but a tri-
fli ng sum. The little property ^et left was there-
fore turned into money ; a trifle more was got
by agreeing to renounce all future pretensions to
aa esiate at Totneas ;* and with thb my father
art up a second time as a glazier and hou^ie
painter. 1 was now ahout 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 dieil. He had not acquired wisdom from
bis misfortunes, but contmued wasting his time
an unprofitable pursuits, to tJie great detriment
W his business. He loved drink for the sake of
■ocicty, and to this he fell a martyr ; dying of
a decayed and ruined constitution before he was
^irty. The townVpeople thought him a shrewd
■■d sensible man, and remtted his death. As
for Me, I never greatly leved him ; I had not
grown up with him | and he was too prone to

I lepulse my little ad\'ances to familianty, with
ouldoesa, or anger. He had certainly some

I reason to be displeased with me, for I lesined
Uule at school, and nothing at home, although h*-
would DOW and then attempt to give me iNime
insisht 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
sulijeet of much sorrow to me, that my mother
was doubiful of her ability to continue me at
school, though I had by tliis time acquired a
k>ve for reading.

I never knew in what circumstances my mother
was left : most probably thev were inadequate *o
her support, without some kind of exertion, «»p«.
^iall? as she was now burthened with a seonni
cbtJil about six or eight months old. Uniortu-

• This ooosisfi^ of ferrral boniM% whiek had bem
diOQglitleMly raffered to full inro deeiij. and of whirh
tke rcaCtt had bfea w» loiiff onrlumed. thst tlipy coaUl
a4fs aoir bersooveiad auJras by anczpeaairA Utifstion

nately she determined tc prosecute my fafher*s
business ; for which purpose she engaged a
couple of journeymen, who, finding her tgaorant
of every part of it, wasted her property, and em-
bezzled her money. What the const quence of
this double fraud would have been, there vras no
opportunity of knowing, as, in somewhat less
tlian 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 deaily, aud
died at last, exhausted with anxiety aoii grief
more oQ their account than her own.

I was not quite thirteen when this happened ,
my little brother was hardly two ; snd 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 Cailile, for money advanced to my
mother. It may be supposed that 1 could not
dispute the justice of his claims ; snd a« no one
else interfered, he was suffered to do as he liked.
My little brother was setit to the alms-house,
whither his nurse followed him out of pure aflec-
tion : and I was taken to the house of the peison
I have just mentioned, who was slso my god-
father. Respect for the opinion of the town
(which, whether correct or not, was, that lie had
amply repaid himself by the sale of my mother's
effects) induced him to send me sgain to school
where I was more diligent than before, and more
successful. I grew fond of arithmeiic, and my
master began to distinguish me; but thcM
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 te
gratify him ; but 1 left it with a firm resolution
to do 10 no more, and m despite of his threat*
and promises, adhered to my determinatior«« la
this, I was guided no less by necessity than will
During my father's life, in attempting to clamber
np a Hble, I had fallen backward, and dnvin it
after me : its edge fell upon my breast, and 1
ne>'ei recovered the effects of the blow; oi
which I was made extremely sensible on any
extrao ilin:'ry exertion. Ploughing, therefore,
was out of Oie fjuestion, and, ar I have already
said, I utterly refused to follow it.

As 1 could write and cipher, fas the phrase
is.) Carlile next thought of sending me lo (New-
foundland, to a5sist in a storehouse. For th\t
purpose he negotiated with a Mr. Holdsworthy
of Dartmouth, who agreed to fit me out. 1 left
Ashburton with little expectation of seeing it
again, and indeed with little care, and rode with
uiy godiath^ir to the dwelling of Air. Holds-
wort ny. On seeing me, this great man obsened
with a look, of pity aud contempt, that 1 wtf
<* too small, " and sent me awav sufficiently
mortifi«Hl. I ex^tected to be very ill received h^
my godfather, but he s< id n<>thing. He did
nf>t howe\er choose to take me back himself,
but sent roe in the passage-boat to Totnesi, fr«iD>

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whence I wis to walk home. On the ptMage*
the boat wai anven by a midnight ttorm on Uie
rocki, and I escaped almost bv miracle.

Mf godfather had now humbler views for me,
and I had Utile heart to resist anj thing. He
proposed to send me on board one of the Tor-
bay fishmg-botu ; I ventured, however, to fe-
monstrato against this, and the matter was com
promised by my consenting to go on board a
eoaster. A coaster was spMdily found for me
It Brixham, and thither 1 went when Utile mote
than thirteen.

My master, whose name was Full, though a
gross and ignorant, was not an ill-nataredy
man ; at least, not to me : and my mistress used
me with unvaryinff kindness ; 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, Pl> mouth, &c. it con-
sisted only of my master, an apprentice nearly
out of bis 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 bpse of thirty years has
but Uttle diminished.

It will be easily conceived that my life was a
Ife 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, I can safely
say, it was not so much on account of this, as of
my being precluded from all possibility of resil-
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-

3uented, at my leisure hours, such vessels as
ropt into Torbay. On attempting to ret on
board one of these, which I did at midnight, I
missed my footing, and fell into the sea. "nie
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. Tlie nsual methods were
taken to recover me, and I awoke in bed the
next morning, remeirbering nothing but the
horror I felt, when « j&rst found myself unable
to cry out for assistaacik

Th'is was not my only escape, but I forbear to
speak of them. An escipe of another kind was
now preparing for me, wbkh deserves aU my
notice, as it was decisive of iay future faie.

On Christmas day (IZTO'i I was surprised by
a UMMsage from my godfather, saying that he had

sent a man and horse to bnng me to A hbnrton ,
and desiring me to set out without deUy. My
master, as well as myself, supposed it was to
spend the holydays there ; and he therefote
made no obiectioo to my going. We were,
however, both mistaken.

Since I had Uved at Brixham, I had broken
off all connection with Anhhurton. 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

of sullen independence on all 1 bad formerly
known, and thought without regret of beine
abandoned by every one to my fate. But I had

not been overlooked. The women of Brixha.m,
who traveUed to Ashburton twice a week with
fish, snd who had known my parents, did not
see me without kind concern, running about the
beach in a ragged jacket and trousers. They
mentioned this to the people of Ashburton, and
never without commiseratmg my change of con-
dition. This tele, often repealed, 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 Urge 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- I
ing to encounter : he therefore determined to '
recall me ; which he could easUy do, as 1 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.

Af^er the holydays I retomed to my darling
pursuit, arithmetic: my progress was now so
rapid, that in a few months I was at the head of ,
tlie school, and qualified to assist my master
(Mr. B. 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 mj brother hent iatrodaeed for the last timSb T
mut yst say a Tew words. He was literally.

The ehild of misery baptiaed ia teats |
and the short passage of his life did not belle the
melaaoholj presage of his infancy. When he waa seven
years old, the parish bonnd him ont to a hnsbandmaa
of the name of Lemvi, with whom he endared incredi
ble hardships, which I had it not in my power to alle
viate. At nine years of age he bnokr his thigh, and I
took that opportnnity to tearh him to read and write.
When my own sitnatioo was improved. I permaded his
to try the sea ; he did so : and was taken oa board thr
Egmont, oa condition that his master shonld reeeive
his wagea. The time was now fast approachina when
1 eottld serve him, bnt he was doomed to know ao
favoarable ehange af fortnaei he fell sick, and died at
Cork.

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idms of support at this time were of no very
•ztnvtgaot Dstare. I had, besides^ another ob-
ioct in view. Mr. Hugh Smerdoo (my first
master) was now grown old and infirm ; it
seemed miHkely that he should hold out abore
three or four years ; and I fondly flattered my-
self that, notwithstanding my yovth« I might
poaaibly be appointed to soceeed hiss. 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
eoosidered as having fairly discharged his duty ;
(so, indeed, he had;) he added, that he had
been negotiating with his consio, a shoemaker
of some respectability, who had liberally agreed
to take roe without a fee, as an apprentice. I
was so shocked at this intelligence, that I did
not remoostrate; but went in sullenneas and
silence to my new master, to whom I was soon
after bound,* till 1 should attain the sge of
twenty-one.

The family consisted of four journeymen, two
sons about my own age, and an apprentice lome-
what older. In these there was nothing re-
markable; but my master himself was the
strangest creature I — He was a Presbyterian,
whose reading was entirely confined to the
small tracts published on the Exeter Conlro-
Fersy. As these ^at least bis portion of them)
were sU on one side, he entertained no doubt
of their infdlibilitjr, and being noisy anddisputa-
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 Fenning's Dictionary,
and he made a most sir gular use of it. His custom
w«s '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 ; thi^ be
constantly sobstitu ed for the simple term, and
as his opponents were commonly ignorant of his
meaning, his victory wss 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 Miailer. At
this period, I harl read nothing but a black letter
romance, called Parismus and Psrismenus, and
a few loose magazines which my mother had
brought from South Molton. With the Bible,
indeed, 1 was well acquainted: it was the
favourite study of my grandmother, snd ivading
it frequently with her, had impressed It strongly
on my mind ; these then, with the Imitation of
Thomas k Kempis, which I used to read to my
BBother on her death-bed, constituted the whole
of my literary acquisitions.

Ai I hated my new profession with a perfect

• Mv ladcntsra. wUeli mom Sea bsfme as, b dated
fts 1st of Jaenarj. 1773.

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

These intervals were not very frequent ; and
when the use 1 made of theji was found out,
they were rendered still less so. I could not
guess the motives lor this at first ; but at lenglh
I discovered that my master destined his young-
est son for the situation to which I aspired.

I posMssed at tbb time but one book in the
worid : it was a treatise on algebre, given to me
by a young woman, who had found it in a
lodging-house. I conaidered 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 roaster's son had pnrohased 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. 1 sat up for the greatest part of
several nights successively, and, Dcfore 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.

Tliis 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 do*
spite oJF the flippant remark of Lord Oiford,)
were, for the most part, as completely out of m)
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 ss smooth ss possible
and wrought my problems on them with a
blunted awl: for the rest, my memory was
tenscious, 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 saia of the force of na-
ture, I certainly never ** lisp*d in numben." I
recollect the occasion of my firet 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 escspes me, bad
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 I
could compose something more to the purpose :
I made the experiment, and by the unanimous
suffrage of my snopmates was allowed to have
succeeded. Notwithstanding this encourage-
ment, I thought no more of verse, till another
occurrence, u trifling as the former, i^rnisned

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me with a fresh subject : and thus I went on,
cill I had got together about a dozen of tliem.
Certainly, nctliing on earth vi-as ever so deplor-
able : such as they were, however, they were
talked of in my little circle, and 1 was some-
linies invited to repeat them, even out of it 1
never committed a line to paper for two reawns;
irst, becaii.se 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 inadvertenrly
hitching the name of one of his customers into a
rhyine.

The repetitions of which I speak were always
attended with applau«e, 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 nad long
lived in the absolute want of money, such a re-
flource seemed a Peruvian mine: 1 furnished
myself by degrees with paper, &c., and what
was of more importance, with books of geome-
try, and of the higher branches of idgebra,
which 1 cautiously concealed. Poetry, even at
rhis time, was no amusement of mine : it was
iubservient to other purposes ; and I only had
recourse to it, when 1 wanted money for my ma-
thematical pursuits.

But the clouds were gathering fast. My
master's anger was raised to a terrii>le pitch, by
my indifference to his concern^ and still more
by the reports which were daily brought to him
oi my pre.<(umptuous attempts at versiAcatiun.
I was required to give up my papers, and when
1 refused, my garret was searched, and mv
little hoard of books discovered and lemoved,
and air future repetitions prohibited iu 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 X
iiad so long and so (bndly 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 certainty not so well
{ualifted for the situation.

1 lix>k back on tluit 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 1 sunk into a kind of
roporeal torpor; or, if roused into aciivity 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,
uiifriended and un|Mtled ; indignant at the pre-
sent, caieless of the future, an object at once of
apprehensiou and dislike.

From tliis sUte of ahjectness I was raised by
4 young woman of my own class. She was a
neighlK>ur ; and whenever 1 took my solitary
walk, with my Wolfius in my pocket, she usu-
illy came to the d(M>r, and by a smile, or a short
\ueftion, put in the friendliest manner, cndea-
*-ourcd to solicit my attention. My heart bad

been long shut to kindness, but the ientiment
was not d ad in me : it revived at the lirai «m
cuuragmg word ; and the gratitude I felt for it
was the ftrst pleasing sensation which I had
ventured to entertain for many drearr months.

'logether with gratitude, hope, ana other pas-
sions still more enlivening, took plare of thai
uncomfortable gloominess which so lately pos>
sessed roe : I reiumed to my companions, and
by every winning art in my power, shove to
make them forget my former repnlsi\-e ways.
In this 1 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 siiop went on no better than before : 1 com-
forted myself, however, with the reflection that
mv apprenticeship was drawing to a conclusion,
when I determined to renounce the employment
for ever, and to open a private scliool.

Ii this humble and obscure state, poor be-
yond the common lot, yet flattering my ambi-
tion with diy-dreams, which, perhaps, would
ne\'er have been realized, I was found in the
twentieth year of my age by Mr. William
(Jookesley, 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 1 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, whjch was that of a surgeop,
procured him, indeed, much employment ; but
in a country town, men of science are not the
most liberally rewanled : 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 ind zeal were always at haid to 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
plea.Kure. that amidst the grossest ignorance o!
Itookx, 1 had made a very considerable prcgress
in the mathenratics. He engaged me to enter
into the details of this affair , and when he
learned that I had made it in circumstances ot
peculiar discoura^* anent, he became more
warmly interested in my favour, as he now saw
a possibility of sening me.

llie plan that occuned to him was naturalh
that wliicli had so oil en suggested itself to me
There were indeed several obstacles to be over-
come ; I hail eighteen months yet to serve ; mv
handwriting was bad, and my language very in-
correct; but nothing could slacken the zeal ol
this excellent man ; he procured a few of lu^

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poor altempts at rhyme, disp^rsfd tbcm amongst
*iii friends and acquaintance, and when my
name was become somewhat familiar to them,
cet on foot a subscription for my relief. I still
preserve the original paper; its tide was not
very magnificent, though it exceeded the most
sanguine wishes of my heart : it ran thus, ** A
SubMripiion for purchasinj; the remainder of
the time of Will am Gilford, and for enabling
him to improve himself in Writing and English
Grammar." Few contributed more than five
inillings, and none went bevond ten-and-six-
oenec : enough, however, was collected to free
ne from my apprenticeship,* and to maintain
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 spealL the truth in
modesty) had been more considerable than my
patrons expected : t had also written in the in-
terim several little pieces of poetry, less nigged,
I suppose, than my former ones, and ceitainly
with fewer anomalies of language. My precep-
tor, too, spoke favoural>ly 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 donationsp and to continue
ne 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 am sunk into indo-
lence, I look back with some degree -of scep-
ticism to the exertions of that periml.

In two years and two mouths from the day of
my emancipation, I was pronounced by Mr.
Smerdun, fit for the University. The plan of
opening a writing school had been abandoned
ilmost 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 Coll^ ; and ti is, with
inch occasional assistance from the country as
Mr. Cookesley undertook to provide, was thought
sufficient to enable me to live, at least, till 1 had
taken a degree.

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

* The ram mj maiktar reeeived wasaix poands.

t As 1 li%v« repablisbed cntfX onrold poets, it may
V allowftble ro mention thnt rajr pri^iilectioD for the
imma b^ao at an esrlv period. Bafom I left nchool,
I had written two trMediea, the Oracle and the Italian.

Mr qvaliiieatioatf for this braach of the art may be
savily appreeiated : and, indeed, I eanaot think of tnem
wi'hovt a smile.— Hie^e rhapi«odieM were placed by
my iadnlgpnc friend, who th«,-i|fht well of *hem. is the
wads of two nsiipeetable gvTilemen, who undertook to

aobwtj then* S» the manager of : I am ignorant

of their fate. Tke death of Mr. Cookesley broke ernr
fiiik of iBf eonnaction with the majority of my inbeon-

I became capable, however, of rmfing LatiQ
and Greek with some degree of facility, that
gentleman employed ail ray leisure hours ia
translations from the classics; and indeed 1
ZK^Wv ely know a single school-book, of which I
diJ not render some portion into English verse.
Among others, Juvbmal engaged my attentioO|
or rather my master's, and 1 translated the teutfc
Satire for a holyday task. Mr. Smerdou was
much pleased wiih this, (I wa.^ not undelighted
with it myselt,) and as 1 was now become fond
of the author, he easily persuaded me to pro
ceed with him ; and I translated in succession
the third, tiie fouith the twelfth, and, I think,
the eighth Satires. As I had np end in view
but that of giving a tCrUiporary satisfaction to
my benefactors, I thouglit little mora of these,
than of many other things of the same nature,
which I wrote fiom time to time^ and of which
I never copied a single line.

On my removing to Exeter College, honever,
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. 1^.
Stinton, (afterwards Rector,) to whom Mr. Tav-
lor had given me an introductory letter: I did
so, and it was kindly received. Thus eacou-
raged, 1 took up the first and second Satires, (I
mention them in the order Uiey were translated,)
when my friend, who had sedulously watched
my progress, first started the idea of going
through the whole, and publishing it by sub-
scription, as a scheme for increasing my meuos
of subsistence. To this I readily acceded, and
finished the thirteenth, eleventh, and fifteenil
Satires: the lemaiDder were the work of s
much later period.

When I had got thus far, we thought it a fi
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 t^r, Cookesley at Ashburton, and by
myself at Exeter College.

*So bold an underuking so precipitately an-
nounced, will give the reader, 1 fear, a highet
opinion of my conceit than of my talents ; nei-
ther the one nor the other, however, had the
smalleat concern with the business, which origi-
nated solely in ignorance : I wrote verses witl.
great facility, and I was simple enough tc
imagine that little mora was necessary for k
translator of Juvenal ! 1 was not, indeed, un-
conscious of my iuaccuracies : I knew that the}
were numerous, and that I had need of some
friendly e>e to point them out, and some judi
oious hand to rectify or remove them : but foi
these, as well as for every thing else, I look«;c
to Mr. Cookesley, and that worthy man, with
his usual alacrity of kindness, undertook the
laborious task of revising the whole translation
My friend was no great Latinist, perhaps I was
the better of the two ; but he bad taste asu

bers, and when rabseqaent ereata enabled me to tcoex
them, I wa.<« SHhamed to inquire after what was mosi
probably onwortJiy of

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udgrtieni, which T wanted. What advantajfcs
might have been ultimately derived from ttjem,
therv was unhappily no opportunity of asceruia-
iflg, as It pleaded the Almii^htv to call him to
hiovielf by a sudden death, bcft»K we had quite
ftni»hed the fttst Satire. He died with a letter
of mine, unopened, in his hands.

'I1iis event, which took place on the 15th of
January, 1701, aiBicted roe beyond measure.*
I was not only deurived of a most faithful and
affectionate uiend, but of a iralons 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 insenaibly cease to be af-
forded.

In many instances this was actually the case :
the desertion, however, was not general j 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 Cooke«ley'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 transiation was
exeeuted.f To obviate any idea of selection, a
sheet WAS accordingly Ukrn trom the iNsginniug
of the first Satire. Hy friend died while it was
in the prea

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
strug^e, without motive or end : and his idea,
which was perpetually recurring to roe, brought
such hitter anguish with it, that I shut up the
work with feelings bordering on distraction.

To rolieve mj mind, I had recourse to other •
pursuits. I enaeavoured to become more inti-
mately acquainted with the classics, and to
acquire some of the modem languages : by per-
mission too, or ra her 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 onadoraed aarrative on the 15th of
Jinvary. 1801 : twenty jean have therrfore elapMd
since I kwt my henefaeior sad my friend. In the in-
ierval I have wept a thoound times at the reeoUectioe
of hii. geodnen; I yet cherish his memorv with filial
respect: a»i at this distant period, my heart suks
wit&ia me at every repetition of his name.

4 Maay nf these papers were distriboted ; the terms,
which I estrar.t from one of them, were these: ** l*he
work shaV be printed in qvarto, (without notes,) and
be delivered tc the Sobserfbeis ia the month of Decern-

** The pnoe will he sixteen shillings in hoards, half
to be paid at the time ot snbncribing, the remainder on
laliveryof theVwk**

a heartfelt pleasure in mentioning this iBdnl.
genceof mycotlege: it could aiise from nothing
but the liberal desire inherent, I ihink, in the
members of both our Universities, to encourage
every thing that bears even the moNt di^t^nt re*
semblance to talenu; for I had no claims oa
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 tranuatioo, to which a wish to
serve a young man surrounded with difficulties
had induced a number of reaped able character!
to set their names; but alas, what a mortifica-
tion ! 1 now discovered, for the first time, thai
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 literanr at-
tainments were by no means sufficient. Errors
and misconcep lions 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 necemty of a long and pain-
ful revision, which would cairy roe far beyond
the period fixed for the appearance of the vo-
lume. Alarmed at the prospect, I instantly
resolved (if no! widely, yet I trust honesUy,) to
renounce the publication for the present.

In pursuance of this resolution, 1 wrote to my
friena in the country, (the Rev. Servington Sa-
very, j requesting him to return the subscription
money in bis 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 writh it ; and, in a subsequent one, added
that he had already begun to do so.

For myself, I also made several repayments |
and trusted a sum of money to make othei%
with a fellow collegian, who, not long after, fell
by his own hands in the presence of his lather.
But there were still some whose abode oouH not
be discovered, and others, on whom to press the
taking back of cigh». 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
pereeived 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 bv a gentleman of Devonshire,
whom I was proua of an opportunity to oblige.
Tliis 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 cover^
and sent to Lord Grosvenor* one day I inad-
vertently omitted the direction, and his UrUship

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MtcssKrdy ^■ppomig the letter to be me^nt for
himaeir, opened and read it. 1'iiere was gome-
Ibing ra it which attracted his notice ; and when
ha gave it to my friend, he had the eurioeity to
nqaire about nis corre^Mwdent at Ok ford ; end,
apon the answer he received, the kindness to
desire that he might be brought to tee him upon
his coming to town : to this ciicttmstance, pusely
accidental on all sides, and to this alone, I owe
By introdaction to that nobleman.

On my first visit, he asked me what friends I
had, and what were my prospeets 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 umstanoes had sunk deep into his mind. At
parting, he informed me that he chaiged himself
with my present support, and future establish-
ment ; and that till this last could be effected to
■rv wish, I should come and reside with him.
Toese 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 >ias known neither diminution nor interrup-
tion from that hour to this, a period of twenty
years!*

j In his lordship's house I proceeded with Ju-
venal, till 1 was caUed upon to accompany his
son (one of the most amiable and accomplished
yonng noblemen that this country, fertile in such
characters, conld ever boast) to the continent
Willi him, in two successive tours, I spent manT
years; years of which the remembrance wiu
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 mtrllowed into a regard that forms at once
the pride and happiness of my life.

It is long since I have been retamed 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 m.ve wished a thousand
times that I could decline it altogether; but the
ewer-recurring idea that there were people of
the description already mentioned, who had jiist
and forcible claims on me for the due perform-
ance of my engagement, forbad the thought;
and I dowly 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 BelaBckoly satiitfaetioB in reeording that
fliis revered frimd aod patnm lived to wilncw 1117
gnitrfal ackaowledfiBCBt of his kiadncw. He sop>
vired the appearance of the translation bat a very few
days, aad I paid the last sad dntj to bis memory, by
atmdinf kis remains to the grave. To m#— this la>
honoas work has not been happy : the same disastrons
event that marked its commencesMnt has embittered
Its eoaelnsioa ; and frequntly forced njxm my reeol-
Isetioo the calamity oC the rebnilder of^JericbiK ** He
hud tha liMiadatioa thereof ia Abiram, his first bora,
and en «p the gates thereof in bis yonngsst scm, Se-

fered us to suspect for a moment tli^ 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 m now htSon tiM

najomcananM.

EmdoftkeMn

Mr. GiFfOftb.

Haying attained an nniyersity edacation
by private beneToleDce,and arrived at nobis
and powerful patronage by a circumstance
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 arrived 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 '* fiaviad and Mc
viad," a satire unsparinrly severe on certain
feahionable 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 froiL
charges of illiberal disposition towards
Shakspeare, and calumnies of a personal
nature, which bad 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 pi inter before he
died.

When the ** Quarterly Review " was
projected, Mr. Gifibrd 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
emolumenU of his pen, Mr. Gifford had
six hundred pounds a year as a comptrollei
of the lottery, and a salary of three hun-
dred pounds as paymaster of the band of
g^entlemen-pensioners.

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

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followingf imitation of the ** Otium Dtros
Rogat " of Horace.—" I transcribe it," says
Mr. Gifibrd, " for the press, with mingled
sensations of gratitude and delight, at the
fiivourable change of circumstances which
we have both experienced since it was
written."

Wolfs ruVd OB death ia mubood't bloom*
Paolef eropt aloiriy to tho tomb ;

Hore broath, there fame was |;tTen :
And Aat wise Power who wei|(hs oar lire*,
Bj CMtrm, and by pro*, eontrirei

To keep the balaaoe etw.

To thee the gare two piercisf •jea,
A body, jiut of Tydeiu' ase,

A jodpnent eouid, and dear ;
A mind with rarioos eeieooe fraught.
A liberal aonl, a threadbare coat,

Aad forty ponnds a year.

To me, one eye, not oter good ;

Two sidee, that, to their cost, hare stood

A ten yean* hectio oongh;
Aehei, stitches, all the nomeroos lUs
That swell the der'ti^h doetora* bills.

And sweep poor mortals off.

A eoat more bare than thine ; a soul
That spams the erowd's malign ooatronl }

A &x*d oontempt of wrong |
Spirits aboTO afflietion's powV,
And skiU to charm the lonely hottr

With no inglorioae song.

#mmana.

Advebtisement.

The followinfl^ 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 Kreat 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 fob Bankino.

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

manded the sum from his master, and gav«
notice that he would quit his place. The
master inquired the reason or the man*s
precipitancy, who told his lordship, ** that
ne and a fellow-servant were about to set
up a eouutry bank, and they wanted the
wages for a capital /"

March of Intellect.

In *• Tlie 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 Mter 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 J*ime» newspaper a
few days sinct, respecting a school assist-
ant, I beg to state that I should be happy
to fill that situation ; but as most of my
fi'eude reside m London, and not knowing
how far Homer and Virgil u from town, I
beg to state that I should not like to engage
to teach the elaaeica farther than Hammer'
emith or Titmham Green, or at the very ut-
most distance, farther than Brentford,
fFating 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 apark for the situa-
tion, and his letter remained unanswered.
(This puts us in mind of a person who once
advertised fur a " atroug eotd heaver,^ and
a poor man calling upon him the day after,
saying, ** he had not got such a thing as a
< etrontf coal heaver^ but he had brought
a *atrong coal ecuttle, made of the best
iron ; and if that would answer the purpose,
he should have it a bargain."}-^ Tlm^f, 1«f
January, 1827

MissiNO A Sttlb.

Soon after the publication of Miss Bur-
ney's novel, callea ^ 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 7 Reviewing the incidents in her
memory, she replied, ''The style? the
style?— Oh 1 sir, I am not come' to thai
yetr

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^n

THE NEWSMAN.

"I, thftt do Mng th« newi.*

Shak^peart,

Onr eaOtnc, however the Tnlgtr maj deem,
Wm of old, both on high and below, In esteem ;
E'en the goda were to mnch onrioeitr given.
For Hermet wm onlj the Newnum of heaven.

Benoe with winga to hie cap, and hia ttaff, and hie heeb.
Be depictured appean, which our mjtt^ry reveala.
That HAM flies like wind, to raise sorrow or lanffhter.
While leaning on Time, ntUk comes heavilj after.

Nmotmm't Vlgrut, 1747.

The newnnaii is a " lone person." His
tmiinesB, ftod he, are distinct from all other
oocupationsi and people.

All the year round, and every day in the
year, the newsman must rise soon after four
o'clock, and be at the newspaper offices to

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procure a few of the fint morning pa-
pers allotied to him, at extra chai-ges, for
particular orders, and despatch them by the
" early coaches.*' Afterwards, he has to wait
for his share of the ♦♦ regular " publication
of each paper, and he allots these as well
as he can among some of the most urgent of
his town orders. The tiext 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 sucoessively 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
the 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-
i ing ana defer the newsman. His patience,
j well-worn before he gets his ** latt 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
tieard than admitted, for neither giver nor
receiver has time to parley ; and before he
gets home to dinner, he hears at one house
that '* Matter 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 ham it ell ;** and some
ill-conditioned " master," perchance, leaves
positive orders, ** Don't take it in, but tell
the man to bring the bill ; and 111 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
ftny time, so that it is left the full hour ; and
among all of these there are malecon tents,
who permit nothing of ** time or circum-
stance*' to interfere with their personal con-
venience. Though the newsman delivers,
and allovrs the use of his paper, and fetches
it, for a stipend not half equal to the lowest
^id poitcr*^ price for letter-carrying in
London, yet he finds some, with whom he
covenanted, obiecting, when it is called for,
— " Tve not had my breakfast,"— <• Tlie
paper did not come at the proper time,**'—
■^ rve not had leisure to look at it yet,**—

•* It has not been lefl an hour,"— ^r any
other pretence equally futile or untrue,
which, were he to allow, would prevent him
from serving his readers in roration, or at
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,
be must wait till the newsmen of the Itoyal
Exchange have received their«, for the
use of the merchants on *Chansre. 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 customem. Thes«
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-office?.
Tae 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. On
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, asc^tain how
many of each paper he will require on the
morrow, arrange his ac^unts, ^ovide for
the money he may hav^ occasion for, eat
the only quiet meal he eould 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 '.ind the ^re of a wa^--
fanngman. He walks, or rather runs, to dis-
tribute information concerning all sorts oi

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cucumstaaces and persons, except his own.
He is unable, to allow himself, or others, time
fop intimacy, and therefore, unlpss he had
formed fftiendsbips 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 auart ** from society
*n geoeral ; for, though he mixes with every
body, it is only for a few hurried moments,
aod as stianven do in a crowd.

Cowper's familiar desciiption of a news-^
paper^ with ite multiform intelligence, and
the pleasure of reading it in the country,
never tiresy aiid in this place is to the pur-
pose.

TUa feUo of four pages, liappf work I
Wkiek Bot t^n eritie* ericieiM ; that WMa
Iaq[«intivo Atteatioa, wbile I nad,
?aat booad ia ehaias of aileace, whiek tha fair,
.Thoofk aloqocat (heaaelTM, jret faar to bcaak,
Wiua ia iUbttCa map of Uasjr Ufa,
Its iaetaatioas, aad ita vast ooaoanu?
Houaa ia aahaa, aad tho fall of stocks,

Birtka, dsatk#, aad auniagea .

' Tke graad dsbata,

TlM popalar kanugoa, tke tart rapljr,
Tko kfie, aad tke visdom, aad tke wit»
Aad Um load laagk-

Cat*raeta of declamatioa tkoader kere ;
Tkeia focasta of ao meaaiof spread the page^
la wkiek all coapreheasion waaders lost;
While fields of pleasaatry amose as there^
With BMrrj deaeaots oa a aatioa's woea.
Tke rest appemn a wUdenieas of straaga
Bat gaj ooafanoa; raoea for tke ckeeka,
Aad Uiea fiv tk: browa of fitded age,
Taetk 1^ tke tootkleaa, riagleta for tke baU,
Reav^ eartk, aad ooeaa, plnader'd of tkeir awaeti^
Keetareoaa eaeeaces, Oljrmptaa drwa,
SeraMNU. aad eity feaata, aad favVite ain^
JEtkereal joomiea, aabiaariae exploita,
Aad Katerfelto, witk kia kair aa eod
At kia awa voodera, waad'riag for kia bread.

Tm pleaeaat, tkroagk tke loopbolea of retro*;!.
To peep at aaek a world; to aee the stir
Of tke great Babel, aad aotfeel the crowd;
To bear tke roar she aeada throagk aU her gatea.
At a aafe distaaee, where the dying aoand
faUs a soft marmar oa tk* aniigored ear.
Tkaa aittiag, aad aarreyiag tkaa, at eaee.
Hit globe aad ita coaoeraa, I aeen advaaeed
Ta aone aeeare aad aMwe tkaa laortal keight.
That fiVratoa aad exaoipU aa from tkem aU.

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

Hark! *tb tta twaagiag bora oTer yooder bridge,
Tkat witk its waariaooM bat afedfal lengtk
Bestridea tka wiatrj flood, ia which the rnooa
Sees her aawriaklod face reflected bright;^
He ooaMs* tka karald of a aour world.

With spatter'd boote, strappM waisf, aad fn»««i leeks
News frofli all nations lamb'nog at his back
Trve to his charge, the close pack*d load behiad
Yet careloHB what he brings, his one coacera
Is to oondnet it to the deatin'd ion ;
And, having dropp'd th' expected bsf , pass oa.
He wbiatlea aa he goes, lighr-hearted wretch.
Cold and jret cheerful : meseenger of grief
Perhaps to thoaaands, aad of jojr to ooase ;
To hint indilF'reat whether grief or joj.

Methinks, as I have always thought, that
Cow per 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, oi
which he is ignorant, why should it be

** To him indirrent whether gnef or joj T

If *cold, and yet cheerful," he has at-
tained 10 the ** practical philosophy " ol
bearing ills with patience. Ue is a fiozen
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, lad close the shatters fisat.
Let fall the eartaina, wheel the sofa round,
Aad, while tkebubbliag aad load-kissiag ara
Tkrows ap a steamy colama, and tke eupe,
Tkat ekeer, bat not iaebriate, wait oa eaek.
So let aa welcome paaeeful eT*aing 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 1*' on his
further forlorn journey through the wintry
blast.

In London scarcely any one knows the
newsman but a newsman. His customeis
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 the
paper from his successor, and says, whei
she carries it up stairs, '* If you please, the
newsnian*s dead :** they scarcely ask wherr
he lived, or his fall occasions a pun — '* We
always said he tra#, and now we have

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proof that he i», the hte newsman." They
are almost as unooncerned 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 opSen to a small boon.
" Tlie 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.

* althongii Che mute oonpUtoa

And nngs of woes in mclaneholjr ttraini.
Yet Hope, at lut, atrikes np her trembling wires.
And bids Despair forsake jour glowing fires.
While, as in oldfn time, HravenS gifts yon shar^
And Englishmen enjoy their Christmas fare ,
While at the social board fnend joins with friend.
And smiles and jokes and saluUtions blend.
Yoar Newsman wishes to be social too.
And would enjoy the opening year with you:
Grant him yoar annnal gift, he will not fail
To drink yonr health once more with Christmas ale:
Long may you live to share yonr Christmas eheer.
And he still wish you many a happy year I**

The losses and crosses to which news-
men are subject, and the minutis 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.

€f)t 29rama.

LiCENSI 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, ai
Reed, or perhaps George Steevens, the
commentator, who assbited 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 continuar
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,' hut Calls infi .
oitely 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 on
nis shelves, a^ain obtruded it for public
patronage, with a new title, " The Cata-
clasm, or General Delup^e of the World,**
1684, 4to. ; and again as "The Deluge, or
Destruction of the World," 1691, 4lo., with
the addition of sculptures These attempts
probably exhausted the stock on hand, a^
some years afterwards, it was reprinted io
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 Licenet.

** 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 Kreeting. Know yee that wheras
George Bayley of London Musitioner de-
sires of me a Placard (o 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 Seale of England
to licence & allow the said George Bayley
wth eight Servants wch are of his Com-
pany to make shew of the said PUy called
Noah's flood wth other Scenes requireing
you and euery of you m his Maties Name
to pmitt & Suffer the said Persons to shew
the said Play called Noah's flood, and to
be'aidiDg & assisting them & euerv of than

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THE TABLE BOOK.

if &ny wrong or ininry be offered vnto hira
or any of them Provided that he and they
doe not act any thinsr offensiue against ve
lawes of God or of the Land, and that he
k. they doe make shew of the said Noah's
flood at lawfuil times wth Exception of the
Lords Day or any other Day m the time
of Devine Service, or on any other day
prohibited by Proclamation or other law-
fuil Authority. And this Licence to con*
tinae for a year and noe lonj^re from the
day of the date hearof and to Serue throagh-
oat the Kingdome of Rngiand Scotland &
Ireland & all other his Maties. Territories
Si Dominions the said Geo. Bayly haueing
gitien me security for his good behauiour
that hee doe not intrench vpou the lawes
of the land. Giuen at his Maties. Office of
the Revilts vnder my hand It Seale of the
said Office the fowerteenth day of A prill
one thou!«and six hundred sixty and two &
in the fowerteenth year of the raigne of oV
Soneraiene Lord Charles ye Second by the
grace of God of England Scotland fiVance
and Ireland King Defender of the faith &c.

J. PoYMTZ.

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 flbrty
Daies."

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

I am. Sir, Sec

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 GaassiNGTON Manager and bis
Theatrical Company, Craven, York-

shirs.

For the Table Book.

^ Nothing like thif in London !**

Jokm Rttve in Peregrine Protent.

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

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

6entle reader! should you ever visit
Skipton- in-Craven, go on the market-day,
and fftand opposite to the vicarage-house id
the High-street ; there you wiil 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 bithold
approach the owner, a little, fat, old man,
with reddish whiskers and a jolly face, that
Listoo 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 at
idle strolling company, instead of now
being a country carrier, you might have
been blessed with a comfortable indepen-
dence r* Think not so harshly of Airay ;
though not the manager of a patent theatre,
nor of one •* by royal authority," he nevei
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, wortlilesfl, mta^ieriiif man wm lie.
Bat la the dales, of konest pareote bred,

TrninM to a life of koneet indnttry,
H« with the lark in siiiiimer left his bed.
Thro* the sweet calm, by moraing twilight shed,

Walkinf to laboor by that cheerful soi^,
Aad. makia^ a pare pleasure of a tread,

When wiater oame with nif hts so dark sad lonf ,

Twas his, with minue art, to amnse a village thronff i

Tom Airay*s sole theatre was at Grass-
ington ; and that was only ** open for the
season " — for a few weeks in tne 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. Tbey chose rather to
earn a scanty pittance by acting, than to
tiouble their neighbours for eleemosynary
support

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THE TABLE BOOK.

The eorpt dramattqne of Tom Airay
consisted ohieily of yoanif men, (they had
00 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
realised about a thousand pCHinds.

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 : erer foremost in mischief, he, more
than once, almost blew up the staj;e by gun*
powder, half suffocated the audience by
assafoetida, 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 O- — ^ the
cddler and comic singer : he exists no longer.
There was Waddilove, and Frankland of
Hetton, and Bill Cliff, the Skipton poet
and bailiif--all dead! There were, also,
the Hetheringtons, and Jack Solomon the
besom maker, and Tommy Suromersgili the
barber and clock maker, and Jack L ■ ■
the politician of Thresh field, 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 bow
superior the American rivers are to those

** That throofh onr Tallias run

SiDpng and dancing in the gleams
Of sammer'i cloudless Kim.*

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 theCoburg) 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,*
tne Craven word for barn,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 {>erform- 1
anoes, a ** box** was fitted up, by railing oA :
a pait of the pit, and covering it, by way '
of distinction, with brown paper, painted
to represent drapeiy. The prices were,
pit sixpence, and gallery threepence. I be-
lieve they had no halt 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 in
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 modem 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 editors
to criticise and report. The audience was
always numerous, (no empty benches there)
and respectable people orten 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 had
pronunciation. Cicero was called Kikkeroj
twhich, by the by, is probably the correct
one;) Africa was called Afryka, fatigued
ViTiS fattygewedy and pageantry was always
called paggyantry. Well do I remember
Airay exclaiming, *' What pump^yrhzipag'
gyantry is there herel** and,* on another
occasion, saying, " Ye damouM o* deeth eonu
tattle my ewurd!** 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 theb 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

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fcspect they paid to his abilities, that they
received his aeceiTing tricks i»ith tbaDkful-
neas. 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-
SMi/if/tt^ were equally if^'norant — as a dernier
reteortf application was made to their old
friend, the knight of the birch, who in-
structed them that ^ piquet*' was the French
word for pie-^mt, 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 euMantial one.

The plays usually perfbrroed at Grassing-
ton were of the regular drama, the produc-
tions of Shakspeare, Dryden, Otwajr, or
liUo. George' Barnwell has many a time
called the Craven maids to forget ^ Tur-
pin,** and ^ Nevison,** and bloody squires,
and weep at the Ihockint^ catastrophe of
the grocer's apprentice. Melodramas were
unknown to them, and happy had it been
for tbe dramatic talent ot this country if
they had remained unknown elsewhere ;
for since these innovations, mastiff dogs,
monkeys, and polichmellos have followed
in rapid succession, and what monetrum
horrendum will next be introduced, is diffi-
cult to conceive. We may say,

** Alas* for the drama, its day has gons 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 countiy it came
fnim, and whetliei 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

a«y in his youth, oar flay wt rail,
▲C sis to thi hayiMW* his ys aU 1

This not only apprised 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-

• la CrftTSB. the har is not sUrked an in tht soath.
hot hoasu^ in barns, which from this 0
hay^

sence. It was also preferable to priutini;,
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 indeoency. In these respects, Tom
Airay's theatre might serre as a model to the
patent houses in town, wherein it is to be
feared tbe original intent of the stage, that
of improving the mind by inculcatlnff morali-
ty, is perverted. Whenever Airay tiOies a re-
trospective glance at his theatrical manage-
ment, he can do it with pleasure ; for never
did be pander to a depraved appetite, or ren«
der his bam a spot wherein the yicious
Would covet to congregate.

t. Q. M.

liUrarp ^bdtps

** Tar. Sybil's Leates, or a Peep htto
Futurity, publijjhed by Ackermann, Strand,
and Lupton Reife,Comhill,'* 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 vice
verea. From these packs, each !ady or
gentleman wishing to have *' the moet itn-'
portant poinu tn/ol/ift^ predicted " is to
draw a card.

The idea of telling fortunes at home is
▼ery 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 virpin 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.''

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THE ANCIENT RIVER FLEET AT CLERKENWELL.

Lo 1 hither Fleet-frrooifc came. In f onner UmM wlTd the lleet-HMr,
Which n*Tiee once rode on. In present times hidden for erer,
BftTe where watto-cresses and sedge mark its oosing and creeping.
In jonder old meadows, from whence it kgs slowly— as weeping
Its present miigivings. and obsolete use, ant) renown—
And bearing its burdens of shame and abuse into town.
On meeting the buildings sinks into the earth, nor aspires
To decent-ejed people, till forced to the Thames at Blackfri'n.

In 1B25, this was the first open view
Dearest London of the ancient River Fleet :
it was taken during the building of the
high-arched walls connected with the
House of Conection, 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
Bag^igge-wells, on its W87 to a covered
channel, whereby it passej between Tum-
milUstreet, 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 fioro the New Kiver 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 repiesented in the print,
through a large barrel dtain, into the course
just mentioned, near Tummill-street. This
notice of the deviation, and especially the
last appearance of the river in its immemo-
rial cnannel, may be of interest, becausr
the Fleet is llieonly ancient stream running

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bto London which is not yet wholly lost
to sight

, The RiTer Fleet at its sooice, in a 6eld
30 the London side of the Hampstead
ponds, is merely a snlgy ditchling, scaieel^
baif a step across, and ** winds its sinuosi-
ries 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 throngh the Tunnel at Pen
toDTille to the City-road, is conyeyed over
it by an arch. From this place its width
inrreaMS, till it reaches towards the west
nde of the road leading from Pancras
Worfchouse to Kentish Town. In the rear
of the houses on that side of the road, it
becomes a brook, washing the edge of the
f irdeo in front of the premises late the
, tteieo^pe-f^undery and printinK«o(licPS of
I Mr. Amlfew 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
toonels to Baitle-bridge, and there levels
oat to the eye, and runs sluggishly to Bag-
nigge-wells, where it is at its greatest
width, which is about twelve feet across ;
fiom thence it narrows to the House of Cor«
Kction, and widens again near Tummill-
street, and goes to the Thames, as above
described.

Id 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 Holbom-bridge and
Fleet-brid|ee into the Thames, had been of
such breadth and depth that ten or twelve
ibips at once, ** navies with merchandise,"
were wont to come to Fleet-bridge, and
•ome of them to Holboro-bridee ; yet that,
by filth of the tanners and others, and by
' raising of wharfs, and especially by a diver*
I 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
•heriffs of London, were diiected 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 brooght to its old depth and breadth,
and therefore it was no longer termed »

river, but a brook, called Tuine-mtll or
Tremill Brook, because milb were erected
oniL

Af^er tliis, it was cleansed several tines,
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 Holbom-bndge.

In 1589, by authority of Uie common
council of London, a thousand marks were
collected to draw several of the springs al
Hampstead-heath into one head, for the j
service of the City with fresh water where ,
wanted, and in onler that by such ** a foU ;
lower," as it was termed, the channel of j
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 tlirowing of soil into the
stream, it became worw clogged than
ever.*

After the Fire of London, the channel
was made navii[able for barges to come up,
by the assistance of the tide from the
Tnames, as far as Holbom*bridge, where
the Fleet, otherwise Tummill-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 fetA water, at the lowest tide, at Hol-
bom-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 Holbom.

When the dtixens proposed to erect a
mansion-house for their lord mayor, they
filed on Stocks- market, wheie the Man-
sion-house now stands, for its site, and
Eroposed to arch the Fleet^litch, from
lolbom to Fleet-street, and to remove that
market to the ground they wonld 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 Holbom-bridge, yet
the profits from the navigation had not an-
swered the change ; that the part from
Fleet-bridge to Holbom-bridge, instead of
tieing usefol to trade, had become choked
with mud, and was therefore a nuisance^
and that several persons had lost their lives

•8toir*tS«xvtv.

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by ftiUing i«to it. For these uid 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
firteen feet in height. The ditch was ac-
cordingly arched oyer from Ilolborn to
Fleet-bridge, where the present obeli^tk 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.
I 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
for a considerable time, owing to the obsti-
nate persistence of a private proprietor.*

Previous to the first arching or the Fleet,
Pope, in ^The Dunciad,'' imagined the
votaries of Dulness diving and sportiDg in
Fleet-ditchy which he then called

The kinf of dyktt I tku whom bo ihiiM of Bid
Witk dcepor uble bloto tko tUver flood.

"I recollect,** says Pennant, ** the present
nohle approach to Blackfriars-bridge, the
well-built opening of Chatham-place, a
muddy and genuine ditch.'' It has of late
been renderal 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 lioman 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-brii'ge, ^wo brass
lares, or household gods, of the Romans,
about four inches in leneth, were dug out ;
one a Ceres, and the other a Bacchus, llie
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, Heals 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

• Nonrthoiifik,
i lUltiMd. Fi

Sometime before the year 1714, Mt
John Conyers, an apothecary in Fleets
street, who made it his chief business to
collect antiquities, which about that time
were daily found in and alx>ut 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 ^tened into a shaft of
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, aa
anchor was found in it as high up as the
Elephant and Castle, which is immediately
opposite Pancras workhouse, and at the
comer 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 UoU
bom.t

Fhat 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 vallev between the Bagnigge-wells-
road and Uray'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 fTeU, in the west
part of the citie, and of old so called of the
fFcU ,-" and he tells of its running from
the moor near the north comer of the wall
of Crippl«*gate p«>stern. 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 proo&
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 Mait-
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.

• Ijittrr from Bagfbrd ro Hranie.
f NeLoB*s History of laliogtoiw

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Samtarp.

If 70a sre itt at this season, there is no
oocasioo to send for the doctor— only ttop
emtiug. Indeed, upon general principles,
it seems to me to be a mistake ror people,
ever^ 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.*

AnOLIIIO IV jAMUiKftT.

Dark ia <k« errr-iowiaf streui.

Aid aow &Ut<m the Ukei
Ibr BOW tiM Doontid* tniuf beam

Scaree piereea bower aad brake ;
Aad flood, or earboi fiost, dretroja
▲ portioB of the aaglei's joji.

Tet etiU w^n talk of spttrtt gww by*

Of trianpbs we have woa.
Of waters we afata ikall trj,

Wkea fli»ark]iaf ia tke sua 1
Of fsfoarite kaaati. bf aiead or del],
Beaati wUek tke fleher feToe so welL

Of stately Tbames, of gentle Lsftt

Tke merry mooareh's seat;
Of Dittea*s stream, of Atob's braa,

Or Mitckam*8 miU retreats
Of waters by the meer or mill,
Aad aU that tries tke aagler's skilL

AmmUm o/Sp»rti»0.

Plough Monday.

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

Of late years at this season, in the
islands of Scilly, the young people eitercisf a
sort of gallantry called **goc«e- dancing."
The maidens are dressed up for young
men, and the yuung men tor maidens;
and, thus disguised, they visit iheir neigh-
boors 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.^

• lfaBtkl]r.Mafumie. Janaarr, 1897*
* 1 307«

t Strattfi bports, 2

WiLLY-HowE, Yorkshire.
For the Tabk B^ok.

There is an artificial mount, by the tide
of the road leading from North Burton to
Wold Newton, near Bridlington, in York-
shire, called <* Willy-howe," much exceed-
ing in siie the generality of our « hows."
of which I have often heard the most pre-
pKwterous stones related. A eavity 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, dog
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,

Wketker God*a wUl or aot, we*U kave tkts ark."*
He, however, had no sooner pronounced
this awful blasphemy, than all the traces
broke, and the cliest sunk still deeper in tfie
hill, where it yet remains, all his f^iture
efforts to obtain it being iu vain.

The inhabitants of the neighbourhood
also speak of the place being peopled with
iairies, and tell of the many extraordinary
feats which this diminutive race has per*
formed. A fairy once told a nun. to whom
it appears she was particularly attached, it
he went to the tup of " Willy-bowe " ever/
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 j
this a consecrated spot ; but how they
could at first originate,is somewhat singular. '

That •< Hows," ** Camedds," 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 hydrctaphia,
or urn-burial, was the custom among the
Romans^ and interment the practice of the

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Britons, it is reasonable to conjecture,
where such insignia are discovered, the
tumuli are the sepulchres of some British
nhieftain% who fell in the Roman senrice/
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*plaoe 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
*' fFiUy and ViU among the English
Saxons, as Vlele at this day among the
Germans, signified many. So fVilUelmue^
the defender of many. tFilfred^ 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 app^-ar 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 unacc untable 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 last descendinsr- Thus may
probably have arisen the principal feature
m the history of their origin.

This mode of sepultuie appears to be
very ancient, and that it was very general
is sutficiently demonstrated by the hills yet
remaining in distant parts of the world.
Dr. Clarke, who noticed their existence in
Siberia and Rus^ian-Tartary, thinks the
practice is alluded to in the Old Testament
in these parages : <* 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 Kct.
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,
^ho was killed in the vicinity, and whose
head aud 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 txsen examined, but,
with a vain arrogance, assumes the power
of digging though them at pleasure. For
my own part, I must confess, 1 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
overyears, wbat generatio s ha«e followed
generation «, and feel an interest leculiarl)
and flelicately solemn, in the fate of thost^
whose dust is here mingled with its kin-
dred dust.

T. C.

Bridlington.

Horn Church in Essex.
For the Table Book,

In reply to the inquiry by Ignotus, in the
Every-Day Book^ vol. ii. p. 1650, respect-
ing the origin of affixing boms 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. 3-6, 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 tho<e horns to
be put. out at the east end of it."

The vane, on the top of the spire, is alsc
in the form of an ox*s nead, with the horns
** The hospiul had neither college nor coni-
mon seal.* Jjj^

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dtstoxai*

Tbb prueht Boar's Head Carol.

For the Table Book.

Mr. Editor, — In reading your account of
the ** Boar's Head Carol, in your Svery^
Datf Bookj Tol. i. p. 1619, I find the old
carol, but not the words of the carol as
sung at present in Queen's Collefr«t 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 uhristtmas-dav, 1810, at which
time I was a member ot the college, and
assisted at the chant.

A boards 1i«ad ia hand bear I,
Bedeek'd %ritli baja and roMmarf;
And I praf jroo, mj masten, be merrf,
Qaot estis in oonvivio.-*

Capaf apri dafero^

Raddeas laades Domino.

The boar's head, as I nnderetaad,
U the rarest di»h in all this Itnd;
Aad whea bedsek'd with a gaj garland
Let OS serrire eaatieo.—
CapaC apri, ke^

Onr fteward hath provided iMi,
la hoBoar of the King of bliss:
Which on this day to bo servod ia
la refiaenm ntno.—
Caput apri, Sse.

I am. Sec.

A QUONDAM QUEEMSMAN

Beating the Lapstone.
For the Table Book.

There is a custom of *' beating the lap-
stone," the day after Christmas, at Nettle-
Ion, near Burton. The shoemakers beat
the lapstone at the bouses of si: 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
I his good dame said, " John, where have
'yon been ?— why, you are in liquor?" —
I ** No, I am not," hiccnped John, •* I've
only fell over the lapstone, and that has
beaten mp leg, so as I can't walk quite
right." ilence the annual practical joke—
" beating the lapstone."

P.

inaimertf.

Oaiiblino-houses A Century aoo.
FfWB •* The London Mefenrj ** of Jaaaary 13^ 17S1-1.

There are, it seems, in the parish of
Coven t-garden, twenty -two such houses,
some of which clear sometimes 100/., and
seldom less than 40/ a night. They have
their proper officers, both civil and militaiy,
with salaries proportionable to their respec-
tive degrees, and the importance they are
of in the service, viz.

ji eommieeiotter, 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.

ji director, who superintends the room.
I%e operator, the dealer at faro.
Croupees two, who watch the card, and
gather the money for the bank.

^ ptiff, one who has money given him
to piay, in order to decoy others.

A clerk, who is a check upon the pufi^ to
tee that he sinks none of that money. — A
90uib is a puff of a lower rank, and lias half
the salary of a puff.

AJUuher, one who sits by to swear how
often he has seen the bank stripL
A dunuer, 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-
houses, is a soldier hired for that purpose.

A runne^, to get intelliffence 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.

^mmanae

Taste.

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

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

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or to condemn — to gaze with rapture, or to
turn away with disgust, where another shall
pass and see nothing to excite the slightesr
emotion. The fair creation of nature, and
the works of man afford him a wide fie- ] of
continual gratification. The brook, brawl-
ing o^er iu bed of rocks or pebbles, half
concealed by the overhanging bushes that
fringe its banks— or the great river flowing,
in unperturbed majesty, through a wide 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 man, 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 huinblest
order may be so beautifully situated, so
neatly kent, and so tastefully adorned
with woodmne and jessamine, as to call
forth bii admiration equally with the
princely residence of the British landholder,
in all its pride of position, and splendour
of architecture.

In shorty this fiicultv is applicable to
every object ; and he who finas any thing
too lofty or too humble for his admiration,
does not possess it. It is exercised in the
erery-day afiairs of life as much as in the
highier arts and sciences. — Monthly Magm-

Two Ravehs, abroad.

On the quay at Nimeguen, in the United
Provinces, two rav€n» aie 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 origmally
upon the observance of this strange custom,
which is continued to this day.

Two Raveks, at home.

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

meeting them, sent the poor boy home,
took his nephew in his a-ms, 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 beinff missed, and inquiry
made after him, Elkes fled, and look rhe
road to London ; the neighbours sent two
horsemen in pursuit of him, who passing
along the road near South Mims, in Hert-
fordshire, saw 1100 ravciu sitting on a cock
of hay making an unusupl noise, and pull-
ing the hay about with 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 fiict. He was brought
to Shrewsbury, tried, condemned, and hung
in chains on Knockinheath.

The last Tree of the Forest.

Wkisper, thov trw, th«a koely tree.

One, wheie a thoveaad stood t
WeU micht pcond teles be told by thee.

Lest of tbe solemn wood 1

DweUs there no voice amidst Ihf boof he.

With leeres yet darkly fraen?
Sttllnees is roend, and noontide gluw^—

Tell vs what thoo hast seen I

•* I hare seen the fei«st«haiIo»s be

Where now men reap the oom ;
I hare aean the kingly chase rash by,

Throngh the deep gladee at mora.

■■ With the glance of many a gallant spear.

And the wave of many a plume.
And the boanding of a hundred deer

It hath lit the woodlaad's gloom.

** I hare seen the knight and his train ride pavt^

With his banner borne on bigh ;
O'er all my leares there wae brightnese cast

From his gleamy panoply.

•• The pilgrim at my feet hath laid
His palm-branch *midst the dowers.

And toM his beads, and meekly pray'd,
Kneelirg at resper-honrs.

*' And the merry men of wild and glen.

In the grssn arrey they wore,
Ha?e feasted here with Uie red wine's cheeiv

And the hanter-eonp of yore.

** And the minstrel, reeting in my shade.

Hath made the foreet ring
With the ferdly ^es of the hifl^ crasadei

Onee loved by chief and king.

** Bat now the noble formi are gens^

That wiUk'd the earth of old;
The soft wind hath a mournfol tone,

The sonny light looks told.

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* TVre ^9 no glory left as bow
Ukc tM f k»rx with lb* deiwl :—

I wMld th»t where they slniober low.
My latest iMvee were shed.**

Oil ! than dark tree, thou lonely tree.

That nonmeKt for the paatt
A peaeaat'tf home m thy shade I tee,

£Bbowef*d froin every bUet.

▲ kively aad a mirthful eoaad

Of laaghter noeta mine ear i
For the poor naa'e ehildsea eport aroapd

Oa the tarf, with aoofht to fear.

And roect lend that eabin'k wall

A happy sammer-g low,
Aad the open door aUnds free to all.

For it reeks uot of a foe.

Aad the village-bells are ea the breeaa
That atira thy leaf, dark tree 1—

-r-How caa I aMmra, amidst things like these.
For the stonay past with thee ?

Miss Polly Baker.

Towwds the end of 1 T77, the abW Raynal
calling on Dr. Franklin found, in company
with the doctor, their common friend, Silas
Deane. ** Ah ! monsieur Tabb^/' said
Deane, •* we were jwt talking of you and
your works. Do you know that you have
been very ill served by some of those people
I who have undertaken to give y<>" informa-
; lion on American affairs T The abbe re-
sisted this atUck with some warrolh ; and
Deane supported it by citing a yariety of
passages from Raynars works, which he
alleged to be incorrect. At last they came
I to t&e anecdote of •* Polly Baker," on which
the abb€ had displayed a great deal of

Kthos and sentiment. " Now here," says
nine, •• is a Ule in which there is not one
, word of truth." Raynal fired at this, and
! asserted that he had Uken it from an au-
thentic memoir received from Araeiica.
Franklin, who had amused himself hitherto
with listening to the dispute of his friends,
at length interposed, "My dear abW,"
said he, •* shall I tell you the truth? When
I was a yowng man, and rather more
thoughtless than is becoming at our present
time of life, I was employed in writing for
a oevespaper; and, as it sometimes hap-
pened tnat I wanted genuine materials lo
fill up my page, I occasionally drew on the
stores of my imagination for a tale which
might pass current as a realiiy--now this
ve^ anecdote ol Polly Baker was one of
my inventions.

BuFAD Seals.

The new conundrum of ** breaa pats,"
as the ladies chU 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
afiche — 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-
ir.aker for some undue degree of tightness
in the fitting of the sleeve I and then the
same emblem, recurring through the whole
letter-wriiing of a life, became tedious. But
now every lady has a selection of axioms
(in flower and water) always by her, suit-
ed to different occasions. As, "Though
lost to Mighty to memory dear I" — when
she writes to a friend who has lately haa
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, " row*
le merited /*' 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 with
the personification of a hortewhip under it,
instead of a " rose *' — ^for peculiar occa-
sions. And perhaps a second would not
do amiss, with the same emblem, only with
the motto, «• 7^ tauras /** as a sort of co-
rollary upon the first, in cases of emer-
gency I At all events, I patronise the sys-
tem of a variety of " posies ;" because
wnerc the inside of a letter is likely to be
stupid, it gives you the chance of a joke
upon the out.— ifonM/y MagMnt

Blcedimo Foa our Countrt.

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 ocCk.sion, wanting his vote, came
to him, and, after having conversed upon
indiff*»rf i»t matters, com| Ij^iiied of ihe head-
acl:e, and desired his lordship to feel his
pulse Lord Radnor immediately advised

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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, afWr
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 hare 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 eouniry»"

A Village New Year.

For the Table Booh.

** AlmackV 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 ) ear" 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 pics, which,
with made wine^, ales, and spirits, are, like
the blocks for fuel, piled in store for all
partakers, gentle and simple. Extra best
oeds, stAbling, and hay, are made ready, —
fine celery dug, — ^the clima servicerand pew-
ter plates examined,— in short, want and
wish are anticipated, nothing is emitted,
but every efibrt 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 vritnessed in places
where peace and plenty abound. However,
I will not be at war by conjecture, but sup-
pose much of the milk of humu) kindness
to be shared with those who look at the
sunnv 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-
voariie 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 ** oand** (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** are
tuning the handbells, and tlie admirers of
the '* steeple chase*' loiter about the church-
yanl 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
end squeeze by stealth, dancing is resumed
and, according to custom, a change o'

Sartners takes place, often to the joy and
isappointment of love and lovers. At
every rest— the fiddler makes a squeaking
of the strings — ^this is called hiss '«m / a
practice well understood by the tulip fan-
ciers. The pipes, tobacco, and substantials
are on the gut vtve, 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, I
a bumper is given to the "old friend,**
standing, with three farewells ! and while
the church bells strike out the departure ot
his existence, another bumper is pledged to
the ^ new infant,*' with three standing hip,
hip, hip — huTzas ! 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 toast
is prepared, and every guest must partake
of iu 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 ! — Joyml 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.

a. p.

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THE LAST LIKENESS OP THE DUEE OP YORK.

(NOW FIBST ENGBAVED.)

From thb Bust bt Behnes, executed fob His Botal Highness xs 1826.

In tlM rode Uook MpMng talent aem
Iti pfttron'b face, and hewi it out with easa ;
Era fafl'd the royal breath, the marble breatb'd.
And liTai to be bj gratttoda enwreath'd.

Towards the close of the year 1825, the
dake of iToik 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-
tioo, at tl^ artist's house, in Dean -street,
Soho. The marble was then removed,
for exhibition, to the Royal Academy,
and from thence sent home to his royal
highness, at Rutland-house The duke

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 great
ludgment, and m reference to his royal
nignness's distinguished station, the artist
has placed armour on the body, and thrown

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% military cloak over the shoulders. This
tndicious 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^
exalted and benevolent dhi^cter, as it fs
creditable to Mr. Behnes*s execution. The
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 fiic-simile of the original bust, which is as
large as life.

Mr. Behnes was the last artist to whom
the 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-stlneet. Its final destination will
be appropriated by those to whom he was
most attached, and on whom the disposition
of such a memorial necessarily devolves.

To Uie ample accounts of the duke of
York in the difierMit journals, the TabJe
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 favoared the
Every-Day Book with some valuable gene-
alogical communications.

SHAKSPEARE'S DUKES of YORK, «cc.
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 lois 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-
•peare, has drawn upon his royal highness's
illustrious predecessors in title, in those un-
Tf vailed dramatic sketches isfhich unite the
lorce of genius with the simplicity of
nature, whilst they impart to the strictly
iccunti acnals of our national history

tome of the most vivid illumications 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 IL, 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 bene&ctor,
and the adroit detection, at a critical mo-
ment, of the conspiracy, into which he had
entered for Richard's restoration.

lu 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.'« 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 Lis 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 orerkoVd tlie town of YoTk.*

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 Ilal," (who, during the
lifetime of his elder brother, Arthur, princi^

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

Had, contrary to the wonted career of
the triumph of )-uman intellect, a Shak-
speare enraptuF*.d and adorned the next
generation, wlat studies would not the
characters ao'f fates of the martyred Charles
. I., and his misguided son, James II., have
i afforded t^ ais contemplation. Both these
iovereign«^ 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
may be 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,
Urike the rrader as an exception to this
assertion, he being only cousin to Henry
VI.; but we ought to bear in mind, that
this Richard was himself entitled to that
throne, 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 nut an end to
the memorable war that aesolated 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

Srotestant house of Brunswick Lunen-
urgh. 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 the 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 pare well ot Italian ondefiled.**

Azb, marquis or lord of Tuscany, mar-
ried Cunegunda, a daughter of a Gtielph,
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 Lunen burgh,
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., king of England,
and, in the conflicU 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, tin
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
of 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 foitunes
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 cmdi

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dates, with repeated elections. Otho, by
flattering^ the clergy, obtained himself to be
' crowned at llome, 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
I this violence Otho was excommunicated
' by the holy lather, 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 aevotionSy and died in 121 8,
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 pereons who ** come into
England," shoula look to this. How many
illustrated '* Grangers ^ are there with a
poitrait 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
Cambridge by his father, and afterwards
created duke of York by his nephew,
Richard II. He was much influenced by

• BvtU of Boom of Aostria. Rapin. Favme.

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. Id
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, tecGnd 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, MiVildukeof 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 ot
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 nunrterous 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 2?d
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 of
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

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Tlie leaden on both Rides assented to meet
in London, and be solemnly reconciled.
The duke of York led the queen in solemn
procession to Si. Paul's, and the chiefs of
one ps^7 marched band in baud with the
chieB 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^ ; their
companions fought, and both parties in
erevf county flew to arms. The battle of
Bloreheatb, in Staffordshire, 23d Septem-
ber, 1459, was won by the Lancastrians.
At the battle of Northampton, 10th July,
1 560, 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 aU
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
in political courage. The parliament de-
liberated, and though they declared the
duke's title indefeasible, yet they decided
that 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-
while, 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
mto 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
off, and fixed on the gates of the city of
York, with a paper crown on it in derision
of his claim. He perished in the fiftieth
year of bis age, worthy of a better &te.

Edward Flantagenet, /<mrth duke of

2 1

York, eldest son of the last, prosecuted hit
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 nortl-
and the youthful duke, remarkable fo^
beauty of person, bravery, afiability, ^.w^
every popular quality, entered the capiici'
amidst tne acclamations of tlie citizens
£lated by his success, he resolved to openly
insi»t 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 ar.
harangue to the multitude surrounding hi:
soldiery, the tumultuary crowd were asked
whether they would have Henry of Lan-
caster, or L^dward, eldest son of the la^c
duke of York, for king. Their " swec»
voices*' were for the latter; and this sho^'
of popular election was ratified by a gre;
number of bishops, lords, magistrates, and
other persons of distinction, assembled foi
that purpose at Baynard's Castle. On the
morrow, the duke went to St. Paul's anc?
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 39th of March, 1 461 , he
fought the fierce and bloody battle of Tow
ton, wherein he issued orders to give no
quarter, and there were above thirty-six
thousand slain. Tliis slaughter confirmed
him king of England, and he reigned up
wards of twenty ^ears under the title c:
I'Ulward IV., defiling his fame and powei
by effeminacy and cruelty. The title o^
York merged in the royal dignity.

Richard Plantagenet, of Shrewsbun-,
^A duke of York, son of Edward IV., w.'i
murdered in the tower while young, wiih
his elder brother, Edward V., by order of
their uncle, the duke of Gloucester, af^ci-
wards Ridiard HI.

VI.

Henry Tudor, nxth duke of York, was
so created by his father Henry VII., whom
he succeeded as kin^, under the title o'l
Heniy VIII., and stained our annals with
heartless crimes.

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VII.

Charles Stuart, seventh duke of York,
V9ta second son of James I., by whom he
was created to that title in 1604, and whom
he succeeded in the throue 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 ereat 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 Geoige I., by letters
from whom, in 1716, he was dignified as
above, and died in 1728, unmarried.

X.

Edward Augustus, teiUh 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
be was created to those titles. He died at
Monaco, in Italy, September 17, IT^Ty un-
married.

XL

THE LATE DUKE OF YORK.

Frederick, eleventh Duke of York, was
brother 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 Infiintry, OflSciating 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 A'ustria, of Charles III.
in Spain, Doctor of Civil Law, and Fellow
of the Royal Society.

The late duke of Y'ork was born on the

16th of Angustf 1763; he died on the 5th
of January, 1827. A ^ew miscellaneous
memoranda are extracted from journals o<
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 packeuboat, 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 afiection
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 Britannio-lodee,
and the duke of York received another ae-
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
fiom 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 oi
coals to be distributed among the fomilies
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 rojral prerogative tvas least ex-
pectedythat 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
lake of York rose in the House of Lords,
ind a profound silence ensued. His royal
highness said, that though perfectly unused
IS he was to speak in a public assembly,
^et he could not refrain trom offering bis
•entiments to their lordships on a subject
n which the dearest interests of the country
«vere involved. He said, he entirely agreed
with the noble lords who had expressed
iheir 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 kh elium what it might, not derived from
the will of the people, expressed by their
representatives and tneir 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 necewary 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 distmctly 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 oeremonv was
performed at Berlin. About six o clock
:n the afternoon all the tM>rsons of the blood

royal assembled m 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 oMcers of state, led
the princess his spouse, whose train was
carried by four ladies of the court, through
all the parade 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. Tlie 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 guus, placed in the
garden, fired three rounds, and (he bene-
diction was given. The new-married couple
then receiv^ 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 whol#»
court, the high nobility, and the ambassa-
dors, sat down to supper, at six Ubles.
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.

Durmg 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 repaircKl to
the while hall, where the trumpet, timbrel,
and other music were playing ; and ihejlamr
beau dance was begun, at vfrhich the minis-
ters of state carried the torches. With this
ended the festivity. The ceremony of the
re-marriage of the duke and duchess ot
York took place at the Queen's Palace,
London, on the 23d of November.

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

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TuE T)avc£ 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
1 slight mention of the same observance on
the marriage of the prince royal of Prussia
with the princess of Bavaria, in the Every*
Day Book, vol. i. p. 1551. Since that
irticle, I find more descriptive particulars
)f it in a letter from oaron Bielfeld,
giving an account of the marriage of the
prince of Prussia vrith the princess of
Brunswick Wolfenbuttle, at Berlin, in 1742.
The baron vras 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,
Htuod, each with a white wax torch in his
hand, ready to be lighted, in conformity to
d ceremony used in the German courts
on these occasions, which is called ' thg
iance of torcheSf 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
Pologne&e. Tlie novelty of this perform-
mce, and the sublime quality of the per-
formers, made it in some degree agreeaole.
Otherwise the extreme gravity of the dance
itself, with the continual round and forma]
pace of the dancers, the frequent going out
of the torches, and the clangour of the
trumpets 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
:he duke of York's palace at Oatlands. It
began in the kitchen, and was occasioned
oy a beam which projected into the chim-
ney, and communicated to the roof. His
•oyal 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. Tlie duchess was at Oatlands aft
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 Windsor-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 m a hack chaise immediately
alighted, and the duke vras conveyed in it
to York-house, Piccadilly, where his royal
highness was put to bed, and in due time
recovered to tne 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 be agsin
attended to business.

On the 11th of October, in the same
year, his royal highness's library, at his

I

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clfice in the Hone-guards cobsisting of the
best military authors, and a lexy extensive
collection of maps, were removed to his
new library (late her majesty's) in the
Green-|>ark. The assemblage is the most
perfect collection of works on military
affikirs in the kingdom.

It appears, from the report of the com-
missioners of woods, forests, and land
revennes, in 1816, that the duke of York
purchased of the commissioners the follow-
ing estates : 1. The manor of Byfleet and
WCTbridffe, with Byfleet or Wc^bridge-
paik, and a capital n^es«uage and offices,
and other messuages ^ad buildings there.
2. The manor of Waltoti Leigh, and divers
messuages and lands therein. 3. A capital
messnaf^ called Brooklands, with oflices,
gardens, and several parceb of land, situat-
ed at Wevbridge. 4. A farm-house, and
divers lands, called Brooklands-fiirm, at
Weybridse. 5. A messnaffe and lands,
called Childs, near Weybndge. 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 3| per cent, till
the 10th of June, 1815, when the principal
and interest (amounting, after the deduc-
tion of pro|>erty-tax, and of the rents, which,
daring the interval, had been paid to the
crown, to £85,1 35. St. 9d.) 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. 29. Zd.

While the duke was in his last illness,
members on both sides of the House of
Commons bore spontaneous testimony to
his royal highnesses 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 fork, requesting his royal high-
ness to give him his protection. I felt a
consdoosness of having, through life, die-
tished 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 oftne 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 fitvours
through the intervention of others, but I
feel that I shall never know how to foreet
them, when done to myself; and, under
that consciousness, I beg leave to submit
myself

* Your Royal Highnesses

' Most grateful servant,

' R. Lanoafp.
** 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, tne 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 anealotes. 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, mj brd of Caaterburjr,
Bvt oa« good tani, aad be^i your f rUiid for erer.*

'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 bU dot qui ciio dot 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 ro^al highness will
pardon this my intrusion, m thus expressing
my most grateful acknowledgments for
them both

'R.Lakoafi."'

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To the Editor.

Dear Sir,

It is not unknowD to you, that about
sixteen years since I published *' Speci-
mens of £ngUsh 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
Dut 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 foi.
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 6nd an appropriate
place in your Table Booky some of them
are weekly at your service. By those who
remember the " Specimens," these must be
considered as mere after-gleanings, supple-
mentary to that work, only comprismg a
longer oeriod. 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-wishei,

C. Lamb.

January^ 27, 1827.

aanicit ^la^.

No.L
[From " King Jolui 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 poisoued in a nunnery.

Scene. John, TheBaront: 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.

/oA«. Hubert, mtarpret this ^parition.

Hubert. Behold, lir,
A ud-writ Trmgwl/, so feelingly
Luffoaged, and easts with such a erafty cruelty
Contrived, and acted ; that wild sarafes
Would weep to lay thrir ears to, and (admirinf
To see themMlres ontdone) tbey would cooceire
Their wildness mildness to this deed, and call
Men more than savage, themselres rational.
And thoo, Fitawater, reflect npon thy mune,*
And tnm the Son of Teart. Oh, forget
That Cupid ever spent a dart upon thee ;
That Hymen erer 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 aet, Matilda's tragedy.

Horoas. Matilda I

FilMwatcr, By the lab'ring soul of a mueh-iignreJ
man,
It if my child Matilda I

Bruce. Sweet nieeei

Leiee$ter. Chaste soul I

Joh: Do I stir, Chester ?
Good Oxford, do I move ? stand I not still
To watch when the griev'd friends of wrong'd MalUJa
Will with a thousand sUbe 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^inking eataracts.
Whole clouds of waters, wealthy exhalations.
Shall fall into the sea of my afllietion.
Till it aaaase the mourners.

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

Fitswater. Not to be a Queen,
Would she break her chaste tow. Tnth crowns youi

reed;
Unmatch'd Matilda was her name indeed.

« ritxwater t son of water. A strikmg instance of
the compatibility of the ierioui jmn with the expremion
of the profoundest sorrow*. Grief, a» well as joy, finds
ca»e in thusi pUying with a word Old John of Gaunt |
in Shakspeare Ukus de»eants on hin name : *• Gaunt, and
gaant indeed ;" to % long string of ccnceits, which no
one has ever yet fell as ridiculous. The poet Wither
thus, in a mournful reriew of the declining e»Ute ol
his family, says with deepest nature :~

The wry name of Wither shows decay.

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.AM. O taie into yoor tiriht-ptereiBg prftuM
Uy ansA of wrrow. I lave well-clad wofls,
Pmtketio epithets to illwtrate passum,
Aad steal tree tears so sweeUr from all theM,
Shall toueh the sool, aad at oaee oieree and please.

IPemes tMs Motto amd Bmblemi o» the heano. |
^ To Pietx end Poritv**— aad ** LiUies nE.iz*d with

Roses"—
How well yon have appareird woe I this Pendant,
To Pietj aad Parity directed,
lasiBQates a chaste seal in a clean body,
Virtae's white Virgin, Chastity's red Martyr
Saifer me then with this well-suited wreath
To make oar griefs ingenions. Let all be danb
Whilst the kiag speaks her Kpieedium.

Cketter. His rery soal speaks sorrow.

Orford. And it becomes him sweetly.

Jahm. Hail Maid aad Martyr I lo on thy breast,
DeTOtioa's altar, chaste Tmth's nest,
I offer (as my gailt imposes)
Thy merit*s Uorcl, Liliiea and Roies
LUliee, intimating plain
Thy immaculate life, stock with ao ataw
Roees red aad sweet, to tell
How sweet red saori&ces smelL
Hang rooad then, as yoa walk aboat this hearse.
The songs of holy hearts, sweet Tirtaoas rerae.

FitzwaUr, Bring Persian silks, to deck her moaa-
meat;

JokM, Arabian spices, qaiek'nii^f by their sceat ;

FiUwater, Namidiaa marble, to preserve her praiae,

John. Coriathian ivory, her shape to praise :

Fitxwoter. And write ia gold vpon it, la this breast
Virtoe aate mistress, Passioa but a gaesL

Jokm. Virtae is sweet; aad, since griefs bitter be.
Strew her with roees, and give me to me.

Brmee. My noble brother, I've lost a wife and son ;•
Yoa a aweev daughter. Look on the king's peaiteao. ,
His promistt for the public peace. Prefer
A pablie beaeat.t When it shall please.
Let Heaven questioa him. Let us seenre
Aad quit the lead of Lewis.)

FUMWtier. ]>> any thing.
Do all thiags that are hoaorable; aad the Great King
Make you a good king, sir I and when your soul
Shall at any time reflect upoa your follies.
Good King John, weep, weep wtrj heartily ;
It will beeome you sweetly. At your eyes
Your aia atol« in ; there pay your aacriioe.

JoAa. Back unto Dunmow Abbey. There we'll pa)
To aweet Matilda's memory, aad her sufferings,
A moathlyobsequy, which (sweet'ned by
The wealthy woes of a tear-troubled eye)
ShaU by those sharp afBictions of my face
Coart mercy, aad make grief arrive at grace.

• AJao emelly sUii: by the poisoning John.

f i. e. of peace ; which this monstrous act of John's
m this play come* to counteract, in the same way as
Che dienovered Death of Prinee Arthur is like to break
the composition of the Kiag with his Barons in Shak-
speare's Play.

X The Daaphin of Fraacei whom they had called in,
as ia ShakapMre's Piny

Soog.

Matilda, now go taae thy bed

In the dark dwellings of the dead ;

And rise ia the great waking day

Sweet as iacence, fresh as May.
Rest there, chaste soul, fix'd in thy proper sphere,
Amoagst Heaven's fair ones ; all are fair ones there.
Rest there, chaste sool. whiUt we here troubled say ;
Time gives us griefs. Death Ukea our joys away.

This scene has much passion and poetry
in it, if I mistake not. The last words of
Fiuwater are an instance of noble tempe-
rament ; but to understand him, the cha-
racier 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 ha%c
lit upon those sweet phrases and induce
ments by which he attempts to win ovei
the dowager queen to let him wed hei
daughter. It is not Nature's nature, but
Imagination's substituted nature, which
does almost as well in a fiction.
(To be cotUinuetLJ

literature.

Glances at New Books on my Table.

''Constable's Miscellany of original
and selected Publicatiotu* 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 Tales, inelwUng thi
History of Sir Egeir, Sir Oryme, and Sir
Gray-SteiU," Edinb. 1826. sm. 8vo. 9«.
(175 copies printed.) The most remarkable
poem in this elegant Tolume is the rare
Scottish romance, named in the title-page,
which, according to its present editor
" would seem, along with the poems of sit

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'IHiL i'AJiLk. hUOix.

David Lindsay, and Ibe histories of Robert
the Bruce, and of sir William Wallace, to
have formed the standard productions of
the vernacular literature of the country/'
(n 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 Sieillis," valued at the " pece virf.
summa £vii. x. o.'' Its editor would
willingly give the sum-total of these three
hundred copies for *^ one of the said Gray-
Steillh, were he so fortunate as to meet
with it." lie 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 ;
ind 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
ihe volume, for the purpose of repub-
'ication." 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 fang 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,
t. Sir Gray-Steill above spoken of. 2.
The Tales of the Priettt of Peblit, 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 Harlaw, considered
by its present editor "as the original of
rather a numerous class of Scotish histo-
rical ballads." 8. LichtoutCs Dreme,

printed for the fust time fVom the Ban-
natyne MS. 1568. 9. The Muming
Maiden, a poem " written in the Augustan
age of Scotish poetry." 10. The Epistili
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 1603, 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
Bums*8 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,'* 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 I refer to, which
compels roe to express warm admiration of
his correct feeling, and assured talent.

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

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THE TABLE BOOK.

SAYING NOT MEANING.

By William Basil Waeb.

For the Table Book.

Two gcBtlemca th«ir appetite bad fed,

Wbea, opeaiof Us toothpiek-eaee, one said,

" It was Bot util lately thati kneir

Tkat cecAevieff oa ten* finaA grew."

** QnwV cried theother, ** jet, tkejr yrote, iBdeed»

UlM otker fish, bat aot vpoa Um laadi
To* miflit ae weU eajr grapee gmw on a reed*
OriatheStraadr

«• Why. iir,** retaraM tbe Irritated other,
*• My brother,
Whea at Calmtta,
Beheld them b<n4 fide fTOWiBft

He wonlda*t atter
A lie for lore or money, sir; ao la
This BMtter you are thoroughly mistakea.*
* Nensease, sir 1 aooeeaae I I eaa gira no credit
To tte asMrtfoB aoae e'er saw or read it;
Tow brother, like his erideaee, shoald be Aakes.**

*■ Be shakea, sir 1 let me dbaerre, yoa are

Penrerse— ia short—"
* Sir," said the other, eockiag his cigar.
And then his port—
*■ If yea wilt say impossiblee aratree,

Ton may affirm jut any thing yon please-
That kwaas are qaadmpeds, and lions bine.

And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese I
Only yoa m- ^ ^»re€ me to beliere
\irkat*s propagated merely to deceire."

** Thea yoa force me to say, sir, yoa'ro a fool,**

Retiira*d the bragger.
TjuignAge lilce this no maa can snflTer cool ;

It made the listener staggrr ;
So, thasder^tricken, he at once replied,

•• The traveller tied
Who had the impadenoe to tell it yon."
•* Zonnds 1 thea d*ye meaa to swear before my face
that aachoriee don't grow like cloves aad mace ?**

•• I do I*

Mspatsats often after hot debates
Lieare the contention as they fonnd It— bone,

Vad lake to dnelling, or thumping titets
Thinkmg, by strength of artery, to atone

For strength of argument j and he who winces

Prom force of words, with force of arms eon viaces !

with pistols, powder, balletB, sargeona, lint,
Seconds, aad smelling^botUes, and foreboding,
Oor frieads advaaeed ; aad bow portentoas loadiag

.Their hearts akeady loaded) senr*d to show

ft aught be better they shook haads^bnt no ;
When each ofnaes himself, thongh fnghten'd, right.
Bach is, ia coartesy, oblig*d to fight I

had they did fight : from six foil measured paesi
The aabelierer pnU*d his trigger first t

Aad VariBg, from the braggart's ugly faces.
The whixsiag lead had whixx'd its very wors^

Raa op, aad with a dwaUHc tnr,

(His iro eraaixhbg like momiBf TapoBn,^

'oand him possees'd of one nmaining ear.

Who, in a manner sadden aad uaoouth.

Had givea, not leat, tho other ear to tntb t

For, while the sargeoa was applyiag liat,

He, wriggling, cried— ^ The denee is ia'^—

Sir I I meant— ea^Mrt/**

Cbaract(rs(.

THE OLD GENTLEMAN.

Our old gentleman, in order to be ex*
elusively himself, must be either 9 widower
or a bachelor. Suppose the former. We
do not mention his precise age, which would
be inWdious; — 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 modem scratch
and the departed glory of the toupee. If
bis own hair, it is white, in spite of his
fevourite 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 prond 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
ead 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—

Whea heaateoBS Mira walks the plaia.

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

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THE TABLE BOOK.

of thora rather t^sky. 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 Geogiapnv, 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 nave been broken since his
wife's death, all but one, which is religi-
ously kept for his use. He passes his
morning m 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 caring 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
seases, as that cheese is not good for diges-
tion. He takes port ; and if he has drank
more than usual, and m a more private
place, may be induced by some respectful

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

Chloe, b7 tbat borrowed kiM,
or

Cornell gentle god of ioft repoee i

or his wife's favourite ballad, beginning —

At Upton on tbe Hill
There lired a happj 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, ir 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-
nixance 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, h^
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 lodeings, he likes to play
with some friends whom he has known for
many years ; but an elderly stran^i^er 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 likes 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 tar inferior to Garrick
Woodward, and Clive. During splendid
scenes, he is anxious that the little boyi
should see. I

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TIIE TABLE BOOK.

I He has been induced to look m at Vaux-
hill again, but likes it still less than he did
JW9 back, and cannot bear it in com|)arison
with Ranelagh. He thinks every thing
looks poor, flaring, and jaded, "Ah I"
njs h^ with a sort of triumphant sigh,
** Ranelagh was a noble place 1 Such taste,
sncb elegance, such beauty 1 There was the
duchess of A. the finest woman in England,
sir; and Mrs. 1*, a mighty fine creature;
and lady Susan what's her name, that had
that unfortunate aflair with sir Charles.
Sir, thqr came swimming by you like the

The Old Gentleman is ▼ery particular in
having his slippers ready for him at the fire,
when he comes home. He is also extremely
choice in bis snuff, and delights to gpt a
fresh box-full at Gliddon's, in King-street, in
hw way to the theatre. His box is a curiosity
fiom 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 th€ 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
be rode down with Jack Skrimshire to New-
market. He grows young again in his little
(^rand-children, especially the one which he
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
nlenoe, for a quarter of an hour together.
He plays most tiicks with the former, and
makes him sneeie. He asks little boys in
I general who was the father of Zebedee's
children. If his grandsons are at school,
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
dofr, sir, mightily set upon a short life and
a roeiry 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),— " S*etf
talk."— /iM/ios/or.

A HAPPY MEETING.

And doth not a meetiiif like tk» mftke amoids

Kor all the loaf jean I've bcea waadMnir away.
To tM thaa aroaad ae mj joath't earlj frieads.

As imiliaf aad kiad at ia that happT ^7 1
Thoogh haply o'er tone of yoor browi, at o'or miaa

The mow-faU of timt maj b« steaKaf-what thca
Like Alps in the suflot, thai lighted bj wiae.

We'll wear the gaf tiage of joath'i roeet afaia.

What toften*d remembraaeet cone o*er the heart.

Ia gasing on those we're been lost to so long 1
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part

Still roand them, like risions of yesterday, throng
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced.

When held to the flame will steal ovt on the sisht.
So many a feeling, that Inng seem*d effaced.

The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light

And thns. as u memory's bark, we shall glide

To vwiC the scenes of oar boyhood anew.
Tho» oft we may see. looking down on the tld^

The wreck of fall many a hope shining throngh—
Yet stUl, as in fancy we point to the flowers

lliat once made a garden of all the gay shore,
Deeeiv'd for a moment. we'U think them still oars.

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

So brief oar eztstence, a glimpse, at the most.

Is all we can have of the few we hold dear ;
And oft eren joy is onhecded aad lost.

For want of some heart that oonldecho it near.
Ah 1 well may we hope, when this short life is gone.

To meet ia some world of moro permanent bliss.
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'aing on. •

Is all we enjoy of each other ia this.

Bnt oome^the more rare sneh delights to the heart.

The more we shoald welcome, aad bless them iht
more—
They're oars when we meet— they're lost when we part

like birds that bring sammer. and fly when 'tis o'er.
Tkas eiicling the cap. haad in hand, ere we drink.

Let Sympathy pledge as, thro^ pleasare thro' pain.
That fast as a feeling bat toachcs one link.

Her magic shall sead it direct throagh the chua.

Lives to his Cousin

ON THE NEW YEAR,

Br A Westminster Bot.

Time rolls away! another year

Has rolled off with him ; hence 'tis clea*

His lordship keepk his carnage-
A single man. no doabt;— and thns
Enjoys himself withoat Jbe fasa

And great expense of marriage.

Hi^ wh-^-il still rolls (and like the nvtr
Which Hoi ace mentions) still for eter
I'olvitur et eo/rcfar.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

U VBiB jron rm ofioinH htmr plaee
Voor deefart fillr in tha raoe^
Here's ten to one ke*U beat ber.

Of aU he saee, he takes a tithe.

With that tremendone tveepini^ Myhc^

Whieh he keeps alwa^ going ;
While ererj step he tokee. alas I
Too pUdnlf prores that/ff«A tr ffnut.

When he sets out a mowiag.

And though his hangiy raTeoovt maw

is erammed with food, both dress'd and raw,

m wager anj betting.
Ifis appetite has vrtsr beea
Just 'ike his sejthe, sharp-set and keen,

Which nerer wanted wh§tHng.

Could jroQ bat see the mfghtf treat
Prepared, when he sits down to eat

Hb breakfast or his dinner,— ah.
Not Tcgetable— flesh,— alone.
Bat timber, houses, iron, stoae,>

He eats the rvrj china.

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

▲laa I he'll never hear *eji;
Grey locks and wrinkles hoirlf show.
What Ovid told as fears njob

Ut Temyu 9da» rensn I

la Tain, my dearest girl, fan ehooaa
(Tour face to wash) Oljrmpic dews ;

la Tain jon paint or roage it;
BeTU play each havoo with joar yoo'h.
That ten years hence yoall say with tnith

Ah Edward I— TMipas/iytt/

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

Bat what I most deplore is.
He breaks the links of friendsUpPs chaist
And barters yoathfal lore for gain :

Oh, rempora t oA, Mort9 !

One sole exception you shall find,
( ITatat generis of its kbd,)

WhercTer fate may steer as ;
Tho* wide his nniTcrsal range,
Time has no power the heart to change

Ofyoor AMxcvsVxnuB.

BatkHenU.

GERMAN UNIVERSITIES.

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

When

founded.

Namberof
Professors.

Nnmber

of
Stodento.

Prague

1348
1365
1368
1403
1409
1419
1450
1456
1460
1477
1527
1544
1558
1607
1665
1694
1702
1734
1743
1803
1810
1818

55
77
55
3i
81
34
35
30
24
44
38
23
51
39
26
64
49
89
34
48
86
42

1449
1688

626

660
1384

201

556

227

214

827

304

303

432

371 I

238 :
1119

710
1545

498

623
1245

526

Vienna. . .
Heidelberg
Warsbourg.

Rostock ! '.
Fribourg. .
Grie&wald. .
Bate

Tubingen . .
Marbourg . ,
Koenisberg. .
Jena

Giessen . , .

Kiel

Halle ....

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

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, HanoTer, 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-
dents 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
Paderbom and Munster, both belonging to
Prussia, and which had only two faculties,
those of theology and philosophy, wert
suppressed; the first in 1818, and the
second in 1819; but that of Munster hat
been reestablished, with the three facoltict
of theology, philosophy, and medidD*^

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THE TABLE BOOK.

COLLET GIBBER'S YOUNGEST DAUGHTEIl.

Last of her aire ia do'age^she wm used

B7 him, ta children use a favorite toy ;

Indulged, neglected, fond'ed, and abixs'd.

As quick affection or capricious Joy,
Or sudden humour of dis'ike dictated :

Thoughtlessly rear'd, she led a thoughtless I'.fo ;
A nd she so well beloved became moet hated :
A helpless mother, and a wife unblest,

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

Or, wand'iing in disquietude for bread :
ITer fathei's curse -himself first cause of all
That caused his ban— sunk her in deeper thrall.

Stifling her heart, till sorrow and herself were Acz/^^

•*Tni Lttb ot Mas.C i \«ir/>TrB Cii iRKB,
foumgsst daughter of CoUetf Ctbbvy E q,,
writtM by hsrtelft" is a curious narrativd
of remarkable Yicissitades. Sho dedicates
it to herselfi and ap'ljr cancladds her dedi-
cation b/ eajing, ** Permit me. midim, to
•ub^ribe myself, for the futarc, what I
onghc to have beaa somo years a^o, your

real friend, ani hamble servant, Cii\r-

LOTTB CUARKB.*'

In the ^^Introdactim** to the recent re-
print of this singnlar work, it is well
observed, that **h3r Life will serve to sh »w
whit very strange creatures mcuf exist, and
the endless diversity of habits, tastes, and
inclinations, which miy spring up spon-

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taneously, bte weeds, in the hot-bed, of
corrupt civilization." She was bom when
Mrs. Cibber was forty-five years old, and
when both her &ther and mother had
ceased to expect an addition to their family :
the resalt 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 anv 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. Damont*8 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 Publiu, who thus describes her
dbtressed situation :—

* Cibber the elder had a daughter named
Charlotte, who also took to the staee ; her
subsequent life was one continued series
of misfortune, afflictions, and distress, which
she sometimes contrived a little to alleviate
Dy 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 deansings
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 envelopea with mud
op 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 pull 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 pipkin 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, whidi by way of
welcome chattered at our going in ; on the
other a tabby cat. of melancholy aspect !
flpd at our author s feet on the flounce of
her dingy petticoat reclined a dog, almost
a skeleton 1 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; amingl^ 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 1 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 onel a lough 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 1— The bookseller offered five ! —
Our authoress did not appear hurt ; disap-
pointments had rendered ner mind callous;
nowever, 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 pav
a moiety and run one half the risk ; which
was agrted to. Thus matters were accom-
modated, seemingly to the satisfaction oi
all parties ; the lady's original stipulation
of tifly copies for herself being previously

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tcceded to. Sucb is the stoiy of the once-
admired daughter of Coliey Gibber^ Poet
Laureate and patentee of Drury-lane, who
was boro io affluence and educated with
care and tenderness, her servants in livery,
and a splendid equipage at her command,
with swarms of time-serving sycophants
i officiously buzzing in her train ; yet, un-
I mindful of her advantages and improvident
in her pursuits, she iinbhed the career of
her miserable existence on a dunghill.'^

Mr. .W byte'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.t 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 pnnted 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."

AM INEDITED BALLAD.

To the Editor,

Dear Sir,^A friend of mine, who letided
for some years on the borders, used to
amase himself by collecting old ballads,
printed on halfpenny sheets, and hawked
up and down by itinerant minstrels. In
his common-place book I (bund 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-
K>r-a-penny song-publisher, who informs
me that he has printed it ** ever since he
was a printer, and that Mr. Marshall, his
predecessor, priuted it before him." The
ballad has not improved by circulating
amongst Mr. Pitts*s triends ; for the heroine,
who has no name given her in my friend's
copy, is in Mr. Pitte's called '* Polly ;" and
there are expressions contra bono* mores.
These I have expunged ; and, to render the
ballad more complete, added a few stanzas,
wherein 1 have endeavoured to preserve

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^oad, Bermondeey, Jan, 8, 1827.
The Outlandish Knight.

-•• Sis fo tra«.

ThtuvntA askew.**

Der FnitehOM Trao§stU,

An ontlMdiah kniglkC from tbe Bortb UimU CMit,

Aad lie eamt a wotnng to bm.
He told me he*d take me onto the north lands.

And I shoold hie ftur bride be.

A bfoad, broad ehidd did thie strange knight wield.

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

In the fielde of Palestine.

Aad ont and spake this strange knight.

This knight of the north eonntrisw
O, maiden fsir, with the raren hair,

Thoa Shalt at m^ bidding be.

Thy sirs he is from home, ladye,

F»r he hath a jonmey gone.
And hie shaggy bk)od-honad is slecpiag somd.

Beside Uie postern stone.

Ga, bring me some of thy ikthet's goM,

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

Where they stand thirty and three.

•'WhyU^B CoUeetion of Poems, second editiea.
DabHn, 179S.
^BiogDram.

She moonted her on her milk>white steadL

And he on a dapple grey.
And they forward did ride, till they reaeh'd the sea-side

Three hours before it was day.

Then ont aad spake this strange knightg

This knight of the north countri%
0, maiden foir, with the raren hair.

Do thoo at my bidding be.

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

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

An I the Feventh one thon shalt be.

Hilt Srst peO eff thy kirtle Sm.

Anddeliv«iitnntome;
Thy kii He nA green is too rich. I

To ml if th^ salt, salt sea.

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Poll off, pttU off ihj rilken thooh,

Attd deUT«r them aato mo ;
Vethi&kt that they are too fino and gaf

To rot ia the salt, lalt eea.

Pull off, puU off thj boaaie ffreen plaid.

That floati ia thebreeie io fireo ;
It it worm fiae with the silrer twiao.

And Aomelf it is to sea.

If I mast pall off mf bonaie gnea plaid,

O tarn thjr back to me ;
Aad gase oo the >aa which has jast htgn

To peer o*er the salt, salt sea.

He tani*d his baek oa the daakOieUa
Aad ipu'd oa the bright snabeaak—

She grasp*d him tight with her arms so white,
Aad plvag'd him iato the stream.

Ise there, sir kaight, thoa fiUso>hearted wight^

Lie there iastead of me ;
Six daauels fair thoa hast drawaM th«rt,

Bat the serenth has drowaed the*.

That ooeaa ware was the false 0Be*s gnwt

For he soak nght hastily t
Thoagh with dyiag voice Ikiat, he pra7*d to his

Aad atter'd aa Aye Marie.

No mass was said for that false kaight dead.

No ooBTeat bell did loll s
Bat he weat to hb rest, aBshriT*d aad aablest—

HeaTOa's aierej oa his sool 1

She moaated heroa her dapple-grej steed,

Aad led the steed milk-white ;
She rode tni she teaeh'd her father's hall.

Three boon before the aight.

The parrot, hoag ia the lattice so high.

To the ladj thea did sajr,
Sooie mfiaa, I fear, has led thee from hoBM,

Fcr thoa hast beea loag away.

Do aoi prattle, my pretty bird*

Do Bot tell tales of me ;
iad thy cage shall be made of the glitteriag gold,

lastead of the greeawood tree.

The earl as he sat ia his tamt high,

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

Thoa hast prattled the liT»>loag day.

Well may I jnrattle, the parrot replied,

Aad call, brave earl, oa thee t
For the oat has well aigh reaeVd the lattice so high,

Aad her eyes aro fia*d oa me.

.Vail tnra'd, weU tara'd, my pntty bird,

WeU tvra'd, well tara'd for me;
Thy eage shall be made of the glitterbg gold,

lastaad of the greenwood tr^e.

PRIDE AND G<.)OD.WILL.
It is related of a ceruin class of French
nobility, who, in their Printer residence at
Aix, were objects of dislike from their
arrogance and self-importance, that thev
were beloved and esteemed for their kind-
ness and benevolence by the dependants
around their ehateaug 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
doth or stuff at their pleasure : every week
they were paid wages according to the
quantity of woik done, and had a fresh
supply of raw materials whenever it vras
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 prize of a hundred
livres was given to each person who had
span the l^t 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 veir moderate
Krioe, and the money resulting from it was
lid 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 stufi^ 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 lie condemned when accom-
panied with such laudable exertions to
render himself, through that superiority, a
benefactor to society.*

• Miaa Plamtrct.

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No. II.

IFiom the << Parliament of Bees^" a
Masque, bv John Day» printed 1607.
Whether this sing^ular production, in
^hich 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 nllag* FI7, nor mndow Bee^
Tkaft Craficks daSlj on tke neighboar plain,
B«t will report, haw all tha Winfed Train
HsTO tnad to ma for Lore ; when we hare flown
la swarau oat to diaoorer fialda new blown,
Uappjr waa he eonld find (he forward'it tree.
And eoll the ehoioest bloMOou oat for me ;
Of all their laboaia they allow'd me nme
And (£he a j diampions) maaa'd me oat, and hoou 1
YethyredlaooeoftheaL Phi]on,aBee
Well-ekill'd in Terna and amoroos poetr j,
Aa we hare late at work, both of one Rote,*
Hna hnmm'd sweet Caaioaa, both in Tone and pne^
Whieh I ne*er minded. Astrophel, a Bee
(Althoogh not ao poetieal ai hi*)
Yet in hie fall inrentaoa qniek and ripe^
la enmmer eveninfi, on his weU>taned pipa^
t^MB a woodbine blossom in the son,
(Oar hive being clean-swept, and oar da j^ wotk done) ,
Woold plaj me twenty several tones ; yet i
Nor minded Astrophel, nor his melody.
Then there's Amniter, for whose lore fair Lead*
CThat pretty Bee) flies np and down the mead
With rirers in her eyes ; withoat desenring
Sent me trim Aeoni bowls of his own earriafr.
To drink May dews and mead in. Yet none of theee^
My hiTO-bom Playfellows and fellow Bees,
Ooold I afltoet, oatil thb strange Bee came ;
And him I lore with sneh aa ardent flame,
Diaeretion eannot qaench.*-

He Uboon and tcrfla,
Extraets mora honey oat of barren soils
Than twenty lasy Dnmn, I hare heard my Father,
Steward of ths HiTe, profess that he had rather
Lose half the Swarm than him. If a Bee, poor or weak,
Qivws faint on his way, or by misfSortaae break
Awing or leg against a twig: alire.
Or dead, he'll bring into the Maatei's Hire
Him and his barthen. Bat the other day,
v/B the Beat plain there graw a Catal fray

•Prettily pilfered from the sweet passage ia the
Midsnmmer NightTs Dreaoi, where Helena reooaats tr
Hermia their school-days' friendshipi
We^ Hermia, like two artificial Ooda,
Craated with oar needles both one flower,
Bi>th OB one sampler, sitting on one emihtOB.

Betwixt the Wasps aad as; the wmd grew aigh.

And a roogh storm raged so impetooosly.

Oar Bees eoald scarce keep wing ; then fell each ram

It made oor Colony forsake the plain.

And fly to garrisoB 1 yet still He stood.

And 'gainst the whole swarm made his party good ;

And at each blow he gare, cried oat His Vow^

Hit Few, amd Jnthmsa /—On each boagh

And tender blossom he engraTes her name

With his sharp sting. To Arethasa*s fame

He eoBsserates his aetfoas; all his worth

la only spent to chaiaeter her forth.

Ob damask rosea, and the leaTee of pines,

I have seen him write sneh amoroas moriag linet

In Arathaaa'a pnis«i aa my poor heart

Haa, when I read them, envied her deeert ;

And wept and aigh'd to think thatheshooM be

To her ao eonatant, yet not pity me.

• • •

Porrex, Vice Roy of Bees ooder King
Oberon, describes his large prerogative.
T« Us (who, warraatad by Oberon's loro^
Write Oarself ifoatfr Has), both fleld and grave,
OardsB and orehard, lawns and flowery meads,
(Whera the amoroas wind plays with the golden heads
Of waatoB eowslipa, dataiea ia their prime,
doB-laring marigolds ; the bkiaeom'd thyose,
The biae-Teia'd rioleta and the damask rose;
The stately lUy, Mbtnss of all those) ;
Ara allow'd aad giT*n, by Oberon's free areed,
FMara for uie, aad all my swarma to ^Md.

• the doings.

The births^ the wars, the wooings,
of thela 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 veiy air
seems replete with humming and buzzing
melodies, while we read them. Surely
Bees were never so be-rhymed before.

C.L.

2tograp|)iraI inentDrattiia.

JoBX Scot, a Fastiko 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-house ; where, out of
discontent, he absuined from all meat and
drink, by the space of thirty or forty days
together.

Fame having spread this abruad, the

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king would have it put to trial, and to that
effect shut him up in a private room within
the castle of Kuir.burghy whereuoto no
man had access. He caused a little water
and bread to be set by him, which he yvns
found not to have diminished in the end of
thirty davs and two. Upon this he \ias
dbmissedy and, after a short time, be 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 &sting under
the pope*8 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 VIIL 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 hiB end was I read not* — SpoU'
wood, Sfc.

Hakt tbb Astkoloobk.

There lived in Houndsditeh, about the
vear 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 voung gentlemen fit times
to play at dice, that they might win or get
money. Lilly relates that ** he went unto
him u>r 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
IX)ond8 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 firund the bill, and at the hearing of
the cause this jest happened : some of the
bench inquired what Hart did ? '' He sat
like an aUJerman 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
into HoUandy where be ended his

* AttMtoMirmpbf. tdL u. lilljr** life.

REV. THOMAS COOKIi.

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 verv
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

})robable I could obtain a glimpse of a per-
ect 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 Booky you vrill much oblige

Your subscriber and admirer,
G.J.D
Islington-green.

An AcKOSTic

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

M eekaew good-hnmotr^-^adi traaaoesdoit (rme«
I • Men ooiupicvou on th j joyooe fnee ;
8 weet'a the cnrnstion to the ramblinf bee,
S 0 art thorn, CaASLom I alwm sweet to me I

C an svfhe eompnre enooeeifally with thoee
H if h benntiee which thy eoantenance oompoae,
A U donbly heighten'd by that gentle mind,
R enown'd on earth, and praia'd by er'ry wind?
L OT'd object 1 no— then let it be thy care
O f fawnittf friendi, at all timea, to bewar^^
T o ahnn this world's delnsions and disfniaa,
T he knave's soft speeehes, and the flatt'rer's lies.
E tfteesiinff Tirtne, aad disearduc rinl

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6 o wbera I maf , bowe^tr remote tba elimc,

W here'tr my «tet may straj* tkj charms anblim^

I Bistriowa maid I apprvr'd and prais*d bj all,

L ik« aom* eachaatmcBt shall mj sool entbraUr*

L ifht er'ry path— illominate mj mtad-^

I Biprc mj pen with sentiments rafin'd— >

k ad tsacb my tongue on this fend pray'r to dwell,

* M aj HeaT'ft preserre the maid it loTes so well I"

Thomas Cooke*

CURIOUS PLAY BILL.

The followiDg remarkable theatrical aD-

nooDcement is a mixed appeal of vKnity

md poverty to the taste and feelings of the

inhabitants of a town in Sussex.

(Copy.) _

At the old theatre in East Grinstesid, on

Saturday, May, 1758, will be represented

(by particular desire, and for the oenefit uf

Mrs. P.) the deep and affecting Tragedy

of Theodosius, or the Force of Love, with

magnificent scenes, dresses, Sec.

Varanes, by Mr. P., who will strive, as
far as possible, to support the character of
this fiery Persian Prmce, in which he was
so much admired and applauded at Hast*
ings, Arundel, Petworth, Midworth, Lewes,
&c.

I Theodosius, by a young gentleman from
I the University of Oxford, who never ap-
peared on any stage.

• Athenws, 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 libefality and support.

Nothing in Italy can exceed the altar, in
the finit scene of the play. Nevertheless,
should any of the Nobility or Gentry wish
to see it ornamented with flowers, the
bearer will brine 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
I of personages, more than sufficient to fill
all the dressing-rooms, &c., it is hoped no
gentlemen and ladits will be offended at
I 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 Kins 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 suble will be laid
into the boxes on one side, and the granary
be open for the same purpose on the other.
^ rival Rex,*

It's m£Ver too late to mevd

At Chester, in the beginning of the yeai
1790, a reputable farmer, on the evening of
a market-day, called at the ifliop 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 maLny years.'' The latter asked, for
what ? io which the farmer replied, that
'' When a boy, in buying a book-almanac
at his shop, he had stolen another— the re-
flection ot which had frequently given him
teuch 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.

* Boaden's Life of Mrv Siddoas.

Conscience*

-There is do power in holy men.

Nor charm in prayer — nor porifyinf form
Of penitence— nor oatward look— nor fastp—
Nor agony— nor, greater than all these.
The innate tortures of that deep despair.
Which is remorse without the fear of hell.
Bat all in all snficient to itself
Wonld make a hell of beayen— can exorcise
From out the nnbounded spirit, the quick sense
Of its own sins, wrongs, snfferaace, and revenge
Upon itself ; there is no future pang
Caa deal that justice on the self-oondemn*d
He deals on Us own soul. Bynm,

Epitaph by Dr. Lowtr, late bishop of
London, on a monument in the churcQ of
Cudesden, Oicfordshire, to the memory of
bis daughter, translated from the Latin : —
Dear as thou didst in modest worth excel.
Mora dear than in a daughter's name— farewell 1
Farewell, dear Marf— but the hour is nigh
When, if I'm worthy, we ahall meet on high s
Then shall I saj, triumphant from the tomb,
** Come, to diy father*! arms, dear Mary, oome F*

INSCRIPTION

From the book at Rigi, in Switzerland.

Nine wearj up-hill milss we sped

The setting son to see i
Sulky and grim he went to bed.

Sulky and grim went we.

Seven sleepless hours we past, and tbco.

The rising sun to see,
Sulkj and grim we rose again.

Sulky and grim rose he.

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lilE TAULK BOOK.

ANTIQUARIAN HALL, aliaa WILL. WILL-BE-SO, OF LYNN.

A goose-herd in the fen-lands; next, he
Be-doctor'd Norfolk cows ; much vext, he
Tum'd bookseller, and poetaster,
And was a tolerable ma»ter
Of title-pages, but his rhymes
Were shocking, at the best of times.
However, he was yerjr honest,
And now, poor fellow, he is—" non es','*

For the Table Book.

William Hall, or as he used to style
timself, "Antiquarian Hall," " Will. Will-
be-so," and " Low-Fen-Bill-Hall," or, as he
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 , 0. S.
1748, at Willow Booth, a small island in
the fens of Lincolnshire, near Heckington
Ease, in the parish of South Kyme.

•• Kjnne, God knows.
Where no corn ip^ws.
Nothing bnt a little hay ;

And the water comes.
And takes it all away .*«

His ancestors on the father's side vpre
ail " fen slodgers," having lived there for
many generations ; his mother was

*• a half Yorkshire

The other half was Heckinjj ron.
Vulvar a ^lace as and one.*'

When about four) ears old, he narrowij
escaped drowning ; for, in his own words,
he

— ^— •• overstretching took a sBp.

And popp*d beneath a merchant's ship ;*

No seal at hand but me and mother;

Nor eoold I call for one or other.**

She, however, at the hazard of her own hie,
succeeded in saving her son's. At eleven
years old, he went to school, in Brolherloft
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

— — •• showoe the boat
A catching fish, to make a groat.
And sometimes with a snare or hook ;
Well, what was't for?— to buy a book,
Propensity so in him lay.**

Before he an ived at ms^n's estate, he lost
his mother, and soon afterwards his fathei

• A rtoal-liarhter.

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THE TABLE BOOIC

married again Will, himself, on arriving
at roan'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, fomous
throughout the kingdom, supplying the
London markets with fowls, and the ware-
houses with feathers and quills. In these
parts, the small leathers 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. &oslings 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.

Ttie inundations to which the fens were
then liable, from breaches, or overflowing
of the banks, overwhelmed him witl\ difficul-
ties, and ruined his prospects.

** Tha poor old geme swajr were floated.
Till some higli lands got lirrallj eoatAd {
Not did moet peasants think it dntj
Tbem to prBterre, but made tlwir booty |
And tbose wbo were * not worth a fooee**
Ca otVer people's lit'd profuse.**
After many vicissitudes and change of
residence, he settled at Marshland, in Nor-
folk, where his wife practised phlebotomy
and midwifery, while he officiated as an
aoctioneeer, cowleech, &c. &c. Indeed he
appeared to have been almost bred to the
doctoring profession, for his own mother
was

— — ^— •* a good eow-doetor.
And alwajs doctor'd all her own.
Being eowleeeh both in desh and bone.**

lib 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 nnto this daj."

His father-in-law was an equally emiacnt
practitioner ; when, says Will.,

. *• f married SnVej Holmes, her father
Did iMre than them pat altogether ;
Imparted all hU skiU to me,
Carrier, eowleeeh, and snrgerj,
All which he practised with Bneoea."
Will. telUi of a remarkable and surprising
qocideui, which closed his career as a cow-
leech.

** The rhenmatism, (dreadful ehamit
Had fix'd so dose in mj left arm.
So riolent ihrobb'd, that without stroke
To touch— it absolutely broke 1
Went with a spring, made a report.
And hence in eowleeeh spoil'd rojr sport t
Remiun'd so tender, weak, and sore,
I never dare attempt it more.**

Thus disqualified, he removed to Lynr.
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

'* Untitpxatim libraiy/

and thus quaintly announced his establish
ment to the public :

■ In Lynn, Ferry-street,

Where, should a stranger set bis feet.
Just east aa eye, read * Actiquary !*
Turn in, and but one hour tarry.
Depend upon't, to his surprise, sir.
He woold 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
▼ersifled on almost ever^ 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 modem authors,
by way of catalogue. In addition to his
bookselling business, he continued to prac-
tise as an auctioneer. He regularly kepi
a book-stall, &c. in Lynn Tuesday-market,
from whence he occasionally knocked dowr.
his articles to the best bidder ; and he an-
nounced his sales in his usual whimsica
style. His hand-bill, on one of these occa-
sions, runs thus :

** Lykn, 19th September, 1810.

** First Tuesday in the next October,
Now do not doubt but we'll be sober I
If Providenee permits us action.
Yon may depend apoa

AN AUCTION,

At the Stan
Thatfs occupied by WILLIAM HALL.
To enumerate a task would be^
So best way is to come and see ;
But not to eome too vague an erraat,
We*U give a sketch which we will warraot

** About OM knndnd bodu^ in due ids.
And pretty near the some in shot-latU i

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THE TABLE BOOK.

Perhaps tea thoarud Uathvr adtingt.
Sold at per pon»d, yoar lot but Mk it*
Shall be wei^hM to you m a basket ;
Some lota of tooU^ to make a trj oa,
Aboat one hundred wei^bt of iron :
Sealet, oarthontoare, onn-cAaifS. a Itorun,
r«a-cA««ts. a hmring-hA, and ao on ;
With Tariona more, that* a oar intention.
Which are too tedioaa here to mention.

•* N. B. To undeceire, 'fore 70a oonie aiflrher,
T\e daty charg'd apon the bajer ;
And. •hottU we find we're not perplext.
We'll keep it np the Tneeday next.**

During repeated visits to his sunriving
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

Hie talent for poeterity ;**

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
ne published, in the summer of 1812, an
octavo pamphlet of twenty-four pages,
called a " Sketch of Local History," by
" fflll /Fi//-6e-*o/' announcing

*• If two hundred eabieriben will pve in th«r aid.
The whole of thia journal ia meant to be laid
Under public riew.**

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 eoil or rend it.

But ehould they aak to borrow, pray don't Und it I

Adriae them, * Oo and buy;' 'twill better suit

My purpose ; and with you prerent dispute.

With me a maxim 'tis, he that won't buy

Does seldom well regard his neighbour's property ;

And did you ahew 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 " th« following admonitory
address.

** Pray, sirs, consider, had you befn
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 bussards teas'd.
Your ear with seeming thunder seiz'd
From rais'd decoy,— there ducks on flight.
By nns of thousands darken Ught ;
Yf one to aiisist in greatest need,
Farsau out very br^ty rSitd*

No conrorsation strike the mind.

But of the lowest, vulgar kind;

Five milee from either church or ecUol

No coming there, but cross a pool ;

Kept twenty years upon that statioo.

With only six months* education

Trarerse the scene, then weigh it well.

Say, could yon Uttor writo or tpoU f*
One extract, in prose, is an example ot
the disposition and powers of bis almost
untutored mind, viz.

** No ammation ufithout generation seems
a standing axiom in philosophy : but upor
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, {
vie. 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 nlantain. Its
berry is about the size of a red currant, and
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
plantr

Thus fer 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 thatTs dead and gone.
Whose genius stood aa his indin'd :

No doubt the public wish to know it,

John Tay/or, eall'd the waUrpo4U

Who near two eentnries ago

Wrote much each nonsonse as I do."

The sale of the '* Sketch" not answering
his expectations, no further symptoms ol
the " Journal " made their aopearance at
that time.

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THE TABLE BOOR.

In the summer of 1815, after forty.three
years' practice as an auctiimeer, he an-
xkounced his retirement by the following
laconic farewell.

■* Rap SzxnoB*8 giTta it vp at lut.
With Uiaaks for •r'rj faroar past ;
Aliaf * AMnqvAMiAK Hall*
Will wtmr more be keard to branC;
As snetioocer bo mora will lie»
Botft thrown his wicked hamsMr hj.
Should jva prefer him to apprmiaOk
He's lioensed for fiitare days ;
Or still emploj him «■ oommissioa.
He'll alwajs treat on fair eonditiaa.
Tor goods brought to him at hit ttaod.
Or at foar home, to sell by hand ;
Or shoold yon want his pen't assistaaee.
He'll wait oo yon at any distance.
To lot,oolloct, in place of cleric.
Or prerent moving goods i* th' dark ;
In short, for help or coonsers 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*
lore tDe worm was favoured with '* ReAeo*
::ons upon Times, and Times and Times 1
or a more than Sixty Years' Tour of the
Mind," by « LawFen-BiU-HuUr 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," — ^ the repeated appearance of
water-spouts," — ** an innumerable quantity
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,
intermmgled 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
thev understood this !"

in the spring of 1818, when in his
seventieth year, or, as he says, " David's
gage being near complete," he determined
ou an attempt to publish his '* Low Fen
Journal," in numbers; the first of which
he thus announced :

** A LiMcolnshire nifd MMtfsy pM,
An original miseellany,
Kot meant as canting, pmswiii^ mystery^
Bnt for a general tme Fnr histobt,
Sneh as desigo'd some time ago,
By him 'yclept fTUl. fFUl-be^ t
Here's Nnmber ONE tor pobUcatioa,
If moet the poblitf s approbation.

lAw-FmtrBUlHM Ms word
To send abont two hnadred pagesj^
• Collected by his glraning 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 m vicis-
situde and hardship, " oft' pining for a bit
of bread ;" and from experience, he was
well adapted to

'tell.

To whom most extra lots befeU ;
Who liT'd for months on stage of planhn,
Ifidst captain Flood's most vwelUng praaki.
Fire miles from any food to haTc,
Yon often risk'd a wat'ry giaye ;*'

yet his facts and style were so incongruous
that speaking of the ^ Sketch/' he says,
when he

* sent It ont,

Good laekl to know what 'tvaa abont?

He might as well hare sent it mnssled.

For half the folks seem'd roally puaslod.

Soliciting for patnmage.

He might haye spent near half an ages

From all endearonrs undertook.

He coald 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
telb the public, that

• Protected by kind Proridenee,

I mean in leas than twelve months henco,

Pnsh*d by no yery common sense,

To giye six times ae mnch as here is.

And hope there's none will thbk 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 Other's wilL" He ex-
pected that this " gallimaufry " and himself
would be consecrated to posterity, for he
says,

**Tu not for Incre that I write,
Bnt somethiqg laiCing,— to kidito
What may redooad to pnrpceegood.
(If hap'ly can be anderstood i)
And, as time pasaes o^er bis stnffea
Transmit my miad to fntnre agos."

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TH£ TABLE BOOK.

On concluding his second number, he
-' gratefully acknowledges the liberality of
Ilia 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 BiUing'
hay Date 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

"Pecwf
Bnovf h, to kMp his hsrp in time."

The care of a large family of orphan
grandchildren, in indigent circumstances,
laving devolved upon him, he became per-
plexed with extreme difficulties, and again
experienced the truth of his own observa-
tion, that

** If two ftept fonrard, oftf three buk,
Throoffk life had been hie constant track.**

Attracted by the « bodies of divinity,"
ind other theological works, which his
' antiquarian library " contained, his atten-
ion was particularly directed to the funda-
mental (ruths of relision, and the doctrines
of " the various aenominations 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
>iot entirely agreeing even with them, he
^ loved and venerated " the ^ Moravians or
UnitedBrethren,*'for their meek,uDassuming
demeanour, their ceaseless perseverance in
propagating the gospel, and their bound-
less love towards the whole human race.
Of his own particular notions, he tyus says.

If I on doctrinea hare ri^ht riew.
Here's this for me, and that for yoa ;
Another gires my nfighboar comfort,
A stranger oomee with one of some son .
When after candid scmtinisinf ,
We find them equally worth prisiaf ;
*Canse all in gospel loTe imparted.
Nor is there any one perrerted ;
Only as they may seem nnlike.
Nor can on othrr'k fancy strike :
Whereas from dne conformity,
0 1 what a spread of hamiony.
Each with each, bearing and forbearing.
All wishing for a better hearing.
Would in dne time, then full improve
Into one family of lov9 /
Instead of shyness on each other,
M7 fellow-christiaa, sister, brother

And eaeh in eaadovr tkns impart^
Yon have my fellowship and heart ;
Let this bnt be the root o' th' sense,
Jaut tht Ckri$tt 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,
plain and sincere in all transactions, and
his memory is universally respected. —
** Peace to his ashes " — (to use his own
expressions,)

** Let all the world say worst they eaa.
He was an npright, honest man.'*

K.

Wiinttr.

For the Table Book,
Wivrra I I love thee, for thon eom'st to me

Laden with joys oongenial to my mind.
Books that with bards and solitnde agree.

And all those virtnes which adorn mankind.
What thongh the meadows, and the neighb'riag hiUa,

That rear their oloody summits in the skiee—
What though the woodland brooks, and lowland rilla

That eharm'd our ears, and gratified our eyes,
la thy forlorn habiliments appear ?

What though the sephyrs of the summer tide,
And all the softer beauties of th? year

Are fled and gone, kind Heav'n has not denied
Our books and studies, munc, conv - > a.
And ev*ning parties for our r*- 1 1

And these suffice, for seasons snatch'd away.
Till SPBuro 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 tne dazzling snow, fall upon the
purple mists, which extend round the eartl;
like a zone, and in the mid^t the planet
appears a fixed stud, surpassing the ruby in
brilliancy.

Now trees and shrubs are borne down
with sparkling congelations, and the cora)
clusters of the havnhorn and holly are more
splendid, and offer a cold conserve to th(
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 ful

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THE TABLE BOOK.

chase before him. The fanner's boy, ¥Fho
IS forced from his warm bed, to milk cows
in a cold meadow, complams it's a <* burn-
ing" shame that he should be obliged to go
starring by himself, while " their wench"
has nothing else to do but make a fire, and
boil the tea-kettle. Now, Mrs. Jeremy
Belldack, properly so called, inasmuch as
tbe 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, afi'ects to
be fast asleep, till a second summons, ac-
companied oy 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, seem 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.

Afier breakout, 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
scrambling for h&ts, 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 tkinnff 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-
ay 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 stas^e-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-oflice,
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,
be recollects what a ** blowing up" he shall
bare 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 surfisice 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 th«
proficients in the art

■* Come and trip it as they go
Ob tbe light, fantaatio 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
circletf 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, bi^ with theory, con-
vinced, as he tells every one he meets, that
the whole art consists ** merely ia trans-
ferring the centre of gravity from one foot
to the other y* boldly essays a demonstra
tion, and instantly transfers it from both

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THE TABLE BOOK.

»o as to honour the froien 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 I"

It is now that the different canals are
froien up, and goods are conveyed by
the stage- waggon, and '* it's a capital time
!br the turnpikes ;" and those who can get
brandy, drink it; and those who can%
drink ale; and those who are unable to
procure either, do much better without
ihem. And now, ladies have red noeesi
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
[n 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 bronie candle-
bcarersy porcelain figures, and elegant
chimney ornaments, look like prince
MaIcolm% soldiers at ** Bimam wood/' or
chorister boys on a holy Thursday; and
his ** Ma** nearly ialls 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 hoify day* K and his ikther
relates the astonishing instance of early
genius at every club, card-party, or vestry-
nueeting 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-
Bced 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 /air sex,
in white veils and swans-down mnfk and
tippets, have (begging their pardons)
very much the appearance of polar bears.
Now, Miss Enigmaria Conundrtna Riddle,
poring over her new pocket-book, lisps
out, '* Why are ladies m winter like tea-
kettles r* 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, '* No, Pa, thafs 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 brancli,
looks like a man with a rifle to his shoulder,
and the niffht-lom traveller trembles at the
prospect or having his head and his pockets
r\fted 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 beat 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 go<xi.''

Now, the sultana of the night reigns on
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 vrith the im-
portance of his own mortality, takes his
farewell of his anti-critical readers in the
language of the old song,—

" Qad« aifht, aa* joj be wi* jon 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 contraiy :

^'Avr PERSOV TRESPACE HERE

SHALL BE PROSTICUTED

ACCORDIMO TO LAW.**

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THE TABLE BOOK,

THE BAZAAR.

For the Table Boelu

The Baaar in Solib

b ooai|ie(el7 tk« go.» (Song,j

Put it down itt Che biU
Ift the fountain of Ul, ^
Thin has every shopkeeper imAoiie—
Baxaars aerer tnut, lo dowa with yoar datC,
Aad help an to diddle all LoodoD. (5ev.)

Dear nadan, gire me leare te ath

Yon, — how jroar hnsbaad is I —
Whj, Mr. Snooks has lost hie looks,
He*s got the rhnmatiM I

With a ** How do joa do.
Ma'am r ** How are yoaf

How dear the things all are r
Throofhont the day
Yon hear them saj.
At fam*d Soho 1

Oh Kow I*ve wi^'d for some time back

To side to the Basaar,
>ad I declare the day looks fair
Nov woo*t yQQ go. maouna 7
For there oar frieads we're sure CO mefCf

So 1st as haste away,
Hj ooarias, too, last night told yoa.
They'd aU be there to^y.
With a ** How do yon do,
Ma*am r •• How are yon?

How dear the things all amT
Throoghoat the day
Yon hear them say*
At fom'd Soho Basaar.

SoBo kwk at thU thing, then at that.
Bat TOW they're all too high ;
How mnrh is this r— " Two guineas, ^rfa»1*
•• Oh. 1 doa't want to hnsfT
AAok at these pretty books, my lore,

I thiak it soon will rain I
There's Mrs. Howe. I saw her bow,
Whv doa't yon bow again?
With a ** How do yon do.
Ma'amr -Howareyoa?

How dear the things all are T
Throoghoat the day
Yon hear them say»
At fsm'd Soho Basaar.

Jvat see that pietmre on the box,

Howbeantlfallydoael
• It isn't high, ma'am, won't yon bay t

Itfs only one poond one.**
How pretty aU them bonnets look

With red aad yellow striags;
Some here, my dear, doa't go too near,
Yoa mnsta't toneh the things.
With a •• How do yoa do.
Ma'amr ** How are yon?

How dear the things all art T
Throoghoat the day
Yoa hear them say.
At fom'd Soho Basaar.

hCsa Maggias, have yoe seen nMoghr

I*K sorry I ean't lUy;
There's Mrs. Snooks, how fot she looks

She** eeming on thi4 waT

•• Tom ! see that girl, how well she walks

Bat fotth. I most oonfoss,
I aerer saw a girl before

la sttch a style of drees.**
•• Why, really. Jack. I think yoa're nght,
Jast let me look a while ;

(lookinff thnn^ hit glMi
I like her^ott at aay rate.
Bat doB*t quite like her ffyfo."
With a ** How da you do.
Ma'am T* ** How are yon ?

How dear the things nil are I**
Throngfaoot the day
Yoa hear them say.
At fom'd Soho Baaaar.

** That Tolgar lady's standing there
That every one may view her ;"—
•• Sir, that's my daoghter;"—**No, aot her;

I meaa the aext one to her :**
" Oh, that** my niece,*'— •* Oh no, not her.**-.

** Yon seem, sir, quite amused ;**
** Dear ma'am,— heyday I— what shall I say '
I'm reaUy quite coafosed.**
With a ** How do yoa do.
Ma'am f* ** How are yon ?

How dear the thtop all are 1" .
Throoghout the day
Yon hear them eay.
At fom'd Soho Basaar.

Thai beaax and bsiOes tofefher meet,

Aad thas they spend the day ;
And walk and talk, aad talk aad walk.

Aad thea they waXh away.
If you have half an honr to spars.

The better way by for
Is H*re to lounge it, with a friend,
la the Soho Basaar.

With a ** How do yoa do,
Ma'amr **Howiveyoar

How dear the thugs aU a«o P
Throughout the day
You hear them say,
Atfam'dScho]

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THE TABLE BOOK.

THE SEASON OUT OF TOWN.
For the Table Booh,

Th« banks an iptaHj gntn; bedgw and traaa
Are black aad ahroaded, and tba keen wind n>an»

Like diflmal mncie wand'nag owr aaaa.
And wailing to tbe agitated sborat.

The fields art dotted witb manure— the eheep
In oathom wool, streak'dwith the sbepherd*ii red.

Their nndirided peace and friendnhip keep,
Shaking their bells, like children to their bed.

The roads are white and mirf — waters ran
With Tiolenoe through their tracks— aad sheds, that
flowers

In sammf r graced, are open to the sun.
Which shines in noondaj's horisoatal honrs.

Frost claims the night ; and morning, like a bride.
Forth from her chamber glides; mist spreads her
Test;

The snnbeams ride the elonds till erentide,
Aad the wind roUs them to ethereal rest.

Sleet, shine, cold, fog, in portions fill the time {
Like hope, the prospect cheers ; like breath it fisdes ;

life grows in seasons to retarning prime.
And beautjT rises from departbg shades.

January^ 1827. P.

THE SIEGE OF BELGRADE.

Addreised to the Admirer* of AlUteraiion^
and the Advocate* of Noisy Number*.

Ardrntcm aspido atquc arrectis auribis asto.— FiryiL

An Aostnan armf awfully arrayed.
Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade :
Cossack commanders cannonading oome,
Dealiag destrnctioa*s derastatiag doom {
Erery endeaTOur engineers essay.
For fkme, for fortune fighting— farioos fray I
Generals *gainst generals grapple, gracious G^—d I
How hooowrs Keayen herot^ hardihood 1
iDfnriate—indtseriminate in ill—
Kinsmen kill kindred— kindred kinsmen kill;
Labour low levels loftiest, longest lines.
Men march 'mid mounds, 'mid moles, 'mid murder-
ous mines :
Now noisy noxious nnmben notice nought
Of outward oMtades^ oppoeing ought* —
Poor patriots l^partly purchased— partly prtw'd.
Quite quaking, quickly, ** Quarter I quarter r* quest :
Reaeon returns, religious right redounds,
Snwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds.
Truce to thee, Turkey, triumph to thy train
Unwise unjust, unmerciful Ukraine I
Vanish, raia netoryl Taaish, victory rain I
^Thr wish we warfare ? Wherefore welooce wrre

Xerxes* Xim«es, Xaathus, X&r.ef6

Yield, yield, ye youths 1 ye yeomen, yield yoir yxM ,

Zeno's, Zampatee's, Zoroaster's seal,

Attracting all, anas against acts appeal I

NAMES OF PLACES.
For the Table Booh.

The names of towns, cities, or Tillagea,
which terminate in ter, such as Chesfer,
• Caster, Ces/er, show that the Romans, in
their stay among us, made fortifications
about the places where they are now situ-
ated. In the Latin tongue Caetra is the
name of these fortifications — such are Cas-
tor, Chester, Doncaster, Leicester: Don
signifies - a mountain, and Ley^ oi Lei,
ground widely overgrown.

In our ancient tongue wich, or wich,
means a place of refuge, and is the termi-
nation of Warwick, Sandwich, Greenwich,
Woolwich, &c.

nprp, 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, Burghj-OT Berry ^ signifies, meta-
phorically, a town having a wall about it,
sometimes a high, or chief place.

JVold means a plain open country.

Combe, a valley between two hills

Knock, a hill.

Hur*t, a woody place.

Magh^ a field.

Inne*f an bland.

fForth, a place situated between two
rivers.

Jngf a tract of meadows.

Mintter is a contraction of monastery.

Sax Sam*s Son.

SONNET

Fur the Table Booh.

The snowdrop, rinng to its infant height.

Looks like a sickly child upon the spot

Of young natirity, regarding not
The air's caress of melody and light
Beam'd from the east, and soften'd by the bright

EffusiTc flssh of gold^-the willow stoops
And muses, like a bride without her lore.

On her own shade, which lies on wares, and droopi
Beside the natal trunk, nor looks abore :—
The precipice, that torrents cannot move.

Leans o*er the sea, and steadfast as a rock.
Of dash and cloud unconscious, bears tne rude

Continuous surge, the sounds and echota mock :
Thus Mental Thought enduring, wears in solitude.

1887. •.•,?.

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THE TAilLE BOOK.

THE FONT OF HARROW CHURCH.

-thnsaaTed

From goAxdUn-luuidfl which else had more depnTed.

Some year* ag , the nne old font of the
ancient parish church of Uarrow-on-the
hill was torn from that edifice, by the
** geutlemeu of the parish," and given out
to mend the roads with. The feelings of
one parishioner (to the honour of the 9ez, u
femaile) were outraged by this act of paro-
chial Vandalism ; and she was allowed to
preserte it fronci 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 befoie last, and is
engraved above.

On the exclusion of Harrow font from
(he church, the parish officers put up the
barbie wash - hand - basin -stand - looking-
Ihing, which now occupies its place, in-
Lcnbed with the names of Uie churdi-

wardens during whose rcign 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 lo 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 tne noble original
from that degrading destination^ to its
rightful dignity in the church

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THE TABLE BOOK.

©arritft ^laps.

No. UL

'From the " Rewards of Virtue,*' a Comedy,
by John Fountain, printed 1661. J

SwecetM im Battle not alwsyt attriUtahU to the Oknend.

.^^— Oenenli oftimes fsmoas p^w
By TaliaBt friends, or eowwedly enemies ;
Or, what is worse, by some mean piece of ebano»
Truth \% 'tis pretty to obserre
How litOs Princes nnd great Genenls
Contribota oftentimes to the fame thej win.
How ofir bath it been found, that noblest minds
With two short arms, hare fought with fatal sUn i
And hare endeavonr'd with their dearest blood
To mollify those diamonds, where dwell
The fate of kingdoms ; and at last have fain
By Tulgar hands, unable now to di>
More for their cause than die ; and have been lost
Among the sacriiiees of their swords ;
No more remembei'd than poor TiUagn*,
Whose ashet sleep among the common flowers,
That every meadow wears : whilst other mtm
With trambling hands have caught a victory,
And on pale foreheads wear triumphant bays.
Besides, I haw 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 dean as the cold spring, where «!•
Quenches aU thirsts, being told of enemies.
That seek to 'right the long^njoyed Vtaoe
Of our Arcadia hence with sound of drums.
And with hoarse trumpets warlike urs to drowa
The harmless music of her oaten reeds ,
Should in the passion of her troubled sprite
Repair to some small fane (wuch as the Gods
Hear poor folks from), and there on humble knees
Lift up her trembling hands to holy Pan,
And beg his helpe : 'tis possible to think,
TkatHeav'n, which holds the purest vows most rich.
May not ponndt her still to weep In vain.
Bat 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 stiU using means) the Enemy
May be defeated. The glory of all this
Ifl attributed to the General,
And none but he's spoke loud of for the act ;
While she, from whose so unaffected tears
Hip laurel sprung, for ever dwells unknown *

* Is it posmble that Cowper might have remembered
^is senUment in his description of the advantoges
which the world, that scorns him, may derive from the
notselaas hours of the eontemplative man t

PerhafM she owes
Her snuRhine and her rain, her blooming spring
And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes,
KThen, Isaao-lik^ the solitory saint
Walks forth to meditoto at eventidie ,
And think on her, woo tninks not on herself.

Toik.

Unlawful SoUcitingM.

When I first
MentionM the business to her all akma,
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 fiiirest cheeks ;
As if she thought herself obliged to cry,
\}auae all Ike world was not so good as she.

Proportion in Pity.

Then must be some proportion still to pity
Between ourselves and what we moan : 'tis hard
For Men to be ought sensible, how Moate
Press Flies to death. Should (he Lion, in
His midnight walks for prey, hear some poor worms
Complain for want of litUe drops of dew,
VThat pity could that generous creature have
(Who never wanted small things) for those poor
Ambitions ? yet these are their concernments.
And bit for want of these they pine and die.

ModeHy a bar to prtferment.

!;«« twas his modesty. He might have thriven
Much better possibly, had his ambition
B«tA gMSter much. They oftimes take more paius
Who look for Fina, than those who find out Stors.

Innocence vindicated at hut

Hea^n may awhile correct the virtuous ;
Yet it will wipe thmr 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 unezpecting eyes appears
More glorious thro* ito late obscurity.

Dying for a Beloved Person,

There is a gust in Death, when 'tis for Love,
Thafs more than all that's taste in aU the world.
For the true measure of true Love Is Death ;
And what falb 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
Indnre the highost test; and aien it feels
The sum of deieotatiou, since it now
Attoins ite perfect end ; and shows ita object.
By one intense act, all ito verity t
Which by a thousand and ten thousand worda
It would have took a poor diluted pleasure
' To have Imperfectly ezprcss'd.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

UrtmSa tuakes a mock OMsignation mth
ike Kiiigy and substitutes the Qtieen in her
place. The King describes the supposed
meeting to the Cot\fident, whom he had em-
ployed to soUcUfor his guilty passion.

PjnhvB, ru tdl thoe an. When now the night

Grew blaok cooagh to hide a acnlkiag aedon ;

And HeaT'a had' ne'er an eje nnshnt to see

Her RepreeentatiTe on Earth eraep 'nmigst

Thoee poor defeneeleaa worme, whom Natara laft

An hiunole prej to erery thiaf, aadno

Aejrlam Imt the dark ; I eofUf stola

To jonder grotto thro' tha npper walka»

And there found mj Urania. Bat I found har,

I found her, Pjxzhna, not a MUtreae» bnt

A Qoddeee rather; which madame now to be

No more her LoTer, bat Idolater.

She onljr whisper^ to ne, ae aha pvombad.

Yet never heard I any voiee eo load t

And, tho* her worda ware gentler for than tkoaa

That holj pricets do epaak to djingSatnto,

Yet nerer thoadar rigmfied ao moeh.

Aad (what did more impnea whatever iIm i^)

Methonght her wbiapers were mj lajnred Qm»m%

Her maoaar jnat £ke hei'el and when aha urged.

Among « rtioneand thinga, the iigurj

did the foithfol*»t Princeaa b the world ;
Who BOW suppoaed me sick, aad waa perchaaee
UpoB her kneee oAering up hAj raw
For him who mook'd both Hear'n aad her, aad waa
Now breskmg of that tow he made her, when
With aacrifioe he ealTd the-Ooda to witMas :
Whan aha ai^^ thia, and wept, and epake eo like
Jfj poor deluded Qaeen, PyrAaa, I tremUed ;
Almoet pomaded that it waa her aofel
SpAke tkn^ Uraaia'a Itpa, whofor her lake
Took care of me, aa aomething iIm mudi loved.
It would bo long to teU thee aU ehe aaid.
How oft she aigh'd, how bittorlj the weptt
But the effeet— Urania still is ohasto ;
Aad with her ehaster lips hath promised to
^Toke Ueat HeaT'a for m/ intended sm.

C.L.

THE CUSHION DANCE.
For the Table Book.

The conclading dance at a couDtry wake,
or other general meeting, is the ** Cushion
Dance f and if it be not called for when
the company are tired with dancing, the
fiddler, wha 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 be 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 logins.

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 danoe it will
no farther go.**

The fiddler, in return, sings or says, lor
it partakes of both, ** I pray, kind sir, why
say you so ?"

The answer is, ** Because Joaa Sander*
son won't coase 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 ffirl he likes best,
and drops the cushion at her feet; she puts
her pennv 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 Atm, 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 pevquisite of the fid-
dler.

H.N.

P.S. There is a description of this dauce
in Miss Button's *< Oakwood HalL''

Thb Cushion Dahcs.
For the Table Book.

•Saltabamaa.**
The TiIIage>greeB is elear and digfet

Under the starlight sky ;
Joy in the cottage reigns to ai^

And brfghtets ererj e/e.

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Tk« pesMiU of tke vallej meet

Tkeir Uboorv to adraaee,
Asd mMAj A lip iBTitee a treat

To celebrate the ** Ciuluoii Dance.*

A pillow ia tbe room thej Udeb

The door thej slilf lock;
The bold the buhfal dameeU ehide,

Whoee hemtf e-palae teem to rock t
•• EMsape r— ** Not jet I-hm> ker b fonad T—

** Of oovnev tie loot bf ehaaoe {**—
Aad flatt'rinc whiepen breathe aixmad

«• The Cttshion Daaoi l^The CaaUoB Daaoe r

The Addler b a conitr etaadiv

He fivea, he mlee the game i
A rvetie takei a BMidea's haads

Whoea cheek ia red irtth ehamet
At oaatom*8 ahriae thej eaal their truth*

Un% fails aot hen to glaaee;—
Happj the heart that beats ia yoath,

ibtha'CoahioaDaaeer

The pillow's earrled roand and looad.

The Addler speaks and plajs {
The choice Is made,— the charm is woaad,

Aad parleys ooaqoet najrs ^-

Vlar shamel I wiU not thvs be kiss'd.

Tear beard cats like a laace;
Leave off— I*m sore fon'TO spnuaed mj wrist

By kaeeliBf in this * Cashion Daaee r **

** *Tls aanf B tarn,— what ia tears?— I thought

You dearly loTud a joke i
Kisses am sweeter stoFa than bought^

Aad* vows are sometimes broke.
Play upl— play up I— aaat ehoosss Bea t

Ben loves so sweet a trance I
Robin to Nelly kafels agaia,

—Is LoTO aot ia the * Oushioa dsaeer *

lAughter u busy at the heart*

Cupid looks trough the eye^
Feeliag is dear whea sorrows part

And plaiatiTe eomibrlfs aigh,
** Hide not in eoraers, Betsy, pray***

** Do not so oolt>like prance ;
One kiss, for memory's future day,

— b life aot like a * Cnahion DanoeT* **

« Thb Daaee It will no further go T

** Why say you thus, good maa 7"
** Joav Saadefson irill not come to I*

" She must— 'tis * Custom's' plan :**
** Whether she will or ao, must she

The proper eourae adTsace ;
Blashes, like blsesoms oa a tree.

Are loTdy ia the * Cuahioa Daiioe.' *

« This Daaoe it win no furthei go !**

•• Why say you thus, good lady?*
■■ John Sanderson will not eome to I"

•• rie, Johal the Cushion's raady :"
■* He must come to, he shall come to^

Tie Mirth's right throae plrasaaee i
iWw dear the scene, ia Nature's TieWi,

To Vvtrs ia a * Cushioa Dance I"*

* Bo I prinenm praneu>n t" — ^Love i% bteet t

Both Joaa aad Joha submit ;
Friends smiling gather tooad aad UMt,

Aad sweethsarto dcsely sit;—
Their feet aad spirits Uaguid grown,

Eyes, bright ia sileace, glaace
Like suae oa seeds of beauty sowa,

Aad aourish'd ia the ** Cushioa Daace.

Ia rimes to come, whea older we

Hare childrea rouad oor knees ;
How will our hearts rejoice to see

Their laps aad eyes at ease.
Talk ye of Swiss ia Talley-streams,

Of joyous pairs ia France ;
Koae of their hopes-deltghting dreams

Are equal to the ** Cushion Daaoe."

*Twas hers my Mudea's lore I drew

By the hushing of her boeom ;
She Icaelt, her mouth and press were trae.

And sweet as rose's bloosom :—
E'er sines, though onward we to glory,

Aad cares our IiTse enhaaee*
Reteotion dearly tells the •* story^—

Haill— hail I— thoa •* happy Cushion Daaee^"

J. H. Peiox.

hlingtoiL

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 or charitable donations and gifts, con
taining the following item :—

£. t. rf.
1605. Mr. Robert Dowe gave 50 0 0
for ringing the greatest
bell in this church on the
day the condemned pri-
soners are executed, and
for other senrices, for
ever, concerning such
condemned prisoners, for
which services the eexton
is paid £l. 6«. 8dl

Looking over an old volume of the New-
gate Calendar, I found some elucidation of
tnis 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 wa^
set at liberty on a former occasion, '* Be-
ware how you come here again, or tlie
bellman will certainly say his verses ova
^ou.'* On this saying there is the followw
ing remark : —

** It has been a very ancient practice, on
the night preceding the execuuon of con-

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demned cnminals, for tne heUman of the
parish of St. Sepulchre, to go under New-
gate, and, ringing his bell, to repeat the
Allowing verses, as a piece of friendly
advice to the unhappy wretches under sen-
tence of death :—

An 700 duit in th* ooDdennM bold do lie,
Pnpan joa, for to-momnr foa ihall die;
Wfttah all, and pnjr, the hoar ii dnwiaf bmt.
That 70a befora the Almightj' most appear 1
EzamtiM well jrounelvaa, in time repent,
That yott m%j not to Ptemal Aamee be eent
And trhea St Sepnlchre's bell to-morrow tolls.
The Lord aboTe'haTe nercj on jonr sonls I

Past twelre o*oloek •

In the following extract from Stowe's
London,* it will be shown that the above
▼erses ought to be repeated by a clergy-
man, instead of a bellman : —

** Robert Done, citizen and merchant tay-
lor, of London, gave to the parish church of
Sl 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 elarke (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
thev lye, and there ringing certain toles
with a hand -bell appointed for the purpose,
be 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
bonest stipend allowed to see that this is
duely done."

Probably the discontinuance of this prao-
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 servicei "
are which the donor intended to be done, and
for which the sexton u paid £l. 6«. Bd.,
and which are to be **for «ver," I do not
know, but I presume those services (or
some other) are now continued, as the
lH>ard which contains the donation seems
to me to have been newly painted.

Edwih S — .
Ctartkuthn-ftreetf Jan, 1827.

• Fa^e 25 of the quarto edition, 1618^

THE DEATH OF THE RED KINO

** Come, liiten toa tale of timet of oldt
Come, for je know me.** Southbt

Who IS It that fidea thro* the foreat ao gveea.

And gaaaa with jof on the beaatifnl aeeBe»

With thegaypraadaf war^hone^andhdmetedhaadl

Tie the aaonaioh of England, atan William the Red

Whf ttarta the proad eonner? what vlnoa la there?
The treea are acaree mor'd bj the stitt breathbg aif^
AU u huh*d, eave the wild bird that earola on hig*i.
ila foreat bee*a hnm, and the rivnlatfs aigh.

Bat, lo I a dark form o*er the pathwaj hath lejn d
*Tb the dmid of Malwood, the wild foreat^iend
The terror of jonth, of the aged the fnx-^
The prophet of Cadenham, the death- boding tear I

Hie garmenta were blaek aa the night-raven's ploma,
His ieatnres wen veil'd in mTsterioas gloom.
His lean arm was awfnlly rais*d while he said,
« Well met, England's monarch, stem William tfc^
Redl

■* Desolatiott, death, run, the mightj shall faU-
LtunentatiaB and woe reign in Malwood*s wide hall I
Thoee leaTes shall all fade in the winter's rade blast,
▲ad thon shalt lie low ere the winter be past**

« ThoB Best, vile caitiff, 'tbfala^ by the rood.
For know that iSke oontraet Is seal*d with mj blood,
Tk written, I nerer shall aleep in the tomb
Till Cadonham's oak in the winter dmU hk»om I

** Bnt aajr what art thon, strange, nnsearehable thing.
That dares to speak treason, and waylay a kiag ?**-
** Know, mcmareh, I dwell in the beantifal bowers
Of Eden, and poison I shed o*er the flowers.

* In darkness and storm o*fr the ocean I aail,
I ride on the breath of the aight^oUing gale*
I dwaU in Vesnvias, *nud torrents of flame.
Unriddle my riddle, and tall ma my name I**

O pale grew the monardi, aad smote on hu breast,
For who was the prophet he wittingly gaeas*d t
*« 0, Jnm-Maria /** he tremblingly said,
** Bona Virgo T*— he gaxed— bat the Tision had fled

*Tis winter— the treee of the foreat are bare.
How keenly is blowing the chilly night oxr 1
The moonbeams shine brightly on hard-frosen flood
And William is riding thro* Cadenham*a wood.

Why looks he with dread on the blasted oak tree ?
Saint Swithin 1 what is it the monarch can eee ?
Prophetical sight I *mid the desolate scene.
The oak is array*d in the freshest of green I

He thooght of the contract, ** Thoa*rt eafe from the

TiU Cadeaham's oak m the winter shall bloom ;**
H«> thought of the dniid— ** The mighty shall fall
Lamentation and woe nAga in Malweod's wido hali."

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Ai he 8«9oS BMr th« trM, lol a tmft fljrhiff dart
Hath strnek th« proad monarch, and pi«rc*d thro* bia

aeart;
Twas the deed of a friend, not the deed of a fb^
For the arrow was aiai*d atthe breast of a roe.

[n Malwood u sUent the ttghMieafted flee.
The daaoe and the waMiil, aad wild Rvelria ;
Its cbaaibara are dreary, deetrted, and iMM,
AjmI the day of iteffoataaa for etar batk iowa. '

A weepiaf is heard in Saint Swithin*s bnga pile—
** DUi Ir^* resoaads thro* the sable-dight aisle—
'Tie a diffs for the nsifhty, the mass for the dead—
The funeral aatham fpr William the Red 1

Aqvila.

Described bt a Writer in 1 634.

I will firal take a sunrev of the long-con-
tinued defonnity 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 vour shambles so
empty, that vou 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 Co
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 expresl 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 gis>nt, 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
city, as that he can show me one house like

* (f a disagreement otf neighbours wero to be inferred
fraa snoh a cireaaiiitaBoe, what bnt aa nnfavoarable
lafereaoe woald be drawn from our modern style of
a^hitectnre, as exemplified in Regent-street, where the
Houses are, as the leooard'e spots aro deseribed to be.

wm two alike, aad every oa^ different.**

another; vet your houses seem to^be re
versed and formal, being compared to the
faintastical looks of the modems, 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 histingness 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
fitntastical; but where streets continually
change ^hion, you should make haste to
chain up your city, for it is certainly mad.

You would think me a malicious tra-
▼eller, if I should still gase on your mis-
Bhapen streets, and take no notice of the
beauty of your river, therefore I will pass
the importunate noise of ^our 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-vrards,) 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^,
.areyou at the ease of a ehmae^d-brut.

The Commodity and trade of your r er
belong to yourselves ; but give a stranv^er
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 Che subject, where every private roan
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 alveays landing to
storm the harbour ; therefore, for brevity's
sake, I vrill put to shore again, though I
shoiild be so constrained, even without my
galoshes, to land at Puddle-dock.

I am now returned to visit your houses
where the roo& are so low, that I presumea
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

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oblige you much, wnen you know my aver-
sion to a certain weed that governs amongst
vour coarser acquaintance, as much as
avender among your coarser linen; to
which, in my apprehension, your sea-coal
ftnoke seems a very Portugal perfume. I
ihould here hasten to a period, for fear of
^fibcation, if I thought you so ungracious
u to use it in public assemblies ; and yet I
fee it grow so much in fashion, that me-
rhinks your children begin to play with
OToken pipes instead of corals, to make
way for tneir 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
«H11 I lodge with you, because your beds
seem no bigger than coffins ; and your cur-
rains 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, ibr 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 I 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-
bniy, 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 ci^) I shall desire you to
banish your laundresses and bleachers,whose
acres of old linen make a show like the
fields of Carthagena, when the five months'
shifts of the whole fleet are washed and
«F«>^>^ .

• Sir W. Dareaaat.

A FATHER'S HOME.
For the Table Book.

vrhtrB oppren*d bj the world, or fatipi*d mth its
eharma,

Mj weary iteps bomeward I tread—
*TiB there, midst the prattlere that fljr to my arms,

I enjoy purer pleasures instead.
Hark I the rap at the door is known as their dad's.

And mshinf at ooee 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 faie

Olad to job in th* general joy,
While with onutretehed arms and looks of amaaa

He seises the new pnrehas'd toy.
Tkea Harry, the next, elimbe the knee to eagafa

His father's attention again ;
B«t Bo6, springing forward almost in a rage,

Reeolres hu own rights to maintain.
Oh, ye TOt'nes of pleasnre and folly's sad emr.

From yonr midnight carousals depart I
Look here for troe joys, arer blooming and new.

When I press both these boys to my heart
Poor grimalkin pars softly — the tea*kettle sings.

Midst glad faces and innocent hearts,
Eaeircling my table as happy as kings,

Aight merrily playing their parts.
Aad Bill (the sly rogue) takes a luap^ when he*s able

Of tngar, sotemptiagly sweet,
And, arofclj observing, hides under the table

The spoU, till he*s ready to eat
While (hatye, the big boy, talks of terrible ** snmsP*

He perform'd so eerreetly at school ;
Bill leeringly tells, with his chin on his thumbs,

■* He was whipt there for playing the fool !"
l^ia raises a strife, till in cholerio mood

Each Tantnrss a threat to his brother,
Bnt their hearts are so good, let a stranger iatnide,

They'd flghC to the last for each other.
There ilTm, the sweet girl, she that fisgs fiir the whoU

And keeps the yoong urchins in order,
Exhibits,'with innooenee eharmin* the soul.

Her sister's fine sampler and bord^.
Kitty sings to me gaily, then ehatting apaoe

Helps her mother to dam or to stitch.
Reminding me moet of that gay laughing faoo

Which onoe d»A my fond heart bewitch.
While th§ I the dear partner of all ray delight

Contrires them some innocent play ;
Till, tired of all. in the silence of night.

They dream the glad moments away.
Oh, long may such fire-side scenes be my lot 1

Ye children, be Tirtnons and true 1
And think when I'm aged, alone in my cot.

How I minister'd comfort to you.
When my rigour is gone, and to manhood's estate

Ye all shall be happily grown.
Live near me, and, anxious for poor father's feto

Show the world that you're truly at owa.

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STANMORE TOLL-HOUSE.

Its ornmmental look, and pablio use,
Oombine to render it worth obeerraiion.

Our new toll-houses are deservedly the
subject of frequent remark, on account of
their beauty. The preceding engraving is
intended to convey an idea of Stanmore-

Cte, which is one of the handsomest near
>ndon. 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 wa« not destined to
appear m this place ; but the indisposition
of a gentleman engaged to assist in ill us-
rating this work, has occasioned a sudden
disappointment.

" STATUTES" AND « MOPS.'»

To the Editor.

Si •, — Although your unique and curious
woik, the Every-Day Book^ abounds with
very ir.teresting accounts of festivals, fairs,
waf lails, wakes, and other particulars con-
ee«aijgour country manners, and will be
prized by future gencraticns as a rare and

valuable collection of the pastimes and
customs of their forefathers, still much oi
the same nature remains to be related;
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 fron.
further delay, and 1 delineate, as well as 1
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 n
week Ai his farm at the time these Statute*
were holding. So valuable an 'jp(K>nunit^

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of visitine them and makinfr my own obser-
Tationsy f, of coune, readily embraced. Be-
{ets I proceed to Jay before you the resalts,
1 may be as well, jterhaps, to give some-
iiing like a definition of the name applied
Id this peculiar custom, as also when and
^rwhat purpoM the usage was established.
* Statutes/' or '< Sutute 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 senranUi,
repair for the determining of differences
between roasters and servants ; the rating,
by the sheriff or mi^strates, 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.

Tlie first act of parliament for regulating
servants' wages passed in the year 1351,
25th Edward III. At an early period
labourers were serft, or slaves, ana con-
sequently there was no law upon the sub-
ject, llie 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, iatlen
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 tiie servants now rate and ask what
wages they think fit, still they have an
opportunity of knowing how wages are
as ia!ly g<Mng. and the roasters have hun-

dreds, and, in some cases, thou8andi» 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 f«ist 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 mmd of those
who have witnessed a country lair; 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 Yarietv of
wearing apparel, suitable to every class,
from tne nrm bailiff, or dapper footman,
to the unassuming ploughboy, or day-la-
bourer.

The public-houses were thoroughly full,
not excepting even the private chaiL^ers.
The scene out of doors was enlivened, here
and there, by some wandering minstiel, 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, afler 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 a
master or mistress as to the work thcgr hi4

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been accastoraed to ; and then you would
■carce 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 tlie staie 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*U 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 a^^rees 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 fifly-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 cat of Statute-
hirings brought to the assizes or sessions
for settlement.

When the hiring is over, the emblems in
the 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 tl)«
more unwary are fleeced of their money bv
the itinerant Greeks and black legs with
£. O. tables, pricking in the gartef, the
three thimbles &c. &c. These trickstert
seklom fail to rea p abundant harvests at
the Statutes. Towards eveuing each lad
seeks his lass, and thev hurry off to spend the
night at the public-houses, or, as is the
case in some small villages, at ptivate
houses, which, on these occasions, are
licensed for the time being.

To attempt to delineate the scenes thai
now present themselves, would on my part
be presumption indeed. It rather requires
the pencil of Hogarth to do justice to thif
varied picture. Here go round the

**8ong and duaee, and mirth and glee;**
but I cannot add, with the poet,

** In one eontiMMftd round of barmonjr :**

for, among such a mingled mass, ft is rare
but that in some part discord breaks in
upon the mstic amusements of the peace-
ably inclined. The rooms of the severar
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 villagre not fkr from hence, it has,
ere now, been found necessarv to disturb
the reverend magistrate from his peacefu.
slumbers, and require his presence to quell
disturbances that almost, as a natural con-
sequence, ensue, from the landlords and
proprietors of the houses attemjpting to
turn out guests, who, under the influence of
liquor, pay little regard to either landlord
or magistrate. The most ]>eaceable way of
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 Sontham, in Warwick-
shire, on the three successive Mondays
af^er old Michaelmas-day. To these Sta-
tutes all repair, who, from one cause or
other, decline Ui go to their new places,

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together with others who had not been for-
tunate enough to obtain situations. Mas-
ters, however, consider it rather hazardous to
nire at these Statutes, as they are in danger
of engaging with servants already hired,
who capriciously refuse to go to their em-
ployment ; and if any person hire or retain
a servant so epgaged, 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 roaster 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,
*here is no just ground of complaint, it is
av the master^s option to accept it, and tnce
vend. The Statutes I have visited for the

furpose of gaining these particulars are
tudley, Shipston-on-Stour, and Aston-
Cantlow, all m 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 bul;
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 11th there is a green,
with the prospect of a village, and the
representation of a Statute, and the 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 !

Juetice ff^oodcock. Fy ! fy! what a
crowd's this 1 Odds, 1*11 put some of then*

in the stocks. iStrikhg mfeUouf) 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, follow-servants, as
many of you as are willing and able to
bear a-bob. Well let my masters and
mistresses see we can do something at
least; if they won't hire us it sha'n't be
our fimlt. Strike up the Servants* Medley.

I pray« s«iUet. list to ■•»

I'm jroviif and stmif , aad elma, jm m9 ;

ru not niTB tftil to nj olio.

For work tbsf • in tko oouitiy.
Of all fo«r hovM th« oharfo I tako,
I wash, I •erubi I brew, I bake;
And mort eaa do thaa here Til ipoak.

Depending on jonr bounty.

Behold a blade, who known hie trade

In chamber, ball, and entry t
And what tkongh here I now appear,
Vrt served the best of gentry.
A footman would yon have,
I can dress, and eomb, and skaTSs
For I a handy lad am :
On a message I oan go,
And slip a. billet^loux.
With yoar humble senraM, nmdess.
Cookmaid.
Who wants a good cook my hand they must cross ;
For plain wholesome duhes Vm ne'er at a loss ;
Aad what are your eonps, yonr mgonts, and your sauce,
Compared to old RngUsh roast beef?

Carter.
If yen want a young roan with a true honest heart.
Who knows how to manage a plough and a cart.
Here's one to yonr pnrpoae, coaie take me and try ;
Yon'U say yon ne'er met with a better than I,
Oeho, dobio, &c

Gkttm».
My masters and mistresses hitiMr repair.
What serraats yon want yon'll find in our fur ;
Men and maids fit for all sorts of sUtioas there be.
And as for the wages we shaVt disagree.

Presuming that these memoranda mny
amuse a number of persons who, chietiy
living in large towns and cities, have no
opportunity of being otherwise acquainted
wiih " Statutes,^ or •* Mops," in country-
places, I am, &c.

Birmngkam.

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HAM AND STILTON.
For the Table Book.

r^E Poet's Epistle of Thanes to a
Friekd at Biaxingham.

** Parlege Maocio cantatM canniae naaa,
Et fnwtem nngi, tolrere ditoc meit.**

Dear Friend,— I feel constnui'd to njr.
The present aent the other daf
Claims my best thanks, and while dosifn*d
To please the taste, it warm*d m j mind.
Kor, wonder not it should inspire
Within my orenst poetic fire 1

The Cheese seem'd like some growinf state.
Coropos'd of little folks and great ;
Thongh we denominate them laitet,
Thej eall each other Stiltonites.
And *tis most fit, wherever we live.
The land oar epithet shonld giyn:
Romans derive their name from Rome,
And Turks, jou know, from Turkey come.

Casing with *' microscopic eye **

0*er Stilton land, I did espy

8ueh wonders, as wonld make thoee start

Who never peep'd or travell'd there.

Hie country where this race reside

Ahonnds with ongs on ev^ry side :

Its geographic sitnatioii

Is under eonstant variation {

Now hurried up, then down again—

No fiz*d abode can it maintain i

And, like the Lillipatian elinu.

We read about in olden time,

Hage giants eompoas it about.

Who dig withia, and cut without.

And at a mouthful— direful fate 1

A eity oft depopulate 1

And, then, m Stilton, you must know.

Then is a spot, eall*d tUMntow ;

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 eomes flowing down.

Like water in New Samm's town.

li such a quarter, yon may guess.

The leading vice is drunkenness.

Xkme hither any hour of day.

And you shall see whole dusters 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 thow'rt dfiscenu.

Are in their turns corporeal

More sober and gymnastiral

Meaadenng in kindred dust,

ney gaage, and with the dry-rot bnrst ,

For we may naturally think.

They live B>t long who cannot drink

Alas I poor Saiton T wher^s d» bmm
To sing thy downfall will refuse?
Melpomene, in moamful verse.
Thy dire destruction will rehearse t
Comus himself shall grieve and weof^
As notes of woe his gay lyre sweep ;
For who among thy countless band
The fierce invaders can withstand?
Nor only /orvtya foes are thme—
Children thou hast, who undermine
Thy massive walls that 'girt thee round.
And ev'ry comer seems unsound.
A few more weeks, and we shall see
Stilton, the fam*d— will cease to be I

Bdbre, however, I conclude,

I wish to add, that gratitude

Incites me to another theme

Beside coagulated cream.

"Hs not about the viUagt Ham,

K9r yet the phce eall'd Petersham-

Nor more renowned Birmingham i

Nor is it fried or Friar Baam^

The Muse commands me verse to make on -

Kor pities, (as the poet feigns,)

A people once devoui'd by cranes.

Of these I speak not— my inUmtioa

is aomething nearer home to mention t

Therefore, at once, for pig's hind leg

Aeeept my warmest thanks, I beg.

The meatwM of the finest sort.

And worthy' of a lish at court.

Lastly, I gladly would express

The grateful feelings I possess

For such a boon— th* attempt is vain.

And hence in wisdom I refrain

From saying more than what yon se»—

Farewell ! sincerely yours,

B.C*

To E. T. Esq.
Jan. 1827.

LOVES OF THE NEGROES.

At New Paltz, United States.

PhUlU Schoonmaker y. Ctff Hogeboon,

Tliis was as action for a breach of thr
marriage promise, tried before 'squire Df
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-
jiealed 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 ol
an American jury. It was time to put an
end to these faithless professions, to thes«
cold-hearted delusions ; it was time to put
a curb upon the false tongues and fals«
. hearts of pretended lovers, who, with honied

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■ocents, only woo'd to niin, and only pro-
fessed to deceire. The worthy counsellor
trusted that no injurious impressions would
be made on the minds of the jury by the
eolour of his client-—

** *T!saot a Mt of featorw.

This tmeiwrt of ths iikia, that wo 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 Ticto-
rioui general of her armies, was black, yet
the loTely Desdemona saw ** Othello's visage
in his mind.^ In modem 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
true, and in a humble sphere of life ; but
love levels all distinctions ; the blihd 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 ujpon the
generosity of a jury of freemen— or 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-
woobey 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 peifidy
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*
temotuous ejaculation of £h 1 — Umph !—
Ough 1— which did not disconcert the far
one in the least, she reluming the compli-
ment by placing her arms a-kimbo, and
surveying ner 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, 1
know de gentlemen of de jury berry vell^
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 ?— an, 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 ffo to get massa Lucas to plead for
me, but he gone to the Court of £rror, at
Albany; — Massa Sam Freer and massa
Cockburn said they come to gib roe 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, 'now de do, Phillis f
or, as she gave it, probably in Dutch, * How
gaud it mit you V * 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 (^ot sumting to
say— den I say, berry t€ll» Cuff, I vill — he
vent up de mountam, and I vent home ;
ven I eat my supper and milk de cows, 1
say to myself, Pnillis, pose you go down to
de barn, and hear vat Cuff has to say.
Well, massa 'Squire, I go, dare was Cufl
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

r reached in Milton, down 'pon Maribro'.
say, Cuff, you make fun on me ; he say
no, • By mine zeal, I vil marry you, Phillis ;*
den he gib me dis here as earnest." — Phill..,

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here jdrew from her huge pocket $in 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
contrapt.

Cuff admitted that he had made her a
kind of promise, but it was conditional.
'* i told her, roassa ^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 m.issa 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 um 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
injuty vtty apparent, yet the court was not
warranted in taking the case out of the
hands of the jury. A promise had evidently
been made, and haa 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
fiict 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. Hie
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 hare sot heard thj name for jt^m
Thy memory ere thyself is deaa;

And eren I forget the tears
That onoe for thy lov'd sake wen shed.

There was a time when thou didst seem
The light and breath of life to me—

When, e'en in thought, I eonld not dream
That less than mine thou e'er ooold be : «

Yet now it is a ohanoe that brought
Thy image to my heart again ;

A single flower recall'd the thought^
Why is it still so full of pain 7

ne 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 thai, I by tte casement leant.

As than, the silver moonlight shone
Bat not, as then, another bent

The sea is now between us twai«
As wide a gulf between each heart ;

Nerer ean either have again
An influence on the other's part

Onr paths are diflbrent; percbaaoe mme
May seem the sanniost of the two :

The Inta, whieh once was only thme,
Haaother aim, and higher view.

My song has now a wider scope
Than when iU first tones braath'd thy

My heart has done with Loye-«nd hope
Tnra'd to another idol— Fame.

lis but one destiny ; one dream
Sueoeeds another— like a wave

Folbwing its bnbblea— till their ^eaa
Is loot, and ended in the grare.

Why am I sorrowftil ? 'Tisnot
One thought of thee has brought the tei

la sooth, thou art so much forgot,
I do not even wish thee here

Both are so chaog>d, that did we meet
We might but marvel we had loVd :

What made our earliest droam so sweet ?
Ulusiona— long, long sines removU

I sorrow— hut it is to know

How still some fair dooeit nnifaaisa
To think how aU of joy below

Is cMly joy while it deeeiTSB.

I sorrow— but it is to feel

Changes which my own mind hatti figldi
What, though time polishes the steel*

Alas ! it is less bnght than eold.

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1 ham no re mile*, ai^ fewer te«n ;

Re* tears are now mtmVd for shame :
Task-work the smiles my bp now wears.

That once like rain ai

Where is the sweet cndnlity,

Happjr in that fond tmst it bore.
Which nerer dream*d the time woold be

When It conld hope and trust no moref

AlTectioa, springing warmlj forth—
Lifl^ht word, light laagh, and lighter care

lifers afternoon is little worth—
The dew and warmth of momiag air.

I woaU not Kto again lore's hoars

Bat fun I woold again reeall
The fMlings wlueh vpheld its powei^

The truth, the hope, that made it tkraU.

I would renounce the worldlmess.
Now too much with m/ heart and me |

In one trust more, in one doubt less.
How much of happinesi would be I—

▼ainer than Trail Why should I ask
Lifi^ sweet but most deoeiTing part f

Alasl the bloom upon the cheek
Long, long outfiTes that of the heart.

L. E. U— iloa^y MagasUtt,

TIMBER IN BOGS.

It 18 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 dts-
coTered 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 ooinion, that in
many places where forests nad 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 bottlers, which opened
the internal part, where the trees were weak
and slender, U> 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 foresU The large timber obstructed
the passaee of vegetable recrement, and of
earth Ming towards the rivers ; the weak
timber, in the internal part of the forest
after it had fkllen, soon decayed, and be-
came the food of fiiture 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 par*
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, necause 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 band or foot, and rub it over their
tace.

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 theii
cheeks, and raise one foot in the air, with
the knee bent.

An Ethiopian takes the robe of anothet
and ties it about him, k as to leave his
friend almost naked.

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Tlie Japaneje take off a slipper, and
the people of Arracan their sandals, in the
street, and their stockings in the huuse,
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 man^ other affected modes. They have
also a kmd 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 foity 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 fisnermen.

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?"
whiist the " Comment vous poites-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
ottlers, is, " Ya fan V — ** Have you eaten
your rice V

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 hand« ; 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.

(Brnni&m^

POETRY.

For the Table Book

The poesf of the.Mrth, tea, air, aod sky,
Thoogh death is powerful in oohtm of time

Witk wart and battlements, will nerer die.
Bat trinmph in the silence of sublime
SnrriraL Frost, like tynnny, might climb

The narseling germs of farotirite haaats ; the rooo
Will grow hereafter. Terror on the deep
Is by the calm sobdu'd, that Beaatjr e*en might cree*

On moonlight wares to coral rest The fmits
Blosh b the winds, and from the branches leap

To mossy beds existing in the groond.
Stars swim unseen, through solar hemispheres.

Yet m the floods of night, how brightlj round
The loos of poesy, thrj reflect the rolling years.

P

A Bad Sign.

During a late calling out of the North
Somerset yeomanry, at Bath, the service ol
one of them, a '' Batcome boy," was en-
lirened by a visit from his sweetheart;
after escorting her over the citv, and beine
fatigued with showing her what she bad
" 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 bave no scalded wine there — 'twas no
public-house. " Then dose thee head,"
replied Somerset, *• what'st hang out thik
there lign var."

INSCRIPTION

For a Tomb to the Memory of Captaik
Hewitson, of the Ship, Town of Ul«

VERSTON.

Bjf Jamee Montgomery^ Etj,

Weep for a seaman, honest and sincere.
Not east away, bnt brought to anchor here \
Storms had o*erwhelm*d him. bnt the consdoas w%^
Repented, and resiga'd him to the grare:
In harbonr, safe from shipwreck, now he fiea.
Till Time's last signal biases throngh the skin i
Refitted in a moment, then shall h«
Sail from this port on an eternal sea.

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in SNUFF-BOX.

He only who is «* noseless himseir* will
deem this a triflinsr 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 bc^n as in-
structive as ** the life of that learned anti-
quary, Elias Ashroole, 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 lareest curiosity." A compa-
rative view of the important annals of Mr.
Ashmole, and some rieminiscent incidents

of my snuff-taking, I rpvrvc for my autiv
biography.

To manifest the necessity of my present
brief undertaking, I beg to state, that I
still remain under the disappointment of
drawings, compldned of m the former
sheet. I resorted on this, as on all difficult
occasions, to a pinoh 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-mache, plain black : fci
if I had any figure on the lid it w<kS sus-
pected to be some hidden device; &d

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answer of direct negation was a ground of
doubt, offensiTely expressted by an in-
sinuating smile, or the more open rudeness
of varied questions. This I could only
resist by patience ; but the parlemejit excise
on that virtue was more than I oould 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 thh 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 tnat tne Bgure
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 (hey did.
Of the few who have seen it since, it has
been fitvourably received by ouly 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 ** u^ly
old man," but the 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-<leiault,but the accident of birth
^as if the unpurposed cruelty of nature
were a warrant for man's perversion 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.
Tlie 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 thmk 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
porioor 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 io
my hand, the print on its lid diverted me
into a long reverie on what he, whom it
represented, might have been under other
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. J shall regret the
loss : for its little Deformity has l^n 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.

6arr<rit ifAsi^.

No. IV.

[From "All Fools" a Comedy by George
Chapman: 1605.]

Love^9 Panegyric*

' *ti8 Nfttnre** Moond Sttn,

Cavnuf a spring of Virtoas where he shines ;
Aad u withoat the Son* the world's Great Eye,
All colours, beauties, both of art and natare,
Are girea la tub to roan ; so withont Love
AH beaaties bred ia womea are in vua.
All Tirtoes bom ia men Ue bnried ;
For Lore infonu them as the Svn doth oolcvars •
And as the San, refleeting his warm beams
Against the earth, begets all fratts aad flowers .
So Lots, fair shining in the inward man.
Brings forth in htm the honourable fruits
Of ralonr, wit, rirtoe, aad haughty thoughts.
Brare resolution, aad dirine disoonrse.

Love with Jealoiuy.

<— — snch Love is like a smokj fire
la a oold morning. Though the fire be ehearfiu.
Yet is the smoke so foul and cumbersome,
*Twere better loee the fire thaa find tha amoka

BmUffk routed.

I walking in the place where mea*s Law Suits

Are heard aad pleaded, not so much as dreamiag

Of aaj such eaoouater ; steps me forth

Their valiaat Foremaa with the word ** I *rest 79a.*

I made no moce ado but laid theee paws

Close on his shoulders, tumbling him to earth ;

Aad there sat he on his posteriors

Like a baboon : and turning me about,

I strut espied the whole troop issuing on me.

I step me back, aad drawiag mj old friead aera-

Made to the midst of 'em, and all uaable

To aBdafe the shock, all radelj fell ia rout.

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A»i down Ue stain tbej no in rach a faiy.

As maeODf^ irith « troop of Lawyen there,

Uma^d hj their Clieate (eome with tea, eone vitli

treaty,
fiooM five, seme three : he that had least had one),
Upea the stain, thej bore them down afore them.
Bat sach a rattling then then was amongst them.
Of niTiah*d Deelarations, Replications,
Rejobders, and Petitions, all their books
Aad writings torn, and trod on, and some lost.
That the poor Law/en comiag to the Bar
Could say nought to the matter^ bat instesd
Were Osm to rail, and talk beside their books,
WithontaU Older.

[From the ** Late Lancashire Witches," s
Comedy, by Thomas Hey wood.]

A Hou»ehold Bewitched.

Uj Uncle has of late become the sole
Diaeoarse of all the country ; for of a man respected
AS master of a govem'd family.
The HoQse (as if the xidge wen fix*d bdow.
And groondsils lifted ap to make the rooQ
All aow*s tam'd topey-tarvy.
In each a retrograde aad preposterous way
As seldom hath been beard oU I think nerer.
The Good Man

Ca all obedience kneels nnto hb Son ;
He with an austere brow commands his Father.
The Wife presmmes not in the Danghter's sight
Withont a prepared enrtsy ; the Qirl she
Kxpeets it as a duty ; chides her Mother,
Who qoakes aad trembles at each word she speaks.
Aad what's as strange, the Maidr-she dommeen
O'er her yoong Mistress, who is awed by her.
The Son, to whom Che Father creepe aad bends,
Staads in as mnch fear of the groom his Maa I
AU in sach rare disorder, that in some
As it breeds pity, and in othen wonder,
80 ia the most part langhter. It is thonght,
is comes by WiTCHCBArr.

[From «' Wit in a ConsUble," a Comedy,
by Henry Glapthom.]

BooJu,

CcOegtaM. Did yon, ere we departed from the College,
Overlook my Library 7

Servamt. Yes, Sir ; and I find,
AHht^ yon tell me Leaning is immortal.
The paper aad the parehment *tis eontain'd in
SaToan of mnch mortality.
The moths bare eaten more
Antheatic Leaning, thaa would ncbly farainh
A haadied eonntf y pedanti j yet the worms
ire aol one letter wiser.

THE TURK IN CHEAPSIDK.

For the Table Book.

To Mr. Charles Lamb.

I have a favour to ask of yon. My desiit
is this : I would fain see a stream m>m thy
Hippocrene flowing through the pages ot
the Table Book, A shoit article on the oM
Turk, who used to Tend 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 ? Most 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 I — 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 I That
deep-toned bell above him, doubtless, hath
often brought to his recollection the loud
Allah-il-AUahs to which he listened hereto-
fore in hb 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 fipom
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-^ed 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 1 Have some
of the ministers of the old Magi eloped
with him? Was he in truth a Turk ? VVe
have heard suspicions cast upon the au-
thenticity of his complexion — ^was its taw-
niness a forgery ? Oh 1 for a ^0 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 pace from thy pen on this
subject, surmounted by *^ a true portraic-
lure & effigies,** would be a treat to me and
C. L. ic*nY more. If thou art stil £Lr4-— ii

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hon art yet that gentle creature who has
immortalized his predilection for the sow's
babj-^roasted without sage — this boon wilt
thou not deny me. Take the matter upon
thee speedily, — ^Wilt thou not endorse thy
Pegasus with this pleasant fardel ?

An* thou wilt not I shall be malicious
and wish thee some trifling eTil : to wit —
6y way of rcTenge for the appetite which
thou hast created among the reading pub*
lie for the in&nt progeny— the rising gene-
ration of swine — I will wish that some of
the old demoniac leaven may rise up against
tliee in the modem pigs : — that thy sleep
may be vexed with swinish visions ; th*t a
hoff in armour, or a bashaw of a boar of three
tails, may be thy midnight fiimiliar— thy in-
cubus ; — that matronly sows may howl after
thee in thv 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-§heetag0 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
\deal 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 diee his own^-~

^ Think of that Master Brook.**^
Yours ever,

£.a M.D.

Jamunry 31, 1827.

iUterature*

Glavcbs at New Books on mt Table.

Speciubns of Brttish Poetesses ; se-
lected, and chronologically ananged, by
the Rev. Aiexander Dyce^ 1827, cr. 8vo.
pp. 462.

Mr. Dyoe 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 poetrv." The collection of ** Poems
hj eminent Ladies," edited by the elder
Colman and Bonnel Thornton, contained
specimens of only eighteen female writcn ;
Mr. Dyce offen specimens of the poetrj 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 el
exercising an extensive manorial jurisdioi
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. £. L , are attached to a profiision of
talented poetry, in different journals.

The following are not to be regarded as
examples of the charming variety selected
by Mr. Dyoe, 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 Jnjuriee,

The fairest aetion of our haman life
Is soominf to rerenge an injor/ ;
For who forpres without a farther strife,
Hiji adTersar7*s heart to him doth tie.
Aad 'tis a firmer oonqnesi truly said.
To win the heart, thaa orerthrow the head.

If we a worthy enemy do fiad.

To yield to worth it most be nobly doM ;
Bat if of baser metal be Ids mind.
In base reTenge there is no honoer won.
Who woold a worthy courage overthrow,
Aad who wonld wreetle with a worthless foe?

We say oar hearts are great aad cannot yield ;

Because they cannot yield, il proves them poor :
Great hearts are task'd beyond their power, bat seli
The weakest lion will the hradest roar.
Truth's school for certain doth thb same allow,
High-haartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.

A noble heart dodi teach a Tirtooos scorn.

To soon to owe a duty OTcrlong ;
To scon to be for benefits feibome.
To scorn to lie, to eoom to do a wrong.
To acorn to bear an injury in mind.
To eoom a free-bom heart slave-like to bind.

But if for wrongs we needs revenge must havuk
Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind s
Do we Us body from our fnry save.
And let our hate prevail against our mind ?
What CSC, 'gainst him a greater vengeance be,
Thaa make his foe more worthy far than he ?

Had Manam scom'd to leave a due unpdd.

She wonld to Herod then have paid her lo^,
And not have been by sullen passion sway'd.
To fix her thoughts all injury above
Is Tirtnous pride. Had Mariam thus been p w4
Lone famous life to her had been aIlow*d^

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Margaret duchess of Newcastle, who
died in 1673, ** filled nearly twelve Tolumes
blio with plays, poems, orations, philoso-
ohical discourses, and miscellaneous pieces.
Her lord also amused himself with his
pen. This noble pair were honound by
ihe ridicule of Horace Walpole, who bad
more taste than feeling; and, notwithstand-
Bg the great qualities of the duke, who
Acrificed three quarters of a million in
liankless devotion to the royal cause,
tod, though the virtues of his duchess are
tnquestionable, 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 duchesses
poems: —

Melancholy,

I dwell is gntm tkat gilt mn with the mui.

Sit M tlM banks bj which elear waters nu ;

In aamnien hot down in a shade I U%

Hf mnsie is the bnssinf of a Ijr ;

[ walk in meadows, where grom firash green griss,

b fields* where oon is high, I often pass;

Walk «p the hills, where round I prospaets ssa.

Some brushy woods, and some all H^ampains be |

Retamiag back, I in fresh pastures gov

To hear how sheep do bleat, and eows do low;

la winter cold, when nip^ng frosts come on.
Then I do Urt b a small house alone ;
Altho' tis plain, yet cleanly 'tis vithiut
like to a soul that* s pure and clear firom dni ~
And there I dwell b quiet and still peaea.
Not fiU'd with cares how riches to borease ;
I wish mv nek for run and fruitless pleasures.
No riches axe, but what the mind btreasnxes.
Thus am ^solitary, live alone.
Yet better lor'd, the more that I am known .
And tho^ my face iU-fsTour'd at first nghi.
After acquabtaaoe it will give delight.
Refaee me not, for I shall constant be,
Maintab your credit and your dignity.

Predettination, or, tke lUtohaiom,

Ah I strire no more to know what fata

Is prsordab'd for thee :
Tis Tab b this my BMrtal states
For Haaven's iaaermtalda deeraa
Win only be r«veal*d b raot Etaraitj.
Then, O my soul I
Beaember thy oaleotial birth.
And Uto to Heavw, whila haf* oa earth •
Thy Ood b infinitfdy trun,
ABJnstiee, yetaU Many too:
To Him, then, thro* thy Sarioor, pray
For Grace, to guide thee en thy wmj.
And gire thee Will to do.
But humUy, for the rest, my soal I
Let BapB^ and Faith, the limila be
Of thy presnmptnoua euiosity I

Mary Chandler, bom in 1687, the
daughter of a dissenting minister at Bath,
commended by Pope for her poetry, died in
1 745. The specimen of her Tene, selected
by Mi. Dyce, is

Temperance,
Fatal efllMts of luxury and ease I
We drink our poison, and we eat diaaaaa.
Indulge our senses at oar reason's cost.
Till sense is pain, and reason hurt, or bet
Not so, O Tempersnee bland t when ml*d by thee.
The brute's obedient, and the man is frua.
Soft are h3s slumbers, balmy is hb rsst.
His Teins not boiling from the midnight foaaC
Tonch'd by Anrora*8 rosy hand, he wakes
Peaoeful and cala^ aad With the world partaksa
Tke joyful dnwaingi of retaniag daf ,
For whioh their grateful thanks tha whob onntion pay,
All bat the human brato i 'tis ha abne,
Wkoee woiks of daikneas fiy the rblag sva.
*Tb to thy rubs, O Temperancel that we owa
AU pleasons, which fmm health and strength oaii flow
Vigour of body, parity of mind,
Uncbuded mason, scntisMnts refin'd,
Unmts^ antabted joys, without
Th* btemperate sinner's nerar-failiag

Elizabeth Thomas, (bom 1675, died
1730,) in the fifteenth }ear of her age, was
disturbed in her mind, by the sermons she
heard in attending her arrandroother 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 thb
perplexity, retiring to ner closet, she entered
on a self-discossion, and wrote the follow-
ing poem:-^

Elizabeth Toilet (bom 1694, died 1754)
was authoress of Susanna, a sacred drama,
and poems, from whence this is a seasonable
extract : —

Jflnter Song.

Ask me no mors, my truth to prove.
What I would suifor for my bre
With thee I would b ezib go^
To regions of eternal snow :
0*er floods by solid ice eonfin'd i
Thni^ forest bare with northen wind
While ad around my eyea I oat t|
Where all b wild and all b waate.
If there (he rimorous stag yon <kMM%
Or rouse to fight a fiercer race.

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Uadavotea f tliy nrma woald brar,
Aad fire thy hand the hnater*! vpear.
When th« low sun withdnwv bis light.
And menaoM an half year's night,
The oonieioas moon and stars abore
Shall guide me with my wandering lore.
Beneath the nurantain*s boUow brow.
Or in its rooky cells below.
Thy mral feast I would proride ;
Kor envy palaces their pride t
The softest moss should dress thy bed.
With sarage spoils abont thee spread ;
While faithfal lore the watch iihonld keep,
To banish danger from thy sleep.

Mrs. Tighe died in 1810. Mr. Dyoe
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 Her.
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.
Pyoe extracts

The Lihf.

How witbei«d, perish'd seems the fonn

Of yoD obscvre unsightly root I
Tet from the blight of wintry storm.

It hides secure the precions froit.

The eareleas eye can find no grace.

No beanty in the scaly folds.
Nor see within the dark embrace

What latent kireliness it holds.

7et in that bulb, thoae sapless scales.

The lily wraps her silver vest.
Till Temal anna and yemal gales

Shall kiss onoe mors her fragrant breast.

Tee, bide beneath the mouldering heap

The nndelighting sligbted thing ;
There in the cold earth buried deep,
' In mlenoe let it wait the Spring.

Oh I many a stormy night shall close

In gloom upon the barren earth,
W%tle stiU, m nndistnrb'd repose^

Uainjai'd lies the fatnre birth;

Aad Ignorance, with soepttc eyei
Hope's patient smtle shall wondering view;

Or mock her food credulity.
As her soft tean the spot bedew.

9rMMi, fmile of hope, dehcious tear I
The sun, the shower indeed shall come ;

fae promts'd reidant shoot appear,
Aad nature bid her blosMms bloom.

And thou, 0 TiTgtn Queen of Spring (
Shalt, from thy dark and kwly bed.

Barsting thy green sheath'd silken string.
Unyeil thy charms, and perfume shed ;

Unfold tiiy robe^ of purest white.
Unsullied from their darksome gravi;

And tiiy soft petals' siWery light
In the mild breese unfettered 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, cheerfol eye ;

And bear the long, cold wintry night,
And bear her own d^gradi^ doom.

And wait till Hearen's reTiring 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 tlie succinct history, and
the present accurate text, may justify the
insertion of both.

Lady Anne Barnard.
Bom died 18S5.

Sister of the lata Earl of Balcarras, aad wife of Sir
Andrew Barnard, wrote the charming song «!
JnU Robin Orag.

A quarto tract, edited by *• the Arioeto of the North,**
and circulated among the members of the Banna-
tyne Club, contains the original ballad, as cor-
reeted by Lady Anne, aad two Continuationa by
the aame authoress ; while the Introduction con-
sists almost entirely of a rery interesting letter
from her to the Editor, dated July 1883, part of
which I take the liberty of inserting here :—

"'Solnn Gray,* so called from its being the name of
the old herd at Balcarraa, was bom 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 amuM my-
self by attempting a few poetical trifles. There
was an ancient Scotch melody, of which I waa

passionately foad ; ^ who lived before

your day, used to sing it to us at Balcarras. She
did not object to its haviag improper words,
though I did. I longed to sing old Sophy*s air to
diiFerent words, and give to iU plaintive tones
some little history of virtuous distress in humble
life, such as might soit it. WhUe attempting to
effsct this in my closet, I called to my little sbter,
■ow Lady Hardwieke, 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— aad
broken her father's arm— and made her mother
Wl sick— and given her Auld Robin Omy lor her
lover : but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow
within the four lines, poor thing I Help me to
one.'— 'Steal the cow, sister Anne,* said the little
Elisabeth. The cow was immediately liftad by
me, aad the song completed. At our fireside, and

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i oar Beifc^boan, «AiadRobia Onty* waa
alwttn oftlled for. I wm plaued la saeret with
tke apprbtetioii it net with; but nch wm «y
drMtf tf beaair amspeeted of writiaf a»srfAt«^,
pereciriiv the thjntu it er«atad is thoM who
eoald write motkiug^ that I earefnllj k«pt my own

If MntiaM. little as this matter seems to have been
worthy of a dispate, it afterwards became a party
qaestioB between the sixteenth and eighteenth een>
taiies. * Robin Gray* was either a very rery
aaeicot ballad, oomposed perhaps by Darid Rissio,
and a great enrioeity. or a rery very modera
■Batter, and no enrioeity at aU. I was perseented
to arow whether I had written it or not,— where
I had got it Old Sophy kept my oonnsel, and I
hept my own, in spite of the gratification of seeing
a reward of twenty gnineas offered in the news-
papen to the person who shonld aseeruin the
point past a donbt, and the still more flattering
cirenmstaace of a visit from Mr. Jemingham,
secretary to the Antiqnariaa Society, who endea-
Yonred to entrap the tmth from me in a manner I
took amiw. Had he asked me the ((neslaon oblig*
mgLj, I should hare told htm the fact distinctly
and confidentially. The annoyance, howerer, of
diis important ambassador firom the Antiquaries,
waa amply repaid to me by the noUe exhibition of
the * Ballat of Aold Robin Gray's Coortahip,' as
performed by daacing-cogs under my irindow. It
prorrd its popularity from the highest to the
lowest, and gare me pleasare while I hogged my-
self tai obscvrity.**
The two Torsions of the seoonci part were written many
yean after the first ; in them, Anld RoMn Gray
Calls sick,— confesses that he himself stole the cow,
in order to force Jenny to marry him,— learea to
Jamio all lua pooeeasions,— dies.— and the yoong
eonple, of conrae, are united. Neither of the Con-
tinuations is gim here, because, though both are
beaatifnl, they are rery inferior to the original
tale, and greatly injure its effDCt

Auid Robin Gray*
When the sheep are in the faold, when the cows come

When a' the weary world to quiet rest are gane.
The woes of my heart la* in showers frae my ee,
Unken*d by my gudemaa, who soundly sleeps by me.

Yoong Jamie loo*d me weeL and aonght me for his

bride;
Bat sariag ae crown-piece, he^d naething else 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!

Beflbra he had been gane a twdrtmcnth and a Jay.
My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away:
My mother she fell sick— my Jamie was at ssa^
And anld Robin Gray, oh I he came arcoortiag m^

My father con'dna work— my mother oon*dna spin ;
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I eoa'dna wia .
Auld Rob maiatain'd them baith, and, wi* tears m his

ee.
Said, -Jenny, oh I for their sakes, will you marry me V

My heart it said na, and I look*d for JnmK back ;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack i
His ship it was a wrack I Why didaa Jamie dee?
Or, wherefow am I spai'd to cry out. Woe u me !

My father argued saii^my mother didna speak.
But she looVd in my face till my heart waa like tc

break;
They gied him my hand, but my heart was In tiie sea ;
And so auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.

I hadaa been his wife a week but only four.
When moomfn* 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, my lore, to marry thee!

0 sur, sair did we greet, and miekle say 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 dee ;
For O. I am but Touag to cry out. Woe is me I

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to apia s
I darena think o* Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
But I wiU do my best a gude wife aye to be.
For auld Robin Gray, oh ! he is sae kind to mo.

The great and remarkable merit of Mr.
Dyce is, thai 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 tiie
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 ol
honour to a high-bom grace, or dignified
beauty. His book is an elegant tribute to
departed and living female genius ; and .
while it claims respect from every lady m
the land for its gallantry to the fair, its m-
trinsic worth is sure to force it into every
well-appointed library.

• The text of the corrected copy is followed.

f «* I must also mention" (says lady Anne, m the
letter already quoted) ** tiie laird of Dalsiel*s adTice,
who, in a tite-h-tSte^ afterwards said, * Mr dear, the
next time you sing that song, try to change the words a
woe bit, ud instead of singing, * To make the crown a
pound, my Jamie gaed to sea. lar. to make it twenty

merka, for a Scottish pnnd is but tw«itT pence, and
Jamie was na such a gowk as to lea;re Jermy "j «W
to sea to lessen his gear. 1 1 u that bne [ whisper'djie]
that tells me that sang was written by some bonnii
lassie that didna ken tiie ralue of the Scots moorj
quite so weU as an anld writer m the towa of Bd-o-
bnrvh would hare kent it.* "

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HIRING SERVANTS AT A STATUTE FAIR.

This engraving may illustrate Mr. Fare's
account of the Warwickshire " statute'* or
* mop,"* and the general appearance of
iiroilar fairs for hiring servants. Even in
London, bricklayers, and other house-
labourers^ still carry their respective im-
plements to the places where they stand
rbr hire : for which purpose they assemble
in great numbers m Cheapside and at
Sharing- cross, eveiy morning, at five or
*ix o'clock. It is further worthy of ob-
servation, that, in old Rome, there were
^larticular spots in which servants applied
for hire.

Dr. Plott, speaking of the Statutes for
hiring servants, says, that at Bloxham the
carters stood vith their whips in one place,
and the shepheids with their crooks in
another ; but the maids, as for as he could
observe, stood promiscuously. He adds,
diat this custom seems as old as our
Saviour; and refers to Matt. xx. 3, "And

At p. 17L

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 fairt are much frequented : tho9e
who are to hire wear a green eprig 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 tnree
days, but afterwards by Henry IH., pro-
longed to sixteen days. Its jurisdiction
extended seven miles round, and compre-
hended even Southampton, then a capital
and tradmg 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
Dridges 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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ctie city of Winchester were shut. A
court, called the pavilioo, composed of the
bishop's justicianes and other officers, hud
power to try causes of various sorts fur
scTcn miles round. The bishop had a toil
of every load or parcel of goods passing
through the gates of the city. On St.
Giles's eve the mayor, bailiffii, and citizens
of Winchester delivered the keys of the
four gates to the bishop's officers. Many
and extraordinarv 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
diiferent 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 Henrv Percy, ihe fifth eari of
Northumberland, a. d 1512, the stores of
his lordship*s house at Wresille, for the
whole year, were laid in from fairs. The
af tides were '' wine, wax, beiffes, muttons,
wheite, and malt." This proves that ^irs
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
tDnttous," (which are salted oxen and sheep,)
ahows that at so late a period they knew
little of breeding cattle.

Tlie monks of the priories of Maxtoke in
Warwid[shire, and of Bicester hi Oxford-
shire, in the time of Henry VI , appear to
have laid in yearly stores of vanous, yet
common necessaries, at the foir of Stour-
bridge, in Cambridgeshire, at least one
nundred miles distant from either mo-
nastery.

;ftbruarp 14.

VALENTINE'S DAY.

Noir each fo»d joadi »1i« tx« mBMfd
Ab effvrt in tht tnklioff tnde,
B«saaias to iMj i and writes ud bloti
Aboet troe-loTe tad trne-loTe^s-knoto ;
And epeu Teias ia tedMi^ iMartt s
(Or tU$U 'em) with two erie-cnws daita^—
(There mnet be two)
Stack throegh (and thioagh)
flisowa: aad then to s*eare 'em bettet
de doahlea ap his liacls letter-

Type of hij state*

(Perehaace a hoethKO
To doable fate)
For single postage •
Emblem of his and mr Cupiditj ;
'With pPrhaps 'ike happj sod— etapidxtj.

FaxvcH Valehtisibs.

Menage, in hb Etymological- Dictionary,
has accounted for the term ''Valentine,**
by stating that Madame R^ale, daughter
01 Henry the Fourth of France, having
built a {Milace near Turin, which, in honoui
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 kni^ht*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 Britaia's realm, ia oldea time»
B/ the stxoag power of tmthe svUiaM^

The pagaa rites were baaish'd {
Aad, spite of Greek and Roman lore.
Each god aad goddess, fam*d of jor;^

From grove aod altar Taaish'd.

Aad thef (as sure beeame them best)
To Austin aad Paoliains' hest

ObedieatljT submitted.
And left the land without delay—
Sare Cupid, who still held a sway
Too strong to passiTsly obey.

Or be bj saints outwitted.

For well the boy-god knew that he
Was far too potent, e*er to be
Depos'd aad ezil'd quietly

From hb beloT'd dominkn ;
And sturdily the urehm swora
He ne'er, to leave the British shore,

Would move a single pinion.

* Dr. Drake's Shakspears and his Times. See aln
the EvtryDoff Bovk for large partieulaia o# the day.

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The Mints ftt this w«re nSlj rex'd.
And mnch their holy brains perplez*£.

To bring the boy to reason ;
And, when they found him bent to stay,
They boilt ap convent-walls stnughtway»

And pat poor Lore in prison.

Bat Capid, thovgh a oaptire made.
Soon met» witbin a eonTeat ithade.

New sabjects in profusion :
Albeit he fonnd his pagan name
WaN heard by pioas maid and dame

With horror and confasion.

For all were there demara and ooy.
And deem'd a rebel heathen boy

A most nnsaintly creature ;
Bat Capid foond a way with ease
His slyest Tot'ries tastes to please.

And yet not eha&ge a feature.

For, by his brightest dart, the elf
Afflrm'd he'd turn a saint himself.

To make their scruples lighter ;
So gravely hid his dimpled smiles.
His wieathed locks, and playful wilea.

Beneath a bishop's mitre.

Then Christians rear'd the boy a shrine,
k»A youths invok'd Saint Valentine

To bless their annual passion ;
And maidens stUl his name Terera.
And, snuling, hail his day each year*
A day to village lovers dear.

Though saiato are out of fashion.

MontUy Magazine.

A.S.

Another is pleased to treat the prcraiUng
topic of the oay as one of those " 'whinrw
and oddities,** which exceedingly amuse
the reading world, and make e*en sighing
loirers smile.

SONG

For the 14th op February.

By a General Lover,

•^ Mills gravem teUs ezhaustft pene pharetxl "

ApoUo has peep*d through the shatter.

And waken'd the witty and fair ;
The boarding-sdKwl belle's in a flutter,

The twopenny postTs in despair :
Tha breath of the morning is flinging

A magic on blossom, on spray ;
And cockneys and sparrows are singing
la ehoTUS on Valentine's Day.

Away with ya, dreams of disaster.

Away with ye, visions of law.
Of eases I never shall master.

Of pleadings I never shall draw :
Away with ye, parehmeato and papery

Red tapea, nnread volumes, away i
It gives a fond lover the vapours

T9 see yoo on Valentine's Day.

I'll sit in my nightcap, like Hayley.

Ill sit with my arms crost, like Spain.
Till joya, 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 danghtara.

To rhyme to on Valentine's Day ?
Shall I crown with my worship, for fame's saka.

Some goddess whom Fashion has starr'd.
Make puns on Miss Love and her namesake.

Or pray for a pas with Btoeard ?
Shall I flirt, in romantic idea.

With Chester's adorable clay,
Or whisper in transport, " Si mea •

Cum Vestris^— ** on Valentine's Day ?
ShaU 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 7
Shall I court an initial with stars to it.

Ub mad for a O. or a J.
Get Bishop to pat a few bars to it,
And print it on Valentine's Day I
Alas 1 ere I'm properly frantic

With some such pare figment as this,
Some visions, not qaite so romantic.

Start up to demolish the bliss ;
Some Will o' the Wisp in a bonnet

Still leads my lost wit quite a«tray.
Till op to my ears in a sonnet
I sink upon Valentine's Day.
Tha 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 :
T^e trembler I saved from a robber, on

My walk to the Champs Elysie I—
The warbbr that fainted at Oberon«

Three months before Valentine's Day.
The gipsy I once had a spill with.

Bad luck to the Paddiagton team I
The countess I chanced to be ill with

From Dover to Calais by steam t
The lass that makes tea for Sir Stephen,

The lassie that brings in the tray ;
IlTs odd— but the betting is even

Between them en Valentine's Day. -
The white hands I help'd in their nattbg i

The fair neck I cloak'd in the rain ;
The bright eyes that thank'd me for cuUing

My friend in Emmanuel-lane ;
The Blue that admires Mr. Barrow i
The Saint that adores Lewis Way ;
The Nameless that dated from Harrotw
Three couplets last Valentine's Day.
I think not of Laura the witty.

For, oh I she is married at York f
I sigh not for Rose of the City,
For, ah I she is buried at Cork t

a - Si maa cum Vestris valmssent vote f— Ovt»,irtff

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la^lt liM « l»rsTer aad better
To nj what I never eouid mj ;

Losiie ntimot ooDf>troe u letter
or EBglish on Vnlentine'i Dof .

80 periili the learet in the arbour.

The tTM is all bare in the blavt !
Uke a wreck that ii driftug to harboar,

I oome to thee. Lad j*, at last ;
Where art thon to lorelj and lonely ?

ThoQgfa idle the lute and the lay.
The lute and the la j are thine onlj

Mj faimt, on Valentine's Daj.

Tor thee I hare open*d m j Blacks tone.

For thee I have shot np mjself ;
Exchanfred mj long cnrls for a Caxton,

And laid xaj short whbt on the sheir ;
Tor thee I hare sold mj old Sherry,

For thee I hare bam*d mj new play s
And I frow philosophical— rery 1

Exeept npoa Valentine's Day.

0

KewlfontUylfagasina.

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 LoTe*s inflaenee woman yields*
She loTes for life 1 and daily feels
PnjgressiTe tenderness I— each hour
Coaflras, socteadsb the tyrantTs power I
Bsr loTsr is her god 1 her fate 1—
Vain pleasnres, riehss* worldly sUte,
Are trifles all I— each sacrifice
Beeomes a dear and rained prise.
If made for him, e*en tho' he prores
Fo^tfnl of their former lores.

AIR AND EXERCISE
For Ladies.

There is a notion, that air spoils the com-
plexion. It is possible, that an exposure
to all weathers micirht 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 that
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
nere 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 digni^ with
the name of parlours and drawing-rooms.
A gipsy and they are in this respect, and
in many others, more on a footmg; 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 pnysical 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 m
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 mto bigots and manufacturers.
They had much better take them for what |

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they are, and for what ProYidence sieeins to
lave 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 bemg can be brought,
fiolely by inhaling her glorious breath, and
Ming exempt from our laborious mistakes,
.f 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
tit for a genius, it is not difficult to meet
with ; but where shall we find a eenius, or
even a fundholder, with the cheek and
health of a gipsy ?

There is a tact well known to physicians, *
which settles at once the importance of
fresh air to beauty, as well as health. It is,
^nat 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 m^re melancholy the
sensations, and the worse the complexion.

It is common with persons who inherit a
l^ood 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
barm 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 Rood 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 higlily feu,
and having great beef-eating cheeks, very
of^en 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
Children in general arc given credit for (he
.everse. Nature does indeed provide libe-
rally for abuses ; but the abuse will be felt
at last It is generally felt a long while
l»efore it is acknowledged. Then comes
age, with all its train of regrets and super-
titions; and the beauty and the man^
lesides a world perhaps of idle remorse,
which thev would not feel but for theii
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 bettei
origin than a series of ham-pies, or a want
of proper use of his boots and umbrella.*

A SONG.

Tooag Joe, he wse a earmaa gsj,

As an J town oould ihow ;
His team waa good, and, like hia pence.

Was alwayi on the go ;
A thing, as evtry jackass knows.

Which often leads to wo 1
It feU oat that he fell in lore.

By some odd chanee or whim.
With Alice Payne— beside whose eye^

All other eyes were dim :
The painfal tale mast oat— indeed.

She was A Pain to him.
For, when he ask'd her civilly

To make one of thejf two.
She whipp*d her tongue across her teeth.

And said, ** D'ye think it true,
Td tmst my had of life with sick

A wnggonvr as yon ?
** No, no— to be a carman's wife

WtU ne'er sait Alios Payne;
I'd better far a lone woman

For evermore remain.
Than have it said, while in my yonth.

My life is on the wain /'*
•• Oh, Aliee Payne I Oh, Alice Payne f

Why won't yoa meet with me ?"
Then up she onrl'd her nose, and said,

** Go axe your axletree ;
I tell yon, Joe, thu^onoe for all^

My jW yon shall not be.**
She spoke the fatal '•no." which pat

A spoke into his wheel—
And stopp'd his happiness, aa thongh

She'd erjwot to his weat t-^
These women erer steal our heafts,

And then their own they tt§ei.

• New Monthly Magaaine.

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I his melaneliolr aaok
Poor Joe bis dng>-ehaia tied.
And hook*d it on a book—** Ob I what

A weigbt ia life V* he cried ;
ThcD off he cast himself— a&d tku

rhe cast-off carman died I
Hofirbeit, as his ton was set,
(Poor Joe I) at set of sua,
Th^ laid him ia his lowlj frave,

Aad fra?felj that was done ;
And she stood bj, and lanf b'd ontright*-

How wnmp— the piilty one I
Bat the day of retxibntion eomee

Alike to prince aad hind.
As suely as the snmmex's sun

Most yield to wintry wind :
Alasl she did not mind his peac»-

So she'd no peace of mind.
For when she soaght her bed of rest.

Her rest was all on thorns;
And there another lorer stood.

Who wore a pair of boms:
His little tiny feet were cleft.

And cloTen, like a fawn's :
His {see and gaxb were dark aad black,

. As daylight to the blind ;
And a something nndefiaaUe

Aronnd his skirt was twin'd^
As if be wore, tike other pigs.

His pgtail oat behind.
His arms, thoagh less than other msa'e.

By no means harm-lets were :
Dark elfin locks en loek'd his brow—

Yoa might not call then hair;
And, oh ! it was a gas-tly sight

To see his eye-balls glare.
And erer, as the midnight bell

Twelre awfal svrokes had toll*d.
That dark man by her bedside stood.

Whilst all her blood ran cold ;
And ewr and anon he cried,

«• I ooald a taU nnfbld 1**
And so her strength of heart grew less.

For heart-less she had been s
And on her pallid cheek a small

Red hectic spot was seen :
You could not say her life was 9pent

Withoat a spot, I wean.
And they who mark'd that crimson light

Well knew the treach'rons bloomp—
A light that shines, alas 1 alas 1

To light OS to our tomb t
They said *twas like thy cross, St. Paul's,

The tfymi/ of her tfoosi.
And so it proT'd— she lost her health.

When breath she needed most^
Jnst as the winning horse gets blowa

dose by the wianinrpost .
The ghost, he gare upplagaiag

So she gave npthe ghost

U. L.

MODERN IMPROVEMENTS.

Id the annals of the world .there have
never been such rapid changes and such
▼ast 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 Catle d*Alcala in Madrid, vrith the
Quartier du Chapeau Rouge at Bourdeaux,
or the Place de Louis Quinze at Paris. We
must, for the present, overlook the defects
of th6 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 wnich Regent-street
has been accomplished; the vtle houses
which surroundea 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 ai
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 s(]uare, of which the church in Hart-
street IS to form the centre ; another ia 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 to the public at large. Carlton-house ia
already being taken down — ^by which means
Recent-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 Ihe projected improvements in the
heart of the metropolis ; but they have no*
atopped here. The king has been decora-

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ling 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 architectura;! productions of the
age.

Squares are already covering the exten-
sive properi} of lord Grosvenor in the fields
of Chelsea and Pimlico ; and crescents and
colonnades are planned, by the architect to
the 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-^round ; — a bam is re-
placed by a palace— and buildings are con-
structed, one or two of which may vie with
theproudest efforts of Greece and Home.

Tne projector, with true taste, has called
the beauties of landscape to the aid of
architectuial 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
^ually with profit in the disposition of the
ground. The buildings* are not crowded
t^ether vrith 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
relii^quished many sources of profit for the
pleasure and convenience of the public.

It is in the contemplation of these addi-
tions and improvements to our metropolis,
^at we doubly feel the blessings and efiecU

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 oi
the commercial influence, of our metro-
polis. •

THE SPELLS OF HOME.

Then blend the ties that stmgthea

Oar hearts in boars of grief.
The silTer links that lengthen

JojTS nsita when most brief I
Thm, dost tboa ngh for pleasure t

O I do not widelj roam I
But seek that hidden traasare

At home, dear home I

BSBVAaD Babtow.

Bj the soft green light in the voodj glade,
On the banks of moss where thj childhood play'd s
By tb« waving tne thro* which thine eje
Fint look'd in lore to the summer skj ;
Bf the dewy gleam, by the Tery breath
Of the primroee-tufts in the grass beneath.
Upon thy heart then is laid a spell-
Holy and precioas— oh 1 guard it welll

By the sleepy ripple of the stream.
Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream i
By the shiver of the ivy-learea.
To the wind of mom at thy eas«ment-eav«s i
By the bees* deep murmur in the limes.
By the music of the Sabbath-chimes;
By every sound of thy native shade.
Stronger and deanr the spell b 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 hoam when hearts onite

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 gifti— it hath gentle might,
A guardian power and a guiding light I
It hath led the fneman forth to stand
In the mountain-battles of his land ;
It hath brought Uie wanderer o'er the seas.
To die on the hills of his own fresh breese ;
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 bnath of the world would come.
O'er the flowen it bmoght from its childhood*s home ■

• Monthly Magaiue.

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TUnk tkoQ afain of th« woodj f Udc,

Aad tk« MHnid hj tb* rafttliag irj made;

Think of tlie traa at thj parent's door.

And the kindlj speU ■kiUl hare power oaoe morel

F. U.

Ifontiilj Magadne.

BOOKS.

*TweTe well with most, if books, Aat eoald enipafa
Their childhood, pleaied them at a rioer agw ;
The man appnoTin^ what had charmed the doj,
Voald die at last in comfort, peace, aad joj j
Aad not with cariea oa his art, who stole
The fern of tmth from his anguarded souL

Cownm.

If there be one word in our language,
beyond all others teeming with delightful
associations, Booki is that word. At that
magic name what Yivid 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.

Tile first book that inspired me with a
taste for reading, was Bunyan* Pilgrim**
Progrest ; 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
gatbage," 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,
slender, as in those days were my finances,
I much doubt if Che 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 ray future library.

The moral advantages arising out of a
loTe of books are so obvious, that to en-
large upon such a topic might be deemed
a gratuitous parade of truisms; I shall
therefore proceed to offer a few observap

tions, as to the best modes of deriving both
pleasure and improvement from the culti-
\ation 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-
aures invariably terids to enlarge the sphere
of odr 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 ^uaUtif rather than quantity in the
selecUon of your books. As regards the
huntriea 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
attiredy 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 I
The Bibliomaniac is thus pleasantly sati-
rized by an old poet in the ** Shyp of
Fooles.'^ ^^

Stjil am I besj he% xntmhlyngt.
For to haT« plenty it is a pleasaant thynge
la my conceit, and to hare them ay in hand,
Btii what thsy mmu do I not u»dertta»del

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
roaster spirits destined to sway the empire
of mind; the historian, the philosopner,
and the poet, « of imagination all com-
pact !" and while the deeds of mighty con-
auerors hurry down the stream of oblivion,
le works of these men survive to after-
ages ; are enshrined in the me^nories of a
ffrateful posterity, and finally stamp upop

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national character th«: permanent impress
of their genius.

Happy we, who are early taught to
oherisn the society of these wUmt friendsy
ever ready to arouse 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 cuU
tiYation of onr intellect we secure an in-
exhaustible store of present gratification,
and a source of pleasurable recollections
which will oeTer mil 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 kmg 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 neit is the semblance of
power ; and it is perhaps a happy diapen>
sation that those who are cut on from the
substantia] rights of the citiien, 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 Tauitjr 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 fiict 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 represenUtive 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 Griizle and
the gold stick ? between Mr. Dymock, in
Westminster-ball, 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 ceremonions
in trifles, as to appear in the costume of
sir Charles Granaison, or to take up the
quarrels of lord Herbert of Cherbury.*

INDICATIONS.
Writtem in the Frost.
For the Table Book.
I know Hhat the westher*! MTare, by the soMt

That nm between evee smartly liieh'd by the fair ;
By Ae eoxeomfae that muff-led are emiliBi: >t raeea

Got hi) the ebeeha. aad got out of the air.
By tk« akatee, (elipp'ry fish) for the 3erpeatiae*a Reet

By the riae of the ooal ; by the ehot-btrds that faU
By the chilly old people that ercep to the heat ;

Aad the iry-green braaehet that creep to the wall
By the ehonu of boya eliding orer the riTor,

The gnuablee of men eliding over the flags ;
The beggars, poor wretehee I half naked, that shirer

The eportsmen, poor horsemen I tan'd ont on their
nagsl
By the snow standing otot the plant aad the fountain ;

The chilbaia-tribee, whoee undeistnndtog is weak ;
The wild-dueks of the raUe j, the drift of ar mountain.

And, like Nbb^ etreet-plugs aU tears from the
Creek t
Aad I know, by the ioelets from nature's own shops.

Bj ths fagots just out, aad the cutting wind's tone.
That the weather will freese half the world if it stops.

If it fMS. it will thaw f other half to the bone.
Jan 27. •, •, P.

ADOPTION.
There is a singular system in France
relative to the adoption of children. A
fiimily 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, aL 1 cannot be aisin-
herited by any subsequent caprice of the
parties ; they are bound to support it suit-
ably to their rank, and do eveiy thing due
to their offspring.f

A RoiTAL Simile.
** Queen Elizabeth was wont to say,
upon the commission of etUee, that the
commissioners used her like atrawberry-
wives, that laid two or three great straw-
berries at the mouth of their oottte, and all
the rest were little ones ; so they made hei
two or three great prices of the first par-
ticulars, but fell straight ways '*{

* New Monthlj Ma^asine.
t Apophthqpns Antiq.

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BLIND HANNAH-

Biglitileaj, iknd ffODtlir led her mveen round,
Bbe dail J Gre«pi, ftDd dnwi * ioothkig Bound
Of Pulmodj, Irom out her liol' itr ugs,
To oomp&nj iom« i^UiiitlTe wondi she BlngL

This youTijj 'woman sojourns in the
neigh botirhood of ihe ancient scene of the
" Preltv Bessee " and her old father, the
** Blind Beggar of Bethnal-green •'—

•* Hifl mmAM Md his tokoia were known Ml well.
Re aOwaye WM led with « dof sad abeU.**

Her name is Hannah Brentford. She is
an inhabitant of Bvnhill-row, twenty-four
years old, and has been blind from the time
she had the fmall-poz, two and twenty
vears mgo. She sings hymns, and accom-
panies herself on the Tiolin. Her manner
IS to « ffiTe ont *• two lines of words, and
chant them to ^ a qniet tnne;* and then

sbe giTes out another two lines ; arul so shr
proceeds till the coTuposition is finished,
tier Yoice, 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 ol
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 *
hare no sight : they who are unmoved b^
her virginal melody have '* ears, and the^
hear not." Her eyes are of agaie — she u
one of the ** poor 9tone blind "—

Meet Kiflieal. meet meUMkoJ| P

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No.V.

[From "Arden of Feversham his tnie and
lamentable Tragedy/' Author unknowiL
1592.]

Alice Ardem with Moabte her Paramour
eontpire the murder of her Hneband.

Mot, How now, Aliei^ wtot sad and panionate ?
Make me partokier of thj peasiTCDcai ;
Tin dirided bunu wiCh leaier faraa.

Al Bat I wiU dam ftat Are w my braast,
Till by the foroe ttenof mj part eoniume.
▲hMoebiet

Mm. Such deep patkairea. lilce to « eannoa's bnrat,
Diaoharfed afainst a raiBBtid wall,
Breaka ny relenting heart b thonaand pieoaa.
Unfenilo Aliee, thy aorrow ia my aore ;
Thoa know'it it will, and 'tia thy policy
To forge diatreMfnl looks, to woand a breast
Where liee a heart which diea when Ihoa art sad.
It ia not Lore that k>t«s to ai^r Lore.
.^ It is not Lots thnt lores to martbar Love.
Moi, Bow mean yon thnt ?
M. Then know*st how denriy Arden loTod me.

IfM. And thcB

AU And then— conetal the nst for 'da too bad,
Leat that my words ba carried to the wind.
And pnblash'd hi Iho world to both oar shamsa.
I pmy thee, MosMs, let ov springtime wither ;
Oar hsrtast else will yield bat Inatkaimn weadtb
Forget, I pray thoe, what haa past betwixt as i
For now I blash and tremble at the thonghta.
Mo9. WImt, are yon changed ?
Ah Ayn. ts my former happy life again ;
From title of an odious strampet*s name
To honest Arden*s wife, not Arden*s honest wife—
Ha Mosbia f *tis thoa hast rifled me of that.
And made me slaoderoas to all my kin.
Eren in my forehead is thy name engravet,
A mean Artificer, that low-bom name I
I was bewitcht; woe-worth the hapless hoar
And all the eanaes that enchanted me.

Mot. Nay, if thoa baa, let me breathe cnrses forth %
And if yon stand so nicely at yoar fama.
Let me repeat the credit I hare lost
I hare neglected matters of import.
That wonld hrre 'etated mo above thy state i
For^low'd adTaatagea, and span*d at time;
Aye, Fortone'a right hand Mosbie hath forsook,
To take a wanton giglot by the left.
I left the marriage of aa honest maid.
Whose dowry wooldhare wagh'd down all thy wealth;
Whoso beanty aad demeaaoar far azoeeded «hea.
Thia eertali good I lost for changing bad,
Ard wnapt my aredit ia thy ooapaay.
I was howltoht I that ia aa theme of HiiiM t
And thoa nahaUow*d haat sBohttitBd me.
Bat I win break thy speUa aad ezorasma^
Aad pat aaother sight npoa those eyes.
That akew*d my heart a rarea for a dora.

Thoa art not foir ; I riew'd thee not till bow :
Thon art not kind ; till now I knew thee not:
And now the rain hath beaten off thy gilt.
Thy worAless copper shews thee ooonterfeife
It grieves me not to see how fool thoa art.
But mads me that ever I thoaght thee fiur.
Oo, get thee gone, a oopesmate for thy hinds |
I am too good to be thy favoarite.

Al, Aye, bow I see, and too soon find it true.
Which often hath been told me by my friends.
That Mosbie loves me not bat for my wealth ;
Which too ineredalons I ne'er believed.
Nay, hear me speak, Mosbie, a word or two ;
1*11 bito my tongne if I speak bitterly.
Look oa me, Mosbie, or else 1*11 kill mysdf.
Nothing shall hide me from Ifcy stormy look ;
If thoa mj War, there is no Peace for aa,
I will do penaaea for offending thee ;
And bam this Prayer Book, which I hoie nsa.
The Holy Word that haa ooaverted mo»
Sea. Mosbie, I will tear away thekwrea.
And aU the leaves ; and in tkUfoMea Carv
Shall thy sweet phrases and thy lettexa dweU,
And thereat will I chiefly meditate,
Aad hold BO other aeet bat anah devotion.
Wilt thoa Bot kok ? is all thy Love o'erwh^B*d >
Wilt thoa aot hear ? what malice stops thy aars ?
Why speakst thoa not 7 what sileaea tiea thy tcngae
Thoa haat been aighted as the Eagle is,
A»i teaai aa qaiokly as the fcvfal Han
Aad spoke as smoothly as aa Orator,
Wbea I have bid thee hear.or aas^ or tpaalii
Aad art thoo sensible la Boae of theae? '
Weigh all thy good turns with this little fanlt.
And I deserve not Mosbie's muddy looks.
A fsBOs of tronble is not thicken'd still;
Ba dear again ; I'll ne'er more tronble thee.

Mot, O lie, no ; Vm a baae artificer ;
My wings are feather'd for a lowly flight
Mosbie, fie, no; not for a thoasaad pound
Make love to yon ; why, tis nnpardoaable.
We Beggars must not braathe, where Gentiles are.

AL Sweet Mosbie is as Qeatle as a King,
And I too blind to judge him otherwise.
Flowers sometimes spring in falbw leads ;
Weeds ia gardens, Roses grow on thorns :
So, whatsoe'er my Mosbie's father was.
Himself is valued Oentle by his worth.

Ifof. Ah how yon women can iasinnate,
And dear a trespass with yoar sweet set tongaa .
I win forget thb quarrel, gentle Alice,
Provided 1*11 be tempted so no mora.

Ardeny with hie friend Franhlin, traoei-
ling at night to Arden*e houee at Fever-
eham, where he ie lain in wait for hy
Rtlffiiane, hired by Aliee and Moebie to
ffturder him ; Franhlin ie interrupted in a
etory he woe beginning to tell by the wav
of a BKD wiFEy by an indiepoeitiouj cmt-
iioiM of the impending danger of hie friend

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jtnien. Come, llMtcr Fmnklia. onwards with yoar

tae.

Frank. PlI aarare you. Sir, 70a task me mach.
A hearj blood is |^ther*d at my heart ;
And on the sadden is my wind so short.
As hindereth the passage of my speech.
So fierce a qnalm yet ne'er assailed roe.

AritH. 0>me, Master Franklin, let ns go on softly ;
The annoyance of the drut, or else some neat
Yoa ato at dinner eaanot hrook iHth yon.
I have lieen often so, and soon amended.

FnuUL Do you remember where my ule did leare ?

Ardtn, Aye, where the Oentleauui did cheek his
wife—

thtkL She being reprehended for the fae1»
Witness prodaeed that took her with the fact.
Her gioTe brooght in which then she left behind.
And many other assnred argnmentSi
Her Hnsbaad ask'd her whether it were not so—

Ardtm. Her answer then ? I wonder how she kwk'd,
Haring forsworn it with so rehement oaths.
And at the instant so approved npon her.

FroMk. First did she cast her ey« down ob the
earth.
Watching the drops that fell amain from thence;
Then softly draws she ont her haadkereher.
And modestly she wipes hor teaz^stainM face :
Then hemm'd she oat (to dear her voice it skwld

seem).
And with a majesty addrest herself
To encounter all their accusations^
Pardon me. Master Arden, I can no mors ;
This figfaAvg at my heart makes short my wind.

Arden. Come, we are almost now at lUynnm Down ;
Tour pretty tale begniles the weary way,
I wenld yott were in case to tell it ont

[ Thejf are set vpm by the R^gian9.'\

£Rxaiit.

For the Table Book.

GOD SAVE THE KING.

JoHH Bull.

In answer to an inquiry in T%e 1%me9f
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, bom about 1563, in Somersetshire.
His master in masic 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 sufr>

cesser. 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 in
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, ^fter 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 tc 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 40/. 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
Yirginal.*

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

*l>ieti«B«r/of Musioiaat. Haw^ns>

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to them, supposing it to oe 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,
pravea 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
iiiat added those forty parts must either be
the de?il, or Dr. Bull, &c. Whereu|>on
Bull making himself known, the musician
fell down and adored him. Afterwards
continuing there and in those parts for a
lime, be l^came 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. Bumey 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 16lh, 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 srrace 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-
£en*s gowne, cappe, ana 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 Fssti, I

>16a&

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
modem 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 comer 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 Uie 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. Buroey says, that Pepusch's prefer-
ence of Bull's compositions to those of
Couperin and Scariatti, 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 littl^
emotion as the clapper of a mill, or the
mmbling of a post-chaise." It is a mis-
fortune to Dr. Bull's fame, that he lefk little
evidence of his great powers, except the
transcendantly magnificent air of *' God
tave the king.*'

February, 1827. *

COMPANY OF MUSICIANS

OF THB CiTT or LoMDOV.

King James I., upon what beneficial
principle it is now difficult to discover, by

• HawkiM

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letters-patent incorporated the musicians of
j the city of London into a company, and
j tney 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*
dure, 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 bori'
vivatu of this tuneful tribe, they have no
hall in the city for festive delights ! How-
ever, on days of greatest gowmandUwy 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 affordinflr to aliens an easy and
cheap expedieiit of ac()uiring 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
•* fFoiU of the earponUion/'*

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. lie sune the taking of Bagdad, and
the triumph of Amurath. The pathetic
tones and exulting sounds which be drew
from the instrument, joined to the alternate

plaintiveQ9M and boldness of his strains,
rendered the prince unable to restrain the
soAer 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. He
spared the prisoners who yet remained
alive, and gave them instant liberty.

THE YORKSHIRE GIPSY.*
F&r the l^ible Book.

The Gipeies 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 spnng ; sometimes
breakinff out very suddenly, and, after run-
ning a tew miles, again disappearing. That
which is moreparticularly distinguished by
the name of lie 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
feet 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 passed the villages of Wold
Newton, North Burton, Rudston, and
Boynton. Its uncertain visits, and the
amazine C|uantity of water sometimes dis-
charged in a single season, have afforded
subjects of curious speculation. One wri-
ter displays a considerable deeree of ability
in favour of a connection wnich he sup-
poses to exist between it and the ebbing
and flowine spring, discovered at Bridling-
ton Quay m 1811. **The appearance of
this water,** however, to use tne 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. It
is probably oocasioned by a surchaige of
water descending from the high lands into
the vales, by subterraneous passages, and,
finding a proper place of emission, breaks
out with great foice.

* The word is not pn»oiuie«d the Mine as gipn, a
fortaae-teller ; tlM ^, ia this case, beiag soandea hard
asm gimUL

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Aftei a tecession of fire 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 Carr*, 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 discontinuea: 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.

Bridlittgi9H,

WILTSHIRE ABROAD AND AT
HOME.

To the Editor.

There is ft Und; of every land the prJde,
Belored bj hearen o'er all the world benid^
Where brighter sunt diiipenee serener light.
And milder moons em paradise the night

A land of beauty, virtue. Talonr, truth,
rime-tutor'd «ge, and love-exalted youth ;
The wandering mariner, whoee eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores*

Views not a vealm so baantifol and fair.
Nor breathes the spirit ef a pertr air ;
In every elime the magnet of h» eoul.
Touched by rsoMmbranee, tnmblas to that pel*.

For in this land of heaven's peculiar graea.
The heritage of Nature's noblest raee,
nere is a sppt of earth, supremely bleet,
A dearer, eweeter spot than all the reatt

Where na% enatioa's tyraat, eaeta aside
His sword and soeptr«« pageaatry and pride ;
While in his softened looks beaigaly blend
The sire, the son, th« hosbaad, brother, friend.

Here woman retgas— (ha mother, daughter, wife.
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of Lfe ,
la the dear heaven of her delightful eye
An aag*! guard of lores, aad graees lie ;
Around her knees dooestie dutiee meet.
And f j:«side pleasiiree gamljol at her feet

Where shaU that load; that tpot of 0artk be found ?
Art thou a man ? a patriot ? look around {
Oh, thou shalt find, howe*er thy footsteps roam.
That land tky country, aad that spot My I

Mr. Editor, — As your Table Book may
be considered an extensively agreeable and
entertaining continuation of your Every-
Day Bookf 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 ooservations at page 1584, and
his notices at pase 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-
<|uarian ; and, if I am not much mistaken
in the signatures, ^ou have admitted liis
poetical effusions m some of your num-
oers. 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 Action 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 o^
this part of our county are noticed in a
proper manner.

As your correspondent appears to have
been anxious to set himselt right with re-
gard to the inaccuracies I noticed in his
account of Clack, &c., I will point out that ,
he is still in error in one slignt particular.
When he visits this county asam, he will
find, if he should direct his footsteps to-
wards Malmsbury and its venerable abbey,
(now the church,) the tradition is, that the
bo^s 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.

£xcuse my transcribing from that work,
the subjoineid ** Sonnet to the Avon," and
let 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, oi upon other subjects
connected with our locaJ history.

Upon this river, meandering through a
fine and fertile tract of country, Mr. Mof-

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fatt, after noticirg 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
Malmsbuiy abbey :

« .Sonnet to the Avon,
- lUekved banda tka wiUow riuulad stnam,
Oa which the bre*th of whi.paring lephjr piMjt,
Let »•• O ATcm, in untntor'd lajs
i AsMrt thy fairwt, porett rifht to fa»«.

What tho* BO njrrtfe bower thf banks adorn.
Nor sportiTe Naiada wacUm in thy wavM {
No flittering eaads of gold, or coral eaves.

Bedeck the channel by th j waters worn i

Yet thon canst boast of hononn passing these.
For when fair seiance left her SMtem seat.
Ere Alfred T«sed her sonsafair retieat.

Where Isu* laurels tiemble in the breeae;
*Twas there, near where thy curling strsanlet lows.
E'en in yon dell, the Mnses found repose.**

This interesting period in the history of
the venerable abbey, its supposed connec-
tion with Bradcnstoke 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
inhabiunts, 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
the northern and other parts of our island.

If by the observation, «* that his ances-
tom came from the Priory," your corres-
pondent means Bradenstoke Priory, he
will allow me to direct his attention to the
feet of the original register of that esta-
bKshment being in the British Museum. I
refer him to the " Beauties of England and
Wales."

As your correspondent probably resides
;n 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 aa engraving of this
Priory, it would be acceptable.

I appreciate the manner in which your
correspondent noticed my remarks, and
wish him swcess in hw 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 forme: respectable inhabiu
ant, Mrs. Bridget.

Your correspondent will excuse the free*
dom of this observation ; his ready pen
could perhaps relate to you the detail of a
tragicid event, said by traidition to have
occurred at Dauntsey, where the mansion
of the late eari of Peterborough now standi,
and ** other tales of other times."

Lpieham, fTiltt^
January 23, 1827.

A Reader.*

OLD BIRMINGHAM CONJURERS.
Bt Mr. William HtrrroN.

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 ghoet.^
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 tl^
spirits which haunt Birmingham, are tb^Me
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 plr,ase to con-
sider, I allow them, what of rjl things they
most wish foTy power — therefore the balance
is in my favour.

If we pass through the planetary worlds,
we shall oe able to mr^ter two conjurers,
who endeavoured to ^ ihine with the stars.'*
The first, John Wal;on, who was so busy
in casting the nativity of others, that he
forgot his ovni. Conscious of an applica-
tion to himself, for the discovery of stolen

* I am somewhat embarrassed by thts differenee
between two ralofd correspondents, and I hope neither
will regard me in an ill liAt, if I Tentnre to uterpoee.
and deprecate controTcrsy l>erond an extent which can
interest the readers of the Table Book. I do not say
that it has pnssed that limit, and hitherto all has been
well; perhaps, honrever, it wonld be adriKahle that
** A Reader** should eonfide to mc his name, and that
he and my *' Old Gorrsbpoadent,** whom I hnow, shoold
allow me to introdnoe them to each other. I thi^ the
result would be mutaally satisfactory.

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goods, he employed his people to 9teal
them. And though, for many years cod-
fioed to his bed by iDfirroity, he could con-
jure away the property of othen, and, for a
lewardy conjure it back again.

llie 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.

Tlie officers of justice, in 1732, pulled
Walton out of his bed, in an obscure cottage^
oi.e furlong from the town, now Brickiln-
laue, 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 hb 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. Ilis cellar, thocgh
amply mmished, never knew moisture.

ile 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 pnrchtued what he could
not use himself. He was not difficult in
his choice of the property that entered his
house ; if there was tmlk, 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,
111 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
nura^srous than his books, enjoyed an unin-
terpjpted reign of quiet. The silence of
th« place was not broken ; the broom, the

book, the dust, or the web, was nor dis-,
turbed. Mercury and his shirt performed
their revolutions together; and Saturn
changed At* with his coat. He died in
1756, as conjurers usually die, uula-
mented.*

PATIENCE.
For the Table Book

As the pent water of a mill-daui Um

Motioalesa, yialdinf , noifleai, and aerene.
Patienea waits meekly with oompamoied eyes ;

Or like the speek-ekmd, which alone is seen
Silvered within bine spaoei Ung'riaf for air

On whieh to sail prophetic Tojafes;
Or as the fonntaia stone that doth not wear.

Bat snits itself to pressure, and with ease
IXwts ^e droppini^ crystal ; or the wife

That sits beside her hiubaad and her love
Sabliminf to another etate and life,

OITrinf him oonsolatioa as a dove,—
Her si^ and tears, her heartache and her mind
Devout, onUred, cairn, pradous, and resipi'd.

• • p

^vitm $oi'tra(t£(.

Catalogue of Paimted British Por-
traits, comprising most of the Sove-
reigns of England, from Henry 1. to
George IV., and many distinguished
f>ersonages; principally the produc-
tions of Holbein, Zucchero, C. Jansen,
Vandyck, Hudson, Reynolds, North-
cote, &c. Now eelUng at the pricee
affixed, by Horatio Rodo, 17, Air-
street^ PiceadiUy, 1827.

This is an aee of book and print cata-
logues; and lo! we have a picture dealer's
catalogue of portraiu, 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,
live. The subjoined paiticulars are from
the catalogue.

* Ulkt. of Birmingham.

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SIMON LORD LOVAT.
From the orioiual Picture by Hogarth, lately discovered.

'* To tbe present time, none of Hoga'th's
biographers appear to have been aware of
the * local habitation* of the oi iginal 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 weie wanted,
though the roUing^ress was at work all
oight by the week together.

" Hogarth said himself, that lord Lo vat's
portrait was taken at the White Hart-inu,
at St. Alban'Sy 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, mor*
so than he had ever seen. Samuel Ireland,
in his Graphic Illustrations of Hogarth,
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 vray
to London from Scotland^ by Dr. Webster,

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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 witL much cordiality, even to the
kiss fraternal, which was then certainly not
very pleasant, as his lordship, beiu^ 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 Duncombe expressed it,

* Lovatfs hard featuros Hocwtix migbC nowMil ;*

for his pencil was peculiarly adapted to
such representation. It is observable the
button notes 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 doctoi^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

* Th^ra is an aMoant of lord Lorat in the Every-

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 unul it is
sold.

As regards the other portraits in oil,
collected by Mr. Rodd, and now offered
by him Ibr tale, after the manner of book-
sellers, ^ at tbe prices annexed," they can
be judged oTwith like facility. Like book-
sellets, wbo Mnpt the owners of empty
sh^vfs, with ^ k>Qg sets to fill up " at
small pnoes, Mr. R. <^ acquaints the no-
bility and gentry, having spacious country
mansions, that be 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 joor tltombs
Till a eoatomer oomea.

DEATH'S D<»NGS.

^ I am now worth one Inadred 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 mierrupt my
view."

** Then, what will become of the far-
mers ?" asked tlie 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
com ?" a^ed the steward.

'^ That's not my business," answered old
Gregory.

So old Gregory returned home--ate a
hearty supper— drank a bottle of port—

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sroolced \ wo pipes of tobacco— and fell into
' a profound siuoiber«— and awoke no more ;
and the fietriners reside on their lands — and
the mill stands upon the stream— and the
villagers rejoice tnat Death did ** business *'
with old Gregory.

THE BARBER.

For the Table Booh,

Barbets are distinguished by peculiarities
appertaining to no other class ot men. Tliey
have a eaate, and are a race of themselves.
The members of this ancient and gentle

Spofession — foul befall the libeller who shall
esignate 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 tney have a
good, kind, or civil word for everybody.
The cheerful morning salutation of one of
these cleanly, respectable persons is a
« handsell *' fbr 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 tlie lowly, antique chair, worn
smooth by the backs of half a century of
beard-owners, and instantly feel a full re-
pose frorn fatigue of body and mind. You
find yourself in attentive and gentle hands,
I and are persuaded that no man can be in
collision with his shaver or hair-dresser.
I The very operation tends to set you on
1 better terms with yourself: and your barber
hath not in his constitutton the slightest
I 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 sympathv fbr the time,
J 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? Tlie veriest churl is softened
by the application of the warm emollient
brush, and calmed into complacency by
the light-handed hoverings ot the comb

and scissors. A smile, a compliment, a
remark on the weather, a diffldent, side-
wind inquiry about polities, 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,
hai^blttshingly 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
gtaceful, 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 thos woven ; and the care he
takes to ** make each particular hair to
stand on end " to your wishes, so hs 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
tcwcl 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 ovm 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 poHteeee, He seems a faded
nobleman, or hnigri of the old regime.
And surely if the souls of men transmigrate,
those of the old French nobleue 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
neels, or lessen the elasticity of his step,
or transmute his feathery lightness of hand

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:o heaviness. He usually wean powder,
fjr it looks respectable, and is proressional
withal. Ths last of the almost forgotten
and quite despised race of pigtails, once
proudlv 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 foimer nurturer ; the neat-combed, even-
clipped hairs, encased in their tight swathe
of black ribbon, topped by an airy bow,
nestle in the well-clotned 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. Tliat
^lory is departed; the brisk and agile
tonsor, once the senius of the toilet, no
longer directs, wim the precision of a can-
noneer, rapid discharges of scented atoms
against bristling batteries of his own crea-
'aon.. "The barber** occupation's gone,*'
with all the "pride, pomp, and circum*
stance of glorious wigt !"

Methinks I detect some unfledged reader,
upon whose head of hair the sun of the
eighteenth century never shone, glancing
nis <* mind's eye " to one of the more
recent and feshionable professors of the art
of " ctMaiirie"^-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 comers,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 dammle*^ 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
m Bishopsgate-street ; a " repository " of
hair ; the window of which is full 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
w\»in a moro simply artificial imitation of

nature than one of these wigs — so frank, fo
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 T 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 bead that sought not to be-
come either a decoration or deceit. Peace
to the manet of the primitive artificers of
human hair— the true skull-thatchers — the
architects of towering toupees— • the en-
gineers of flowing periwigs I

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 hi^
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 comers of the intricate
maze of " courts," constituting the " Tem-
ples—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 bairber possesses
that distinction of gentleness, a soft and
white hand, of genial and equable tempera^
ture, neither fiilling 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 fiiend returned after a long absence*

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by way of rirec, as it were, to that link io
the chain of friendship. Hb air of courtesy
keeps a good understanding floating be*
tween him and his customers, which, if
ruffled by a hasty departure, or dismissal,
is levtTed 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 naturaUy 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 ot 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
in the days of long, or full -dressed hair,
ind resigned himself for a full hour to the
passive luxury of hair-dressing 1 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 1 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 tne 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 snoes,
and exemplary jacket, with that studied
yet seeming disarrangement of hair, as
though subduing, as fer as consistent with
propriety, the visible appearance of tech-
nicsil skill — as he thus, untired, goes the
never-Tarying 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 fearfli.
engine, the groans and sighs of despair, or
the wild laugh of exultation, pnxluced by
its mighty.working. All is remote, strange,
and intricate, and belongs not to him to
know. He dwelb in an area of peace — a
magic circle whose area might be de-
scribed by his obsolete sign-pole I

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 cUme most congenial to his
avocations, the voluminous toird makes
up for the deficiency of the ever-turbaned,
dose-shorn skull, and he exhibiu 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,
be 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 coflee-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 t)arber*s brain
afibrd, 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 qo spark of
malice to fire the train of jealobsy, -or ex-
plode the ammunition of petty strife ; 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^pen 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 all is decomposed and neutra-
lized there. It is the very quantity of this
freight of plot and detraction that renden

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iliin to 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 hU 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 ^ bulletin.
Amiable, contented, respected race 1 —
J exclaim with Figaro, <* Oh, that I were a
happy barber I"

Gastok.

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
rrom 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 eDcyclopsedia of
twelve thousand volumes, which thirty
camels could carry with ease. Tliey had
the honour to present it to the king. But,
how great was their amaxement, 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, Dabsheliin, during this
process of melting down his library, was
grown old, and saw no probability of Uving
to exhaust its quintessence to the last vo-
lume. *' Illustrious sultan,'' said his vizir,
the sage Pilpay, ** though I have but a very
impertect knowledge of your royal library,
yet I will undertaJie 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 hbtory of mankind contains no
more than three — they axe torn, t^ffer, dw.

2. Love nothing but what tS 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 ihe 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 be 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 issuei
forth in gilt binding ? The judicious
world will not be deceived by the tinselled
purse, but will examine whether the con-
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 b's friend. Some lines towards
the close, which refer to his co-aspirant*!
efiusioBs, are omitted.

To R. R.

To joa, dear Rowland, lod^'d m town.

When Plea«vr«*s nnile soothet Wintcf't frawa,

I writ« while cUUjr breeses blow.

And the denae elonds deiend in mow.

For Twenty-atx is nenrlj dead.

And age bas wbiten'd o'er ber head i

Her ToUet xobe is stripped awajr.

Her waterf poises hardljr pUf ;

Clog^d with the witberinf leaTos. the wind

Comes with bU Uif btinff blast behuid.

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And her* nd ffcwe. with yrymg ^T^
And flacfias "vinp a bird fliU by ;
(For erery Robin tpartr grown.
And ererjr Sparrow nhbimg gnea.)
Thn Ynart two «/••— tbe saa and nowi—

Aro fndiK* «m1 ^^ ^« ^^^^ *^^ •*
Willi abnttorod foreea AnU«n yields.
And Wiatar triumphs o'ar the fields.

So thaa, alaa ! I'm gag f*d it saa«a.
From eoBTona of tha weoda aad stnama,
(For aU the eoaatlaas rbTmiaf labbU
Hold leavea can whispai^waiers babble*)
Aad, faooao-boaad for whole waeka togather
Bf atroH of laags, aad stms of weather
Feed oB the more detighCfal straiaa
Of howliag winds, and pelting rains;
Which shake the house, from rear to ran.
Like raletadinarian;
Poaring iananerable streams
Of arrows, thro* a thooaand seams:
■Vrrows so fine, the nicest eye
Their thickest fiight can ne'er descry.—
Yet faahioa'd with sneh subtle art.
They strike their rictim to the heart;
While imps, that fly upon the point.
Raise racking pains in erery joint.

Nay, moro-these wiads are thonght Bafi<
Aad sapereminent physieiaas:
For raea who have been kiU'dontrighU
They attre again at dead of night.
OMt doable witch, who ent did dwdl
Jb Eadof's care, raised Samnel;
Bnt they each aight raise oonntless hosts
Of wandering sprites, aad sheeted ghosts ;
Tarn shaking locks to danking chains.
And howl most sopematural strdas:
While all our dunces lose their wits,
Aad pass the aight in agno^lta.

While th» ffocfaraal ttnu Uecal
1 hide my head beneath the clothes.
And sue the power whose dew discilv
The only balm for hnssaa ills.
) AU day tha eua-iprenttling beam
Abaoriw this dew from Lethe's stream :
AU night the falling moisture sheds
ObUTion orer mortal heads.
Then staking into sleep I fall.
And leaTe them ptptn^ at their tetf.
When morning oome»— no summer^ nam—
I wake aad find the speotres gonet
But on the casement see embeei^d
A mimic world ia erusted frost ;
lee-beYgs, high ahoraa, and wastes of mnm,
Mouata'n* above, aad seaa below;
Or, if Imagination bids,
Vast crystal domes, aad pyramids.
Then starliBg from my ooaeh I leap.
Awl ihaka aNMy Hhe dregs of sleeps

• To shield thii line from entietsm—
Tie Parody— aot PAaganam.

Jnst breathff upon the grand array.
And ice-bergs slide in seas away.

Now on the sooat I sally forth.
The weather<ook due £. by N.
To meet some masquerading fop.
Which makes aU natnra dance iaoog.
And spreads blue devils, aad blae lookai
TiU axoreised by tongues aad books.

Books, do I say? fuUweUIwist

A book's a famous exordstl

A book's the tow that makes the tethar

That biads the quick aad dead togethar;

A speaking trumpet under grouad.

That taras a sileaee to a sound ;

A magic mirror form'd to show.

Worlds that wero dust ten thousand yean af».

They're aromatic cloths, that hohi

The mind embalm'd in maay a fold.

Aad look, arrang'd in dust-hoag rooms.

Like mummies ia Egyptian tombs;

-.Enchanted echoes, thnt reply.

Not to the ear, bnt to the eye;

Or pow*rfttl drugs, that give the hraia.

By strange contagion, joy or pain.

A book's the phoniz of the earth.
Which bursts in splendour from iu birth:
Aad like the moon without her wanes.
From every change ne^ lustre gains ;
Shining with undiminish'd light.
While ages wing their idle flight.

By such a glorious theme inspired
StiU could I sing^^ut you are tired :
(Tho* adamantine lungs would do.
Bars should be adamantine too,)
And thence we may deduce 'tis better
To answer (faith *ds time) your letter.

Tb aaawer flnt what first It says.
Why wiU you speak of partial praise i
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 eajoy'd it, dim :
Aad briUiant thoughts to you may be
What eommon-plaoe ones aro to me.
Ton note them not— but east them by.
As light is lavish'd by the sky;
Or streams from Indiaa moontsias nXXl
Fling to the oeeaa grains of gold.
But stai wo know the gold ia fine-
But stUl we know the Ught's divia^

As to the Century and Pope,

The thoughtTs not so absurd, I hopfc

I don't despair to see a throne

Reat'd above hi»-and p'rhsps yonrowt

The course is clear, the goal's in view,

-rU free to aU, why not to y«« ?

But, ero you sUrt, you should survu *
The towering falcon strike her prey t
la gradual sweeps tha sky she scalM.
Nor aU at oaee the hird assails.

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Bat bent him b— eats roaod tlie tkieo.
And goiBS apoa him as he flies.
j Wearied mad faint he beats the air io Ta'a,
Thea shots his flog:^ wings, and pitches to the pUm
Now, falooa i now I One stoop— bnt one.
The qaarr7*s straek— the prise is woa I

So he who hopes the palm to gain.

So often soaght — and soaght in raia,
I Mast jear bj year, as loond hj rooad*
In eosj eireles leave the ground :
*Tis time has tanght him how to ria^
And aatarolised him to the skies.
Fall manj a daj Pope trod the valea*
Mid ** silver streams and mnrmariof gales/
Long frar'd the rising hills to tread.
Nor ever dared the moontain-head.

It needs not Miltoo to display,—
Who let a life-time slide awaj.
Before he swept the sonading string.
And soar'd on Pegosean wing,—
Nor Homei^s anment form— to show
The Laarel takes an age to grow ;
And he who gives his name to fate.
Most plant it earlj, reap it late ;
Nor ^ttck the blossoms as thejr spring.
So beantifttl, jet perishing.

More i wonld sa/— bat, see, tiie paper
Is nearly oat— and so's my toper.
So while Tve spac^ and while I*ve light,
I'll shake yoar hand, and bid good-night

F. P. H.
Croffdon, Dee. 17,1826.

Gekebal Wolib.

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 personn>c aimed at his old
commander with his rifle, and effected hii
deadly purpose.

Dr. Kino— ffi» puw

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, venr
gravely, in an audible voice, " Laudatur a>
Ha,*'

jTfbruarp.

Conviviality and good cheer may con-
vert the most dreary time of the -year into
a season of pleasure ; and association ol
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.*

WlMTER.

When idcles hang by the wall.

And Dick the shepherd blows hb nail.
And Tom bears logs into the hall.
And milk eomes froien home in pail ;
When Uood is nipt, and ways be fenl.
Then nightly sings the staring owl«

Tn-whoi
To-whit ta-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot

When all alond the wind doth blow,

And eonghing drowns the parson's saw.
And birds sit brooding in the snow.
And Marian's nose looks red and raw x
Thea roasted erahe hiss in the bowl.
And nighay siags the storiag owl,

Td-who;
To-whit ta-who, a merry note.
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot

To ^ keel" the pot is an ancient spelhng
for ** cool,'* which is the past participle <3
the verb : see Tooke^s *^ Diversions of Pu^
ley," where this passage is so explained.

• Dr. Fanttr's Peranial Galewlar.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

MONUMENT AT LUCERNE, DESIGNED BY THORWALDSEN,

To THE MSMOBT OF THE SwiSS GUARDS WHO WERE MASSACRED AT THE TUILLERIES,

ON THE Tenth of Auoust, 1792.

The engraving above is executed from
A clay figure, nflodelled by a Swfes artist
from the original. It was obligingly sent
to the editor, for the present purpose, by
the gentleman to whom it belongs. The
ofiodel 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 groundf
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, b as follows :—^ The Helvetian
lion, even in death, protects the lilies of
France.' The monument was executed by
Che Swiss, in memory of their coantrymen,

who were massacred, on the lOth of August,
at the Tuilleries, in defending Louis XVL
from the miw culottet. The names of those
who perished are engraved beneath the lion.'*
The particulars of the dreadful slaughtei,
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 mbment, were taken
prisoners, and conducted to the town-haU
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 fuiy, and every indi*
vidual was murdered on tiie spot.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

No. VI.

[From the "Chaste Maid in Cheapside,"
a Comedy, by Thomas Middleton,
1620.]

Citisfen to a Knight eon^limenting'^U
Daughter.

Pish, atop jouT words, good Knigkt, twUl

bluhelse.
Which ftre voand too high for the Daoghtort of tho

Freedom;
Honoar, and Fmlth<«l Borrantl they are oompUmeaU
For the worthy Ladies of White Hall or Oreenwieh ;
■Et^dl plaia, tafieieat, sobsidj wolds senre «s» 8ir.

Matter AUwit (a PHttol) describe* hie
eonteutment,

I am like a man
Finding a table famished to his hand,
(As mine is still for me), prays for the Foandv,
Kleos the Right wonhipfnl, the good Founder's life :
I thank him, he* has maintained my honse these tea

years;
Not anly keeps my Wife, bnt he keeps me.
He gats me all myehildren, and pays the norse
Weekly or monthly, poU me to nothing.
Rent, nor Chnreh dnes. not so mnch as the Scavenger;
The happiest sUte that erer man was bom to.
1 walk ont in a morning, eome to breakfast,
Fmd exeellent cheer, a good fire in winter ;
Look in my ooal-honse, abont Midsnmmer eve.
That's fall, fire or six chaldron new laid np :
Look in my baek yard, I shaU find a steepla
Made np with Kentish faggots, which o'erlooks
The water-honae and the windmills. I say nothing.
Bat smile, and pin the door. When she nes in,
(As now she's even npon the point of gmating),
▲ Lady lies not in like her; there's her imbossings,
Xmbroiderings, apanglings. and I know not what,
Aa if sho Uy with aU the gandy shops
la Greaham's BnrM abont hor ; than her rastoratiTes,
Able to set ap a yoong 'Potheeary,
lad tiahly stoia the Foreman of a Drag shop :
Har aagan by whola loaves, her wines by mndlsts,
I aoa these things, bat like a happy man
I pay for aoae at all, yet fools think it mine ;
I have tha aame, and ia his gold I shine t
And wharo soma merchants wonld in sonl kiss hell.
To bay a paradise for their wives, and dye
Their eoaaeienee in the blood of prodigal heirs.
To deck their Nightppieee ; yet, all this being doM,
Eaten with jealousy to the inmost bone ;
These torments stand I freed of . lamasdaar
From jealonsy of » wife, as from the charge.
O two miiacnlons blessings 1 'tis the Knight,
das ta'ea that labour qnite out of my hands.

I may sit still, and play ; he*s jealons for ma.
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, langh, or siag .
• ••■••••
ril go bid Gos«ps • presently myself^
ThaCs all the work 1*11 do ; nor need I stir.
But that it is my pleasure to walk forth
And air myself a little ; I am tyed
To aothlag in this businen ; what I do
Is meiaty raorsation, not oonstraiat.

Reecuefrom BatUfe by the fTatermetu

• I had been taken by eight Seijeaata,

But for tha honest Watermen, I am bound to 'i
They are the most rsquitefol'st people living ;
For, as they get their means by Qaatlemea,
They're still the forward'st to help QenCLemen.
Yon heard how one 'soaped oat of the Blaekfriars f
Bat a while since from two or three varlets,
Came into the house witti all their rapiers drawn.
As if they'd dance the sword-dance on the staga.
With eandles in their hands, like Chandlers' Ghosts I
Whilst the poor Gentleman, so pursued and banded.
Was by an honest pair of oars safe landed.

• A rith old Knight, who kaapa Allwit's Wifa.

[From ** London Chanticleers^'* a nidi
Sketch of a Play, printed 1659, but
evidently much older.J

Song in prmee of Ale,

L

Submit, Bunch of Grapes,
To the strong Barley ear ;
The weak Wina no longer
Tha lanrel shall waar.

Sack, and all drinks else.
Desist from tho strife ;
Ale's the only Aqua Vitas,
And liquor of life.

8.

Tlien eome, my boon faUoirs,
Ltfs drink it around ;
It keeps us from grave,
Thon^ it lays us oa groaad.

4.
AU'saPhysieiaa,
No Moaatebank Bragger |
Caa cure the diill Ague,
Though it be with the Staggnv

MW» « Strang Wiastlsr.

FliagsaUithathoMt;

And asakes the groaad alippary,

Thou|(hitbeaotwet.

•TohUWifo*sLyiaria.
t Alsatia. I X

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J^bte both Cam,
And good N«ptaM too;
Al^ froth was the MS,
> rom which Vnm gvtw.

7.
Atoisimmortsl;
And be there no etopt
la boanj lad^* quaffing;
Can liTe without hops.*

8.
Then ooine» my boon fellows.
Let's drink it aronnd ;
It keepe as from graTe,
Tbovgh ifi lajs m oo gignad.

C. L.

€t)t Brama.

CHARLOTTE CHARKE.

The novel called << Mr. Dumont," by
this unfurtunate womaD, was published in
the year 1755 in one Tolume, twelves, by
H. Slater, of Drury-lane, who may be pre*
fumed 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. 12^, I met with an advertisement of
November, 1742, from whence it appears
that she and her daughter, <*AfiM Cnarke/'
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 BeneKt of a Perton who hat 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 3«. Pit 2«. Gallery U.
Between the two parts of the Concert will
be performed a Tragedy , calPd The Fatal
Curiosity, written by the late Mr. Lillo,
author of George Barnwell. The part of
Mn. Wiimot by Aire. Chabke (who ori-
ginally performed it at the Haymarket;)
The rett of the parte by a Set of People
who will perform at well ae they can, \f
not ae well ae they wou*d, and the beet can

* The ORziaal distinction of Beer from the old Drink
■f oar Forefathers, whieh was made withont that i»

do no more. With variety of Entertainments,
viz. Act [. 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
Miee Charke who performed Princeee
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-
taka% the Bills for the day will be blue and
black, «tc." •

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 roe, which causea also,
on mv 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, sirT' — " 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. " Ta
go under ground for him, to take off 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 thai

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will take off the hloody hand from his car-
riage.^—^'' I cao assure you this is the first
word I have heardon 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 odl, "Stop, sir, stopT I
turned my liorse, 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 ouC '* Stop,
sir." Not quite knowing what to make of
this extraoidinary accost and vehement
call, I changed a stout stick in my left
hand to my light 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
mtend to undertake to do this V — " Yes,
•ir." — "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
airected 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 thev might have taken to as a
shelter from the heavy rain. 1 thus lost an
opportunity uf 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 the poor fellow appeared to
have so strongly set his mind.

On further inquiry into the origin of this
Hrang9 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 UUter, 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 superior
to himself. Under these circumstances,
present the inquiry to you, and shall be
among many others, greatly gratified to see
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 Eneland being found too few
to answer the demand for organs, it was
thoaght 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 tlie 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 ftither
Smith. Immediately upon their arrival.
Smith was employed to ouild 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
Smitti and the younger Harris was carried
on with great spirit. Each had bis friends
and supporters, and the point of preference
between them was haraly 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 eldef
Harris, Renatus Harris and father Sinitb

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became great rivals in their eroployment,
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 aays to
a numerous audience; and, till the other
was heard, everybody believed that &ther
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
iute, with some others.

These stops, as being newly invented,
gave great delight and satisfaction to a nu*
moTTus 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 bein'g 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, vid set up there. Towards the close

of George II.'s reign, Mr. Byfield was
sent for from Eneland to repair it, which
he objected to, and prevailed on the chaptet
to have a new one made by himself, he al- |
lowine for the old one in exchange. When
he had got it, he would have treated with I
the parishioners of Lynn, in Norfolk, tor
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 i
his opinion of this instrument, declared it I
to be the best modem organ he had ever
touched.*

MISERIES OF TRAVELUNO.

Steam verwa Coach.

For the Table Book.

** Now then it nothing ffivM * oab ra«ii •pinli,
LeATening hi« blood u Uajenno dotli n cnrrj.

As going at fall speed **

Don /nan, . *0. v. 73.

If the number of persons who have been
killed, maimed, and disfigured for life, in
consequence of stage-coach muht^, 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 ih*"
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 unfortnnats

• Uawku

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fellow rather receiving fifty or a hnodred
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
voor,) Ae would be nonsuitedy 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,
9ome time since, on the above subject,
from which I have extracted the following

Stage-eoaeh AdvefUurew,

Inside. — Crammed full of passengers^-
three &t, fusty, old men — a young mother
and sick child — a cross old maid — a poll-
parrot — a bag of red herrings^-double-
CMirreled 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 alady*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
chilj-— obliged to bear it — no appeal — shut
your eyes, and scold the dog — pretend
sleepy 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
Diece or gold in the straw — not to be
k>und — 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
fellow, half asleep, falls off the coach, and,
in attempting to save himself, drags you
along with him into the mud — musical
gtzard, and driver, " horn mad " — turned
ovei^ oue leg under a bale of cotton, the
other under the coach — hands in breeches
pockets — ^head in a hamper of wine — lots

of broken bottles vernu broken heads — eui
and run — send for surgeon — wounds drese^
ed — lotion and lint, four dollars — take
post-chaise— get home— lay down, and
laid up.

Inside and OYrrsiDX.^DrunkeD 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- j
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 bellyfiiU, and frozen to death — in
temal 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 rights** — run out,
just in time to sing out ^'Tm left,** as
the coach turns the comer — after it " full
tear " — come up with it, at the end of a
mile — get up '*all in a blowze" — catch
cold — sore throat — inflammations-doctor
— warm bath — fevers— 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.

Td 1656, a fisherman on the banks of the
Rhone, in the neighbourhood of Avignon, |

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wu coDsiderably obstructed in his work by
■ome heavy body, which he feared would
injure the net ; but by proceeding slowly
and cautiously, he drew it ashore untom,
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^ enoou*
ragged the mistake, and, ^er a few afieeted
diiSculties and demurs, bought it for a
trifling sum,, immediately carried it home,
and, after cerefnlly cleaning and polishing
bis 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-
Die a piece of plate, offered for sale at one
time and at one place, might produce sus-
picion and inquiiy, he immediately, without
waiting to examine 4ts beauties, divided it
into four equal parts, each of which he diip
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, bad them nicely rejoined, and the
trensure was finally placed in the oabitiet of
Ihe king of France.

Tliis relic of antiquity, no lest re-
markable for the beauty of its workman-
ship, than for having been buried at the
tiottom of the Rhone more than two thou-
iand years, was a votive shield, presented
to Scipio, as a monument of gratitude and
affection, by the inhabiunts of Carthago
Kova, now the citv of Carthagena, for his
generosity and selMlenial, 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
^n 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 mi^ be protected from injury
and insult.---^ipio 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 uie
age and complexion of inv 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 pretection :*' he then gave the
necessary orders.

The soldiers soon after brought him,
vthat they oonsidered 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- j
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 tne report. She is worthy of thy
love ; nor vrould I hesitate, but for the stem
laws of duty and honour, to offer her mr
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 fiiend
to the Roman people."

Tbe 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
blessinn on his head. The parents of the
happy bridegroom had brougnt 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 rhe
discovery of the valuable present from the
conquered city to its illustrious victor,
seemed almost indispensable, and perha|>s
the incident can scarcely be too fami-
liar.

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THE TzVBLE BOCK.

A BRONZE ANTIQUE, FOUND IN THE THAMES,

JjX DICKSINO FOB THE FOUNDATION OF NEW LONDON BrIDGB, JaKUART, 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 cofiei^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 pm 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
was used for sacrificial purposes, and iii-
tended 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 th'e tioi-ns serve as a handle to
raise ; the bottom of the neck is fiat, so that
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 i.*
came there, and at such a depth in tht
clay, we can only guess at ; and till Jona-
than Oldbuck, alias Monkbams, rise from
the dead to set us right, it is to be feared
that there will be left nothing but conjeo-
ture respecting it.

Ihere is some account, but not very well
supported, oi the course of the Thamee
havmg once been diverted ; should ihsf

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ANOTHER VIEW OF THE SAME ANCIENT BRONZE,
Showiko the Mouth, asd the Orifice at the top op the Head.

however be true, it is possible tlial tho
beady of which we ate now speakinflf, might
have been dropped on the then dry bottom ;
the bed of the river must, in that case, lia^ e
been afterwards considerably raised.

I remain, yours, respectfully,

M. Blac&more.
fTaudsworik, Feb. 9, 1827.

P. S. The Romans always represent
their satyrs with Roman noses, and I be-
lieve that Bacchus alone is crowned with
iv^ ; the fauns and the rest being crowned
with vine leaves.

Probably the insertion of this remark-
able relique of antiquity, turned up fh>m
the soil of our metropolitan river, may
induce communications to the Table Book
of similar discoveries when they take plaoe.
At no time were ancient remains more
regarded : and illustrations of old manners
and customs, of all kinds, are here espe
cially acceptable.

It would be easy to compose a dissert a-
tioo respecting Bacchus, wnich 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 b« particularly
esteemed.

In addition to the favour of Mr. Black-
morels 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 site of the original: it is, as Mr.
Blackmore has already mentioned, in tbi^
^est possible preservation.

JACK C LENT.

This was a puppet, formerly thrown at,
in our own country, durinc^ 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,*' 1 659 :

-•• Throwi ng cudgels

At Jadi a LenU or Shrore-eoeln.**

Also, in Ben Jonson*s " 1 ale of -a Tub :

* On aa Ash-Wedaeadnf,

Wbea thou didst stead six weeks the JwA o* i.«nt,
Por bofs to harl three throws a peaajr at thee.**

So, likewise, in Beaumont and Flelchpr'^
• Tamer Umed :**

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Make me a Joe* o' /.#•/, and break mj thiju
For onUgg'd points and oounten.**

Further, Id Quarles* <' Shepheard's One^
desy" 1646, we read :

« How like a Jack a Lmii
He ataade, for bojra to spend their Skrovt-tida-tkrovrai
Or like a puppet made to frighten erowe****

From the "Jack o» Lent;^ we derive
the familiar term among children^/'Jaek
o' Lanthom**

AKD

The jcopious particulars respecting these
festivals, which nave been brought together
in another place,f 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 U Jeudigrat, 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 g^ there be, who is worshipped in
England only on Shrove Tuesday, is wor-
shipped in France on both the Thursdav
and Tuesday. Parties meet at each other^
bouses 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 carried in the a(\ernoon 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,
(or two or three hours, like the Sunday pro-
cessions in hyde-park. Of the rest of the
company, some make parties to dine at
ArrenSy or at the public-bouses on the road ;

* Brand's Pnonlar Antiquiticfl.
t I'hw 3fmsfJMijf Boifk

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;
th^rwasinexpressibly mild; the road where
the carriages parade is about half way up
the roaks, and this long string of carriages
constantly moving, the rocka filled with
thousands and thousands of spectators, and
the tranquil sea gilded by the setting sun,
and strewed ov«r with numberless little
barks, formed altogether one of the roost
beautiful and picturesque scenes that could
ba 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
tbe night, when we walked home by a
lovely- bright moonlight, in a milder even-
ing, though in the month of February, than
^fw-often find in England at Midsummer.*

Naogeorgus, in the ^ Popish Kingdome,**
mentions sonde burlesque scenes practised
formerly on Ash Wednesday. People went
about in mid-dav with lanterns in thev
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,
cryine «• Herrings, herrings, stinking her-
rings I no more puddings !*'

And hereto jojme they IboBsh pUyee,
and doltish dogfrel rinee,

And what beeide ihej can inrent,
beloagiag to the tiaes.

Others, at the head of a procession, car-
ried a fellow upon staves, or ** stangs,*' to
Sonne 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 nouses, 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 drove

■ both ploufh and majdena throiig;h

lome pond or river small.
And dabbl«d all with dnrt, and wringing

wett as thejr umj bee
To npp^r ealle, and after that

to diinnBing l«s(ilee.

• Mitt Plttiaptn.

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CiiRHiYALiii Spain.

<* CarniTal," properly so called, accord-
ing to Mr. Blanco White, is limited to
Quinqu(^esima 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
couTU, 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 Avapi^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 Avapi^s during
the carnival. The streets were crowded
with men, who, upon the least provocation,
real 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-
I ments of the vulgar, is generally respected,
provided he is a mere spectator, and ap-
pears indiffeieni 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-
quairel, 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 irritobilily, especially in
the southern provinces, leads, without any
more assignable reason, to the frequent
shedding of blood. A small quantity of
wine, nav, the mere blowing of the easterly
wind, called " Solano;' is infallibly attended

with deadly quarreb in Andalusia, llie
average of dangerous or mortal wounds, on
every great festival at -Seville, is, I believe,
about two or tRree. We have, indeed, a
well-endowed hospital named de los He-
rfdos, which, though open to all persons
who meet with dangerous accidents, is,
from this unhappy disposition of the People,
almost confinea to the wounded, llie
large arm-chair, where the surgeon in at-
tendance examines the patient just as he is
brought in, usually upon a ladder, is known
in the whole town by the name of ** Silla
de los Guapos,'' the Bullies' chair. Eveiy
thing, in fact, attests both the generality
and inveteracy of that horrible propensity
among the Spaniards.*

THE UEGE 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
Li^ge, by "Matthew Laensberg," who
there enjoys an equal decree of celebrity.

Whether the name of Laensberg is a real
or an assumed name is a matter of great
doubt. A tradition, preserved in the famil}
of the first printers of the work, ascribes i(
to a canon of St. Bartholomew, at Li^e^
who lived 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 Li^ge. Figure to
yourself an old man, seated in an aim
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. Bartholomsei Ca-
nonicus et Philosophic Professor ."

Such is the picture given by a person

• Doblado*s Letten from Spa.a»

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who examined tliis portrait, and who,
though he was at the pains to search the
registers of the chapter of Lifege, 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 wprds, " 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-
Tilege, granted by Ferdinand of Bavaria,
prince of Li^e, is actually inserted. It
gives permission to Leonard Streete to
print Matthew Laensberg*s almanac, and
forbids other printers to make copies of it,
open 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 Li^ge that
Voltaire alludes in these lines of his Epistle
to the king of Denmark : —

Et qnind vons Genres nr ralmaaao de Li^ge^
Ne paries des saitions qn'sveo on privilege.

The four first pages of the Li^ge 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 iact, 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 Li^ge
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. Jhe principal part.
However, was preserved, and still ensures
ibe 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 26th of March, 1759, a rainy
day, notwithstanding thi» almanac of Li^.*

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 ol
Louis XIV., is not a little singular.

When the king was atUcked 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 Li^e,
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 Machico^ after the
name of Macham. His mistress being sea-
sick, he took her to land, with some of his
company, where she died, and Uie 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 veiy large trees, of one of which hf

* lUpodlo: V of Arti.

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and hiii men made a boat, and went to sea
in ity and 'were cast upon the shore of
Africa, without sail or oars. The Moors
were infinitely surprised at the sight of
tbem, and presented Macham to their king,
who sent nim 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 Cath&ine 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 kmg 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 tnis enterprise
was, to discover the island of Madeira,
which Macham had found.

Tomb of Macuam's Amva.

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*0r mj poor AvirA*t lowlj gr»w9
No dirf e tliBll toimd, no knoU thaU riaf ;

Bat angels, u the high pines wave.
Their balf-heard * Jiftttfrsrs * singl

No flow*rs of transient bloom at eve,
The maidens on the tnrf shall strew ;

Nor sigh, as the sad spot thejr leave.
Sweets to the tweet a long aSeu I

Bnt in this wilderness profound,
0*er her the dove shall build her nest ;

And oe»An swell with softer sound,
A Requiem to her dream of rcstl

Ah I when shall 1 as qniet be.
When not a frieSd or human eye

Shall mark, beneath the mossj tree.
The spot where we forgotten lie ?

To Idss her name on this cold stone,
Is all that now on earth I erave ;

For in this world I am ahnie—
Oh I Imj me with her in the graY*.

GOOD EATING.
Th»i *'a sharp stomach is tlie best
nuoe,*' is a saying as true as it is common.
In Ulrick Hutton's book on the virtues of

guaiacum, there is a very singular story
on this subjecL

The relations of a rich German ecclesia$*
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 |»verend 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
iixed, perfectly cured. The patient was
put into his hands, and the doctor treated
nim in the following manner: — He fur-
nished him eyery 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 jiist 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
lad 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 mine], both of which he en-
joyed to extreme old age.

READING ALOUD.

Br Maboaret DucnEss of Newcastle.
1671.

— To read lamely or crookedly, and
not eyenly, smoothly, and thoroughly, en-
tangles the sense. Nay, the very sound of
the voice will seem to alter the sense of the
theme ; and though the sense will be there
in despite of the ill voice, or ill reading,
yet it will be concealed, or disooverad to

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its disadTantages. As an ill musician, (or
indeed one that cannot play at all,) instead
of plajringy puts the nddle 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
I with one tone or sound of voice, though
I the passions and numbers are different ;
and some a^n, in reading, wind up their
▼oices to such a passionate screw, that they
whine or squeal, rather than speak or read :
others fold up their voices with such dis-
I tinctions, that they make that triangular
I 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 fest, 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

Br 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 pro£ftne betrays
aught of a sacred trust, is- near Uie 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, 15 one
of the vulgar; and without talents, powers,
or energy.

The more honesty a man has, the less he
allecis the air of a saint— the affectation of
»Mctity IS a blot on the face of piety.

Love as if you could hate and might be
hated, is a maxim of detested prudence io
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 open^ 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-aud-twenty elders in heaven
rise before him who, from motives of hu-
manity, can totally suppress an arch, full-
pointed, but offensive bon mot.

iUannersf.

TUB PARLIAMENT CLUBS*

Before the year 1736, it had been usual
for sentlemen 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. Tliese 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 the Left," will
not aHow custom or imitation to be the
cause. He affirms, that the left arm cannot
be it) 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 nghf

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THE DEATH OF LEILA.
For the TahU Book.
*Twu mooslig^ht— LiiLA Mt retir'd

llpw the towering beacb,
Watcbiaf the ware*. •• like oAe in»pir*d '•

With thing! beyond her reach :
There was a calmness on the water
Snited to Sorrow's hapless daoghter.
For ooneolation seem'd to be
Mist np with its solemnity 1

The stars were shedding far and wide

Their twinkling lighto of peerksa blue i
And o*er the nndnlating tide

The breese en babny piniena flew ;
The seene might well have rai^d the sonl
AboTe misfortoae's dark ooatronl,'
Had not the hsnd of Death been laid
On that beloT*d and nuttchless maid I

I wateh*d the pale, heart-broken girl.
Her shatter*d form, her look insane,—

I saw her raren locks oncnrl
With moistnre from the peacefol main ;

I saw her wring her hands with grief,

like one deprived of Hope's relief;

And then she sigh'd, as if bereft

Of the last treasnre heav'n had left 1

Slowly I sought the cheerless spot
Where Lsii^ lay, absorb'd in ears.

Bat she, poor girl I diseera'd me not.
Nor dreamt that friendship liager*d there I

Her grief had bonnd her to the earth.

And elonded all her beaat/s worth ;

Anil when her clammy hand I press'd.

She seem'd of feeUng dispoesess'd I

Yet there wexe motion, sense, and lifei,
Bemaintng in tLat sbatter'd frame.
As if existing by the strife

Of feelings none bnt Love can name I
I spoke, she answer'd not— I took
Her hand with many a fcarfel kmk— -
Her langnid eyes I gas'd npon.
And press'd her lipe— bat she was gone 1

B.W.R.
Mtngion, 1837.

RATTING.

Tliere are three metliods proposed for

lessening the number of rals.

I L 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

mto a spiral obelisk, would crest the crust

more fantastically than pigeon's feet. After

a while they might be declared game by
the legislature, which would materially ex-
pedite their extirpation.

II. Make use of iheir fur. RaUskio
robes for the ladies would be beautifia,
warm, costly, and new. Fashion requires
only the two last qualities; it is hoped
tlie two former would not be objeclioa-
ahle.

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 succe^ed, 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.

(Copu-)

PONY LOST.

On February 21sl, 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 hi^h ; — 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
ne did not understand, and hearing loud
applause, inquired of his interpreter whal
caused it : " My lord," replied thp inter,
preter, "\he pope has caused you to \h
proclaimed king of Egypt." " It^does not
oecome us," said the grave Spaniard, *' K
be wanting in gratitude ; rise up, and pro
claim his holiness oaliph of Bagdad."

• Dr. Aikia's

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DISCOUNT FOR CASH.

The following anecdote is related in a
journal of the vear 1789 :—

A senrice of plate wa§ 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 mij^ht
be kept long out of his money. lie 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 pound* taken off, and if trot
inetanily jkmU

SPORTINO.

A wit said of the late bishop of Duiliam,
when alive, '' Ilis grace is the only roan 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 erants — * 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, 1 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

Tli« bad u IB the boagh

And the leaf is is the bnd,
Aad Earth's bcfianiiif noir

In her veias to feel the blood,
Whioh, wara'd hj suBinet's turn

fa th* alemble of the Tiae^
Fr3ai harfooBts will orerru

la ft nddy f«ah of wiasb

fbe iMsf ame and the hloMi

That shall decorate the flo^ar.
Are quokenuf u die gMxm

Of their snbterraaeaa bowei i
And the jnlees meant to feed

Trees, regetables, fmits.
Unerringly proceed

To th«r preappointed roots.

How awfal the thonght

Of the wonders nnder gronad.
Of the mystic changes wronght

In the silent, dark profonads
Row each thiag npwards leads

By necessity decreed.
And a world's snpport depends

On the shooting of a seed 1

The Snmmer's in her arh«

And this enany-ptnion'd day
Is coBunisnon*d to remark

Whether Winter holds her sway (
Go back, then dove of peace.

With the myrUe on thy wing.
Say that floods and tempesU ceases

And the world is ripe for Spnng.

Tho« hast fuin'd the sleeping Earta

Till her dreams are all of flowen.
And the waters look in mirth

For their orerhanging bowen i
The forest seems to listen

For the raatle of its leaTcs,
And the rery skies to glisten

la the hope of s

Thy Tirifyiag spell

Has beea felt beaeath the i
By the dormonse ia its cell,

Aad the mole within its eave ;
And the snmmer tribes that ereep^

Or m air expand their wing,
HaTB started from their sleep,

At the sammons of the Spring.

The eattle lift thnr yoioes

From the ralleys and the hills.
And the feathei'd race nrjoioes

With a gnsh of tonelnl bills;
And if this dondless areh

Fills the poet's song widi glee,
O thon snnny first of hfarch.

Be it dedicate to thee I

This beautiful poem has afibrded mc
exquisite gratification. Till I saw it printed
in Mr. Dyce*s ** Specimens of British P^
etesses/' I was ignorant that a living lady
had written so delightfully. Without a
friend at my elbow to instruct me whethei
I should prefix '* Miss " or " Mrs.'' to hei
felicitous name, I transcribe — as I find it
in Mr. Dyce's volume — Felicia HuiAtit

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THE STORY OF THE SCOTCH SOLDIER,

*' UposLioj ■ovl U'l ft fact"

Uattrmwb- and 8$^

Fur the Tabk Book.

^ Is the master at home, sir?" said a
broad-shouldered Scotchman (wearing a
.-egimental coat of the — > regiment, and
^ith his bonnet in his hand) to myself,
who had answered a ring at the office-bell.
1 replied that he was not. ^ Weel, tbafs
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 ther hae a' signed for the
month ; an' a hae a shorteness o* brith, that
wanna lat me wurk or du ony thing ; an'
a'd be wtay gtasd gin a cud git doon to
Scoteland i^ the nixt Taissel, for a hanna* a
baubee ; an', as a sid aibre, a canna wurk,
ao' gin maister B. wad Jist sign ma pertec-

tion, a hae twa seagnatures, an' a'd gi.
awa' the mom." For once I had told do
lie in denying Mr. B. to his risitor, and,
therefore, in no dread of detection from
couffh, or other Yvvk voce evidence, I usher-
ed the ** valiant Scot " into the tanctum of a
lawyer's clerk.

There is a very laudable benevolent
institution in London, called the ^* Scottish
Hospital," whichy on proper representa-
tions made to it, signed oy three of itf
members, (forms whereof are annexed, in
blank, to the printed petition, which it
given gratuitously to applicants,) will pass
poor natives of Scotlana to such parts o.
their father-land as they wish, free of ex-
pense, and will otherwise relieve their
wants ; but each member is only allowed

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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
h^me; 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, t>orne down
by hard times, and harsh measures. Twas
hard to leave the hearths which generations
of their forefatheis had shadow^ 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 stort
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 bis ** bit housey,^*
the poor pittance of bounty he received,
to be a short stay 'tvrixt them and starva-
tion.

lie 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 ffin a war* nae as proper a man
as ony o* mem to carry a musket ; an' they
tint me to du a' the odd jobes o' a chap
that did a wife's-wark, tho' there were a
gude fivetv young chaps i' the regiment that
had liked it wul aneugh, and were better
fetting for the like o' sican a place than
mysel.^ — ^And so, sir," he continued, ** thar
a was, working mysel in till 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
■nony months, a gote better ; but oh 1 a was
inco weak, and but a puir creature frae a
strong man afore it: nut a did na mak
ffluckle o't, for a thought ay, gin ony thing
cam o't to disable me, or so, that a should

hae goten ieve-pence or sax-pence iL^Hvy
an' that had been a great help."

Oh ! if the rich would but take

the trouble to learn how many happy Iiiarts
they might make at small expeniie — iod
fashion their deeds to their knowledg^—
how many prayers might nightly ascend
with their names from grateful bosoms to
ihe 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 1

There was a pause — for ray 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 thiek crop of light hair,
such as only Sootchmen 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 b rarely seen at present.
lie must, when in full health, have
stood about five feet seven ; but, now, he
lost somewhat of his height in a stoop,
contracted during bis illness, about the
chest and shoulders, and common to most
people affected with pulmonary complaints :
tiis frame was buUcy, but the sinews seemed
to have lost their tension ; and he looked
like *' one of might," 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." 1
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 eflfeiHunUy, to
vour ingress, as if you had really cured
him. And yet I think thij poor feHow
said what he did, rather to please one whom

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• 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 muo
du," he replied ; ** a canna du ony labour-

I ing wark, an' a ha na goten ony trade ;

I but, ye see, sir, we like ay to die whar*

I wer're bom ; and my faither, an* my gran'-
Ciither afore him forbye, a' my ither kin,
an' the mither that bore me, there a' i' the

j nook o' -— — kirk-yaird ; an* than my wife
an twa baimies :" 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.*—

j I hate a scene as much as Byron did, but I
admire a feeling heart, and pity a sorrow.

j ful one the tear dicf not fall. I

looked in his face when I heard his voice
again ; his eye glistened, and the lash was

I wet, but the tear was gone ~— And there

j stood I, whose slender body scarcely com-
prehended one half of the circumference of
nis 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

{'ist as well to die in ae place as anither^
>ut 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 fin a*d
laid doon wi' the rast, the mither o them
might hae goten the widow's pension for
them an' hirsel." — Tlie 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 I Hear this,
shade of Lempriere! Manlius and the
Horatii died to save a country, and to pur-
chase earthly immortality by their deaths
•-bnt here's a poor fellow willing to give up

* [*« ^— The Aoevtiira spibit flew vp to hatren't
ekaaeery with tbe oath, and blashed as k« gare it ia —
tha BscoaoiMo AvasL, as he wrote it down, dropped a
taar npon the woid« aad blotted it oat fer OTerT'-

the ghost, by sword, plague, pestilence oi
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 yf»u— look to it, when ye toast the
next lordly victor •• wiUi 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 niently b
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 tne
ranks of their forces — but had I been yo«ir
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 thrust my hand
into my pocket, and gave him Sixpence.
— Reader ! smile not ; I am but a poor
harum scarum headed mortal — 't wa* aO I
had, *' in possession, expectancy, remainder,
or reversion" —

J. J. K.

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
Me supposed to be the extempore recita-
tions of an old bard to a group of attentive
▼illagers.

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TlIE LADY OF THE HILL.

P«or girl f alM Mem*d of u oaearthlj moold*
A thug, superior to the frowns of fate ;

Bat nerer did mj tearful eyes behold
A maid so fair, aad so diMonsolate t

Yet was she onoe a child of high estate.
And narst m speadoar, till ao enrioos gloofli

Sank her beneath its harsh o*erpowering weight :
RobbM her pale featnres of their orient bloom.
And with a noiseless pace. mot*d onwards to th
tomb.

She walk'd apon the earth, ae one who ksew
The drend mysterioos secrets of the grava;

For never o*er her eje of heaT*nl]r blae
Lightened a smile; but like the ocean ware

That roan, nnblest with >anshine, throogh the care
Rear'd in the depths of Snowdeo, she had flown

To endlese grief for ref age ; and wonld rare.
And tell to the night-winds her tale nnknown.
Or wander o*er the heath, deserted aad alone.

And when the rain beat hard against the hiU,
And storms rash*d hj npon their wing of pow'r,

Lonelf she'd strajr beside the babbling rill.
Or fearless list the deep-Toic*d eataraet's roar ;

Aad when the tempest's wrath was heard no more
She waader'd home, the mooatain eod to dresx

With maajr a wreath, and maaj a snmmer flowV ;
And thns she liv*d, the sister of distress.
The solitnde of love, nntst m the wilderaeie.

She was the child of natare ; earth, sea, sky,
Monntain aad cataract, fem-elad hill aad dale

Poesess*d a aameless charm m her yoang efe,
Para aad otomal, for in Deva's rale

Her heart first listen'd to a lorer's tala,
Breath*d bj a moaatain kerne ; and everf seeae

That wantonM blithely in the od'rons gale.
Had oft beheld her lord's enamoar'd mien.
As tremblingly she eongfat each spot where he hai
been.

Bat she is gone I The eold earth is her pillow.

And o*er her blooms the sammer's sweetest fiow*r t
And o*er her ashes weeps the gratefal willow

She lov'd to cherish ia a happier hoar-
Mate is the Toioe that breath'd ftom Deva*s bow*r

Ciill is the eool of the aegleeted rover ;
We saw the death-doad in destraotion low*r
0*er her meek head, the western waves roll*d over
The eone of Urn she lov'd, her own devoted lover.

Batoft, vbM the fiuat son is la the west,
Aad tha hash'd gales ahmg the oeena dia,

Btnmge ioaads reeeho from her plaee of rest,
Aad sink into the heart most tenderly^

The bird of eveaiag honr, the hamming bee.
And the wild music of the monntain rill,

^Seem breathiag sorrow as they marmar by.
And whrspering to the night, while aU is still.
The tale cf the potff r rl— the ** Lady of the HiU."

W. F. D.— /fuftca/or.

iMardagt Cusftomtf-

HIGHLAND WEDDINGS.
Bt John Hay Allan, Esq.

There is not probably, at the present
day a more social and exhilarating con-
Yocation 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 th^^n 9 '^ly's
march, the bridegroom gather> ..la mends
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 tneir 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
tliis 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

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entire length of the house, is formed of deal
vUnks 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
co^-a-1eeky, boiled fowls, roasted ducks,
oints of roeat, 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
«he feast. In the olden 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.

Vet the cheer of the dinner is not so re-
maikable 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-
eider ed 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 the 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" 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 gayety are past, but who still
loves that with which she vras gay in her
youth. It b to be regretted that Dr. Sa-
muel Johnson had not lived to witness

these dawnings of retuomvad improvement,
his philosophical mind might have rejoiced
in tne symptoms of anproachiiig ** civiUza'
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 pn:-
sented with a glass of ''uisga" by way of
welcome. When the comptioy 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 ailer dinner as his march
will allow, the bridegroom arrives : bis ap-
proach is announced at a distance by s
contiBual and running discharge of fire-
arms from hit party. These signals are
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 pro-
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-
SToom 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 guaurd, come the
bride and the females of her party, accom-
panied by their fathers, brothers, and othe.
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 oride. Tlie privilege of
supporting the bride is mdispensably con-
fined to the bridesman and bridesmaid,
and it would be an unacceptable pi^ce ol
politeness for any other persons, however
high their rank, to ofier to supply their
place. The bridegroom and his party, wit>
their piper, form the rear of the prooessioi^
and the whole is closed by two young girls
who walk last at the array, bearing in «
festoon between them a white scarf, similat
to that held before the bride. During the
march tlie pipes generally play the old

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Scots air, " Tye, lets n' to the Bridal/' and
the parties of the bride and bridegroom
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 cemetiy becomes silent In the
old time the pipers played round the out-
tide of the clachan auring the performance
of the service, but of later years this custom
has been discontinued. The ritual of the
marriage is very simple : a prayer for the
happiness and guidance of the young
couple virho are about to enter upon the
troubled tide of life; a short exhortation
upon the duties of the station which they
are to undertake, and a benediction by tne
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 tne 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.

Ine scene is still more impressive at the
clachan. I have yet before me the groups
ot the last wedding at which I was present
in the highlands. The church was diml^
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 brid<y
groom, a hardy young highlander, the fox-
hunter of the district, was dressed in the
ull tartans ; and the bride, the daughter of
a neighbouring shepherd, was simply at-
tired in white, with a bunch of white roses

in her hair. Tl e dark cheek and keen eye
of the hunter deepened its hue and its Ugh.
as he held the hand which had been placed
in his, while the downcast face of the bride
scarcely showed distinctly more than her fait
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-
Ittcky" 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 ot
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 healtli
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 sun 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 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. Aflei
supper the dancing again commences, and
is occasionally inspired by the before-
notioed ctreumvolutions of the ** Uisga na

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Baidh." The Dride and bridegroom, and
such as choose repose rather than rnerri-
meut, leiire lo take a couple of hours' rest
before dawn ; but the majority keep up the
dancing till day. Towards morning many
of the company begin to disperse; and
wheu it is well light, breakfast is given to
aJl who remain. Tea, multitudes of eggs,
cold meat, a profusion of oat cakes, barley
* stones," and sometimes wheat breads
biuught, perhaps, a distance of thirty miles,
coQsmute the good cheer of this meal. When
it IS concluded, the bride takes leave of the
majority of her friends, and accompanied
only 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
i^enerally the boundary) they dance a
parting reel: when it is concluded, the
oride kisses her friends, they return to their
dwellings, and sue 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
!ier way, and a renewal of the preceding
festivities takes place at the dweflling 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
suflBcient 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
a Tighndrum ; the disUnce of this place is
eighteen miles : and thus, when they had
fiiiished 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
oouch disappeared with the religion of the
popes.*

'^No Co the Bridal of CaOleliaini, tj J. H. AUmh

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 note.*' 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 tne same effect in a work en-
titled " Hymen," &c. (8vo. 1760.) «* Tlie
men take the bride's stockings, and the
If omen those of the bridegroom : they then
seat themselves at the bed's feet, and throw
the stockings over their heads, and when-
ever any one 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 mero 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 th^
following stanza :—

** Thu clutter ori^ CUuri&da U.j
Hftlf-bedded, like the pespinf d*/

Behind Olimpas' cmp ;
Whiles at her head eaeh twittTriag firle
The fatal stocking qnick did whirls
To know the laekj hap.**

And the <* Progress of Matriroonyv" is
•< The Palace Miscellany," 1733, says,

** Then oome all the yooager folk ia,
With eeremoD/ throw the stocking ;
Backward, o'er head, in torn thej toes*d it.
Till ia sack-posset the/ had lost it.
Th* intent of dinging thns the hossb
Is to hit him or her o* M uom:
Who hits the mark, thus, o'er left shonlder
Mast married be, ere twelTO months older.'

This adventuring against the most pro-
iLinent feature of the fttce u ftirther '^'^'^

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j«o«^ in "The Country Wedding," a

Gem, in the Gentleman's Magaiine, fi>r
arch 1735, toI. y. p. 168.
* Bid tie iMMt ud ladi to the mcrrj twown bowl,
WLQ« nshen of baooo Bhall smoke oo the coal i
Then Bagn and Bridget, and Rotna and Nan,
Hit *em each on the note, with th§ Aom t/yoa eoa.**

Dunton's " British Apollo," 1708, con-
tains a question and answer concerning
this old usage.

*• Q. ApoUow say. whence Hie I prajr.
The ancient coetom eame,
Stoekbgt to throw (rm enre jon know)
At bridq^room and his dame ?

-^ When Britons bold, bedded of old.
Sandals were backward thrown ;
The pur to tell, that, illorwell.
The aet was all their own.*'

If a more satisfactory explanation of the
custom could be found, it snould be at the
reader's serrice. The practice prevails on
the continent as well as in this country,
but its origin is involved in obscurity.

No. VII.

^From ** Fortune by Land and Sea.** a
Comedy, by T. Heywood, and W. Ro-vr*
ley, 1655.]

Old Forett forbidi hit Son to tup with
tome riotout galiantt ; who goet notwith^
4ftandingf and It tlain,

St€n6f n Tavern*

Rainsworth, Forttr, Owfdwi: To thorn onten Frank
Fontt.

Rain, Kow, Frank, how stole jon horn joar father's
arms?
Yon hare been sdkooFd, no donbt Fie. fie apoB*t.
Ere I would liye in svch base serritade
To an old grejbeard ; *sfbot, I'd han; myzelf.
A man oannot be merrj, and drink dnmkt
Bat he mnst be contvol'd by fraTitj.

Fmnft. O pardon him ; you know, he Is m j fiUher,
And what he doth b bat paternal lore.
Though I be wild, I'm not jet so past reaeoa
His person to despise, thongh I his counsel
Cannot sererelj foUow.

Rain. *8foot, he is a fboL

Frank. A Itoll yon are a—

Foit. Naj, genUemea—

Frank, Yet I rastraia m j tongue.
Hoping you'ipeak out of some spleenful tiAmftM,
And no deliberate malice ; and it maj ho
Ym an soiTj that a woid so uarercnn^

To wrong so good oa aged gentlenuui,

Should paes you unawares.
Baim, Sorrj, Sir Boy I you will not take ezeeptloas f
Firnnk, Not aguast yoa with willingness, whoa I

HaTS loted so long. Yet you might think me a

Meet dnUless and ungracious son to gire

SMwCh eountenanoe unto my Esther's wrong.

Come, I dare swear

Twas not yonr malice, aad I take it so.

Let's frame some other talk. Hear, guatleme*—
lUd». But hear me. Boy I It seems. Sir, jo« art

Frank, Not thoronghly yet—

Bain, Then what woald anger thee ?

Frank, Nothing fitom you.

jRala. Of all things under heaven
What wonld'st thon loathest haye me do ?

FrtA. I wuuld
Mot haye you wrong my reversBt father; aad
I hope yon will not

Rain, Thy father's an old dotard.

Frank. I would not brook this at a monarch'
If aeh less at thine.

BaiM, Aye, Boy ? then take yon that

FinnL^ Oh I am slaia.

Oood, Sweet Cus, what haye you done? Shaft fo*
yonrseU^

JMa. Away.— S:tomt.

Snior Ttoo Dromon.

lif 2V. Stay the geatlemM, they have killed 0 maa
OmeetMr. Fraa«ia. One ran to hi« fatheiV.

U Dr, Hark, hark, I hear his fethei'i voiea bdow
*tie tan to one he is come to fetch him home to euppei
aad wir ho may earry him home to his gimve.

Entir Iho Hott^ oU ForoU, and Samn hit dtmghttr

a^U. Yju most take comfort. Sir.

For, Is he dead, is he deed, girl?

Snt, Oh dead. Sir, Frank is dead.

For. Alas, alas, my boy I I have not the heart
To look upon his wide and gaping wounds.
Pray toll me. Sir, does this appear to yo«
Fearful aad pitiAO— to yon that are
A straager to my aead boy ?

Hoot. How can it otherwiee?

For. 0 me most wretehed of all wretehed mca I
If to a straager his warm bleediag wonada
Appear so grisly aad so lamentable,
bow wUl they seem to me that am his &ther?
Will they not hale my eyo>browB from their rounds.
And with aa ererlaeting bliadaeae strike them?

Snt, Oh, Sir, kok here^

For. Dost lone to have me blmd ?
Then I'U behold them, since I know thy miad.
Oh me I

Is this my SOB that doth so senseless lie.
And swims in blood ? my soul shall dy with his
Onto the land of rest Behold I crare^
Being kiU'd with grief, we both may have ooe grave
• 8no, Alas, my father's dead too 1 gentle Sir,
Help to retare lus spirits^ over travail'd
With age aad sorrow.

Boot. Ut. Foresl^

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5sft ^aflie^^

Ftit, What Mjrs mj girl ? good ma tow. What's a
clock,
Hiat joo are np M earlj? eall ap Fmk ;
fell him he lies too long a bed this monung.
lie was woat to call the son op, aad to raise
I'he earlf lark, and mooat her 'mongst the clouds.
Will he not np 7 rise, rise, thon sluggish boj.

Aif. Alas, he cannot, father.

Fvr, Cannot, whj ?

SfU, Do ]roa not see Us bloodless colour pale ?

For. Perhaps he*s sicklj, that he looks so pale.

Svt. Do yon not feel his pulse no motioo kecp^
flow still he lies?

Kor. Then is he fast asleep.

Sm. Do 701 not see his fatal ejelid cloee?

For. Speak sofUj ; hinder not his soft repose.

5m. Oh see jon not these purple oondnits ran ?
Know ]roa these wounds ?

For, Oh me 1 mj mvrder'd son 1

Butor yommg Mr, Foreti,

Y. For, Sister I

8m, O brother, brother!

F. For, Father, how cheer 700, Sir ? why, joa were
wont
To store for others comfort, tiiat bjr sorrow
Were aaj wajs distress'd. Hafe jon aU wasted,
Aad spared none to yoorself ?

a For, 0 Soo, Son, Son,
See, alas, see where thj brother Bee.
He diaed with me to dajr, was merrj, merrj,
Aje^ that corpee was ; he that lies hefe, see len,
Th J murdered brother aad m/ sea waa. Oh !,i$t
Dost thou not weep for him ?

r.For. IshaUfiadtime;
When yon hare took some ooMfort, 111 begin
To monm his death, and sooarge the mmrdetei' » *ii.

0, For, Oh, when saw father sack a tragic t:^^ ,
Aad did ontliYC it f aerer, son, ah nerer,
From mortal breast ran such a precious nwot,

F. For. Come, father, and dear sister, join with me t
Let US all learn onr sorrows to forget.
He owed adeath, and he hath pud that debt.

If I were to be coosulted as to a Re-
print of our Old English Dramatists, I
should advise to begin with the collected
Plays of Hey wood. He was a fellow Actor,
and 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 inferior 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
coospicnous inasmuch as in Hey wood these
qualities are primary,in the other subordinate
I ^o poetry. 1 lo?e 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 oi
his Every Man in his Humour in Italy,
he changisd the scene, and Anglicised his
characters. The names of them in the
First Edition, may not be unamusing

Men, fTomen,

Lorenso, Sen. Ouilliaaa.

Lorenso,Jua« Biaaeha*

Proepero. Hesperida.

ThoreUo. Tib (the same ia Engluh.

'Stephano (Master Stephen.)
Dr. Clement XJnstice Clement.)
Bobadilla(BobadiL)
Musoo.

Cob (the same in English.)
Peto.
Piaob
Ifatheo (Uaeter Mathew.)

How say you. Reader? do not Master
Ritely, Mistress Ritely, Master Knowell,
Brainworm, &c. read faletter than these Cis-
alpines 7

C.L.

For the Table Book.

On January 6th, 1815, died at Lynn,
Norfolk, at an advanced age, (supposed

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about seTenty, tbis eccentric individual^
whose propername, William Monson, had
become nearly obliterated by bis profes-
sioaal appellation of Billy Btwts ; having
followed the humble employment of shoe-
black 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 Muca-
tion, soon after leaving school, he quitted
his maternal home in Lincolnshire, and
threw himself upon the world, from whence
be 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-
flmgy 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
eacoethet, 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-black, 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 biinself a wife, a
da?hing 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 svx,
but ogled every mop-squeeser in the town,
who would listen to his captivating elo-
quencCy and whenever a roguish Blousa^
lino I consented to encourage his addresses,
he was seen early and 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 ufed to

clean himself and spruce up, ?ji his be»t ,
suit, which was not improperly termed hi»
courting suit — ^a worn-out scarlet coat,
reaching to his heels, with buttons of the
largest dimensions— 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
persons. 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 altitude to the words, in a
style of the most peifect 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 I" and " roasting his wife on a grid-
von I" were vociferated in his ears, proudly
conscious of his innocence of such heinous
crimes, his noble soul would swell with
rage and indignation; and sometimes stones,
at other times his brushes, and oftentimes
his pot of blackinff, 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 inofiensive.

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 in
the " Norwich Mercury" newspaper of that
period. K. !

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EuKoiAC Lines on William Monson,

LATE OF LyHN, AN ECCENTRIC CHARAC-
TER ; COMMONLY t'cLEPT BiLLY BoOTS.

Imperial Fate, who, wilii promieeiioat eoarse,
Eierts o*er hig^h and low hu inflnence dread ;

loipeU'd hb shaft with enrelentrag foree.
And laid thee, Billy, 'mongst the mightj dead f

Yet *thoagh, when borne to thy eepalchral home.
No pomp funereal ;rae*d thj poor remains.

Some ** frail memorial ** should adorn thj tomb.
Some trifling tribute from ihto Muse** strains.

Foil fifty years, poor Billet hast thon budg'd,
A eare-wom 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 driting sleets.

Report allied thee to patrician blood.
Yet, whilst thy life to drodg'ry was oonfin*d.

Thy firmness each dependent thought withstood.
And prov'd,— thy true nobility of mind.

VYith shuffling, lagging gait, with risage 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 japaa.

On men well-bred and perfectly refin'd.
An extra volish could thine art bestow ;

At feast or ball, thy ramish'd honours shin'd.
Made spmee the trader, and adom'd the bean.

When taunting boys, whom no reproof eould tame.
On thee their seoffii at cautious distance shed,

A shoe or brush, impetuous wouldst thou aim,
Wing'd with resentment, at some urchin's bead.

With rage theatrio often didst thon glow,
(Though ill adapted for the seenie art;)

Aa Denmark's prinoe soliloqnis'd in woe,
Or elM rehean'd rindictiire ShsfloeV* part.

Brashing and spontmgi, emnloos of fame,
Ofl pocketing aflironts Instead of cash,

la Itg^9 phmB^ sometimes thou mig^t'st Ciselaii
WItk too mnok trath^-^ who steals my jqbh

to thine aslMa I harmleia in thy way.
Long wert thon anp'rsr of the shoe-black crain,
4aA with thy fiar'rite Shakspeare we may «av.
We •ne'er ahall look npon thy like again **

Cbt Srama.

"THE GttEAT UNKNOWN*
KNOWN.

Friday the 23d of Febroaiy, 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, af^er the usual toasts
to the king and the Royal Family, re-
quested, that gentlemen would fill a ham-
per as full ns it would hold, while he would
say only a few words. He was in the habit
of hearing speeches, and he knew the feeU
ing with which long ones were regarded,
lie 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 tne 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 vras 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 ai-ts. As he had advanced
from the ruder stages of society, the love of
dramatic representations had increased, and
all works or 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 nistory.
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 shook
the theatre itself. If they turned to France,
in the time of Louis XIV., that era in
the classical history of that country, they
would find that it was referred to by all
Frenchmen as the golden age of the drama
there. And also in England, in the time
of queen Elizabeth, the drama began to
mingle deeply and wisely in the general
politics of Europe, not only not receiving

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laws from others, but giving lavs to the
world, and vindicating the rights of man-
icind. (CheersA There had been various
times when the dramatic art subsequently
fell into disrepute. Its professors hsd 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 enioined
celibacy, and when the laity were denied
ihe right to read their Bibles ? lie thought
that it must have been from a notion of
penance that they erected the drama into an
ideal place of profaneness, and the teut of
sin. lie 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,
it tney 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
themse}ves of their natural talents ; and
after that, they had but a short space of
time, during which they were fortunate if
they couid provide tlie means of comfort in
the decline of li£e« That came late, ond
lasted but a short time ; after which thev
were left 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.

Thn public were lilieral and generous to
those deservmg their protection. It was a sad
thing to be dependant on the favour, or, h
might say, in plain terms, on the caprict
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 bad
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^/ofoif cheers) — and tu
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 anothei
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
Mamkt, there must also be people to act
Laertes, the King, Rosencrontz, and Guil-
tknsterti, 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, ana 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
{Lottd laughter.) But he could not send the
player adrift; for if he could not play Ham-
letf he must play Ouildenstem. 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 ase.
What was this man to do in latter life ^
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 br
unkind, ungrateful, and unchristian. Hi:
wants were not of his own making, bu
arose from the natural sources of sickness
and old age It could not be denied tha

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tl-ere was one class oi sufferers to whom no
iotprudeDoe could be ascribed, except on
first entering on the profession. After
puttinff his hand to the dramatic plough,
ne oouTd not draw back, b:it 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 sm-
cerely hoped that the collection to-day,
from the number of respectable gentlemen
present, would meet the views entertained
DY the patrons. lie hoped it would do so.
Iliey should not be disheartened. Thouffh
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 Falstafi' going to bed without
his cup of sack, or Macbeth fed on bones
as marrowless as those of Banquo. {Loud
eheert and laughter,) As he believed that
they were all as fond of the dramatic art
as be was in his younger days, he would

e)se that they should drink *' The
trical Fund," with three times three.

Mr. Mackay rose on behalf of his bre-
thren, to return their thanks for the toast
just drank.

Lord Meaoowbank 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
the institution. But he happencMl to hold
a high and important public station in the -
country. It was matter of regret that he
had so little the means in his power of be-
ing of service ; yet it would afibrd him at
all times the greatest pleasure to give as-
sistance. As a testimony of the feelings
1 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
the applause which he deserved. But it
was gratifying at last to know that these

clouds were now dispelled, and that the
"great unknown "— " the mighty Magician**
—(Aere the room literaUy rwig with appUateee
for $ome tninutee) — the Minstrel of out
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. He 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 harl
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 offendef ;
yet he was sure that every impartial jury
would bring in a verdict of ** not proven."
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 fiaults,
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 it would be re-
ported to the public. He meant, when He
said that he was the author, that be was the
total and undivided author. With the ex-
ception of quotations, there was not 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
Proepero, ** 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 dedicate a bumper to the

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health of one who had represented some of
chose 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
Bailie Nieol Jarvie ; (loud applause ;) and
he was sure that, when the author of fVa-
verley and Rob Roy drank to Nicol JarvUj
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 veke-
9ient apphmse.)

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 Oreat Unknown,"

Sir Walter Scott. — ** Not mnknowm
now, Mr. Bailie."

Aher this avowal, numerous toasts were
duly honoured ; and on the proposal of
*' the health of Mrs. Siddons, senior, the
most diittinguished 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 suflScient to overpay him for all his
labours. The house was literally electrified ;
and it was only from witnessing the efiects
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 subseouently 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 tiiem, and he who
would not drink a bumper to his toast, may
ne never drink whiskey more.

Mr. H. G. Bell proposed the health of
" James Sneridan Knowles.''

Sir Waltbb Scott. — Gentlemen, I crave
a bumper all over. Hie last toast reminds
me of a neslect of duty. Unaccustomed to
a Dublic 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 ol
the evening, for which I trust you will grant
me your 'pardon and indulgence. One
thing in particular I have omitted, and 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 01
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 oblig^ 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 fency 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 oi
William Shakspeare."

Glee^- « Lightly tread his hallowed
ground."

Sir Walter rose after the f^lee, 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
with the most favourable reception. One
piece of hers, in particular, was often acted
nere 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 perhap
at some considerable sacrifice, in organix-

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iTiR 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 liule theatre. Uis
own pastoral was not fit for the stage, but
t 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. Bererord-park, oi 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 cerUin 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
better that a theatre should be crowded now
and then, than to have a large theatre,
with benches continually empty, to the
discoaragement of the actors, and the dis-
comfort of the spectators.

Sir Walter immediately afterwards said,
" Gentlemen, it is now wearing late, and I
shall request permission to retire. Like
Partridge, I may say, « non wm qualU eram,*
At my time of day, I can agree with Lord

Offleby, as to the rheumatism, and say,
••There's a twinge-' I hope, therefore, yoy

will excuse me for leaving the chair.**—
(The worthy baronet then retired amidst
lotig, loud, aiid rapturous cheering.J

These extracts* contain the substance oi
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 feet 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.

i&ot iWeafe.

POWELL, THE FIRE-EATER.

** Oh I for a muse o{Jlr§ /**
One fire bums out another burning.
The jack-pnddings who swallow flame at
" the only booth " in every fair, have ex-
tinguished remembrance 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
eulogixes his memory, no stone marks his
burial-place, there are two articles written
during his lifetime, which, being noticed
here, may ** help his feme along " a little
further. Of the first, by a correspondent
of Sylvanus Urban, the following is a suffi-
cient abstract.

Ashboum, 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-
do.i, 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.

• Fnun the report of the ••Bdbbugh Rtenivg Oo«'
rut" of 8»tonUy. 94th Fak I8fl7t ia "Th* Sfea
of the TuMdft7 followiaff.

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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
and perishable creature eating red hot coals,
taken indiscriminately out of a large fire,
Droiling steaks upon his tongue, swallowing
huge draughts ot liquid fire as greedily as
a country squire does roast beef and strong
beer. Tlioaght I to myself, how can that
element, which we are told is ultimateW to
devour all things, be devoured itself, as
femniliar 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
0re, with pure spirit of sulphur. This bums
and cauterizes tne epidermis, or upoerskin,
till it becomes as hard as thick leatner, 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 homy as
to become troublesome, washing the parts
affected with very warm water, or hot wine,
will bring away all the shrivelled or parched
epfdermis. The flesh, however, will con-
tinue tender and unfit for such business till
it has been frequently rubbed over again
with the same spiiit.

*^ This preparative may be rendered
much stronger and more efficacious, by
mixing equal quantities of spirit of sulphur,
sal ammoniac, essence ot rosemary, and
juice of onions.

*< The bad effects which frequently swaU
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
(^losity, by often handling hot things,
tbAt they will carry a glowing bar of iron
ji their naked hands, without hurt.

^^^lethe^ Mr. Powell will take it tindly
of me thus to have published his secret, I
cannot tell ; but as he now begins to drop
Into years, has no children that I know of,
and msiy die suddenly, or without making
a will, I think it is a great pity so genteel
an occupation should become one of the
artes perdit€By 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, Ye9terday tHed^ much lamented, the
fammu Mr. Powell. He woe the beet, if
not the only fire-etUer in this worldy and it
w greatly to be feared hie art ie 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 pensions, in the
year 1762. We are assured of the fact by
the internal evidence of the following ar-
ticle, presck-ved by a collector of odd things,
who obtained it he knew not how :—

Genius unrfwarded.

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 cropped
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 satisfisction ; and
such is his passion for this terrible element,
that if he were to oome 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 reai 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 weU^ has not yet been
noticed by any administration. Obliged to
wander nom place to place, inst^ of
indulging himself in priyate with his fa-
yourite 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 tempera I O mores I *

> I«ttar«r*B ComiMii PIam 'Botlt

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MABCH FAIE, AT BRUUGH, WESTMORELAND.

For eA« TahU Book^

This fair is held always on the iccond
Thursday in Miirch- it b & good one far
cattle 'p andf In cofiseque&ce of the gr^at
showj the inhabitanta are obliged to shut
ap their ifmdow«; for the cattle and the
driTers are statiooed in all parta of tho
townj aijd f<ew except the jobbers Teature
out during the time of seUing.

From five to aii: o'cto<;k the preceding
eTeninf , carts^ chiefly belonging to York-
*hire clothieni> begin to arrive, and cod-
tinue eomiDg ia until the morning, when^
at ahout eight or nitie, the cattle fair bc-
ginSf and \zAi& till three in the afternoon.
Previously to any article bolng aold^ the
fair ii proclaimed io a manner depicted
tolerably well in the preceding Eketch. At
ten, two individuals, named Matthew Horn

and John Deighton, having furnfshed thein-
selvea 'ftith a fiddle and clarinet, walk
through the different avennca of the town
three tinics, playing, as they walk, chieflj
'* God save the King ;" ut the end of this,
some verges are rq^eiitedi wliich 1 have not
the pleasure of recollecting ; but 1 well re-
member, that therehy the Tenders are au-
thor! aed to commence flelling^ Aficr it is
reported thruugh the different stalls ifcAt
^ they're walked the fair," buslne&s uBually
commences in a very brisk manner.

Mat, Horn ha*i the best cake booth in the
fair^ and takes a considerable deal more
money than ony "spice wife/' (as woraea
Ctre called who attend to tUe^ dainties )
Jack Ueighton is a shoemakerj and a tole-
rably good mujtician* Coals are also
brought for sale, which, with cattle, roainlj
comtitute the mommg fair*

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At the close of the cattle fair, the town is
swept clean» and lasses walk about with their
** sweetkeartM,'* and the fair puts on another
appearance. "Cheap John's here the dav,"
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 1" from Richmond,
with his five-and.twentY lumps of ginger-
bread for sixpence. Harry stands in a
cart, with his Wes of •* spice " beside him,
attracting the general attention of the whole
fiiir, (though he is seldoroer here than at
Brough-hill &ir.) There are a few shows, viz.
Scott*s sleight of hand, horse performances,
Sec. fcc. ; and, considering the size of the
town, it has really a very mer^-spent fair.
At six o'clock dancing begins m 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 danced are merely jigs, three
reels, and four reels, and country dances,
and no 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 beard
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 ofi* from
their masters. Several of the " spice
wives" move away in the afternoon to
Kirby Stephen, where there is a very large
faiir, 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
•* huaa r

W H. H.

THE TWELVE GEMS

Or TBS Twelve Movtbs.

For the Table Book,

It is a Polish superstition, that each
month has a particular gem attached to it,
which ffoverns it, and is supposed to influ-
ence the destiny of persons bom 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.

Jamyjart.
Jaeinthf or Oamet denotes constancy and
fidelity in every engagement.

February.
Amethyet preserves mortals from strong
passions, ana ensures peace of mind.

March.
Bloodstone denotes courage and secrecy
in dangerous enterprises.

April.

Sapphire, or Diamond denoie» repentance
and innocence.

Mat.

Emerald, successive love.

JVNE.

Agate ensures long life and health.
Jult.

Ruhff, or Cornelian ensures the forgetful-
ness or cure of evils springing from friend-
ship or love.

August.
Sardoms ensures conjugal felicity.

September.
Chryeolite preserves from, or cures folly.

October.
Aauamarine, or Qpa/ denotes misfortnne
and nope.

November.

TopaM ensures fidelity and fnendshipb

December.
TurpMiee, or 2fa/acAiir« denotes the most
brilliant success and happiness in eveiy
circumstance of life.

E.M.S.

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N0.V11L

[From the " Game at Chess," a Comedy,
by Thomas Middleton, 1624.]

Popish Prieti to a great Court Lad^fj
whom he kopet to make a Convert of.

Let mt eoatenpUte ;

With holj wonder wmaem mj aooen,

Aad bj drgrwt approack the Maetiutry

Of ramateh'd bematj, Mt ia fraee aad foodacat.

AmoBftst the da«f htan of mea I kaya aot Ibaad

4 Mota CatlwUeal aapeec Thateja

Doth pnmJm nagle life» aad neak obadiaaoa.

9poB tbme lipi (tka twaat fresk bada of foatk)

rka koly daw of prajar liei, like pearl

Dropt fnm the opeainf eyalida of the nwrn

Upoa the Vaskfal roaa. How beaateoaal j

A geatia Cut (not ngoroaalj iapoeed)

Woald bok apoa that eheek ; and how deiigktfal

The eoartaoae pb jaie of a teader peaaaea,

( Whoae atMet eraeltj ehoald aot exeaed «

The fiiat fear of a bride), to beat down frailt J 1

[From the '< Virgin Widow," a Comedy,
1649 ; the only production, in that kind,
of Francis Quarles, Author of the Em-
blems.]

Song.

How Meet are thej that waste their weary boars

la ideaia frovea aad eolitarj bow«n»

Where Bflithar ejre aor ear

Caaaeeorhear

Thefiraatienurth

Aad false delifhts of frolie earths

When they bmj rit, aad paat»

And breathe their parsj soak ;

Where neither grief eoasaaiee, nor filpiaff waat

Aflicta, nor sallea eara eoatroah.

Away, false jojs 1 je marther where y kiss 1

There ia ao hearea to that, no life to thia.

[From "Adrasta," a Tragi-oomedy, by
John Jones, 1635.]

Dirg*.
I>iebdia,ahd!al
We all mast diet
Tb Fate^s deeree 1
Theaaaknocwhf.

Whea w« were fraaed, the Fates eoMaltedlf
Did make thia law, that all thiaga bom shovld die.
TeC Natara stxore^
And dM deaf
We shoald be dataa
To Destiny.
At which, they heap!

That Natare's self

Did wish to die t

Aad thank their goodaeas, that they would

To end oar earsa with saeh a mild deersa.

Another

Coae, LofaiB, bnag joar earas,
Briag sigh-paffuBed sweets ;
Bedew the grare with tean.
Where Death with Virtae aieets
Sigh for the haplaes hoar.
That kait two hearts ia oae I
And oaly gare Lota powtr
To die, whea 'twas begaa.

[From "Tancred and Gismund,** acted be
fore the Court by the Gentlemen of the
Inner Temple, 1591.]

A Messenger brings to Oismund a cup
from the King her Father^ enclosing the
heart of her Lord^ wham she had espoused
without his sanction.

Mesu Thy father, 0 Qaeea, here ia thb eap hath

The thiag to joy aad oonfint thee withal.

Which thoa knradst besti er^ as thou wast eoateat

To eooifort him with his best joy of all.

Ois. I thank my father, aad thee, geatle Sqaira ,
For tUs thy traTail: Uka thoa for thy peine
This braedat, aad eommead me to the Kiag.
• • • •

80, BOW ts eome 6ie loag-expeeted hoar.
The fatal hoar I hare so looked for.
K«ir hath my father eatisfied hU thiist
With gailtless bhwd, which he so eoreted.
What briaga this eap? aye bm, I thoaght ao lass ,
It is my EarPs, my Coanty's pieroed heart.
Dear heart, too dearly hast thoa bonght my low
Eztreaiely rated at too high a price.
Ah my dear heart, sweet waat thoa ia thy lif^
Bat ia thy death thoa prorast passing sweet.
A fitter hearse than this of beaten gold
Coald not be lotted to so good a heart.
My fkther therefore well provided thns
To einee aad wrap thee ap in massy giild
Aad therewithal to sead thee aato me.
To whom of daty thoa doet best belong.
My father hath ia aU his life bewrayed
A priaoely ears aad teader lore to om %
Bat thb sarpasseth, ia his latter days
To send am tUa miae own dear heart to am.
Wert aot thoa miae, dear heart, whilst that my love
Da!Med and play'd apoa thy golden striags?
Art thoa aot miaa, dear heart, ao w that my lort
Is fled to haaTea, awl got him golden wiags?
Thoa art miae owa, aad still miae owa shall ba.
Therefore my father senJeth thee to me.
Ah pleasant harbonrer of my heart's thoaght I
Ah sweet delight, the qaiekeaer of my soul 1
Seven times aooarssd be the hand that wroofht

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T%M Hut despite, to maag^Ia thee to foal
Yet n this wound I see mj own trae love,
And in this wovnd thj magnanimitj.
And in this wound I see thy avnstaaej.
Go, fentle heart, go rest thee in thy tomb ;
ReoeiTe this token as thy Ust farewelL

She kitteth it.
Thy own true heart anon wiU follow thee,
Which pantinf hasteth for thy eosspany.
rhns hast thon mn, poor heart, thy mortal raee.
And rid thy life from fickle fortna^s snares,
Thns ha»t thon lost this world and worldly cares*
And of thy foe, to honour thee withaU
Reoeir'd a golden frare to thy desert
Nothinf doth wiuit to thy jnst funeral.
But my salt tears to wash thy bloody wovnd ;
Which to the end thou mightst rsceire, behold.
My father sends thee in this cup of gold :
And thon shalt have them ; though I was reaolvMl
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, cay soul forthwith shall fly to thee ;
For therefore did my father send thee me.

Nearly a century after the date of this
Draroa, Dryden produced his admirable
Tersion of the same story from Boccacio.
The speech here extracted may be compared
with the correspond inj^ passage in the Si-
gismonda and Uuiscardo, 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.
Bt the Abbe Blanchbt.

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 ^very
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
alighted 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 ain
thf (lean of Badajos. The learned men of
Spain all allow me to be their superior;

but I am come to request from you a mucli
greater honour, that of becommg your
pupil. Deign to initiate me in the mys-
teries of your art, and doubt not but } ou
shall receive a grateful acknowledgment,
suitable to the benefit conferred, and youi
own extraoidinary merit."

Don Torribio was not very polit*, 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 which he
had read on the subject of gratitude, and
every refined sentiment bis 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.

•* Jacintna,** said don Torribio to his old
woman, '* lay down two partridges to the
fire. I hope my friend tne dean will do
me the honour to sup with me to nic^ht.*'
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 words*, which the reader will please
to remember, « Ortobolan, PUta/rierf
Onagritmf" 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 peimitted 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 witn 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 inwartUy, (so as to occasion no
scandal,) execratcMl the disorder, the patient

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tiid the courier, wno had certainly all three
cho6cn tl.<s most impertinent time possible.
He dismissed the postilion, bidding him
make haste back to Badajos, thither he
ftrottld presently follow him; and instantly
retumea to his lesson, as if there were
I no such things as either uncles or apo-
plexies.

A few days afterwards the dean again
feceived 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 bishop, after having 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 torn
his thoughts towards the church, and he
had now, he thanked heaven, the sal»fao-
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
Badaios, 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 hit from agreeable. But," continued
he, in an affectionate manner, ** will you
not accompany me to Badajos ? Can you be
so cruel as to forsake me at a moment when
t is in my power to be of service to you ?
Be persuaded, my honoured master, we
will go together. Think of nothing but the
miprovement of your pupil, and leave me
to provide for don Benjamin ; nor doubt,
«mt sooner or later, I will do more for him
than you expect. A paltry deanery in the
remotest part of Estremadura is not a.

benefice suitable to tlie son of such a man
as yourself."

The canon law would, no doixbt, have
construed the prelate's offer into simony.
The pioposal however was accepted, nor
was 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
made 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 studies
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 Christenoom
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 Badigos lamented,
as may be supposed, an event by which
thc^ 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 st
cesser.

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 rejk90dmih all imaginable
politeness. He had, he said, the greatest
veneration for his old master, and was both
sorry and 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

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But don Torribio ought not to be discoa*
raged at this proof of his justice ; as he
might learn by that, what he had to expect
when his turn arriyed, 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 interesu were sacri-
ficed to those of don Ferdinand.

Nothing 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 Hhey 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
cardinars cap, with an epistle conceived in
the most respecthil 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
Ve 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 racant archbbhopric. The
prelate ran to meet him with open arms,
^ My dear master,*' said he, ^ I have two

?ieces of good news to relate at once,
our disciple is created a cardinal, and
yout son snail — «Aor%— be advanced to
the same dignity. I had intended in the
mean time to bestow upon him the arch-
oishopric 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 ot 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, th^n, that she had procured

don Pablas his archbishopric ? Was it cm
more than probable that lie was indebted
for it to a Gallician lady, his ooiisin, al
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 Home.
Scarcelv had he arrived at that city ere the
pope died. The conclave met— all the
voices of the sacred college were in ^vour
of the Spanish cardinal. Behold him there*
lore pope.

Immediately after the ceremony of his
exaltation, don Torribio, admitted to a
secret audience, wept with joy while lie
kissed the feet ot his dear pupil. He
modestly represented his long ana fiiithful
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 bis
holiness would bestow on them, together
with his benediction, the smallest temporal
benefice ; such as an annuity for life, su^
ficient for the few wants 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, hb holiness concluded that don
Torribio was not only an useless, but a
troubleeome 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 from the

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tnnoe, into which be had been thrown by
the three mysterioas 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
fital 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 proofii he had
eiven of his deceitful and evil heart. He
mstantly departed, without speaking a
single word, and finding his mule where he
had left her, returned to Badajos.

Far the Table Book.

• Yoa look bat «a tke ^irfiUf of affun.**

Kiwi Johv.

Jk I wbj do w« wftke from the alehjmuf t dream
To relapw to tht TiaioAS of Doctor Sfmrxkeim ?
Aad wky fnun tka keif hta of pbilowpky fall.
For tkt pra&UoM pUaf of Phreaolocy OaU ?

To wkat do tkej tend ?

Wkat interest befriend ?
Bj dbekmng all vieet, we barn awaj ikame.

And Tirtoooa endeaToar

la fmitleM for erer.
If It loM the refirard that idf-teaekiaf maj daioi.

Ob tkeir eknlb let tke eold-bkwded tkeorieli eeek
ladieadooe ef soal, wkiek we read on tbe ckeek ;
la the g^aaoe— in tkeamilo-Ha tke bend of tke brow
We dan Mt teU wken, and we eaaaot tell bow.

More pleaaiBf oar task.

No preeepts we aek t
TSa dM taet. 'tis (be iastiaet, kbd Katare bas leat.
For tbe golds and dixeetiaB of sjrmpatbj meant.
AadaltboT ia o«r eaose noleara'd leetarer praees»
We foask tbe same end, tbro* a patb strew'd witb roees.
Twist tbe bead and tbe band, be tbe eontaot aUow'd,
Of tbe ned tbra* tbe eye to tbe beart we are proad.
Wben we feel like tke brates,like tke brates we may

sbowit*
Bot no lamps on tbe bead mark tbe artist or poet
Tke gradations of genios yoa never can find,
Biaee no matter eaa mark tbe refinements of mind.
Tie tbe eoaner perceptions alone tbat yoa traoew
Bat wbat swells ia fbe beart moat be read ia tbeikoe.
Tbat index of feeling, tbat key to tke soal.
No art eaa disgaiae, no reserve ean eontrol.
Tie the Pharos of kyre, tost on ooeaas ofdoabt,
Tis the Beal-hre of rage-^ben good sense poet fl»o«C
▲e the paesioos may paint if— a bearen or a helL
Aad 'tie always a rtrndtt^-'u^ modd aa well.

TO TIIE RHONE
For the Table Book

Thoa art like oar exbteaee, aad thy waves,

Illostrioas river 1 seem the very type
Of those eveats which drive a» to oar graves,

Or redely plaee as in mialbrtane'a gripe !
Thoa art an emblem of oar ehaagefol state.

Smooth whea tbe sammer magniCes thy ehariae.
Bat roagh aad ohecrlem whea the winds ereale

Rebellion, aad remorseleae winter anas
The elements with rain I In thy ooarse

The ape and downs of fortane we may traoe—
One wave sabmitting to aaothei's foroe.

The boldest always foreomet ia the raeet
Aad thas it is with lifs sometimes iU calm
Is pregnact with enjoyment's sweetest balm i
At other times, its tempeets drive as dowa
The steep of desolation, while the firown
Of malice haanU as, till the frieodlier tomb
Protects the victim she would fain oonsame*)

B.W.R.
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 T— let him
give her advice.

Would a courtier terminate his sove-
reign's 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 advlee, and the consequences are in-
fidlible.

The friendship of two young ladies
though apparently founded on the rock o
eternal attadtment, 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
tuMee 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*
ixkg of the feline race.**

The advice of neither was followed-^he
one continued to sing, and the other to
dance— and they never met but as ene-
mies.

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TOMMY SLY, OF DURHAM,

For the Table Book,

Tommy Sly, whose portrait is above, is
d well-known eccentric character in the city
of Durham, where he has been a resident
in the poor-house for a number of years.
We know 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,
(hat he is'* daft." Exactly in appearance
as he is represented in the ens^ravinflr,—
he dresses in a coat of many colours, at-
rends the neis^hbourins^ villa^res with spice,
sometimes parades the streets of Durham
with ** pipe-clay for the lasses,** and on
** g^la days" wanders up and down with a
cockade in his hat, beatin^r the city drum,
which is good-naturedly lent him by the
corporation. Tommy, as worthless and
msignificant at he seems, is neTertheless

''put out to use:'' his name has often
served as a signature to satirical effusions ;
and at election times he has been oceasion-
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 trutn, 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 " Gustos Rotuloruro " of
the place — as Mr. Humble once ludicrously
called him — poor Tommy Sly.

Ex DuMELMCliSlS.

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WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

BuBiAL Fees.

Tlie following particulars from a paper
before me, in the hand- writing of Mr.
Gelly were addressed to his ** personal re-
presentative** for inst;ncticny in his absence,
during a temporary reoiement from oflBcial
duty in August, 1810.

Fees

In the C/oufert £19 6 0

If a grave-stone More £4 4 0

In the .<IM«y 54 '18 0

If a grave-stone mare 7 T O

Peersy both in the Cloisters and

Abbey, the degree of rank

making a difference, Mr Cat-
ling had perhaps write to

Mr. Gelly at post-oflBce,

Brighton, telling the paity

that it will be under £t50.

They might, therefore, leave

that sum, or engage to pajr

Mr. Cell.
Mi. Glar.vill can teU about the

decorations.

Penalty for burying in linen -

Always take fall particulars of
age and death.

2 10 0

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 digvified structures connected with the
seat of imperial government, it forms a
distinguidiing fixture 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
aational structure, and held forward as an
object of national pride. Whilst contem-
plating UieM ^«*oerable walls, or exploring

the long aisles and enriched chapels, thi
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 abbev-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
eariiest 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 thuf
celebrated for virtue, for energy, or for in-
tellectual power.*

»t ^sbWa Bap.

THE LEEK.

fFrittenhy Wiluam Leatbabt, Llywjfdd

Sung at the Second Anniversary of the
Society of Undeb Cymbt, St David'i
Day, 1825.

Air— Pen Rhaw.

I.
If bards toll true, and kut'rj's ptf*
Is right,— wlij, then, I would enfag*
To tall yrv all abovt tba aga,

Whea Cwiar vaed to spealc ;
WiMa daadj Britoni paiatad,— irara
Draaa'd ia tlia iksa of wolf or baar.
Or ia their owu, if aoae were fhera.

Before thej wore m lssk.
Ere Alfred hang ia the highway.
Hu ehaias ef gold bj aight or daj .
Aad Barer had tUas stoPa awaj,

Bb tobjeets were le seek.
Whea welvea tbaj daae*d o*er field aal faa ^
Whea aastare DmUi loaated ma ^-
Bat that was only bow aad thea.

Ere Welshnca wore ras immx.

• Mr. Brajler ; ia Nealets Oat and Aatiq. % Vr ertr
aaiaster Abbe/

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n.

like an good things— Ikii ooold «oC Uat.
And Saaou gi«ts, u frioada, were aek'd,
Omr Pictiali foes to drive tbeai|iMt

The walls— tkea heme to seek,
lastead of home, the eaaaing chaps
ResolT'd to stop aad dish the APs,
Now here they are. aad ia their caps

To daj thej wear m hEMK,
Yet tho* oar dads, thej tnmbled oat.
And put each other to the rout.
We sons wiU posh the bowl about ;—

We're here for fan or freak,
let nought bat joy within as dwell ;
Let mirth and glee each boeom swell ;
And bards, ia days to come, shall toll.

How Welshmen Ioto m lxsk.

THE WELSH HARP.

Mr..Lbathabt is the author of fFehk
PenniUion^ 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 spilited motto from Mr.
Leiffh Htmt — ^* Ine Ancient Britons had
in them the seeds of a great nation even in
our modem 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 ttiade 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 conie-
crated."

According to the prefator}r 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 Csuar 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 mstntmeut 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-
eerdd,'* or chief of song, and a ^ fiardd
Teulu,'* 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 cews 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 Gruflydd 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 fow that are
well known at the present day. A tune is
likewise there to oe 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 Prdude 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
tor the taking up of the difierent degrees,
for the obtaining of which three years seems
to have been allowed.

The Welsh harp, or « Telyn," consisU of
three distinct rows of strings, without
pedals, and was, till the fifteenth century,
strung with hair. The modem Welsh harp
has two rows of strings and pedals.

Giraldus Cambrensb, in his Itinerary,
speaking of the musical instruments of the
Welsh, Irish, and Scotch, says, Wales uses
the harp, " crwth,*' an<l bag-pipes ; Soot-

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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 ▼iolin ; it has howe?er six strings,
four of which are played upon with a bow,
Che 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 htm, says the
editor of the Cambrian Register, *' most
probably the true knowledge of producing
Its melodious powers." From the player of
thb instrument is derived a name now
common, via. ** 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 Tariety of improvements, and
it is now the most nshionaole 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 fiuhioned ** 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 consisu in singing
stanzas, either atucbed or detached, of
various lengths and metre, to any tune
which the £iiper 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
lakes it up, and this b done according as
the PenniU, or stanza, may suit; he must
end precisely with the strain, he therefore
commences in any part he may please. To
the stranger it has tne 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
(neat number of singers, according to the
•ngennity required in adapting PennilliOD
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 smging, and they are still
accounted the best (without the harp) in
the principality. In Noith Wales song-
singing was hardly known before the time
of Huw Moms, in the reign of Charles I.,
nor is it now so prevalent as in the south.

In the year 1176, llhys ap Gruffydd
held a congress of bards and minstrels at
Abertetfi, 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,
Dyfod, 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.

Th« man wlio lores the io«b<I of haiip.

Of fOBg, and ode, aad all tkat'e dear*
Where angels hold tkeir blest abode.

Will oherish all thafs eherish*d there.
Bat hn who loiret not teae aor itraia.

Nature to him bo love bas fiTea,
To«ni aee him whUe his days rematB,

Hatefol both to earth aad heavea.

Fair is yon harp, aad sweet the seagb
llmt strmys its toaefol striags aloBf ,
Aad wovld BOt sBch a minstrel too.
Tbis beart to sweetest mnsle woo I
Sweet is the bird's melodioos lay
In sammer mora apoa tbe spray.
Bvt from my Oweno sweeter far.
The Botes of frieodship after war.

Woo to lusB, wboee every bliss
CeMefs ia tbe b«rthett*d bowli

Of aU bBrtbens wme like tUe,
8ia*s sad bartbea ea tkt sool*

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Tim of craft aad li« tbt Meker«

MnrdOT, tbeft, and wsntooaeu.
Wm\ea» 9inmg men, makes weak weaker*
Shrawd men fiDoliah, fooluk— less.

Ah I wkat araile this foldea ooat.
Or all the warUisfe of mj throat.

While I ia doraaoe piae ?
Otre me agiUa what aatnre farre*
rrit alll aek, *tM all I rave.

Thee, Liberty diriae I

To lore hu laagnage ia iU pride,
To love hie laad— tho* all deride.

It a WeUhmaa*! er'ry care,
Aad lore thove ciutomi, food aad okl,
Praetieed hj oar fathers hold.

We traTel aad each towa we pass
Gives maaaers new, wluch we admir^

We leave them, thea o*er oeeaa toss'd
Thra* rottfh or smooth, to pleasnre aifher.

Still oae bought remains behind,
rris home, sweet heme, oar hearts dcsirs.

Wild ia the woodlands, blithe aad free^
Dear to the bird is Itbertj ;
Dear to.the babe to be caress'd.
And fondled oa his aarM*s breaal.
Oh I ooold I bat explaia to thee
How dear is lleriaa*s land to ma.

Low, y hiUs, ia ooeaa lie,
That hide fair Merioa from mine eft^
Oae distaat view, oh I let me take.
Ere mjr lonfinf heart shall break.

Aaotber dress will aatare wear
Before afsin I see my fair;
The smiliag fields will flowers briag,
Aad on the trees the birds will smg ;
Bat still one thing nnehangM 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 narp-
meetings and Pennillion-sinffing in London,
may be found in Mr. Iieat.iart*s agreeable
compendium.

THE WINTER'S MORN.

Artist nnseen I that dipt fai froien dew
Hast oa the glitteriag glass thy ppadl laid,
Ere from yoa saa the traasieai visions fade.

Bwift 1st me trace the fonu thy faaey dr«w I

Thy towers aad palaoas of diamoad hne.
Eivers aad lakes of ladd crystal made,
Aad knng ia air hoar trees of braaehiag shad^i.

That liqaid pearl distil >»khy sees

Whate'erold oaras, or later fletraas Mgo,
Of secret grottos aaderneath the wave,
Where aereids roof with spar the amber cave ,

Or bowers of bliss, where sport the fairy traia,
Wbo freqnent by the moonlight waaderer saea
Circle with radiaat gems the dewy greea.

SOTBCBT.

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
roost wearisome society. What, in short,
is conversation worth, if it be not an ema-
nation from the heart as well as head ; the
resaU 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
iver taxing enthusiasm with absurdity,
and resolving the ebullition of vivacity mto
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 particulai
as to the admission of unpleasant images
and likes it none the worse for bemg a
little gross. But woe to the unlucky wifl:ht
who ventures any glowing allusion to love
and passionate affection in her hearins^
Down come the fulminations of her wrath,
and indecency — immorality— sensuality—
fcc. &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

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VHi^inia she looks upon as very improper,
while the remembrance of some of the
letters in Humphrey Clinker dimples her
broad fiice with retrospective enjoyment.

If pronouns had been tangible things,
Mrs. Aurelia Sparr would long ago have
worn out the nrst 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 <* Tassurance
des sentimens distingu^s." While living
with another lady in daily and inevitable
intercourse, never was she known to say,
" We shall see— we shall hear — we can so
^we must read.'' It was always " 1, 1, 1.*'
In 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-
lous 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
better 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
yon are extended on the mangle, and may
fimcy yourself at the court of king Pro-
ciustes, 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 shel «Atf caret 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
hong on it. Some people talk with others,
and they are companions ; others a< their
company, and they are declaimers or sati-
nsts ; others to their friends, and they are
oonveisationists or gossips, according as
they talk of things or persons* Mrs. Aure-
Ua Sparr talks neither to voo, nor with yoii.

nor at you. Listen attentively, or show yout
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 youi
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 modem languages, but enough of the
ancient to set up a parson, and every dialect
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 satisfieiction to know how the citizens of
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
dbbelief 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 conformiiy 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/* Acldres^
and dexterity in female works, what good

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ladies m England Usrm notability , are
deemed by her ^ frivolous ?anity/' &c. &c.
Sic. She has learnt chemistry, and she
distils fezation 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
Carallel with her — ^navigation, and she does
ut tack from one a^urdity to another,
without making any wav—- 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 t blank— per-
spective, without ever learning to place self
at the ** vanishing point"— «nd all lan-
guages, without ever uttering in any one of
Ihem a single phrase that could make the
eyes of the hearer glisten^ or call a glow on
the cheek of sympathy. Every body al lows
that Mrs. Aureua Sparr is very clever'—
poor, arid praise, what is it worth 7

N.

WAim.

EWARTS OLD PORT.

To J. C T, Esq.

Om receittno from bim ▲ Pbesiht

▲ WiME-STRAINER. — 1825.

This life, desr C 7,— who eu do«bCf—

RmmbUm moflh friend Ewsrt*B* wiaat

When first tha rebj drops flow ovt.
How beaatiful, how oloar the/ shine 1

And thus awhile they keep their tint,
80 free fron •Tn a shnde,^that some

Wonld smile, did yon hot dnrs to hat.
That darker dn^ wonld ever oome.

Bat soon, alas, the tide mas short ^—
Kaeh minnte makes the sad trath plamer;

Till Life, tike Ewart^ emsty Port,
When near its elose, requires a ttniatr.

This, Friendship, eaa, alone, supply,—
Alone can teach the drops to pass,

If not with all their rosiest dye.
At least, naelooded, throngh the glass.

Nor, C y, ooold a boon be mine.

Of whieh this heart wen fonder.
Then thna. If Life be like old wine.

To have thy friendship Car Ito

E.

' • A vender of eapital old Port in Swallow-street

For many years the goodness of Mr.
Ewart's old Port has b^n duty appreciated
by Ills private frieDds. The preceding

verses, in The Thnet of Monday, (March 5,
18^27,) have disclosed " the secret/' and
now, probably, he will ^ blush to find if
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 ?

Seautp.

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 resale him-
self with bis accustomed whifi* of tobacco,
caught a glance of her countenance, and
instantly exclaimed, " Love and bless you,
my lady, let me light my pipe in youi
eyes I" It is said that the duchess was so
delighted with this compliment, that she
frequently afterwards checked the strain ol
adulation, which was constantly offered
to her charms, by saying, ** Oh I after the
dustman's compliment, all others aie in-
sipid."

PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ.
Bt Sir William Jomcs.

Sweet maid. If thon wonldst charm my sight.
And bid these arms thy neck infold;
That rosy cheek, that illy hand,
Wonld give thy poet SBore delight
Than all Boeara*s vaonted gold.
Than all the gems of Samareaad.

Boy! let yon llqnid mby flow.
And Ud thy pensive hmrt be glad,
Whate*er the frowamg sealots say :—
Tell them th^r Eden eaanot show
A strenm so clear aa Roeaabad,
A bower so sweet aa Ifocellay.

0 1 when these fur, perfidious maid^
Whose eyes oar secret hannts infest.
Their dear destreetive charms display}-*
Eacs glance my tender breast invades.
And robe my wounded seal of rest ;
As Tartars seise their de»tin*d prty.

In vain with love onr bosoms i^ow*
Can all onr tears, can all oor sighs
New Instre to thoee charms Impart f
Can cheeks, where living roues blow.
Where natnre spreads her ridiest dyea,
Re^nim the bonow'd gloes of art*

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Bpcsit not of fate >-§h I filiangt the them«,
And talk of odoon, talk of wine.
Talk of the flowen that iMiid u bloom i^
^it all a elood, *tU aU a dream :
To lore aad joj thj thoaghti eoafiae.
Nor hopo ta pieroe the sacred gloom.
Beantj has saeh resistless power.
That rr'a the chaste Egjrptiaa dame
Sigh*d for the bldbming Hebrew boj ;
For her how fhtal was the hoar.
When to the banks of Niles came
A fOQth so lorelj aad so eoj I
Bat ah, sweet maid I m j ooansel hear,—
(Youth shall attend when those adTise
Whom lonf experience renders saga)
While mome charms the ravished ear ;
While sparkling cvps delight oar e]res»
Be gaj ; and seoni the frowns of age.
v/hat cmel answer have I heard I
Aad yet, bj heaTcn, I lore thee stills
Can aaght be cmel from thy lip t
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lipe which streams of sweeteees ill.
Which aooght bat drops of honej sip?
Oo boldlj forth, mj simple laj.
Whose aeeento flow with artleae eaee.
Like orient pearls at random strong :
Thjr notes are sweet, the damsels saj ;
Bat 0 ! far sweeter, if thej please.
The nymph for whom these notes are snng.

" OUR LIVES AND PROPERTIES."
Br Mr. William Hutton, F. A S.S.

If we surrey this little world, vast in our
idea, but small compared to immensity, we
shall find it crusted over with property,
fixed and moTable. Upon this crusty
world subsbt animals of Tarious 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 oon-
•cioos tnat possessions give it, he is ever
attempting, by force, fraud, or laudable
means, to arrive at both.

Fixied 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 shillings—no king
to govern, no subject to submit, no market
to exhibit property, no property to exhibit ;
instead of striving to get possession, he
wouldy if cast on the spot, strive to get
4way. Thus assemblages of people mark a
place with value

MowMe propernr is of two sorts ; that
which aiises from the earth, with the assists

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 or industry; the greater that in-
dustry, the greater its produce; conse-
quently, the more they supply the calls of
others, the more lucrative wiU be the re*
turns to themselves.

It may be asked, what is the meaning of
the word rick^ 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
MMii/. 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 tlian he uses.

Industry, though excellent, will perfonit
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 xnife
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 iUelf. It is a singular re-
mark, that even industry is sometimes the
wa^ 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 15001. In*
dustry seemed the end for which he was
made, and in which he wore himself out.
While he laboured fit>m four in the morn-
ing till eight at night, in the making ol
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 years, ap»
peared on the parish hoo'iM Some people
are more apt to get than to keep.

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ThoQgh a man, by his labour, may treat
himself with many things, yet he seldom
grows rich. Riches are geoerally 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 Aim, he commands
her.

Having explained the word riches, and
pointed out tlie 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 coTeted, which, should he hap-
pen to become an author, are an easy
passport thiough the gates of lame. His
very features seem to take a turn from his
fortune, and a curious eye may easily read
in his face, the word coneeqnenee. They
change the tone of his voice from the sul^-
missive to the commanding, in whirii 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 his 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 wavs of
being carried who is too idle to carry him-
self; nay, they invert the order of things,
for we often behold tito men, who seem
hungry, carry one who is full fed. They
add refinement to his palate, prominence to
his front, scarlet to nis nose. They fre-
quently ward off old age. The ancient
rules of moderation being broken, luxury
enters in all hei pomp, followed bv a group
of diseases, with a physician in their train,
and the rector in hie. 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 ^Jog/kl

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 instiu-
ment, than for the peculiar appearance ol
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 o£&nd the good housewife by
this dirty trick, he used to thrust the
epoih into the eound-holee 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 respecuble 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 hii
candles with ease, feeling himself in the
meridian of his glory, he dashed away at

Vanhairi 47lh. B came to a bar's

rest, the candles *vere snuffed, and he
thiust the ignited wick into the usual place;
fttfraror^ 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 he 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 tlie principal altar.

* UistoTf of Bu-amf hask

A POLITE TOWN.
Charies 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 tetrtw^, and
the other half wicoverMf." Smoe the davs
of Charles, the houses are altered, but tM
inhabiunu stili retain their polittncet,
cspeetaHy at elections.

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ANCIENT BBITISH PILLAB, VALLE CRUCIS ABBEY, li{QfiTR WALES.

^Hio lint «preur*d tUi Teii«nbl« lione.
And how, by ratbleM hands, the ooliunn fell.
And how tgthk reetofd, I fain wonld telL

A few jean ago, an artiat made a water-
colour aketch of this monument, as a pic-
tmreaqne olject, in the romantic vicinage
of LUngollen ; from that drawing he per-
mitted the preeenty and the following are
lome particulars of the interesting me-
morial.

Ifr, Pennant, during his '* Tour in
Wales," entered Merionethshire, " into that
portion for ever to be distingpiished in the
Welsh annals, on account of the hero it
prodnoedy who made such a figure in the
beginning of the fifteenth century." This
tract retains its former title, '* Glyn-
dwrdwy," or the valley of the Dee. It

once belonged to the lords of Dinas Br&n.
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-
mauy who appears to have been seised
with remorse for his crime, instead of
plunging deeper in guilt, procured from
Edward I. a g^rant 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
f^om Valle Crucis Abbey, Mr. Pennant

* His qnarrel wiUi Howel Sele forms sa ftftlde In
the BttryDay Book, voL iL p. 1021— 108S.

J

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found the preient monument. It was
thrown from its base, and lajr 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

I any British inscribed pillar now existing ;**
and he thus proceeds :—

1 *< 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 * Uwyn-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.

<*TI)e pillar had never been a eross ; 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 improTe->
ment on the rude columns of Druid ical
times, and eut into form, and surrounded
with inwriptions. 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. It stood
enfixed in a square pedestal, still lying in
the mount; the breadth of which is five
feet three inches; the thickness eighteoi
inches.

" TTie beginning of the inscription gives
us nearly the time of its erection, * Con-
cenn Alius Cateli, Cateli filius Brochmail,
Brochmail filius Eliseg, Eliseg filius Cnoil-
laine, Concenn itaque pronepos Eliseg edi-
ficavit hnnc lapidem proavo suo Miiteg,*

** 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 IJwyd : the inscrip-
tion is now illegible ; but, from the copy
taken by that great antiquary, the alphabet

nearly resembles one « f those in um m tne
sixth century.

'* One of the seats of Concenn and Eliseg
was in this country. A township adjacent I
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
Brfln, which lies at the head of the vale of ,
Glisseg. Mr. Uwyd conjecfures 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 toRuthyn; 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 Br&n, 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
Olisseg rocks is honoured with the name
of Craig^Arthur; another, at the end of
the vale eaUbd Craif j Forwyn, or the
Maiden's, is bold, precipitous, and termi-
nates with a vast natural column. This
valley is chiefly infaabitad (happily) by an
independent race of warm and wealthy
yeomanry, ondevoured 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 1778,
In the ibllowinc: year, the shaft was reared
from its prostrate situation on its ancient
pedestal, as appears by the following in-
scription on tne column, copied by the
artist who made tlie present drawing of the
monument.

QUOD BIUU8 VETXSJ8 MOMUMKVTI

aupamcsT
niu EX ocuLis axvoTim

CT NEOLECTUM
TAVnCM EESTrTUlT

T.LLOYD

Dt
T&EVOR BALL

A.D.

ll.DCG,I.aX IS.

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It is not ID ny power to add more
respecting this ▼enerttUe memorial of
early ages than, that, according to a
printed itinerary, its neighbouriiood is at
this time further remarkable for the aell^
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 &ed their residence in this beautiful
vale.

16arti fsn.

ACCOUNT OF A STONE-EATER.
By Fatbbe Pauuav.

The beginning of May, 1760, was
brought to Avignon, a true lithophagus or
stone-eater. He not only swallowed flints
of an inch and a half long, a £uU inch
broad, and half an inch thick ; but such
stones as he could reduce to powder, such
as marble, pebbles, he he made up into
paste, which was to him a most agineeable
and wholesome food. I 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, 1 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 lieeper also tells me, (hat
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-ealer hitherto is unable to
pronounce more than a few words, Ovij
noil, cttHiam, ^on, I showed him a fly
through a microsnope : he was astonished
at the size of the animal, and could not be
mduced to examine it. He hat been taught

to make the sign of the cross, and was bM>>
tiled some months ago in the chuich ot Si.
C6me, at Paris. The respect he shows to
ecclesiastics, and his ready disposition to
please them, afforded me the opportunity of
satisfying myself as to ail these particulars ;
and 1 am fully convinced that he is no
cheat.«

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A STONE
EATER.

A FftAesisiiT.

I WAS bom bv the side of a rooky cave
in the Peak of Derbyshire ; before I wa»
bom, my mother dreamed I should be as.
ostrich. I very early showed a dispositioa
to my present diet; instead of eating the
pap offered to me, I swallowed the spoon,
which vras of hard stone ware, made iu
that country, and had the handle broken
off. My coral served me in the double
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 earthenwaie to be
found m the house. I constantly swallowed
the flints out of the ticder-box, and so de-
ranged the economy of the family, that my
moUter forced me to seek subsistence out
of the house.

Hunger, they sa^, 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 th^m.
On one occasion, a farmer 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
vras damson tart or cherry pie, I was well
content to eat all the stones, and leave
them the frait. I took the shell, 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 lime given a sticlc of barley-
sugar for a deHciotts white alley ; and it
used to be the diversion of the bigger boys
to shake me, and hear them ratUe in my

k*t MucasM.

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itomach. While 1 was there, I devoured
the greatest part of a stone chimney-piece,
ivhich had been in the school time out of
mind, and borne the memoriab of many
generations of scholars, all of which were
more swept away by my teeth, than those
af time. I fell, also, upon a collection of
ipars and pebbles, which my master's
daughter had got together to make a grotto.
For both these exploits I was severely flog-
jed. I continued, however, my usual diet,
Bxcept that for a change I sometimes ate
NoHfolk dumplins, which I found agree
irith me very well. I have now contmued
this diet for thirty years, and do affirm it
to be the most cheap, wholesome, natural,
And delicious of all rood.

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-cater ! We cannot but observe, thai
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-
'jaded to venture on some Suffolk cheese,

rve me a slight indigestion,
am ready to eat flinU, pebbles, mar-
b\es, 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
froQk of the famous Asbestos, that my food
and clothing may be suitable to each other.

No. IX.

[From the « Two Angry Women of Abing-
don," a Comedy, by Henry Porter,
.1599.]

Proverb-monger.

TUs firail fool, joar num. speaks attfkt bat Pf>»

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, m his
" ArUficial Changeling,'' says he saw the
man, that he was at that time about thirty
yeare 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-
tour hours.'' After his stone-meals, he was
accustomed to take a draucht of beer:
•« and in the interim, now and then, a pipe
of tobacco; for he had been a soldier m
Ireland, at the riege of Limerick; and upon
his return to London was confined for some
time upon suspicion of impostura "

And, tpeak men whmt they om to him. Wn aiiiw*r
Witk MUM Tk/oM-rottai teateaoator old sajtnf,
Soch spokei M tk' Aneieat of tke Paruh hm
Witk <• Neighboor, if ■ aa old Prorexb aad a trae.
OooM gibleU ai« food meat, old saekbtttor thaa new t**
Tbea aayi aaotUr, - Neighboar, that is tnie."
Aad wkea each maa hath drank hie galloa roand,
(A pennj pot, for that's the old maa't gaUon),
Then doth he Uek hU lips, and stroke his beard.
That's glued together with the slarering drops
Of yesty als ; and whea he scares eaa trim
Hb gonty fingers, tfans heOl fillip it,
Aad with a rotten hem say,** Hey my hearts,** ,
* Merry go sorry," • Cook aad Pye, my hearts ;"
Aad thsa their sanag>pcnny-proveib comes,
Aad that is this. ** They that wiU to tke wiae,
By*r Lady, mistress, shall lay their peaay to mine.*'
This was cae of this psnny^father's bastards ;
For on my life he was aerer begot
Without the consent of some great ProTerb-moager.

She wit.

Why, she wiU floot the deril, nA make blosh

The boldest feoe of man that ever maa saw.

He that hath best opinioa of his wit.

And hath his braia-paa fhMght with bitter jesU

(Or of his own, or stol'a, or howsoerer>

Let kim staad ae*er so high ia*s owa conceit.

Her wife a sua that melu him dowa like batter,

Aad mskes him sit at Uble faacako-wise.

Flat, flat, sad as'er a word to say ;

Yet she*Il not leave him thea, bat like a tyraat

She'll perseeato the poor wit-beatea maa,

Aad so be-bang him with dry bobs aad scoSs,

Whea he is down (most cowardly, good failh I)

As I have pitied the pool patieat.

There came a Farmer's Soa a wooiag to her,

A proper man, well-landed too he was,

A maa that for Ids wit aeed not to ask

What time a year 'twere aeed to sow hia oats.

Nor yet his barley, no, aor when to reap,

To plow his fallows, or to fSell his trees,

WeU expenenoed thos each kiad ef way ;

After a two months* laboar at the most,

(Aad yet 'twas well he held it oat so k»g>

He left his Love; she had so laced his lips.

He could say nothing to her but • Ood be with yfc"

Why, she, when men have diaod, aad oaU'd tor ««««

Will str^t muataia Jests bitter to digest ;

AmA then somo oae will faU to arfumeat.

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V7W rfkeon^HButerhermtlimMiu
Tkm flfaell befia to buffet kirn witk aoeka.

Master Oomney propoiei to hu Son a
Wife.

FfvA Oamntf. N«rcr trnst ne^ fatter, fh» shape ol

marriafe*
Whiek I do M« ia othen, w«mt m serera^
1 dare oot pat mj joaagUay liberty
Oader the awe ef that iastnetioBi
Aadjet I fraat, the Umito of free yoath
Ooiaf aetraf are oftea restraia'd b/ that.
Bat IfistTCfi Wedlock, to mj rammer thoaghti.
Will be too cant, I feari O shoald she saip
Mj plaasar»«imiBf miad, I ehall be tad ;
Aad fwear, wbea I did marry, I was auid.
Old Oowney. Bat, boy, let my ezperieace teach thes

this;
fYet b food &ith thoa speaVst aot macfc amiss) ;
Whea flrrt thy arathei's lame to me did ooan,
Thy graadsire thas thea eame to me his son,
Aad er^i my words to thee to me he said ;
Aad, as thoa say'st to me, to him I said,
Batia a greater haff aad hotter blM^t
I toll ye, oa yoath's tiptoes then I stood.
Says he (good faith, this was his rerj say),
Whea X was yoaag, I was bat Reasoa*s fool i
Aad weat to weddiag, as to Wisdom's school *
It taaght Bie mach, aad maeh I did forget ;
Bat, beatea maeh by it, I got some witt
Thoofh I was shanklfd from aa oftca-eooat.
Yet I woaU waatoa it, whea I was oat ;
*Twas oomfort old aeqaaiataace thea to meet,
Restraiaed liberty attaia*d is sweet,
Thas said my father to thy father, soa ;
Aad thoa may'stdo this too, as I hare doae.

fFandering in the dark aU night,

O whea will thie same Year of Night hare cad?
Loag-look'd for Day's Saa, whea wilt thoa aseead?
Let Dot this thietfriead bisty reil of aight
Eaeroaeh on day, aad shadow thy fair light ;
Whilst thoa eomest tardy from thy Thetis' bed.
Blash forth goldea-hair aad glorioas rsd.
O stay aot loag, bright laathera of the day.
To light my misl>way foot to my tight way.

The pleasant Comedy, from which these
Extracts are taken, is contemporary with
some of the earliest of Shakspeare'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. lu night^scenes are
peculiarly sprightly and wakefuL The ver-
sifieation unencumbered, and rich with
compound epitheU. Whv do we go on
with ever new Editions of Ford, and Mas-
linger, and the thrice leprinted Selectione
of Dodsley? what we want is as many

/olumes more, as these latter consist of,
filled with plays (soch 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 talth him,
not yVom 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 hid 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 tragedjfy
preceded him. Ilie 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
fMortion of their genius, as from them to-
ward himself appears to have been no
grudging of his aclcnowledged excellence.

C.L.

Ct)ara(ttrs(.

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 satisfiustion of
a party of pleasure, by not only finding, but
seeking for fault upon every occasion, and
affecting a Tarietv 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 boau or

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unert, with vehemence of terror, &at a
goDy though aaoertained not to be charged^
may still ** gooff.'' The tendency to fly
from one ext-reme to the other has ever been
the characteristio of weak minds^ and the
party of weak minde will always support
iteelf by a eonstderable majority, both
among women and men. Something may
be done by those minor moreliats^ modestly
termed essayists and novel ists^ who have
brought wisdom and virtue to dwell in
saloons and drawing-rooms. Mrs. U. More
acid Miss Edgeworth have pretty well writ-
ten down the affectation of ass>iming '' the
ckp, the whip, tbe 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-
kniie of the friendly satirist*

AGRE9TILLA IS an agreeable^ weJUin-
ibrmed 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 witu
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 satisfoetion 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
eomideration 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 I rifles in the eouHirtf, when
one might be out of doors from morning
tiU night r

We arrived at the place of our destina*
tion; my mind expanded with pleasure at

the sight of large rooms, wide staiicaaes,
and windows a£nling 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 ineon-
veniences to be remedied by the expendi-
ture of a few francs; but Agrestilla, as
pertinacious in her serraity as Akhea in
ner 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 neceseity,
and 1 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-^f not,
second-best; at. all eveitts^ a number of
quests and frequent parties. Though she
is not vain of her mind or of her person,
yet the display of fine clothes ana 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*
Srehension, we received an invitation to
ine with a family unknown to me, and
living nine miles off! To refiise 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 I
the time of departure six in the morning I
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 1 — ** Oh ! dear me, time aoou
passes ' m the country ;* we shall be three
hours going, the roads are very bad, then
comes bre^iaat, and then walking round
the garden, and then dinner and coming
home early." This invitation hong 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 seenied to be fbr ever
filling and for ever emptying, Kke the
pitcbert of the Danaides. Tne si»eet,ooiiit^
and garden became all impassable, without
the loan of Celestine'i taboU (anglice
wooden shoes.) Gelestine is a stout Nor-
man girl, who washes the dishes, and wean
a holland-mob and a linsey-vroolsey petti
eoat. Certainly, thought I, in my foolisli
security, while this deluge continues no-

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body wilt think of Tisiting *' in the coun-
try/' But vain And illusive was my hope !
Agrestiila declared her intention of keeping
her eng'igement ** if it rained cats and
dogs ;" and the weather cleared up on the
3ve of my execution, and smiled in derision
3f my woe. The cart came. Jemmy Daw-
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 Agrestiila ; I pro-
posed their being secured with cords (kuhed
IS the sea-terpi) to prevent thetti from roll-
ing about, crushing our feet and grazing our
legs at every jolt. Agrestitta's politeness
supprest an exclamation of amazement,
that people could mind such trifles " in the
country !" — for her part, she never made
difiBculties. — Being obliged to maintain the
equilibrium of my person by clinging to

I each side of the cart with my two hands, I
had much to envy those personages of the
Hind(i 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 oonoussed into the incapa-
city to tell whether six and five make eleven
or thirteen^ and ray feet were ** all mur-
dered," as the Irish and French say. What
exasperated my sniierings was the reflection
on my own folly in incurring so much posi-
tive evil, to pay and receive a mere com-
pliment i 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, X should have
thought nothing and said less of the matter;
but for a mere dinner amons strangers, a
long day without interest and occupation !
— really I consider myself as having half
incurred the guilt of iuicide. Six or seven
times al least, the horse, painfntly dragging
us the whole way by tne 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 Airfland — I abhor and disdain a pun
-—but we did nothing but cross ruts to
avoid puddles, and cross them back again
to avoid stones, and the rats were all so
deep as to leave boc one semicircle of the
wheel visible. I never saw such roads—
the Colossus of Rhodes would have been

I knee-deep in them. At last we arrived —
Agrestiila as much out of patience at my

I calling it an evil to have my shins bruised
black and bine, while engaged in a party of

1 pleasure *' in the country,**^ as I to end the
rapedition all pain and no pleasune. We

i^

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 ^ces flushed, and by f<tr too
fevered to eat, and too weary to walk. How
I thought, like a shipwrecked mariner, not
upon ray own ** firesid**,** as £nglish no-
velists always say, bat upon my quiet,
comfortable room, books, work, indepen-
dence, and othtm 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 oe
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.
Agrestiila was as merry as possible all day ;
she has lived in the company of persons of
sense and education, but — nobo(w expects
refinement " in the country I** In vain I
expostulate with her, pleading in excuse of
what she terms my fastidiousness, that I
cannot change my fixed notions of elegance,
propriety, and comfort, to conform to the
fiabits 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 tc
rural habits, by puttiitg on a coarse strav
hat, thick shoes, and linen gown, but th
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 bolh elbows over the counter of
a chandler's shop.*-Her brother is a gmrde
du corp$, 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 nudden
lady, who lives on six hondred ftmics per
annum, (about twenty^four pounds,) ana of
course performs every menial ofilce for her^
self, and, except on Sundays, looks like aft
old weedingwwoman ; her brother has been
a judge, lives in a fine house, buys books
jand 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

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entertaining is to tell gross stories; the
detnouellit sit and say nothing, simper and
look pretty: what a pity it is that time
should change them into coarse, hard-
featured eommhetty 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 cofTee. Agrestilla does not foil 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 T 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,

N.

FEMALE FRIENDSHIP.

J07 cannot eUlm a pnrtr blin,

Nor grief a dew from ttatn more clear,
Than female friendship's meeting kiu.

Than femele fnendship*t pardof tear.
How tweet the heart's full bliss to pour
To her, whoee smile must crown the store I

How sweet«r stiU to teU of woes
To her, whoee faithful breast woold share
la erery grleA ta erery care.

Whose sigh caa loll them to repose I
Oh I blessed sigh I there is no sorrow.
Bat from thj bnath caa sweetness borrow
E'en to the pale and drooping flower
That fades b love's neglected honr ;
E'en with her wMs eaa friendship's pow'i

One happier feeUng blrad «
Tie from her VBstleBs bedtoer^ep,
And sink lilw wearied babe to sleepi
Oa Oa aoft eonch her sorrows steep,

TXeboseaef a friend.

LINES TO A SPARROW.

Who comes to mt Wivdow eveei
morniko for his breakfast

Master Diekj, mj dear.

Yon have nothing to fear.
Tear proceedings I mean not to cheek, eir |

Whilst the weather bennmbo.

We shonld pck up onr emmbs^
8ok I prithee, make free with a^eek, sit.

I'm afraid itfs too plain

YoaVe a nllaia in Frata,
Bnt in that yon rseemble your aeighbous

For maakind hare agroad

It is right to Mck M«^
Then, like jon, hop Oe twig with their lahevM.

Besides this, master Dick,

Ton of trade have the trick,
la all (roaeAet jou trafic at will, sir.

Yon hare no need of shope

For joar samples of hopi.
And eaa er'rjr daj Uke np jonr »i7Z, sir.

Then in foreign affairs

You maj giro jtrarself oif*.
For I'to heard it reported at home, s-r.

That you're oa the best terms

WichtheiliVto/^onai^
And have often been tempted to Rome, sir.

Thus you feather your neat

In the way you like best.
And Uve high without fear of mishap, nr {

You are fimd of your^raA,

Hare a taste for some ihrmh^
Aad for ^*n— then you understand tn^ mt.

Tho' the rirers won't flow

In the froet and the snow.
And for fish other folks vaialj try, sir ;

Yet you'll have a treat.

For, in oold or ia heat.
You oan still Uke a porch with a^ty. sin

In kre, too, oh Diek,

(Tho' you oft when lerc^iek
On the course of good-breeding may trample ;

And though often henpeok'd.

Yet) you soDm to Uf lecc
To set all maakiad aa eggtomple.

Your 9pJatoa«,*tis true.

Are flighty a few.
But at this I, for one, will aot grumble |

So—your breakfisst you'ye ga^

Aad you're off like a shot,
D«ar Diaky, your humble cam-temUe.*

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HUT. ALDERSON, BELLMAN OP DUBHAM.

And who gave thee that joXty red nooet
Brandy, danamon, ale, and gIotm,
That gare me the Jollj red noee.

OLD8o>a«

THE BISHOP OF BUTTERBY.

A SXBTCB, BT ONE OF HIS PREBENDARIES.

For ike Table Book

I remember reading in that excellent
little periodical. *<Tbe Cigar,'' of the red
note of the friar of Dillow, which senred
the holy man in the stead of a lantern, when
he crossed the fens at night, to yisit the
fiiir lady of the sheriff of Gloucestershire.
Whether the nose of the well-known eccen-
tric DOW under consideration ever lighted
his padi, when returning from Shincliffe

feast, or Houghton-le-spring hopping —
whether it ever

« BrighUj beamM hit path al)ove.
Aad lit his way to his lad/t love "^

this deponent knoweth not; bm, 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 1 thou animated
lump of ooesity 1 thou hast Terily a mos'
loUy nosel Keep it out of my sight, T

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prajr thee 1 Saint Giles, defend me from
Its scorchings 1 there is fire in its mere pic-
torial representation ! Many a time, I ween^
thou hast mulled thine ale with it, whea
sittins^ with thy pot companions at Mor-
ralies I

Hutchinson Alderson, the subject of th«
present biogTaphi<»l notiee, is die well-
known bellman of the city of Durham. Of
his parenUge and education I am ignorant,
but 1 have been informed by him, at one of
his ^ yisitations," that he is a native of th«
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 1 cannot correctly state what office he
held in the regiment ; the accounts on the
subject are very conflicting Mid contradic-
tory. Some have informed me he was m
mere private, others that he was a corpora);
and a wanton wag has given out th»f hs
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 ordinanr 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 drcmnstanoe,
proceeded with his gun to the wood, where,
placing himself within a few yards of the
oird, he fired at it, having previously
poured a little water into the muzzle,
which he thoughtlessly imagined would
have the effect of bringmg 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.

To: some time after this calaroi^^, Alder-
son's chief employment consisted in taking
care of gentlemen's hoxses, and cleaning
knives. He was then appointed street-
keeper ; and, during Uie 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
constablen 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 o&red himself as a candidate ;
and, from there being no opposition, and
Us being a freeman, he was installed by
Ae unanimous voice of every member oi
thm corporation, and he has accordingly
^iKharged the duties of bellman ever since,
b is in that capacity our artist has repre-
sented him in tne cut at the head of the
pivsent sketch. But Hut Alderson is the
MKSrer of other dignities.

About three miles from Durham is a
beMttiul little hamlet, called Butterby, and
oi ancient deeds Beautrove,* and BeautrO'
venwUy from the elegance of its situation ;
and oertainljr its designation is no mis-
nomer, for a tovelier spot the imagination
cannot pictura The seclusion of its walks,
the deep shade of its lonely glens, and the
many associaiiDns connected with it, inde-
pendently e£ ft» valuable mineral waters,
conspire to waJsr it a favourite place of
resort ; and^ were I possessed of the poetic
talent of veCerinary doctor Marshall, I
shmild certeinly be tempted to immortalize
its many dsmns in a sonnet. Butterby
was formeriy a place of considerable note ;
the old m— or-house there, whose haunted
walb am slill surrounded by a moat, was
once tie residence of Oliver Cromwell,
whew 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 vuibU 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 l>elieve
that the hamlet is still in possession of
this sacred edifice ; for '' Butterby-cAurcA "
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 r^ substantial, bonifiiU struc-
ture : the fact is, that, in the slang of Dur-
ham, (for the modem Zion f has its slang as
well as the modem 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 T the customary answer is, *• I have
been attending service at Butterby.*' About
the year 1823, there appeared in one ol
the London journals an account of a mai^
riage, said to nave been solemnized at But-

• Vid« Mr. XMan** Viaw ^IDmtum^
f Ibid.

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icrby-church, between two parties who
never existed but in the fertile biain of the
writer of the paragraph, *• By the Rev.
Hutchinson Aideraon, rector." From that
time. Hut. Akderson began to be desig-
nated a clergyman, and was speedily dub-
bed A.M. Merit wiU rise, and therefore
the A. M. became D. D., and Alderson
himself enjoyed the waggery, and insisted
on the young gentlemen of the place touoh-
oig 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 Reverekd Hutchinson Aldersoh
Lord Bishop of .Botterby, 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 bis 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, Stc^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, fce. The last I recollect was a
notice, delivered to one of the prebends by
the bishop in propriS periond, intimating
that, owing to the church having receired
considerable damage by a high flood, he
would not be required to officiate there UU
further notice.

A cathedral is nothing without a tutelary
saint, and accordingly Butterby-ehurch has
been dedicated to saint Giles. Several
articles have been written, and pnvzielj
circuUted, descriptive of the splendid- archi-
tecture of this imaginary edifice; every
arth has had its due meed of approbation,
and its saint has been exalted in song,
almost as higli as similar worthies of the
Roman catholic diurch. A legend has
been written— 1 beg pardon, /o«iirf in one
of the vaulte of Bear-prk,— contammg an
accoant of divers miracles peribrroed by-
saint Giles ; which legend is doubtless as
worthy of credit, and equally true, m some
of Alban Butler's, or the miracles of pnnce
Hohenlohe and Thomas k Bedtet. Hap-
pening to hare a correct copy of the eomfj-
ntion to which I aUnde, I give it, with foil
persuasion that by so doing 1 shall ^^ *
signal obligation on the rest of my *'-*»*-^

prebends, some of whom are believers in its
antiquity, though, I am inclined to think,
it is, like the iiiici«ii^ poems found in Red-
cliffe-church, and published by the unfor-
tunate Chattertoo— all « Bowkff powiey,"
&c. I have taken the liberty ta modecoiie
the spelling.

SAINT GILES

Hi* Holie Legend t

Written in Lativ, bt Father Peter,
Monk of Beaupairs, an» doiie into
English this Year op Redsmfti«in,
ld55, BY Mabtbr John Wa&xon,

SCHOOLMAOTER, St. MAaObALRHR HER

Chapel Yard Durham: asm dedi-
cated to our good Qurrm Mart,
WHOM God lono preserve.

O did je iie*er hear of saint Oilet,

The saint of faa d Bntteitj steeple •
Then ne'er was his like seen for miles,

Pardie, he astonied the people 1
His face was as red as the son.

His ejne were a ooaple of sloes, sir.
His belly wa» big- as a tnn.

And he had a huge bottle nose, At ;

Q what a strange feUow was ht '

Of woman he nerer was bom.

And wagers hare been laid upon it;
Thej found him at finehale one morn,

Wrapp'dnpin a hearenly bonnet:
The prior was UUnghis rounds.

As he was wont after his AricMnt,
He heard most eelestial soondb.

And saw something in a tree stick fhat.
Like a bundle of dirt/ old dothet.

Quite frighten'd, he feU on his 1

And said thirteen ares and ten credos.
When the thing in Uie tree gare a sneese.

And out popped a hand, and then three to«M
Now, when he got out of his faint.

He approaoh*d, with demeanour most hunbK
And what should he see but the saint.

Not a copper the worse itom his tumble
But IjingaU sound wind and limb.

i.
gays the priw, •* ftom wiMMS^did ytmem^.

Or how gut ywi Into my gMdtn r
But the baby snilnothng but swun '

And for the piUst OM'd not »/en*»f
At length, the mdnt open'd his gob.

And said, «* Vm fimm heaven, d*y* SM. sb»
Now don't stand thers senleliuig yo« a^

Bat bslp ae down out oC tiM tvss^ sir,

OrUI-Msa set yow es«t«Bt a^UnP

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TIm prior stood <ptito in » OMao.

To \mr mch an tafaat to «jactfrl j eoli
8ob bamblinf himself, 1m f»Tt ]miso

To oor Isdj for so gnat o miraoloi
Soist (Kiss from tho bosh theB Im took,

Aod Isd him airojr to tho priory;
Whoro for jean he stoek elooo to his book,

A holse and sanotified friar, he

Was thoofht bj the good folks all

6.
la saactitj ho passM Ms days,

Obm or twice ozoreis'd s demodao (
Aad, to qiuet his doobts aad his frar%

AppliedtoaflaskorohiCocaiaei '
To hoaTOB ho show'd tho road fair,

Aad, If ho saw siuer hwk f lui or sad,
BiTd tall him to driro awaj ears,

Aad saj.oTake aswif of goodi«ai,m7 lad,
Aad it will soon fiTO joar soal oaoc**

7.
la adraelss tooths saiat dealt,

Aad sooie may be seen to this auamts ;
At his biddiag he'd make a rook BMlt,

Tho* Saint Sathaaas might bo ia it t
Oae oreaiaff whea rambling out.

He fooad hiouelf stopp'd hj the riTer,
8o he told it to tani roood abuot,

Aad 1st him go qnietlj orer,

Aad the liror politelj oom plied I

8.

To Botteibj oftsa he*d stray,

Aad sometimee look in at the well, sir i
Aad If ]roo*U attead to the laj.

How it eamo by iti Tirtoos TU tell, sir :
Oae moraiag, as woat, the saiat eall'd,

Aad beiag trsmeadoosly faiat then.
He draak of the stuff tiU he ttaird,

Aad oat spahe the rortcoBd saiat thei^
My blessiag be oa t'oee for aye I
9.
Thas saying he beat his way home,

Now mark the OTent which has fo11ow*d.
Tho foant has from that time beoome

A oars for sleh folka-forlf ihaUow'd t
Aad maay a pilgrim goes tiiero

From msay a for ^tant part, nr,
Aad, pioosly ntteriaf a prayer,

BliasM the sabtfs oions heart, sir.

That garo to tho fonat so mneh graea.
10
At flaelala Us saiatahip did dwdl,

TUI ths deril got lata tho elolstor;
Aad loft ths bars walls as a shell.

Aad galp^d tho Ikt moaks Uko aa oysttr *
8a Iks oatat waa aaforesd to qait.

Bat swwo hs'd tho feU Iflgioas an aaraasb
Aad pay baok thsir ooia orsry whit^

Tho*hbhidothoa]dbeday*dlikoBaraoleaMw*8,
Aad red aa Sinat Daastaa^ rsd losa.

Aaothor eharoh straight ho erooted,

Whiek for Its saaetity foai*d mach is.
Where sbaen aad saiala ars proteeted,

Aad kept oat of Belaebnb*s olatchsa;
And thnsia the efoof hisdays

He still pateraosters aad ares snag;
His Inags were worn threadbare with praise^

TiU death, who slays priors, rest gare his toagof
Aad aent him to sing ia the spheres I

19.

It woald bo too loag to tell hers

Of how, whea or where, tho moaks boned him
SaOeo It to say. it seems elear

That somewhere or other they earned him.
His odd life by death was made area.

He popped off oa oae of Leat Snadaya,
His eorpee was to miraelas giToa,

Aad his chonsters sang ■* Do profaadis
Clamari ad to Domiae V

Fiuu coronai optu*

Such is the extraordinary legend of saint
Giles, which I leave the antiquaries to sii
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 revenuer
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 iham 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 tenantiy, who did suit and
service, constituted a homage, and pei^
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 drcumvolution, I hasten to add, that
he it fiftv years of age ** and upwards," of
the middle liie and rather corpulent, of a
▼ery ruddy countenance, is possessed of a
▼ast fond of anecdote, and is at all timet 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
sodety, he is weU-informed; and if he has

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4ny fkiltnfy it is what hat given the beauti-
ful ▼ermilioa tint to that which, as it forms
the most promiuent feature in hit appear-
ance, is made one of the most prominent
features of «y memoir. As a crier, I never
liked him-'his voice is ioopuMo, 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
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,
beiog a leaseholder for lives, and a freeman,)
be always supports Michael Angelo Tavlor
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 Uut. meets with when crying.

Trrbs KiNGS^Z>ifi^ dong ! ding dong /
diugihug !

Hnt. To be sold by auction—

1 Boy. Speak up I speak up ! Hut.
Hut. Hod your jaw — at the Queen*s

heed in—

2 Boff. The town of Butterbv.

Hut. ni smash your heed wi the bell—
the Queen*s heed in the Baiiya — a large
collection of-^

3 Bojf. Pews, pulpits, and organs.
Hnt, rU rap your canister — of valua-

hU^-huike the property of—

1 Boy. The bishop of Butterbv.

Hut. Be quiet, yon scamp— -of a gentle-
«nan from Lunnon— >the ouiks may be
#iewed any time between the hours of one
and three, by applying to^

a Boy. ToTcmy Sly—

Hut. Mr. Thwaites on the premises : the
sale to commence at seven o clock in the
eveaing prizixeiy.

AU Uuihl hooehl hooehl

Hui. 1*11 smash some o* vour heeds wi'
the bell— I knaw thee. Jack! — mind, an' 1
doant tell thee mither noo, thou daft fiile I

This &rce is usually acted every day
10 the streets of Durham ; and to be truly
•njoyed it should be witnessed. Having
nothing more of my own to say, I shall
conclude this sketch in the language of
Rousseau.^-** Voil& ce que j*ai fait, ce que

Cii pens^. J'ai dit le biea et le mal avec
m^me franchise. Je n*ai rien t(i de man-
vais, rien ^out^ de bon ; et s*il m'est arriv^
d employer quelque omement indifferent,
ce n*a jamais ^t^ que pour remplir un ruide
occasionn^ par mon d^faut de m^moire;
j'ai pu supposer vrai ce que je savois, avoir
pu Tdtre jamais ce que je savofs 6tre
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, Holbom; where, after
the healths of the king and royal family, a
gentleman present proposed the health of
'* the liev. 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 / for he
Ijaid Jiuuij s heaoy had od thee.

Bf*9» ^ Cbbutmai Tireat.

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-

•LnOmSmwmM,yui i.ttv.i

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Bmn t lite is spent wttft his master's team
and barrels. Early rising is bis indispens-
able duty ; and, long ere the window-shut-
ters of London shopkeepers are taken
down, he, with his fellow stavesimen, are
seen half way through the streets to the
▼ender of what is vulgarly called ** heavy
wet." Woe to the patience of k crowd,
waiting to cross the roadway, when the
, long line, in clattering gear, are passing re-
view, like a troop of unyielding soldiers.
The drirtr, with his whip, looks as im*
portant as a sergeant-major; equipped id
nis 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 wtotld 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, wha^ 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 iu view of
a prospecL if the sunshine appears : the
hunch of oread 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
lone 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 com, 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 brangle, and
his sayings are sometimes, like himself,
/ather dry. When he returns to the biew.
house, lie is to be found in the stable, ac
the vat, and in the lower apartments. Tq
guard against cold, he prefers a red night,
cap to a Webh wig, and takes great care of

• I«ak«raf<Mifaid6d tf n old emynMoa**
Dtetor." in the Chnttmat Trtai, xxiiu.

P»(

** Wlirn Tidlott tread* tlie atreets, the psvi^n ery
•«94 MMtfM, titr uA toj tk«r rsmnm 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 tuin re-
lieves him, he takes his next day's orders
at the counting-house, and with clean apron
and face, goes to his olub, and sometimes
even ventures to make a benefit speech in
behalf of the sick members, or a aisconso-
kue widow. Now and then, in his best
white " ibul weather," he treaU his wife
and nieces to " the Wells,*' or *< the Roy-
alty/' taking something better than beer in
his pocket, made to bold 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 filb ; and then, like a true
Spectator, smokes tlM company in a gen-
teel way. If called upon for a song, he
either complains of hoarseness, or of a bad
memory ; out should he indulge the call ol
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 coUops at a good
loke about the " tap," and agrees with Joe
■ller,thrt

joke
Mill

** Cart to o«T eofin addo s aul ao donH
Bat OTOiy grin of Uofhtor draws one onL**

An old dogVeared 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

5»ir of fancy garters below knee, and on
fondays his neckcloth and stockings show
that he was " clean as a new pin y««/«r-
f/ay." 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 pute 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-ipte. What nature denies to others,
custom sanctions in him, for "he eats,
drinks, and is M«rry." If a rough speci-
men of an unsophisticated John Bull were
nqniicd, I would preseot the drayman.

J.R.P

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SONNET.

FVOM TH^ SpaKISH OP QuiTKDO.

For tU Table Book.
•' Sm el mmdo •aeisU, no a mmnimi§/*
la tVn «f A« vorld, beware to think, my fricad.
Thy lot is «aat to «b«age itt or anend ;
Bnt to perionB thj part, andfiTO thy aharo
Of pityiaj aid ; aot to aabdoe, but bear.

If pradeat, tboa naj'et Imoir the world ; If wlae.
In Yirtae stroag, thoa najTst the world deepive ;
For {ood, be gratefa3— be to ill leriga'd.
And to the better worU «nlt thy mmL

The peril of thy «ml ia this wwU fear.
Bat yet th* Almighty'a woodioae work rerere;
See all things good but maa ; aad ehiei^ see.
With eye seTore, the faults that dwell in thee.
Ob them exert (hine eneigies, aad try
Thyself to mend, ere judge the earth aad sky.

ACQUAINTANCE TABLE.

2 Glances maKe
7 Bows . . .
6 Uo^ d'jfe do'i
4 Conversations .

1 Bow.

1 How d'ye do.
1 CoDTersation.
1 Acquaintance.

Origin op
MARKmO THE KING'S DISHES

WITH THE COOKS* HAJf BS.

King George II. was accustomed eyery
other year to visit his German dominions
with the greater part of the officers of bis
household, and especiaUy those belonging
to the kitchen. Once on bis passage at
) sea, bis fiist 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 bis majesty was very
fond of; he therefore ordered inquiry to
be made among the assistant-cooks, if any
of them could make the above soup. One
named Weston \fatber of Turn Weston, the
player) undertook it, and so pleased the
Icing, that he dedared it was nill 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 bis cooks, but that he
would now name one lor himself, and tbere-
fora asking if one Weston was stall in the

kitchen, and b^ng answeied that he was,
<< That man," said be, '' shall be my first
cook, for he makes most excellent Uttenish
soup.** This favour be^ot envy among all
the servants, so that, when any dish was
found fiiuU with, they used to say it was
Weston's dressing: the king took notice
of this, and said to the servants, it was
fery extraordinary, that every dish he dis-
liked should happen to be Weston's; ^ in
fiiture,** said he, <' let eveiy dish be marked
with the name of the cook that makes it.**
By this means the king detected their aits,
and from that time Weston*s dishes f^eased
him most. The custom has continued ever
since, and is stiU practised at the king's
table.

MONEY— WEIGHTS AND
MEASURES.

PouHD, is derived from the Latin word
pondui.

Ounce, from undo, 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.

Halppevny and Farthino. In 1060,
when William the Conqueror began to
reign, the Pekuy, or sterling, was cast,
with a deep cross, so tliat it might be
broken in half, as a HALP-penny, or in
quarters, for Fourthings, or Farthings, as
we now call them.

I

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 muff-house club inLonff-acre,where
on Wednesdays a mixture of gentlemen,
lawyers, and tradesmen meet in a gieat
room, a grave old gentleman in his gr^
hairs, and nearly ninety years of age, js
their president, and sits ii. 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 ccflfee-
house, retires when he pleases.
N. B. In the time of the parliamoifs

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fitting, there are clubs composed of the
members of the commons, where most affairs
are digested before they are brought into
the house.

«* AS DRUNK AS DAVID'S SOW."

A few years ago, one David Lloyd, a
Welchman, who kept an inn at Hereford,
had a living sow with six leg% which ooca«
sioned great resort to the house. David also
had a wife who was much addicted to
drunkenness, and for which be used fre-
quently to bestow on heran admonitory drub-
bing. One dav, 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 f'—" 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 Booh,

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, m pursuance of
an act of parliament passed in the sixth
year of his present majesty's reign, entitled
" An Act (or consolidating and amending
the Laws relative to Jurors and Juries,*^
sent in his return as follows :—

« STaxEi."
Baher-etreet — badly paved — rascally
lighted — ^with one old woman of a watch-
man.

"Title, Quality, Calling, or

Business.'^
No titU^no gualitft^uo eaUtng, except
when my wife and sixteen children call for
bread and butter — and as for husineeef I
have none. Times are bad, and there's no
kuinew to be done.

" Nature op Qualificattok ; whether
Frbehold, Copyhold, or Leasehold
Property."

^o freehold property — ^no copyhold pro-
perty^-no leaaehold property. In fact, no
property at all ! I live oy my wUmj as one
half of the world live, and am therefore
fiOTqwaified.

Gaspard.

J^uburban bonnets;.

L

ISLINGTON.

Ikf fltUU, Ikir Itl'mftoD I begia to bemi

Ua«elxxmi« bnildm^ and muwmlj |hla ;
Tht streets are spreading, and tbe Lord kaows wbere

iBproremoiC** hand will spare thsaei^Vriaf stUes
Ths mrslUaadishnieats of Bfatdea Laao

Ara er'rjr daj becoming less and fcss,
Wbils kilns and lime roads force ns to oomplaia

Of Boisanoes time oolj eaa sapprees.
A few more years, aad CorsiraAonr Housi

Shall cease to charm the tailor aad the snob;
Aad where attoraiee* clerks ia sBM>ka caioase^

Rcfardless wholly of to-morrow's jobw
Some Claremont Row, or Proepeet-Plaee shall iis%

Or terraoe, perhaps, misnooier'd Faaaaxsk 1

IL
HAGBUSH LANE.

Poor Raobvsb Lams I thy aaeieat eharma aie geiif

To rack aad mia fast ss thej caa go;
Aad where but lately auuijr a flow*r was grown^

Nothiag shall shortlj be aUow'd to grow I
Thy homble oottage» where as jet they edl

No ** natpbrowa ale,** or Inscions Stiltoa ohpcien
Where dosky gipues ia the samawr dweU,

And donkey drirers fight their dogs at eassb
Shall feel ere long the ler*lliag haad of taste.

If that be tuU which darkens ev'ry field $
Thy gardea too shall likewise be displae'd,

Aad BO more **eabbage*' to its master yields
Bat, ia its stead, some aew VaaxhaU perehaaoe

Shall rise, reaown*d for paatomisMMddaace '

IIL
HIGHGATE.

Already, Hioboatb I to thy skirts they bear

Bricks, mortar, timber, ia ao small dcgrae.
And thy oaee pare, exhilarstang air

Is gfowiag pregnant with imparity I
The woald-be merchaat has his ** eoontry box **

A few short meaeares from the dosty raad,
MThere friends oa Sonday talk about the stocks

Or praise the beaatiee of his ** aeat abode f*
One deems the waU.aow*r gaidea, ia the froa^

UariTaU'd for each aromatic bed \
ABotherfaaeies that his old tow's graat

** Is so mach /tike the eooatry,** aad lukad
Of liring longer dowa ia Crooked- laae,

BeaolTes, at OBoe, to «• raialiie ** a«aiBl
/♦Iftyf OH. J. ft

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SHEPHERD'S WELL, HAMPSTEAD.

The wrdmtjt Uwni which ri« ibovfl tbii rill
Are DDt unworthj Vlrgil'J put »1 wng.

On the west side of Hampstc^d, in the
middle of one of Ihe pleasant meadows
called Shepherd s Gelds, at the left-hand of
the footpath going from Delsi^e-house to-
wards the church, this arch, embedded above
and around by the green turf, forms a con-
fiuit-head to a beautiful spring : the specific
gravity of the fluid, which yields s^^eial
tuns a day, is little more than that of dis-
tilled water. HumpHlead abounds in other
iprin^, but they «re mostly impregnated

ith minera.1 substances. The water of
^•Shepherd's wtll/' 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
lit ing by carrying it to houses for a penny
\ uail-fulL There is no carriage-way to

the spot, and these poor th*»ga have mucn
hard work for a very Utile money-

I first knew this springs in my childhood,
when domiciled witli a relation, who then
occupied Beta ize-ho use, by being allowed to
go with Jeff the under-gardener^ whose
duly it was to fetch water iiom the spring.
M I accompanied hitn^ so a tame magpie
accompanied «i<? ; Jfiff slouched on with
his pails and yoke, and my ardour to pre-
cede was restrained by fear of some it
happening to Mag if 1 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 Jell always
led the van, and M^g always brougnt up

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cue rear, inakiDg up for long lagg'mg 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 cjrown of the arch, looking
siltemately 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
Kilbum, but this and the ponds in the Vale
of Health are the ordinary sources of public
supply to Hampstead. The chief mcon-
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 constsvit
sufficiency of wholesome water might be
easily obtained by a few simple arrange-
ments.

March 19, 1827.

€urritk pa^.

No. X.

[From the *' Fair Maid of the Exchange,**
a Comedy, by Thomas Heywood»
1637.]

Cripple ojfert to fit Frank Golding with
ready made Love EpietUe,

JVttik. Of thj (Mrairntin; ?

Qrfp. My ows, I atsnre yon, Sir.

Jhtatk, Faith, Uioa hut robb*d nme wnuiet-book or
other.
Ami tow wooid'tt make ne thiak they are thy own.

Crip. Whf , think'st thoo that I cannot writa a Letter.
Dittjr, or 8<mnet, with judicial phraee.
An pretty, pleasing, and pathetical,
A* the best Ovid-imitating dnace
la the whole town ?

Frank. I think thou can*st not

CHp. Yea, I'll swear I cannot.
Tet, Sirrah, I eould eonej-eateh the world.
Make m jself famone for a sndden wit.
And be admired for my dexterity.
Were I disposed.

Fmak. I prithee, how ?

Crip, Why, thus. There lived a Poet ia llris tcm^
(If we nay term our modem writera Foeta),
Sharp-witted, hitter-torgoed ; hie pea, ol aleali
His ink was temper'd with the biting jirioe
And extraets of the bitterest weeds that grew
He never wrote bnt when the elements
Of fire and water tilted in his brain.
This fellow, ready to gire np u ghoet
To Lncia's bosom, did bequeath to me
His Library, which w.ns jnst nothing
Bat rolls, and scnlls, and bandies of cast wit,
Snch as dnrst never visit PaaPs Chareh Yard.
Amongst *em all I lighted on a qnire
Or two of paper, fiU'd with Songs and Ditties,
And here and there a hangry Epigram ;
These I reserve to my own proper nse.
And Pater-noster-like have conn*d them alL
I ooald now, when I am in company.
At ale-hoase, tavern, or an ordinary*
Uptm a theme make an eztemporal ditty
(Or one at least should seem eitemporal).
Oat of the abondaaee of this Legacy,
That all would judge it, and report it too.
To be the infimt of a sudden wit.
And then were I an admirable fellow.

Frtmk, This were a piece of cunning.

Crip. I ooald do more ; for I could maka enquiry.
Where the best-witted gallants use to dine.
Follow them to the tavern, and there sit
In tha next room with a calve's head and brimstone^
And over>hear their Ulk, observe their humoon,
CoUieet their jests, put them into a play.
And tire them too with payment to behold
What I have fikh'd from them. This I could do

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Bttt O for ikaae tkat maa sboald to arnugm
Their own fae^imple wits for rerbal theft I
Tet mea there be that have doae this aad that,
Aad won bj anioh more fhaa the miOBtof them.*

After this Spectmen of the pleasaster
Teio of Heywoody I am tempted to extract
some Unes from his '* Hierarchie of Angels,
1034 ;*' not strictly as a Dramatic Poem,
but because the passag:e contains a string
of names, all but that of JVaUoHj bis con-
temporary Dramatists. He is complaining
in a mood half serious, half comic, of the
disrespect which Poets in his own tiroes
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 lens^th ; as to Ovid,
the addition of Publius Naso Sulmensis;
to Seneca, that of Lucius Anneas Cordu-
bensis ; and the like. iVbtcr, says he,

Oar modern Poets to that pass are drlTaa,

Those names are eurtaird which they first had givM {

And, as we wiaih'd to have their memories drown'd.

We scareelj can aft»rd them half their sooad.

Greene, wholiad in both Aeademias ta'en

Degree of Maeter, yet oonld nerer gain

To be caird more than Robia ; who, had he

Profest oDf ht save the Mvoe, served, and been firva

After a seT*n years preatioeshiis might hava

(With credit too) gone Robert to his grave.

Marlowe, renown'd ibr Ut rare art and wil«

Could B^er attatn beyoad Ae nana of Kill

Althongh his Hero and Leaader did

Merit addition rather. FamoasKId

Was eaird bvt Tom. Tom WatMn ; thongh he wrola

Able to mahe Apollo's self to dote

Upoa his Muse ; for all that he could sttivt,

Yet never oonld to his Ml name arrive.

Tom Nash (ia his time of no small estaen)

Coald not a second syllable redeem.

Exeelleat Baaomoat, in the Ibremoet raak

Of the mreat wits, was never more than Frank.

Melliflnons SnASsnani, whose inchanttag qaiU

Commanded mirth or paesion, was bat Wxu ;

• The fall nae of this PUy is "The Fair Maid of
the Eichaage, with the hamoars of the Cripple of Kea-
tfharch.** The above Satire acninst some Dramatie
Plagiarists of the tiaia, is pnt lato the month of tha
Cripple, who is an excellent fellow, aad the Hero of the
Comedy. Of his hamoar this extract is a snflirient
apeeimen ; bat he It dncribed (albrit a tradeeman, yet
wealthy withal) with heroic qaalities of mind aad
body i the latter of which he evinces by reseaiag hia
Mistrees (the Fair Maid) from three robbers by the
main force of one erntch Instily applied; and the
by his foregoing the advaatages which this
gained him m her good opfnion, and bestowing

i aad finesae in pioeanng for her a husband, in

the person of his friend Ooldmr, more worthy of her
beanty, than he coald coaeeive his own maimed and
haltiBg Umbs to be. It wonld reqnire some boldnen in
a dramatist aow-a^ys to exhibit snch a Character;
aad some lack in fading n snflidcnt Actor, who would
be willing to persoaals the iafirmitiasb tagether with
the virtaas, «f tha Mobla Cripple.

And famone Joason, though his leaned pen
Be dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben.
Fletcher, and Webster, of that learned pack
None of the meanest, neither was but Jack t
Decker but Tom ; nor Mny, nor Middletoa ;
And he^s now but Jnek Ford, that once were John.

Possibly our Poet was a little sore, thai
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
ot common discourse raieht probably take
the greater liberties with the Dramatic
Poets, as conceiTing of them as more upon
a level with the Stage Actors* Or did their
greater publicity, imd popularity in con*
sequence, fasten these diminufives upon
them out of a feeling of love and kindness ;
as we sav Harry the Fifth, rather than
Henrv, when we would express good will?
—as himself says, in those reviving words
put into his mouth by Shakspeare, where
ne wonld comfort and confirm his doubting
brothers:

N«t Amnrath an Amnrath iuoaeadi^
Bat Harry Harry I

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 :

Kor speak t thia, that any hen atprast
Should Uiink themeelvas less worthy than the reel
Whoee nnmee have th4r ftOl syllables aad sound i
Or thai FVaak^Klt.or Jack,are the least wound
Unto their fame aad merit I fer my part
(Think others what they pleaee) aoeept that heart.
Which courts my love in moot fnmiliar phrase ;
And Aat it takes aatfimn my paias or praise^
If any one to im eo bluntly coom i
I hold he lovus ma best that oalls ma Tom.

C. L

ERRATA
GARfticE Plays, No. IX.
Col. 357. Last line bnt two of the last
extract—

• Blashlaf bvA foldan hair aad fbrieus vsd'*!^
a sun^bright line spoiled t-^
Arnm fev .OTMaMj^

Last line but two of the extraet preced-
ing the former, (the end of the did aMtn*!
speech)—

*• Restrained liberty attaU'd n Swaet***
should have a full stop.

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These little blemishes kill such delicate
things : prose feeds on grosser punctualities.

Will the itoder be pleased to make the
above corrections with a pen, and allow
the fact of illness in excuse for editorial
mischance ?

well known) attracted the attention of the
Sailors, who left the old Shop to buy * th*
best Tobacco bv far/ The old Shopkeeper
observing that his opponent obtained mucc
custom by his Sign, had a new oneput 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-

SNUFF AND TOBACCO.
For the Table Book,

In the year 1797 was circulated the fol-
lowing :—

Proposals for Publishing by Subscri|>
tion, a History ov Snuvf 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 — Tobao*
CO first manufiictured into Snuff— Enquiry
who took the first Pinch — Essay on Sneez-
ing— Whether the ancients sneezed, and at
what— Origin of Pocket- handkerchief—
Discrimination between Snuffing and tak*
ing Snuff; the former applied only to Can-
dles — Parliamentary Snufflakers — Trou-
bles in the time of Charles the First, as con-
nected with Smoking.

Vol. II. Snufilakers in the Parliamen-
tary army— Wit at a Pinch— Oval Snuff-
boxes first used by the Round-heads— >
Manufiicture 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 Oeorge the
Second — Snuff-boxes then made of Gold
and Silver— George the Third— Scotch
Snuff first introduce at Court— The Queen
— German Snufls in iashion^Female Snuff-
takers — Clean Tuckers, &c. &c.— Index
and List of Subscribers.

In connection ^ith this subject I beg
to mention an anecdote, related to
me bv an old Grentleman who well re-
membered the circumstance :—

^When every Shopkeeper had a Sign
hanging out berore his door, a Dealer in
Snuff and Tobacco on Fish Street Hill, car-
ried on a large trade, 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 'Toe best To-
bacco b^ Farr/ This (like the Shoemaker's
inscription, ' Adam Strong Shoemaker/ so

nets.'

W.P.

THE SMOKER'S SONG.
For the Table Book.

. For thy sake, Tobaoeoi I
Woald do aaj thxag bat die 1
Ca4Bi.

U

Th&n b » tmj weed, maa*

Tkat ffrowi far o*er the iiea maa i
The jaiee of whiok does ssore bearicuh

Tkaa does the goesip*s tea, maa.

Its aame b eaU'd tobaeoo^

Tie need aear aad far maa i
The ear>maa ehewa— bat I will choose

The daintier dgar, man.

8.
'TIS itiatf eT*B hi shape^ maa— >

So rooad, so smooth, so long, maa 1
If fou're a charU 'twill from joa hari

Yoor spleen— 7oa*Il sing a song, man!

4.
If jon will ones permit it

To toach TonSiawelUag Up, maa.
Yon soon shall see 'twill sweeter be

Thaa what the bee doth sip, maal

ft.

If e*er jaa ars In tronUe.

This will jonr trouble still, man.
On sen end land *tis at command.

An idle hoar to kill, man I

And if the blind god. Cnpid,

Shonld strike yon to the heart, man,
Take np a glass, and toast yonrlas^-

And ne'er from emoking par^ mani

7.
Aad aleo if yoa're married,

la Hjmen's chains fast bonad, man i
To plfiga* fovT ^<B ^t of her life.

Smoke still the whole TMT RMMd. pua I

Hsfv sweet *tis of aa eveatng
WhM wiatTry winds do Uiow, •«,

Ai 'twere In spite, to take a pipe.
And OMke by th' flie'e gWw, oua I.

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rba nllor in hia »hip» man.
When wUdlj rolls the wsre, maa,

l^is pipe will smok*, mad crmuk his jok«
ADOTC his jawning graTa. maa 1

10.
Tha soldier, in the tarera,

Talks of the battle's roar, man ;
With pipe in kaad, he gires eominawl,

Aad thna he lires twice o*er maa 1

11.
All classes ia this woild, maa.

Have each their owa enjoyment.
Bat with a pipe, thej're all alike—

'Tis erexy om*s emplojmeat 1

IS.
Of all the Tarflos pleasarca

lliat OB this earth there are, man,
Tbere^s nought to sm afoids snch glee
Aa a pipe or sweet dgar, maa I

O. N. Y.

&Va Ca0toms( attii iHamterd^

By JOHN AUBREY, 1678
Ex MS. Coll. Ashmol. Mus. Oxford.

Education.
Tliere were very few free-schools in
England before^ the Reformation. Youth
were generally taught Latin in the monas-
teriesy aad 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. Mai^ 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.

Chmneyi.
Anciently, before the £leformation, ordi-
nary men's houses, as copyholden, and the
like, had no chimneys, but flues like louver-
holes ; some of them were in being when I
jjragaboy.

Paifiied Cloths.
In the halls and parlours of great houses,
were wrote texts of Scripture on the paint-
ed cloths.

LibeU.
The lawyers say, that, before the time of
king Henry VHl., tne shall hardly find

an action on the case as for slander, he
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
Kaster-day was a red herring riding away
on horseback, L e. a herring ordered by
the cook something after the likeness of a
man on horseback, set in a corn salad.

£{uter.

The custom of eating a gammon of bacon
at Easter, which is still kept up in many
parts of England, was founaed on this, viz
to show their abhorrence to Judaism at that
solemn commemoration of our Lord's
resurrection. In the Easter holydsnrs was
the clerk's ale for his private benefit, and
the solace of the neighbourhood.

Saiutations.
The use of ** Your humble servant"
came first into England on the marriage of
queen Mai^, daughter of Henry IV. of
France, which is derived from Fotre tr}s
humble serviteur. Tlie usual salutation
before that time was, " God keep you 1"
*• God be with you I" and among the vul-
gar, " How dost doT 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 ttome 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 foi
what is in the house to be put thereon for
strangers, travellers, friars., and pilgrims;
so 'twas, I have heard my grand&ther say,
in his grandfather's time.

Private Heralds.

Heretofore noblemen and gentlemen of
fair estates had their heralds, who wore
their coat of arms at Christmas, and at
other solemn times, and cried «* Largesse"
thrice.

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At ToflMrtOB, in GloucesterAite, an-
dently the seat of the Kiveny is a dung«on
thirteen or fourteen feet deep ; about four
feet high are iron rings fastened to the
wall, which was ptobablv to tie offending
villains to, as all lords of manors had this
power ovei their Yillains/or soocage tenanU,)
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 mona^ries, for they had often within
themselves power of life and death.

In days of yore, lords and |^entlemen
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 bat in parliaaient-time, or once a
year t^ do their homage to the king.
They always 9Ui in gothic faalta» at ^ high
table or erattfi; (wUch is a little room at
tiw upper end of tibe hall, wImw stands a
Uble,) with the folks at the side<4ables. The
meat was served w^ 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
coai-fire."

A neat-built chapel, and a spacious haH,
were all the rooms <A note, tne rest more
smalL

Prhaie Armoirie$m
Every baron and gentleman of estate
kepi great horses for men at arms. Some
had their armories sufficient to fofnish out
some hundreds of men.

JwHch' BtiUB.
The halls of the juatioes of peace were
dreadfol to behold; the screen was gar-
nished with corseleu and helmeu gaping
with opeik mouths, with coats of mail,
lances, pikisi, halberds, browa biUs^ baU
teidaaUNCfl^ and buckles*

Inns,
Public inns were rare. Travellers were
entertained at religious houses for three
days together, if oocasioo served*

Oentfjf Meetingt.
TUt meeting of the c^entry were not at
tovem^ but in the fields or forests, with

hawks and hounds, and their bug1e«-noms
in silken bawderies.

JSHNewM|f«

In the last age every gentleman-like
man kept a sparrow-hawk, and the priest
a hobby, as aame Julian Bemers teaches
us, (who wrote a treatise on field-sports,
temp. Henry VI. :) it was a drvertisement
for young gentlewomen to manne sparrow-
hawks and merlines.

Before the Reformation there were no
poor's rates ; the charitable doles given at
religious houses, and church-ale in ever?
parish, did the business. In way parijh
Uiere was a ehttrch-house, to wnich be-
longed apits, pots, crocks, &e. for dressing
provision. Here the ho«sskeepers met
and were merry, and gave their charity.
The young people came there too, and haid
dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, tec.
Mr. A. Wood assures me, there were few
or no alms-houses before Uie time of king
Henry VIII. ; that at Oxford, opposite to
Christ church, is one of the most ancient in
£ngland. 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 Walsin^iam,
Canterbury, Glastonburv, Bromholm, fee.
Then the crusades to tne holv wars were
magnificent and splendid, and gave rise to
the adventures of the knight-enant 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.

GUui fFindowH

Glass windows, except in ehnrcbea and
gentlemen's houses, were rare before the
time of Henry VIIL In my own remem-
brance, before the civil wars, copyholders
and poor people had none*

ifsn't Coofr.

About ninety years ago, nohi stents and
gentlemen's coats were of the bedeU snd
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.

ChmreMmlihig.

Captain Silas Taylor says, that xn days
of yore, when a chuit^ was to be built, they

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watched and prayed on the vigil of the
dedication, and took that point of the
honzon 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 Y»ake, or feast of the dedi-
cation of the tfiurch, they sat up all night
fiuting and Joying, (viz.) on the eve of
the wake.

New Moan.

In Scotland, espeeUdty among Ae 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 aew moon appears, and
say, ^ A fine moon, God bless herT' The
like I observed in Herefordshire.

Hiubantky — Shej^erdt*

The Britons received the knowledge of
husbandry from the Romans ; the foot and
the acie, which we yel use, is the nearest
to them. In our wesf countrjr, (and I be-
lieve so in the north,^ they give no wages
to the shepherd, but he has the keeping so
manv sheep with his master's flock. Plau-
tus hints at this in his Asin&ria, act 3,
scene \, <<etiam Opilio/' &c

Architectwre»

The Normans broucht with them intci
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 ana down Europe
to build diurches.

TrwmpeU^SheriJfk* TnmpeU.

Upon occasion of bustling in those dayi^
great 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 therifi' trumpea at
Ibis day.

Yomnger Brotken^

No younger brothers were to betake
themselves to trades, but were chnrchmen
or vetainers to great men.

Learning, and learned Men.
From the time of Erasmus till atx>ui
twenty years last past, the learning wa:^
downright pediuitry. The conversation and
habits of those times were as starched as
their bands and square beards, and eraviiy
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 hac! little learn-
ing of any kind, and their wav of breedi»ig
up their children was suitable to the rest.
Tney 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 oi
her proud mother's visit, unless (as the
^hion was) leave was desired forsooth
that a cushion should be given them to
kneel upon, brought them by the serving-
man, after ^ey ha^ done sufficient penance
in standing.

The boys (I mean the young fellow) had
their foreheads turned up and stifiened
with spittle : they were to stand mannerly
fbrsootn thus, the foretop ordered as before,
with one hand at the Dandstring, and the
other behind.

Fane.
Hie gentlewomen had prodigious fiuis,
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.

Univereiiy Flogging,

At Oxford (and I believe at (Cambridge;
the rod was frequently used b^ the tutoni
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 Cie icns oft
court/

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YOUNG LAMBS TO SELL.

Young Uunbs to leU I yoimg Iambs to sell I
If rd as much mone^ as I oould (ell,
rd not come hete with lambs to sell I
Dolly and M0II7, Blchard and Nell,
Buj my Tonng lambs, and m use 7011 well 1

This is a ** London cry ** at the present
lime: the engraving represents the crier,
William Liston, from a drawing for ¥^hich
he purposely ttood.

This "public character" was bom 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 nght 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 worid ; and is
perhaps better known throughout Eneland
than any other individual of his oraer 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 iet
black spots tor eyes, horns of twisted shm
ing tin, legs to correspond, and pink tape

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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
Ihat he was their real favourite of the streets.
I remember the fint crier of <' young
jambs to sell 1" 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 : hi$
cry was

Toof Imbt to sell ! yoong Iambi to lell t
Tiro for a penny joaaf Iambi to selll
Tiro for a pennj yoiuf Iambi to eell—
Two for a pemij jonnf lamba to eeU I
If I'd aamoek monejr aa I eoold tell,
I woo]da*t erj jomg lambe to eeU I
Toong Iambi to aell— yoang Iambi to tell—
Two for a pennj jooDg Iambi to lell!
Yooag bunbi to to— •— 11,
itoMllt

Though it is five and thirty years ago
smce I beard 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. Dunne 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 vras 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 T 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 maj
be doubted whether the materials of their
composition have doubled in price, but the
demand for <« young lambs " has certainly
lessened, while the piesent maimfiGUSturer
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 irooA" From a
poor fellow, at his time of life, with only
naif his limbs to support a large family
this is no joke. Not having b^n at bis
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 nortnwards, with his fiunily, 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 TabU Book,
like a frail ihadow seen in maie.

Or some bright star sbot o*rr the oeean,
b happiaese, that meteor's blaiSb
For erer fleeting in ite motion.

It plays within oar foaeied grasp.

Like a pbantasmagorian shsdSb
Pttimed. e*en to the latest gasp,

It still seems hovering in the glade.

Tie bat like hope, and hope's, at best,

A stor that leads the weary on,
SttU potatiag to the nnpossessd

And palling that it beams npon.

J. B. O,

HUMAN LIFE,
Bt Goethe.
That life is but a dream is the opinion of
many; it is mine. When I see the narrow
liroiu which confine the penetrating, active
genius of man ; when I see that all his
powers are directed to $aX\sfy 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 thai

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^0 only amuse ourselves with painting bril-
fiaiiC figures and smiling landscapes on the
wahts of our prison, whilst we see on all
Bides the boundary which confines us; when
I consider these things I am silent : I ex-
amine myself; and what do I find 7 Alas I
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 foi more ; these are
certainly happy beings. Many also are to
be envied, who dignify their paltry employ,
roents, 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 ; vrith what patience
:he poor man Dears 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 limked^
his sphere, he preserves in bis bosom the
idea of liberty.

VALEDICTORY STANZA&
For the Table Book.

Tke flower i« faded.

The sttn-beam is fled.
The bright eye is shaded.

The loved one is dead :
like a star id the morDiag^

When, maatled m gray,
Aarora is dawnia^—

She raoish'd awajr.

like the primrow that bloompA

Neglected to die,
Thoagh its sweetness perfiimetb

The er'niag^s soft sigh-
like lightning in snmmer.

Like rainbows that shiae
With a nrihl dreamy glimmef

la colosn dtTino—

The kind and pore hearted.

The tender, the trae.
From oar lore has departed

With scarce an adieu i
8* briefly, so brightly

la rirtae she shoM,
As Snooting sUra nightly

Thai blase and are gone.

ThB place of her slnmbat

Is holy to me.
And oft as I aamber

The kares of the trasb
Whoee branches in sorrovr

Bead over her vra.
I think of lo-monow

Aad silmtjy moaimi

The ftneweU is spoken.

The spirit sublime
The last ti<« baa brokea.

That bound li to timet
And bright ia lis dwelling

lie maasian of blisa—
How far, far ezoelling

The darkness of (hisi

Yet hearts still are beating.

And eyes stiU am wet->
Tme^ our joys are all fleetio^

Bat who can forget f
I know they most vanish

As vuions depart.
Bat oh, can this banish

The thorn froa my heart I

The eye of aflfoetion,

Itr tribute of tears
Sheds, with fond reeoUeotioa

Of life's happy years ;
And tho' vain be the aagaish

Indulged o'er the tomb.
Yet nature will languish

And shrink ftom its gloom.

ThoiM lips— their least motion

Was masic to me.
And, like Ught on the ocean.

Those eyee seem'd to be :
Are they mute and for ever ?

The spell will not break ;
Are they closed — most I never

Behold them awake ?

When distress was around me

Thy smiles were as balm.
That in misery found me,

Aad left me in calm t
Suocesa became dearer

When thou wnrt with ma,
AaA the elear sky grew deanr

When gas'd on with thee.

Thou art gone— and tho* reasec

My grief would disarm,
IfiBelthere*sasea«»

When grief has a charm ;
And *tis sweeter, far sweeter

To sit by thy graven
Than to follow Hope's mateor

Down time's hasty wava.

Ia darfcaass we Uid theo—
The earth for thy bed>-

The couch that we made diae
Is piuH d by thee dead i

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Omr efOB oonld not m*
The ghirj uekmdsd

Tkftt Opttfld OB IkM*

Thoa eaant apf, fot cpuil^

IUt«mtDtk«dMlr

But w* B^F nkMH—
So llainUfiM trail-*

Tbo joys witkovtBMHnm
To whioh tiMo ancoaik

Thei^ooiof pit— wo
Wkor* tMn «M lakaowB.

EFFECT OF CONSCIENCE.

On the SOth of Mawh, 1789, 360t was
carried to the accoant of the public, in
consequence of the foHowing note received
by the chancellor of the eichequer.

" Sir — ^You will herewith receire bank
notes to the amount of 3601 which is the
property of the nation, and which, as an
honest man, you wilt be so just as to apply
to the use of the state in such manner tnat
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."

9tmtiiotai

or

HENRY THE C^EAT.

Public Libel.

About 1605, Hewy IV. of France aU
tempting to enforoe some Kgulations re-
specting the annuities upon 3ie Hotel de
Ville, of Paris, several assemblies of the
citizens were held, in which Francis Mtron,
the pr6v6t des marehands, 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 vrarmly in their behalf;
the^ crowded about his house, in order to
defend him, but Mixon requested them to
retire, and not to render him really crimi-
nal. He represented that nothing injurious
was to be apprshended, for they bad a king
as great and wise, as he was beneficent and
just, who would not suffei himself to be
hurried Kwrmy by the instigations of evil
coansellors. Yet those whose conduct
Miroo had arraigned, endeavound to per-
suade Henry to pm^ him, and deprive
him of his office for dieobedient actions^

and seditious discourse. The king's an-
swer contained memorable expressions :—
** Authority does not always consist t:
carrying thims with a high hand : regard
must be paid to times, persons, and the
subjecUmatter. I have been ten years in
extinguishing civil discord, I dread its r^
vival, and Paris has cost me too much fot
me to risk its loss; in my opinion, it
would nnquestioaably 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 1 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 annuitfes,
which had occasioned the popular alarm."*

LiBELLOvs 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, tluit 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 vHth 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 r replied the wife, ** would
you bring me and your children to ruin?**
During Uiis dialogue, three officers of jus-
tice came in, and demanded the tax, and,
in default of payment, prepared to carry
away the furniture. The wile began a load

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lamentation ; at length the husband asked
ihem who ihey were .' " We belong to Ju*-
tice," said the officers : " How, to Justice I
replied the husband ; " they who belong to
Justice act in another manner; I do not
oelieve that you are wliat 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 disoute 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 aifront, « You are
fools 1 If any one has a rieht to take offence,
it is I, who have received more abuse than
any of you. I pardon the comedians from
my heart; tor 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 y the fishermen
ask a sum in the opposite «fxtreme : the one
bids up, and the other reduces the demand,
till they meet at a reasonable point, when
the bidder suddenly exclaims, ^^Iletl"
This practice seems to be borrowed from
the Dutch. The purchase is afterwards
retailed among the regular, or occasional
surrounding customeis.

LINES TO A BARREL ORGAN.
For the Table Book.

How niaaj thoaji^hts from thet I call.

Music*! hamblcst Tehiclo 1

From thj efimr»B of loands,

Constant in its dailj rounds.

Some sneh pleasnrs do I find

As when, bone npon the wind,

Tne well-known •• bewtlder'd eh;mis •

Plaintirelj recall those times,

(I-ongitnci lost in sorrow's shade,)

When, in some sequestered glada.

Their simple, stommering tongoes wonld try

Some beart-rooving melodj.—

Oldest nmsical iielight

Of my bojish da/s I the right

• UKtolla, Hist. d*Kenri ^V*

Dr sonnd of thoe would charm nj fmU
And make mf joj of heart compieto—
How thou luredst listeners
To thy erasy, yearning airs I—
Harmonious, grumbling Tolcaof t
Murm'ring sounds in small piOM,
Or screaming forth a shrill Mproa**
Mingled with the growling bass.
Fragments of some air I trace.
Stifled by the notes which cram il-'
Seatter'd ruins of the gamut I—
Sarcophagus of harmony 1
Orpheus* casket 1 guarded by
A swain who lires by what he earns
From the music which he chuns i
Erery note thou gir'st by tvnu^
Not i'indar*s lyre more raribty
Possers'd than thou 1 no c]oj*d satiety
Feel'st thou at thy perpetual feast
Of sound; nor weariness the least:
Thy task's perform'd with right goodwUL-
Thou art a melodious mill !
Notes, like grain, are dribbled in.
Thou grindMt them, and fiU'st the bin
Of melody with plenteous store.
Thy tunes are like the parrot's lor^
Nothing of them dost thou wot.
But rcpealest them by rote-
Curious, docile instrument!
To skilless touch obedient :
like a mine of richest ore.
Inexhaustible in stert.
Yielding at a child's eommaad
All thy wealth unto iu hand.
Harmonieon peripatetic I
What clue to notes so oft erratic
Hast thou, by which the ear may follow
Through thy Ubyrinthine hollow.
Which its own echo dost oonsum^
As stores derour their own fume.—
Mysterious fabric I eagt-Uke chest I
Behind whose gilded ban the Mut
Of unfledg'd melodies is hid
*Neath that braien coTerlid.—
In thy bondage-house of song.
Bound in braxen fetten strong.
Immortal harmonies do groan I
Doleful sounds their stifled, moan.
A Tulture preyi 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 toll
Is hopeless : their tormentor's claw
Turns the wheel (his will's their law)
Which all their joinU and members n«k%
Nsf er will his cruelty relax.—
Miniature in shape and sound
Of that grand instrument, which wnal
Old cathedral walls dodi send
IU pealing Totoa i whose tones do Urad
Tlie clangor of the trumpet's throM,
And tht nlvurstringcd lutew-

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16 what elf r than I oonpare thee N-
Purthcr epithet! TU spare thee.
BflMBt and deepifed thing.
To thj menorx ^ elwf .
Spite of all thj faalte, I own
I lore thj ■• old, fluailiar '* toM.

Gastov.

MINISTERIAL FAVOUR-
A gentleman who had been long attached
to cardinal Maiarine,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-

3uests, as they were founded on services
one 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 enrich^ the courtier at to little es-
licuse to the state.

DUDLEY OF PORTSMOUTH

** I'm a ooiko r

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 /)Aijriologist, as
his more erudite and bristling fraternity.
One evening, as he was preparinff his
fronts, an4 fitting his comb '* to a hair,"
two supposed gentlemen entered his shop
to be dressed; this being executed wiln
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 tide was on the counter ;
the rine was drawn in chalk; the money chink*
ed in tLe ear« and old Dudley mov<4 in the

circle of his orbit. "I'm a going! "-I'm a
going !— Im a going !*' were the only words
which kejpt time with his feet dunng the
space of nfty*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 ofi
his ffuard, and he exclaimed, ''That's not
fair!"— "Enough!" rejoined the sharpeis,
•* youVe lost the wager." They departed,
leaving him two pounds minus, and to this
day old Dudley is saluted by the appellee
tion of « I'm a going !"

j£BOJAOA.

ROYAL DECISION.
In the reign of George I. the sister of
judge Dormei beinff married to a gentlf^-
man who after wards kill&i a mau very
basely, the judge went to move the king
for a pardon. It was impossible that he
could ofier 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.

Btoffrapf)taiia.

REV. THOMAS COOKE.
To the Editor.

Sir— In reply to the inquiries of you:
correspondent G. J. D. at p. 136, 1 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 instance
for in the Appendix to the Dunciad we
find ** A list or 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

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Poets, an heroic Poem, by Thomas Cooke»
printed for J. Roberts, folio, 1725," is par-
ticularly mentioned. In book iu of the
Dunciady we have the foilowing line,—
• Cooke ibaU be Prior, ud CouHMm Swtft :**

to which the following note is appended:—

'* The man here specified that a thing
called Tke Battle of the PoeU in which
Philips and Welsted were the heroes, and
Swift and Pope utterly routed."

Cooke also published some ** malevolent
things in the British, London, and daily
juumals, 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."*

Aeain, in the testimonies of authors,
which precede the Donciad, we find the
following remark :—

" Mr. Thamoi Cooke^
** After much blemishing our author's
Homer, crieth out

■• But in \n other worln wUt benties ikiae^
While iweetest maeio dweOt in er'rj line I
These he adnir'd, on theee he stnmp'd his prwa%
And hade them lire f enlighten fntnre daje V*

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 youug 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 O. J. D.

It is presumed, however, that misfortune
at lengtn 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, fcc."

r have seen the poem entitled <<Tbe
Immortality of the Soul," mentioned by
O. 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 it 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 ovm hand, each having
the signature ''Thomas Cooke," on the
blank leaves at the commenoement 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,

! living you the liberty of extracting any
and all if you think proper) of the pieces
written on the interleaves: and, in the
mean time, I will do myself the pleasure of
selecting one from the number, for inser-
tion in the TaMe Book^ which will, at
least, prove that Mr. Cooke's animosity
vras of transient duration, and less virulent
than that of Pope.

It is possible thai at some future time I
may be able to enlarge upon this subject,
for the better information of your corres-
pondent ; and 1 beg, in the interim, to re-
mark that there is no doubt the Annual
Register, from about the year 1760 to
1763, or works of that description, will
fully satisfy his curiosity, and afford him
much more explanation relative to Mr.
Cooke than any communications fron)
existing descendants.

In Mr. Cooke's copy of "The Battle of
the PoeU,'' the lines before quoted run
thus:—

*• Bet in hie otter wMto whnt henntiee Mm
Whnt aweetnoM ebo dwells m ev*T7 linel
Thete ell ndmire— theee hnmg htn endlees pr^ee
And erown his temples with onfisdins bajs V*

I remain, sir.
Your obedient servant and subscriber.

Oj/on^ Jon. 99, 1827.

VERSES,

OcCSfflOMlD BT THB LAMEKTBO DgATM

OP Mr. ALEXAiinEii Pops.

Pon ! thongh thj pen has stmre with haedlesi nge

To make my name obnozions to the age.

While, dipped in gall, and tankVd with tke spleem

It dealt in taants ndievlons and mean.

Aiming to lessen what it eonld not reaeh.

And giving lieense to nngratd^l speech.

Still I forftre its enmitjr, nnd fed

Regrets I woold not stiie, nor oonceal ;

7or thongh thj temper, and Impenone son^

Needed, at times, svhjeetion and eontronl.

Then was a mitjestf— « march of sense ■ '

A proad display of Ars iotdUfsnee,

In many a line of that tmnscendent p««.

We nerer, perhape, may ciontemplatn agnnii ■

An eneiyy peenliarly its own.

And sweetness perfsedy befbiwnnkaown I

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Tho deigft, IhM migbtj MMtcr of the Ijrt I
X* aoecpt i»k»c jvsijo* mad ranofM iaspirB ;
JaaitM thatpioapli th« iriUuf maao to tell,
Neae ever wrote to Uifslj aad lo well—
RoaoiM tkat feob ao faion bard eaa fill
Tka vacMit ekair with half meh Attic tkiU,
Or leare bdliad to maaj proofe of taate.
As thoea fieh poeau dnlaete Be*er diagrac*d I

Fanwell. dear shade I aU sanitj fa o'er,
Siaea Pope has left as for a brighter shore*
Wheza aaiHier raf e^ a»r jealoasy, aor hate^
Caa vooee the little, aor offend the great ;
Where worldlf eoatasta are at once forfoC.
la the bright gtories of a happier lot t
Aad whna the dnaees of the Dnaeiad sea
Thj foaiaa erofW»'d with taaKntalitjl

Thomas Cookb<

DUKE OF YORK

Albany and Claeemce.

For the Tabie Book.

DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS.

Lord George Germain was of a reoiark-
ably amiable disposition ; and his domes-
tics lived with him rather as humble friends
•than menial servants. One day eoterinif
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 thevcame f Okl
John immediately replied, ** They are Mr«,
my lord, from our country-house/' — *' Very
well," rejoined his lordship. At thai in-
stant a carriage stopped at the door, and
lord George, turning round, asked what
coach it was ? ** Own" said honest John.
" And are the children in it ourt tooT
said his lordship, smiling. << MoMt eer
^ tatnfy, my lord, ' replied John, with the
utmost gravity, and immediatdy ran to lift
them out.

In the History of Scotland, there is a re«
mark which may be added to the account
of the dukes of York, at col. 103 ; vis.

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 themselves *' 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 ; ana from this country the sons of
the royal family of Scotland tcok the title
of duke of Albany:*' and sirce the union
of the two crowns, it has been found
amongst the royal titles of the dukes of
York.

Respcfcting the dukedom of Chrenee,
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 fiamaily, created his
third son, Lionel, by reason of his marriage
with the grandaughter of the late earl of
CiSart, duke of Clarence, being a word of a
liilber wund than the monosyllable ^ Clare.^

m.

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 ; ana her cold arm would have
felt a reyiving heat. I am rather a friend
to sprighiliness than to industry; I havs
often converted a neutral pronoun into a
man of talent : I have often amused my«elf
with reducing the provident ant to ind*
gence ; I never meet a post horse withou
giving him a blow ; to some animals I am
a friend, and many a puppy has yelped foi
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 ot
stockings, I ask for their owner. Not even
Lancaster has carried education so far as I
haye : I adopt always the system of inter
rogatories. I have already taught my hit
to ask questions of frtct ; and my poult r)
questions of chronology. With my trees 1
snare 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 neyer be more
than half as good as I am.

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ANSWER

TO THE PRECEDIMO*
A. tUenry tkuncim jov ti«w,
Kbowh to the noderaa onlf — W t
[ WM phjaiciaB to king William ;
When alnent, k« wonld mj,** lKnr->i]l I sn V*
Ib ■aeient dsys if I had lif'd, th« asp
Which poiaoa*d £nrpf s qneen, had been a— Wasp \
And the death-ooldneM of th* imperial arm
With life reriTiBf had afain been— Wano.
A friend to sprightlineee, that neater it
By endden poir*r I'to ehang'd into a— Wit.
The Taialj-piorident indaetriuns ant
With ernel eport I oft redaoe to— Want ;
Whene'er I meet with an nnlnckj hack,
I give the creature a tremendona— Whack
And many a time a pappj cries forhelpi
If I desert eapricbaslj tho— Whelp.
A friend to arehiteetnre, I tarn aU
(As qniek as ChaltTaham baildecs) into— WslL
I*m honest, for whene'er I ftnd some hose,
I seek the owner, lood exclaiming— Whose ?
Farther than Lancaster I edacate,
Mjr sjstem's always to bterrogate;
Alrsadj hare I taaght my rery hat
Qnestions ot fact to ask, aad cry oat— What ?
Qaestions of time my poaltry, for the hen
Cackies chronology, enqmring— When ?
My laaadry*s labour 1 diride with ashes s
It is with them the laundress scoon and— Washes:
Aad if an agly rent I find, the hole
Instantly yanishes, becoming— Whole.
In short, my merits are so bright to riew
How good soever yon may be, jast or true.
You caa bat halve my worth, for I am— tfoaftfo yea.
CheUenhoKU

he ingratiated himself with the king's
organist, who was so enraptured with Cock-
pen's wit and powers of music, that he re-
attested him to play on the organ before
le kine at divine senrice. His exquisite
■skill did not attract his majesty's notice,
till, at the dose 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 mei it was not mel" he cried,
and dropped upon his knees. '< You 1'
cried his majesty* in a rapture, " you could
Dever play it in your life — ^where's the
man? let ma 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 1" — ^ I
once danced too," said Cockpen, <* but that
was when I had land of my own to danct
on."— "Come with me," said Charles
taking him by the hand, " you shall dance
to Bt09e 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 churd-, under the
year 1736: —

" Samuel Baldwin, esq. sojourner in this
parish, was imiKMrted, without the Needles,
•am e^imonie^ May 20."

This was performed in consequence ol
an earnest wish the deceased had expressed,
a little before his dissolution, in order to
disappoint the uitention of his wife, who
, . , -^ . ,, ju u ., had repeatedly assured him, in their domes-

Uird of Cockpen, called by the nick-naming tic squabbles, (which were very frequent.)
fashion of ih^ times, " Blythe Cockpen.'^ that if she survived him, she wouldVevengle

her conjugal sufferings, by dancing on his
grave.

THE MERRY MONARCH,

AND "BLYTHE COCKPEN."

While Charles IL was sojourning in

Scotland, before the battle of Worcester,

his chief confidant and associate was the

He followed Charles to the Hague, and by
his skill in playing Scottish tunes, and his
sagadty ana wit, much delighted the merry
monarch. Charies's favourite air was
*' Brose and Butter;" it was played to
him when he went to bed, ana 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
ana incensed, he travelled to London;
but his mean garb not suiting the rich
doublets of court, be was not allowed to
approach the royal presence. At length.

ODD SIGNS.
A gentleman lately traTelling through
Grantham, in Lincolnshire, observed the
following lines under a sign-post, on which
was placed an inhabited bee-hive.

Two wondtors, Oraatham, aow are thiae.
The hif host spire, aad a IW'mg sigo.

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 reclininf
posture; underneath was the foUowitf
motto :—

Pray Sot-Poiit^b,

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ELYET BRIDGE, DURHAM.

The above eTi^ravm* is from a lilho-
i^raphic view^ pubU^hed in Durham in
1820 I it was designed by Mr, Bouet, a
^ery inpenions French genlleman, resident
*here, whose abilities as nii aitist are of
\ superior order.

Eket bridge consi^tg of nine or len
ifches, and was buHl by the excellent
bishop Pudsey, about the year 1170, It
Bras repaired in the time of bishop Fox,
who held the see ofDnrham frorn 1494 lo
1502, and ^ranfed an " indnlpence " to aU
who should contribute towards defraying
the fixpense ; an expedient frequently re-
HJrted to in Catholic times for I he forward-

ing of ^reat undertakings. T» was a^in
improved, by widening it lo iwice il»
breadth, in 1806*

Upon this bridt^e there were two chapels,
dedicated respectively fo St. Jamef? and
St* Andrew, one of which stood on the «iie
of the old house clone to the hndge,
at present inhabited by Mr. Adamson^ a
respectable vet ej^i nary surpeon ; ihe other
stood on the site of the new houses on ibt
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
bouses, somt: remainii of the old dmpe]

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were discovered : an arch was in a yery 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 oflSce of the
Durham Chronicle. The ground cells aie
miserable places : some figures, still visible
on many of the walls, as faces, ships, &c.
show 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 coa»
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 snlendid edifice, and so it should be,
considering that it cost the county 120,000iL

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 EveryDay Book, Heeg'
says, <«Thus after he had acted all the
miracles of a legend, he ended his scene in
the yeare 1170, not deserving that honour
confeii«d on his cell by the forenamed

bishop Pusar (Pudsey), who told him he
should be seven yeares blind before bis
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 de.ith.
But if good works be satisfactorie, then
died he not in debt for his sinnes, who re-
pay red 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*
bmrne, 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 bc«e*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 Hegg 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, witn 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 piinted by the late Mr.
Allan of Darlineton, from a manuscript
in the library of Corpus Christi College,
Oxford, and smce reprinted by Mr. Hogget
of Duiham, b the most conect one, and
from that the above extract is taken.

Bishop Pudaey'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 on
several trials at law, on the part of the suc-
ceed ing bishops, in order to ascertain theii
property.

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^arruit papis.

No. XI.

FFrom "Jack Drum's Entertainment,- a
Comedy, Author unknown, ICOl.]

The free humour of a Noble Houeeheeper.

JWtaM (a Kwifkty. I was not bora to be ay onMilo't
dradfc
To eboko aad otiao vp nj ploMare*! bmitb.
To poinn witb tbe Teooni'd cmres of thrift
My prirate tweet of life : onlj to icrapo
A benp of muck, to fatten and manara
Tbe barren rirtnet of mj progenj.
And make tbem epront *epite of their want of worth ;
No. I do wish my ftrli sboald wish me lire ;
Which few do wish that have a greedy sire.
Bat atill expect, aad fape witb hanfry lip.
When he'll fixe np his goaty stewardship.

FrUud. Then I wonder.
Yon not aspire anto tbe emineaoe
An.1 leigbt of pleasing life. To Co^irt, to Govrl—
Tbeir Imraith, there spread, there stick fai pomp.
Like a bright diamond in a Lady's biow.
There plant your fortaaes in the flownnf spnaf ,
And get the Snn before yoa of Respect
There trench yourself within tbe people's lore,
Aad glitter in the eye of glorious grace.
What's wealth without respect and mounted place ?
F9rtM»e. Worse aad worse!— I am not yet di^
traoght,
I long not to be stpiees'd with my own weight,
Kor hoist up all my sails to catch tbe wind
Of tbe drank reeling CommoBs. I labour aov
To bare an awful preseneoi aoT be feared*

Siaee who it fear*d still fean to be so feared.

I care not to be like tbe Horeb calf.

One day adored, aad next paabt all in pioeta.

Nor do I eary Polyphemiaa puffh,

Switsen* slept greatness. I adore tbe Sua,

Yet knre to Uto within a temperate* aone.

Let who will climb ambitious glibbery rounds,

Aad lean upon the mlgar's rotten lore,

1*11 Bot eorriTal him. The ?un will giye

At great a shadow to my trunk as his ;

Aad after death, like Chesamea bariag atoo^

In play, for Bishops some, for Knights, and Pawat.

We all together shall be tumbled up

Into oae bag.

Let buahM-caUa quiet rock my lift asleep ;

Aad, being dead, ray owa ground press my bones ;

Whilst tome old Beldame, hobbling o'er my graveb

May mumble (bus :

• Here lies a Kaigbt wbooe Moaey was his Slat a •*

[Ftom the <' Changes,'' a Comedy, by
James Shirley, 1632.]

Eseeee ofEpiihete^ enfeebUng to Poetry,
FrUmd. Matter Caperwit, before yoa read, pray tell

Rave your Tenet aay AdjectiTM ?

Caperwit. Adjectireel would you have a poem
without
A^ectiTet ? they're the flower, the gr^tce of aU our laa

guage.
A well-chosen Epithet doth giro new sonl
To fainting Poesy, and makes erery Terse
A Bride ! Wth AdjeetiTes we bait our Ij
When we do flab for GeaUewomen's lores,
Aad with their sweetness catch the aibbUiy ear
or amorous ladies ; with the rautic of
These raTishing nouns we charm the silken tribe.
And make the GaUaat melt with approheasioa
Of the rare Wont I will maintaia 't agaiaat
A bundle of Grammarians, in Poetry
Tbe SabstantiTe itself cannot lafrsM
Without its AdjeetiTe.

^n'eiid: But for all that.
Those words would sound more full, metUakt, that are

not
So larded ; aad if I might couasel yoa.
Yon should eompoee a Sonaet oleaa without 'em.
A row of stately SubstaatiTes would march
Like Switsers, and bear all the fields before 'em ;
Carry their weight ; shew fair, like Deeds Knroll'd ;
Not Writs, that are first made and after fill'd.
1 hence firet eame np tbe title of BUnk Verse ;^
You know. Sir, what Blank sigaifiet >~whea the
First framed, is tied with AdjeetiTes like points.
And could not hold together without wedges :
Hang *t, 'tis pedantio, Tulgar Poetry.
Let children, when they rersify, stick here
Aad there these piddling words for want of matter
Poets write Masculine Numbers.

fFrom 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
the latter. I give a few scraps of this
character, 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.]

DoggreU, the foolish Poet, deeerihed.

CMtr. — ^— the very Emblem of poverty aad poor
poetry. The feet are worse patched of his rhymes,
thaa of his stoekiags. If one liae forget ibelf, aad rua
out beyond hit elbow, while the aext keept at home
(like Mm), aad dares aot show bit head, h* ealls that
aaOde. • • •

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TUtitka. Kaj, they moeVed and Heetea at ua, as va
iai.c the Pealm the last Saadaj aiffht

CWfer. That wae that mirngTel Rhymer ; by thie
Bght he esTiea hti brother poet John StemboLi. be>
eanse be eaanot reach hU heiffhti. • • •

DoggreU (reciting hit own oerMi .) Th»» pnde doth
■till with beauty dwell.
And like the Baltie oeeaa swelL

Blade. Why the Baltic, Doggrell ?

boggnU, Why the Baltic I— this UU Mt to hare
read the Poetfc • • •

She looks like Kiobe on the movatain's top.

Cntter. That Nbbe, Doggnli, yoa hare ased worse
than FhoBbtts did. Not a dog looks sielaacholy bat
he's compared to Niche. He beat a Tillaiaoos Tapster
'tother day. to make him look like Niobe.

v/« Ju,

ANCIENT WAGGERY.
For the Table Book,
[From the " Pleasant ConceiU of old Hob-
son, the merry Londoner; full of hu-
mourous Discourses and merry Merri-
ments :— 1607."]
How MaUter Hoheon hung out a lantern^
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 lauternesl
Hang out your lantemes T* 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 lantemes and candle r 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 I Hang out
your lanterne and candle light!" which
Maister Hobson at last did, to his great
commendations, which cry of lanterne and
candle light U in right manner used to
this day.

How Maitter Hobson found out the Pffe-
etealer.
In Christmas Holy-dayes when Maister

Hobson's wife had many pyes in the oven,
one of his servants had stole one of them
out, and at the taueme 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 Y*
— « 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 whid:
means Maister Hobson knewe what was
become of the pye; for the poor fellowc
being drunke could not keepe his ownc
secretts.

• The oaetom of hanrnf ©at laaterae before lamps
r«ir# ia ose was earlier than qaeen Elisabeth s retcn.

THE FIRST VIOLET.

The spriaf is eome : the Yiolet's gone,

The fint-bom ehild of the early Ma i

With na she is bat a winter flower.

The snow on the hiUx cannot blast her bower—

And she lifts up her bead of dewy bine

To the youngest sky of the self-same hue.

Asd when the spring oomeo with her host
Of flowers— that flower beloved the most.
Shrinks from the crowd that may oonliise
Her hearenly odour and virgin hues.

Pluck the others but still remember
Their herald 6^t of dim December—
The morning star of all the flowers.
The pledge of daylight's lengthened hoars
Nor, midst the rosea, e*er fozyet
The Tiifin— virgin TioleL

YORKSHIRE SAYING.

For the Table Book.

** Let's begiv again like the Clerk
OF Beeston."

The clerk of Beeston, « small Tillage
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, weVe sot into a wrong metre,
let's begin again r 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

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TO CONTENTMENT.

spark of por« odestial fire,
Port of all tbo world's desira.
Paradise of eaitUj bliss,
HaaTSB of ths othar world and this {
Tell me, where th j eoart aUdest
Vfhnt thj f brioas chariot rides ?

11.

Edea taMw thee for a day.

Bat tboa woaldst no longer staj t

Gated for poor Adam's sia,

B J a flamnif ehemfaia ;

Tet thon lov'st that happj shade

Where th j heaateoos form was made.

And thj kiadaesB still remaias

To the woods, and flow'ry plains.

III.

Happ J Darid fonad thee there,
Sporting in the open air i
As h* led his flocks ahmg;
Feeding on his mral song t
Bat when eoorts aad honoars had
Snateh'd awa j the loTcly lad,
Thoa that there no room ooa'dst And.
Let him go and staid behind.

IV.

His wise son, with care and pain,
Searoh'd all natnre^s fraoM in Taint
For a while content to be,
8enfeh*d it roaad, bat fonnd not thee ;
Benaty own'd she knew thee not.
Plenty had thy name forgot t
llasic onlj did arer.
Once joa came and danc'd with her.*

PIETRE METASTASIO.

This celebrated Italian lyric and dra-
matic poet was born at Rome, in 1698, of
Kurents in humble life, whose names were
Trapassi. At ten years of age, he was dis*
tinguisbed by his talents as an in^owiia-'
tore. The eminent jarist, Gravina, who
amused himself with writing bad tragedies,
was walking near the Campus Martins one
summer*s evening, in company with the
abb^ Lorenzini, when they heard a sweet
and powerful Toice, modulating verses with
the greatest fluency to the measure of tbe

• From Duatoa's ** Atheaiaa Spoit.''

canto improvviio* On approaching the shop
of Trapassi, whence the melody proceedeo,
they were surprbed to see a lovely boy
pouring forth elegant verses on the persons
and objects which surrouuded 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 a
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-
tinned 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 or 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 nrst 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 io
Utica," " Ezio," and " Serairamide.'* 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 tcnui o*

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his priTate character, and avoidance of
court intrigue. Indefatigable as a poet, he
composed no le^ than twenty-six operas,
and eight oratorios, or sacred dramas, be-
sides cantatas, canxoni, sonneu, and minor
pieces to a great amount. The poetical
characteristics of Metastasio 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 hare 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 t>eheld. 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-

Kean languages, a large collection of his
ttters, 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 latties of
£uhion 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 oelebiated
Metastasio died in their house« after having
lived with the family sixty-five years more
or less. They set his poetry and- sing U
very finely, appearing to recollect his ooiv-
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
d^ath, no one was ever permitted to men-
tion it before him ; and nothing put him so
certainly out of Ikumour, 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 Marti nas
were these : that he had contentedly lived
half a century at Vienna, without ever even

* n^otrkl Biog. Diet Di<ft. of Miuieiant.

wbhing 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 £uhion 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 ruse, studied,
chatted, slept, and dined, at the same hours,
for fif^y years together, enjoying uninter-
rupted health, which probably gave him
that happy sweetness ot 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 oefore
him. No solicitation had ever prevailed on
him to dine firom home, nor haa 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 1 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

f>ains not to know, whether he had in his
atter days any one relation left in the
worid."

^ We have a life of Metastasio, chiefly de-
rived from his correspondence, by Dr
Burney.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

A DEATH-BED:

I* 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.
P(x)r 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 saw 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 leach out a hand to
Mrs. R. Speaking was impossible in that
mute 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 lather's friend, for all the life that I
can remember. I seem to have made
foolish friendships since. Those are the
friendships, whicti 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 bavins recourse for these
last fifty years. Yet there was the pride of
literature about him fiom that slender peru-
sal ; and moreover from his o£Bce of archive
keeper to your ancient city, in which he
must needs pick up some equivocal Latin ;
whidt, among his less literary friends as-
tumed the airs of a very pleasant pedantr}'.
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 Dbra-
rian, he gave it up with this eonsolatory
Kflection — *^ Jemmy," said he, " I do not
enow 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

< fiat bottoms of our foes coming over in
iarkness," 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 bis eyes would sparkle when
he came to the passage :

W«*U still iDAlM *an nia, mid we>U stiU iiimk« 'em

tweat.
Is spite of Uw dsril and Bnusels* Gasette 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 hopetul 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 famihr 1 You cannot
say good enough of poor R., and his poor
Wife. Oblige me, and the dead, if you
can.

Loiuibii, lOF^d. 1827. L.

LINES

voams

, Table Booc.
What ieek*st thoa on Um baathy l«a.

So freqaent and aloaa ?
Wkat in tba violet eaas*t thoa ssa ?

Wbat IB tha mossj stooa?

Yob svoBing %\f% emporpUd dja

Seama dearer to tbj gaaa
Than wealth or fund's enrapf ring name.

Or beaaty's 'witching blaie.

Go. miBgle in the Vbsj throng
That tread th' imperial mart ;

There listen to a sweeter song
Than ever thrill'd thy heart.

Ihe treasures of a thoosand lands
Shall poor their wealth before thee ;

y^riends proffer thee their eager hands
And enrioos fools adore thee.

Ay^I wiU seek that busy thi^g.

And tarn, with aching breast.
From scenes of tort'ring care and wrang^

To solitude and rest I

Fetruwry %h 1827, Amciii

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THE TABLE BOOK,

WAVERLEV.

It is & curious, yet well authenticated
Taci, that the novel of " Waverley " — the
first, and perhaps the best, of the prose
writing of sir Walter Scott — remained for
more 3)an ten years unpublished. So far
oack 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
anestablished, they must have gone to Lon-
don to find a publisher. The *^ magician "
himself, with all his powers, appears to have
oeen by no means over sangume as to the
iltimate success of u 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. •

a ^cuus artfet'd letter

FROM SWITZERLAND.

From the letter of an English artist, now
abroad, accompanied by marginal sketches
with the pen, addressed to a young relation,
[ am obligingly permitted to take the fol-
lowing—

EXTRACT,
Interlaken, Switzerland.
Sunday, Sept. 10, 1826.

1 arrived at Geneva, after a ride of a day
and a night, from Lyons, through a delight-
ful mountainous country. The steam-boat
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 Switierland,
and the most beautiful I have seen yet. It
s 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.

* Tht riires, Stfth Marek. inm ta **EdiBborgK paper.**

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 countij, which is enchanting —
rich woods and feitile 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 youns
men all m the same pedestrian costume. J
give you a sketch, tliat 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 straw
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 sunounded 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 should particularize the
celebrated *• Yung frow,*' which has never
been ascended.

Interlaken is surrounded by mountains

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ind Its scenery for sketches delicious. It houses are the prettiest things 1 ever safp :
is a Tillttge, built nearly all of wood ; the they are in this way.

"^m^-^^^-ss

but much more btautiful than I can show
in a small sketch. They are delicately
dean, • and mostly have fine Tines 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-
aerstand 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
sime 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
*8 nothing remarkable in the meL's dress.

onl^ that I observe on a Sunday they wear
white nightcaps : every man that I can see
now out of my window has one on ; and
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 oeautiful
valley of Somen, (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 map for these places, it will
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 oc
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 stillneir of th«
beauteous scenery.

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^rrtna 6refn iMarnagfiS^

THE BLACKSMITH.

On Friday, March 23, at Lancaster Lent
assizes 1827, before Mr. baron Hullock,
lame on the trial of an indictment against
Edward Gibbon Wakefield and William
Wakefield, (brothers,) Edward Thevenoi,
(their servant,) and Frances the wife of
Edward Wakefield, (father of the brothers,)
for conspiring by subtle stratagems and
false representations to take and carry away
Ellen Tamer, 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 Turner* re-
port : — viz.

In appearance this old man was made to
assume a superiority over his usual com*

Eaniomt. Somebody had dressed him in a
lack 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

quamtness of phraseology, and occasion-
ally convulsed the court with laughter.

He was interrogated both by Mr. Scarle**
and Mr. CoUman 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 I

Why I joined them, and then got the
lady's address, where she come fiorn, and
the party's 1 believe.

What did they do then?

Why, the gentleman wrote down the
names, and the lady gave way to it.

In ^t, 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 ?

0 yes, I joined their hands as man ana
wif&

Was that the whole of tlie 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 thinki 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 bargain^ many in
that way, and she was perfectly agreeable,
and made no objections.

Did you give them a certificate ?
Oh I 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
^¥akefie]d and Ellen Turner had been
duly married according to the form
required by the Scottish law. This
paper, except the names and dates«

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was a printed register, at the top of
which was a rudely executed wood-
cuty apparently of the royal arms ]

Did the gentleman and lady converse
freely with you?

O, yes ; he asked me what sort of wine
they bad in Linton's house, and I said they
had three kinds, with the best of Skumpine
(Champagne.) He asked me which 1 would
take, and I said Skumpiney and so and so ;
while they went into another room to dine,
I fiuiahed the wine, and then off I came. I
returned, and saw them still in the very
beat of comfortable spirits.

Mr. Scarlett. — We have done with you,
Laing.

Mr. Brvuohaii. — But my turn is to
come with you, my gentleman. What did
yoQ get ior this job besides the Shuti^ine/
Did you get money as well as ShurmpineP

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.
k 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?

0 yes, it is in the old common form.
What I 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-
, fol art ?

Upwards of forty-eight yean 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 wnat was your occupa-
tion before you took to this trade?

I followed many occupations

Were you not an ostler ?

No, 1 were not.

What else were you then?

Why, I was a merchant once.

That is a travelling vagrant pedlar, as 1
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 aUoge-
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
cleigyman ?

I do not say that, as it may be.

Answer me th« 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.
R0'esamined 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 own good old un regular
mode?

Yes ; I have been both in the courts ot
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 1 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.

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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 Talid marriage ?

Here the blacksmith's examination ter-
minated.

SPRING.

Oh, how delirhtfnl to tho lool of man.

How like » mofatinf tpirit oonct,

Panwag hia cheek, the breath of iafaat Spriaf I

Moniag awakeae ia the orieat t!kj

With parpler light, beaeath a eanopj

Of loTelj eloada, their edges tipped with gold {

Aad from hia palaee, like a deity,

Dartiog his lustroas eje from pole to pole.

The glorious ana oomes forth, the rernal skf

To walk rejoiciag. To the bitter aorth

Retire wild wiater'a foreea emel wiad»—

Aad griping f roeta— aad magaxiaes of saow^

\ad delaging tempests. O'er the moisteB*d fields

A. teader green is spread ; the bladed ^raas

Shoota foith exaberant ; th* awakeaiag trees,

rhawed hj the delicate atmoephere, pat forth

Expaadiag bads ; while, with melliflooaa throat,

rhe warm eballieace of iatemal joy.

The birds hymp forth a soag of gratitnde

To him who sheltered, whea the storms were decp^

Aad fed them throngh the wiater's cheerless glooaa.

Beside the garden path, the croens bow
Pats forth its head to woo the geaial breeae,
Aad finds the snowdrop, hardier riaitaat.
Already baskiag ia the solar ray.
Upoa the brook the wateiHjreaees float
)fore greealy, and (he bordenag reeds exalt
Higher their speary sammits. Joyously,
Prom stoae to stone, the oasel flits along.
Startling the linnet from the hawthora bough ;
While oo the elm-tree, ovenhadowiag deep
The low-roefed cottage white, the blackbird site
Cheerily hymaiag the awakeaed year.

Tarn to the ocean— how the seeae b changed .
Behold the small wares melt apoa the shore
With ehasteaed mnrmnr I Baoyaatly on high
The seargalls ride, weaving a sportive dance.
And taraiag to the saa their saowy plumes.
With shrilly pipe, from headlaad or from cape.
Emerge the line of plovers, o'er the saads
Fastsweepiag; while to ialaad marsh the hern.
With andulating wing scarce visible.
Par up the axure concave journies on !
Upon the sapphire deep, its sails unfurl'd.
Tardily glides along the fisher's boat.
Its shadow moving o'er the moveless tide ;
The bright wave flashes from the rower's oar,
Glittenag ta the sua, at measared iatervals ;
Aad, easuaUy borae, the fisher's voice.
Floats Bolemnly aloag the watery waste;
He shepherd boy. eaveloped in his plaid,
Oa the greea oaak, with blooaiiag furseo'ertopped,
tiateas. aaa aaswen with responsive aota.

JAMES CHAMBBRS.

This unfortunate being, well known by
the designation of <* the poor poet,^ was
bom 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 fiimily
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
lifel 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 an idea
that he had suffered disappointment in the
tenJer 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 decent grammarian,
and had even acquired a smattering oi
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 of
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, hr
would repeat moat of his pieces by hwi

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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 <* Ha?erhill/' thus notices
him:—

Aa napleu outease, on whoM natal daf
No star propttioos beam'd a kindl jr nj.
Bj aoflne maligaant io£iimeo doom'd to roam
The world*! wide drearj wa«te, aad kaow no*1iome.
Yet heaT*B to cheer him as lie paat*d alon;,
Infu'd m life's lonr cap the sweeU of aong.
Upon hie ooneh of straw, or bed of hay.
The poetaster taa'd the aeroHie lap t
On him an humblb mnse her favours shed.
And nifhtlj musings eam*d his dailjr bread.
Meek, naassnming, modest shade ! forg ito
This frail attempt to make thj memory live.
MittstreU adsen I — to me thy fate*t unknown ;
Siaoi last I saw you, many a year has flown.
Full oft has summer poured her fervid beams.
And wintei's iey breath eongeal'd the streams.
Peiiiaps, lorn wretch I unfriended and alone
In hovel vile, thou gav*st thy final groan 1
Clos'd the Uear'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 raiment hangs in Utters ;

No warm garment to defend t
O'et my fle»h the chill snow scatters ,

No snag . .^mal friend!

About four years before his death, while
sojourning in Woodbridge, sleeping in a
miserable 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,
v> 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—*
"Koogst Belial's sons of contrntion and strife,
To breathe out the transient remains of my lifel

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 ^ruel, 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
hacl 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 k^
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 Dr A VATIC Sketch.
For the Table Book
Characters — ^Mr. Greenfat, Mrs. Greenfat,
Masters Peter and Humphrey Greenfat,
Misses Theodosia and Arabella Gieen^
fat, and Mr. John Eelskin.

• The Ipewicb Journal, January 31, 18^7.

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Seen diepereedly in various parte of the
gardene.

Matter 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 barn 1

MUe Arabella, Mamma, is that the lady
mayoress, with the oetridge feathers, and
the pink satin gown ?

Mre. Green/at. No, my loTe; that's
Miss Biddy Wilkins, of Gutter-lane ! (2b
a waiter.) You mdc fellow, you've trod on
my dress, and your nasty foot has torn off
one of my flounces.

MUe Theodoeia. John, (to Mr, Eehkin^^
how Tery pretty that hilluminated walk
M>oks. Dear me ! do you see the fountain ?
How vastly reviving this hot weather^
isn't it ?

Mr. EeUMn. Ah, my beloved Theo-
dosia 1 how should I notice the beauties of
the scene in your company — ^when your
eyes are brighter than the lamp, and your
voice is sweeter than the music 7 In vain
the fiddlers fiddle, and the singers sin^^, I
can hear nothing — listen to nothing — but
mj adorable Theodosia !

Maeter Humphrey, La, papa, what's that
funny round place, with flags on the top,
and ballad women and men with cocked
hats inside ?

Mr. Green/at. That's the Hawkeetraw.

Mre. Greenfat. Hush, my dear; it's
vulgar to talk loud. Dosee, my love, don't
tiang so on Mr. John's arm, you'll quite
fatigue him. That's Miss Tunstall— Miss
TuDstall's going to sing. Now, my pretty
Peter, don t talk so fast.

Miss Arabella. Does that lady sing in
French, mamma ?

Mre. Greenfat. No, child, it's a eenthe^
mental air, and they never have no mean*
mg?

Miee Tkeodoeia. That's the overthnre to
Fried^hote ; Eelskin, do you like it ?

Mr. Eehkin. On your piano I should.
But shall I 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.
( Dell f inge.) What's that for ?

Mr. EeUkin. That's for the fant-toe-
theenif and the balancmg man.

Mr. Green/at. Well then, let's go and
.ook at Mr. Fant'toe-eheeni.

Mre. Greenfat. Oh, goodness, how I'm
squeedged. Pray don't push so, sir — I'm
astonished at your rudeness, mam 1 You've

trod on my com, and lamed me for the
evening 1

Mr. Greenfat. Sir, how dare you sufiei
your wife to tread on my wife's toes ?

Maeter Peter. My stars, sister, he's got
a bagginette on his nose 1

Mre. Greenfat. Mr. John, will you put
little Humpliy on your shoulder, and
show him Xhe fant-okiee-ne /

Master Humpkrey. I can see now,
mamma ; there's I^inch and Judy, mam-
ma 1 Ohf my ! how well they do dance !

Mr. Greenfat. 1 can see this in the streets
for nothing.

Mre. Greenfat. Yes, Mr Greenfat, but
not in such good company 1

Mr. Eelekin. This, my beautiful Ilieo-
dosia, is \he musical temple ; it's very ele-
gant—only it never plays. Them paints
ings on the walls were painted by Mungo
Parke and Hingo Jones ; the arckateekture
of this room is considered very fine !

Maeter Peter. Oh, I'm so hot. (Bell
ringe.)

Mr. EeUktn. That's for the kyder-kaw-
lice. 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 1 Why, we paid three and six-
pence a head at the door.

Mr. Eelekin. Admission to the gallery
is kextra.

Mr. Greenfat. Downright robbery !— I
won't pay a fisirthing more.

Miee Arabella. See, mamma, water and
fire at once ! — how droll !

Mre. Greenfat. Pray be kind enough to
take off your hat, sir ; my little boy can't
see a bit. Humphy, my dear, hold fiist 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. EeUkin. That's the female juggler,
sir.

Miee Tkeodoeia. Are those real knives,
do you think, John ?

Mr. EeUkin. 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 1

Mre. Greenfat. Can you see, Peter?—
Bella, my love, can you see? Mr. John,
do you take care of Dosee ? Well, I pur^
teet I never saw any thing half so wonder-
ful : did you, Mr. Ureenfat f

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THE TABLE BOOK.

Mr Greenfat, Never : I wonder when it
will be over ?

Mr. EeUkln. We*d better not go away ;
the ballet will begin presently, and Im
sure you'll like the dancing, Miss, for, ex-
cepting the fFettrhis, and your own sweet
self, 1 neTer saw better dancing.

MUt Theodona. Yes, I loves dancing ;
and at the lust Cripplegate ball, the master
of the ceremonies paid me several compli-
ments.

Afw* Arabella. Why do all the dancers
wear plaids, mamma ?

Afr*. Green/at. 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. EeUkin. 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.
Yondefs 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 1

Mr. EeUkin. This way, my angel ; the
concert has i-ecommenced.

Mm Theodona. Oh, that's Charles Tay-
lor; I likes his singing ; he*s such a merry
fellow : do hancore him, John.

Mre. Greenfat. Dosee, my dear, you're
too bold ; it was a very imfntrent song : I
declare I'm quite ashamed of you I

Mr. Greenfat. Never mince matters;
always speak your mind, girl.

Mr. EeUkin. The fire-works come neit.
Suppose we get nearer the Moorish tower,
auci 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. Greettfat. Is there much smoke,
Mr. John ? — Do they fire many cannons ?
—I hates cannons — and smoke makes me
cough. {Bell ring*.) Run, run, my dears —
Humphy, Peter, Bella, ran 1 Mr. Greenfat,
run, or we shall be too late ! Eelskin and
Dosee are a mile afore us I What's that
red lights Oh, we shall all be burnt 1
What noise is that? — Oh, it's the bomb in
the Park !— We shall all be burnt 1

Mr. Greenfat. Nonsense, woman, don't
lighten the children 1

MUe Theodoeia. Now you're sure the

rockets won't fall on my new pink bonnet.
Dor 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. EeUkin. 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 itjpretty. Miss ?

Miu T^odoeia. Oh, delightful ! — Does
he never break his neck ?

Mr. EeUkin. 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?

Mue Theodoeza. Is this a//?~-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.
Mus Arabella. Mamma, I want som^
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 1 what, the devil,
call this a dish of beef? — It don't weigh
three ounces 1 Bring half a gallon of stout,
and plenty of bread. Can't we have some
water for the children ?

Mr. EeUkin. 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 dUy my dear 1

Mr. Greenfat. Past two o'clock ! — Shame,
ful 1— Waiter, bring the bill. Twelve shil-
lings and eightpence — abominable 1 —
Charge a shilling a pot for stout — mon-
strous 1 Well, no matter ; we'll walk home.
Come along.

Master Peter. Mamma, I*m so tired.
Mus Arabella. Mamma, my legs ache
so.

Master Humphrey. Papa, I wish you'd
carry me.

Mr. Greenfat Come along^t wil' b€
five o'clock before we get home 1

\ Exeunt omnet
U

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THE TABLE BOOK.

TO MY TEA-KETTLE.

TO MY TEA-POT.

For the Table Book.

For the Table Book.

1.

For muy » ▼*»• inapired bjr te«,

Mt Ksmc kt thb trilmta flow,
Thy ebarms to bUaon,

Tliy faoe ba frrajm.

1.
Mt Tea-pot f while thy lips pour icrth

ini pour forth my rhymes far Ami
Don Jttaa*s Tane is grose, they say ;
But I will pea ayrocer lay.

9.
Let othon boast th« madd'ttiof bowl
That num bnt to tiak tb« loiil.
Thou art tbe Baeebos that alona

IwiahtofoUowt
Fran thM I tipple HeliooB,
M/botApolloI

9.

Some day he*il be ftowrii eat for it -
And brew my Teofof-oeieat

8.

For whan the wind would gau nine ear.

l*hoa dag'ft the fastei^
Aa if thoo wert reaolY'd to oheer

Thy lonely master.

8.

After fatigue, how dear to me
The maid who suits me to a T,

Aad makes the water bnbbU .
From her red hand whea I reeeiTO

At T. L. no trouble.

4.

And io fhot doat s those brasea leap
Vent no deeoit, like hnmaa toafnes r
That honest breath was ae?er known

Ami for thy feelings-aU mnstown
That none are warmer.

6.
Bat lata, another eye and ear
Woald mark thy form, thy mosio heir :
Alas t how soon oar pleasures fly.

RetnmtairBeverl

That ear u deaf— that friendly eye

IscWdforererl

8.
Be thoB then, bow, my friead, my guide.
Aad hamming wisdom by my side.
Teach me so patienUy to bear

That they may end, like thme. in air,
Aad turn to babbles.

4.
I scorn the hop, disdain the melt,
I hate Bolatiotts sweet aad salt.

Iqjnrioos I Tote 'em ;
For tea my faithful palate yearns :
Thus— thoogh my foaey never turns.

It always is te»4o(wa/

flw
Yet some assura me whilst I sip,
That thou hast stoin'd thy silTer fip
With sad adulterations-

That quickly cause the quick to go»

And join their dead reUtioc9.
6.
Anat Malaprop now drinks noyeau
laetead of Tea, and well I kaow

That she prefers it greaOy :
She says, •* Alasl I giro np Tea,
There's been so much adultery

Among the grocers lately r*

7.

Unhurt ; aad, when I fame with iff.

And near me lingers.
Let \^m stiU handle me with ease
Nor bum his flagers.

7.
She wans me of Teapdealers* trioks-o
Those doable-dealiag men, who mis

Tis bad to sip-aad yet to give
Up sipping^s wone i we caaaot lire

** Nee nae Tea. neo eum reo.**

8.
Oi may my memory, like thy fwat.
When I am eold, eadure the brunt
Of Titriol CBry*s keen mvaolts,
Aad shine the brighter.

Appear the lighter.

Sam Sam's Sov

8.
Yet atiU, teaaeioos of my Tea,
I thiak the gioeerk send it me

QuiU pure, ('tis what they call so.)
Heedless of waniags. stiU 1 get
«TeaTiweBtedie,et

Tea deeedeate,** also*

Sam Sam*8 8o«

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STJIATFOED UPUN A\OS CtlUKCli

From % sepia drav^irvg, obligingly com-
tsunicaled by J, S, J*^ ihe reader is presented
mih tbis Tfiew of a church, " hallowed by
being the sepukbral enclosure of the re-
mains of the immortal Shakspeare." It
exempliBes the two distinct stylt^s, the
early pom led and that of the fourteenth
"entury. The tower is of the first con-
•tmction; the windows of the transepts
dus5es8 a pfeeminent and profiise diapliiy
of the mullions and tracery charactensiic
of the latter periods*

• Mf» Cftiter»m tlx« Oeutlcinjui, Mifizine, IS 16.

Thia structure is spiicbtis and handsome
and was fcirmeriy collegiate, and dedicated
10 the Holy Trinity. A row of limes
trained so as to form an arched avenuq
form an approach to the great door. A
representation of a portion of this pl<j.,
entrance is in an rn^ravins: of the church
in the " Gentleman's Magazine" for IfiOT

Another opportunity will occur for rcia
tin^ parlicniara respflcling the venerabl*
edifice^ and the illnatrious bard, whose birth
and burial at Stratford upon Avon confef
on the town imptrishiible fame.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

No. XII.
[From the "Brazen Age," an Historical
Play, by Thomas Heywood, 1613.]

Venmi eowrts Adonii,
Ftnia. Why doth Adonis fljr the Qaeen of love.

And thiiii this ivorj firdle of mjr arms ?

To be thus searTd the dreadfal Qod of War
I Wovld gire me conquered kiBKdomi. For a kiss,
I Bat half like this, I eoaU command the Snn
• Rise *f«re Us honr, to bed before his time ;
I And, being lore-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 ehrjstal glasses I maj see

M7 beauty that pharms Gods, makes Men amased

And stown*d with wonder. Doth this roseat pillow

Offend my Lore ?

With my white fingers will I dap thy cheek ;

Whisper a thonsaad pleasures b thy ear.
Adonii, Madam, yon are not modest. I affect

The nasecn beanty that adorns the mind ;

This looseness makes yon fool in Adon's eye.

If yon will tempt me, let ma in yoar face

Read blnsfnlness and fear ; a modest fear

Would make yonr cheek seem much more beautifuL
Feaas. wert tton made of stone,

I haTaheat to melt thee : I am Queen of Lov«.

There is no practiTe art of dalliance

Of whioh I am not mistress, and can uce.

I hare kiieee that can murder unkind words.

And strangle hati«d that the gall sends forth t

Tonchos to raise thee, were thy spirits half dead ;

Words that can pour affection down thy ears.

Lore mel thou can*st not chuse ; thou shalt not chusa.
AittnU. Madam, you woo not weU. Men coret not

These proffnr'd pleasures, but lore sweets denied.

Theee prostituted pleasures surfeit still ;

Where's foar. jr doubt, men sue with best good wilL
Fm«f . Tbon canst instruct the Queen of Love in
lore.

Thou shalt not, Adoa, take me by the hand ;

Yet, if thou needs will force me, take my palm.

ril frown OB him ; alas I my brow's so smooth.

It will not bear a wrinkle.— Hie thee hence

Unto the chace, and leare me : but not yet :
1*11 sleep this night upon Endymion's oank.

On which the 8wain was courted by the Moon.

Dare not to come ; thou art in our disgrace 1
Yet if thou eome. 1 can afford thee plaoa

Vfd,

PhwhvMJeerf Vulcan,
Good morrow, Phoebus; what*s the aewa
abroad ?-
For thou Bee*st all tUngs in the world are done.
Men net by day-light, or the sight of sun.

Fkah. Sometime I cast my eye upon the aea*
To see the tumbling seal or porpoise play.
Tkave see I merchants trading, and their sails
Big4)e11ied wiih (be wind ; sea fights sometimes
Rise with their sntoae- thick clouds to dark my 1
•oaeCamM I Us ay tace ^p n tne earth.

With my warm ferrour to give metals, trees.

Herbs, plants and flowers, life. Here 10 gardens walk

Loose Ladies with their Lovers arm m arm.

Yonder the laboring Plowman drires his team.

Further I may beheld main battles pitoht;

And whom I favonr most (by the wind's help)

I can asnst with my transparent rays.

Here spy I cattle feeding; foresU there

Stored with wild bensts ; here shepherds with their

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

Vid. Thrice happy Phmbus,
That, whilst poor Vulcan is confin'd to Lemnos,
Bast every day these plcasunss. What news clue ?

Phah, No Emperor walks forth, but I see his state \
Nor sports, but I his pastimes can behold.
I see all ooronaiioBS, funerals.
Marts, fairs, assemblies, pageants, sights and showi.
No hunting, but I better ase the chace
Than they that rouse the game. What see I not ?
Th«re*s not a window, but my beams break in ;
No chink or oraany, but my rays pierce through ;
And there I eee, O Vulcan, wondrous things:
Things that thyself, nor any Qod besidea.
Would give bdief to.
And, shaU I Uu\ thee. Vulcan, *tother day
What I beheld V-I saw the great God Mar»«

Tu/. God Mars—

Fhmh, As I was peeping through a e raany, a>bed'«

V^. Abed I with whom?— wme pretty Waneh, I
warrant

Tkmh. She was a pretty Wench.

Vfd. Tell m^ good Phari>us,
That, when I meet him, I may flout God Mars |
Tell me, but tell me truly, on thy life.

PA«6. Not to dissemble. Vulcan, 'twas thy Wife I

The Peert of Greece go in mteet of
Hercule»y and find him in woman e weedi,
epinning with Omphale.

Jtuon. Our business was to Theban Hercules.
*Twas told us, he remainM with Omphale,
The Theban Queen.

Tehmon, Speak, which is Omphale ? or whieh Al
oides?

PottuM, Lady, our purpose was to Hercules ;
Shew us the man.

OmphaU, Behold him here.

Atma. Where*

OmphaU. There, at his task.

Janm. Alas, this Hercules I
This is some base eChminata Groom, not he
That with his puissance frighted all the eartK

HemUt. Hath Jason, Nestor, Castor, TelaoM^
Atreus, Pollux, all forgot their friend ?
We are the man.

Joton. Woman, we knonr thee not :
We eame to seek the Jove bom Hercules,
That in his cradle strangled Juno's snakes.
And tfiumph'd in the brave Olympio
He that the Cleoneaa Hon slew.

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THE TABLE BOOK

Th* Brinumtlkiu boar, the bull of MarfttLoo,
T)m Leneaa hjrdn, and the wingipd hart

TeloaM. W» wonld fee the Thebaa
That Caeu deir, Boairis sacrificed,
Aad to hii horaet hurFd item Diomed
To be deroored.

Pottw. That freed Henone
From the aea irhale, aad after raaneVd TiOf ,
And with hie own hand elew Laomedon.

Nntor. He bj whom Dereilae aad Albion fell i
He that CBealia aad Betrida won.

.^irew. That moastmaa Geryoa with hb three haaii
Taaqnisht,
With Liana, liehae that ninrpt in Thebe^
And captired there hie beanteona Mefara.

PoUm. That Herenles b/ whom the CenUnn feU,
Great Aehelona, the Stjmi^alidea,
And the Cremona giaata t where ii he ?

refamoa. That trait'rou Nesens with a ahalt trana.
fizt.
Strangled Anthem, pnrged Angena* ttaUi^
Won the bright applet of th* Heeperidea.

Jaum. He that the Amaaonian baldriek warn i
That Acheloos with hb elnb anbdned,
Aad won from him the Pride of Caledoa,
Fair Deianeira, that now movma in Thebea
For abacnee of the noble Heroalaa I

Atreus. To bin we came ; bat, rinee he IiTca not
here.
Come, Lorda; we will return theae pcasenta back
(Into the oonataat Ladj, whence thej camob

Hereuiet. Stajr, Lorda~

Joaoa. 'Mongat women ?•-;•

Hirtmitt. For that Thebaa*a aake.
Whom yon profeaa to lore, and came to aeek.
Abide awhile ; aad b j mjr lore to Greece,
I'll briag before 70a that loot Hercnloa,
For whom jon came to eaqnira.

Tefaawa. It works, it worka^

HmremUs. How hare I loot m}«ekf I
Did we all this ? Where is that spirit become^
That waa in ua ? no marrel, Herealea,
That thoa be*st atrange to them, that thna disguised
Art to thjself nnkaown t— hence widi this diataff,
Aad baae effsminate eharea : hence, womanish tirea :
Aad let me once more be myaelf again.
Tocr paidcm, Omphale I

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
Meleaeer, as he is wasting away by the
operation of the fatal brand, administered
tq him by his wretched Mother.

Uj flame encreaaeth atiU— Ob father (Znena |
And 70a Althea, whom I wonld call Mother,
Bnt that my genina prompta me thon'rt nakind t
And yet famffttt I

What is the boasted ** Forgive me, but
forgive me 1'' of the dying wife of Shore in
liowe, compared with these three little
words?

C.L.

Copograp^p.

ST. MARGARETS AT CDFF.
For the Table Book,

— Stand atiU. Howfearfnl
Aad diasj *tia to eaat one's ejea so low I
The erowB aad chongha, that wing the midway air
Show acaree ao groaa aa beeQee : half wa j down
Hanga one that gathers aamphire ; dreadful trade I
Methiaka he aeema no bigger thaa hia head :
The fiahermea that walk npoa the beach
Appear like mice; aad joa tall aachoring bark,
Diminish'd to her eoek t her cock, a baoj,
Alauet too email for eight : the mnrmnring anrga,
That on the nnanmber'd idle pebblea chafea,
Caaaot be heard ao high.—

SHAKaPKAai.

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 iair 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 ftur 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. Tlie
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 beK, 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 oell every evening
at eight o'clock, when it should be dark
at that hour

The cliffi 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 ih larger than the swan's, and of a
pale green, spotted with brown ; it makes
Its appearance in May, and, choosing thf
most inaccessible part of the precipice, de-
posits its eggs, two in number, m hoiet.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

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 pnrent, carried to the
^ea, and abandoned to its own resources,

I which nature amply supplies means to em-
ploy, in the myriads ot mackerel fry that
at that season colour the suiface of the deep
with a beautiful pale green and silver.

I This aquatic wanderer is said to confine its
visit to the South Foreland and the seven

I clifis 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 eiclusively gathered samphire, broke
his neck in 1823. Habit had rendered the
highest and most difficult parts of these
awful precipices as familiar to this man as
ehe level below. Where the overhanging
rock impeded his course, a rope, fastened
to a peg driven into a cliff above, served
him to swing iiimself from one projection
to another : in one of these dangerous at-
tempts this fiutening 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 kins 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-WEED
Picked up after a SToaar.

Exotie I from tba soil no tiller plovghs.
Bare the nide surge :— freeh stripling from a g r:T»
Above whose tops the wild 8eft>iDonsten rore ,

— ^Hnve not the genii hnrbonr'd in thjr bongfasi,

Thon filmjr pieee of wonder I — hare not thoee
Who still the tempest, for th j reaene stroTe^
And stranded thee thus fair, the might to prore

Of spirits, that the caves of ocean hoojie >

How else, from eaptnre of the giaat^sprajr,
Ha^^free eaeapest thon, slight ocean-flower?

—As if Araehne wove, thns fisnltleas lay
The fnll-derelop*d forms of fairy>bower ;

—Who that beholds thee thns, nor with dismay
Reoalla thee straggling thro* the storm's dark hour I*

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 doge 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 lank
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
be 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 Tranalations from SchiUer.

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THE^TABLB^BOOK.

THE LADY AND THE TROUBADOUIU

For the Table Book.

Kmncudtk daQgkter of Jaoqun d« Toarnajr* Lord of Cnntoa, m ProTmon, booomuig miiwnwi of »
Tiovbadoor, bj uum Eajpiilbeit d« ICarnef, who was bound bj a tow to repair to tba Camp of the Cra>
eadere ia Paloatine, beeoafht him on the era of his departnn to soAr her to aeeoaipaaj hia i da hlamef
at Snt reeplatelj refosed ; bat at leaf th. orereoiiM hj her alfeetioBate soUeatatioas* aeeented, aad was
)omed hf her the same aight. after her flight ham her father's ehaalel, ia Ihe garb of a gaild brothei of
*ha ji^ease scieaaab

UHaoviQVS Ds PouTAnxaa ;
•

Enguilbert ! oh En^ilbert, 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 gUnrf be.

If thou lov'st me, and retum'st to find a tomb and dust for wte?

Look on me Enguilbert, for I have lost the shame

That should have stayed these tears and prayers firom one of Toumay's name :
^-Look on me, my own bright-eyed Lo?e— oh wih tboo leave roe— say
To droop as sunless flowers do, ladung thee— >light oi" my day ?

Oh say that I may wend with thee— 1*11 doff my woman's 'tire,
Sling my Father's sword unto my side, and o'er my back my lyre x
ril roam with thee a Troubadour, by day — ^by night, thy bride--
—Speak Enguilbert— say yet, or see my heart break if denied.

Oh shouldst fhou 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 ! the tear is in thine eye ;
Thou wilt not— can'st not leave me like the widowed dove to die .
..lio^no^thine arm is round me — ^that kiss on my hot brow
Spoke thy assent, my bridegroom love,— tc^ are one/ot ever now.

J.J. K.

THE GOLDEN TOOTH. Two years afterwards, Ingosteienis, an-

T 4fr/vo •• ^ ^^^^^A ♦Ko* o Q:io«;on ®*^^^ Icamcd man, wrote against the

In 1593. it was reported that a ^lleslan . •„• „ .»k:^k n.,ii»I;i i. j • .l-

X^I:£ZS^etnr'"' "° "* gi«.man.o,le.^n. and ..udite dLr-

In 1595. H°"""!'je"*=:f^7f "f «!"* Utevhw, . very learned man, compiled

m Ihe amTemty of H« ^,^'',7°^. ."^* all that had been ^d «Utire to this tSoth,

history of .b« goWen tooth, ^e »a.d " ^ ,„^.„j„^ ^^ ^^^

«a» partly a natural eyeo^aa^^d^H^^^^^^ jj^^yJ ^^ ^,j V

taciUou«,and thatthe AlmiRhlY hadwntit ,^^ ^^»j ^ . » po^erity, but

toUuach,M,to con^le the Chnstums for , ,^^, ^^^ tooth was gold-a^'gold-

lb«r persecution by the TurU J'^i^^ examined it, and found it a natural

aaJSJfLSItaS-"*"^ tooth artificially gSt.

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LE REVENANT.

* Tbeiv sr» but two elaues of peraons in the world"
thoM wbo are hanged, nod those who are not
hADfed : and it hai been m j 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, (Aprily 1827.) It is scarcely
possible to abridge or extract from it, and
be just to its writer. Perhaps the following
specimen may induce curiosily 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 Bat«on'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; 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 mercefs 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 1 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
New^te.

•*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 — fortwentv 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'&
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 beeun, 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 — 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 distingruished — * If there was any
counsel appeared for the prosecution V 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-exaroin<e
upon — I knew that well enough — though J

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488 thank fill for the interest he seemed to
Mke in my case. The judge then told me,
1 thought more gravely than he had spoken
oefore— ' That it was time for me to speak
m my defence, if I had any thing to say.*
1 had nothing to say. I thought one mo-
ment to drop down upon my knees, and beg
for mercy ; nut, 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 havd as I could ; and
yet — with all I could do^I could not keep
my thoughts from wandering! Fur the
sight of the court— iall 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— i
seemed as if the wnole trial were a dream,
and not a thing in earnest 1 The barristers
sat round the table, silent, but utterly un-
concerned, and two were looking over
their bnefs, 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 ht 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
lake 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 1 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 sulk 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 the 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 dl the while, put his hand quickly
jpon my shoulder, in an under voice, tell-
mg me, to 'Come along!' Goiiir down
he Itall steps, two other officers met me;

and, placing me betwetn them, without
saying a word, hurried me aeross the yard
in the direction back to the pristfH. At
the door of the court closed behind us, t
saw the judge fold up his papers, and the
jury being sworn in the next case. Two
otiier 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*
glaryl'

'* 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 coinplain
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, * ut 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 even to the
secretary of state ! My heait 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 hiilure 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 infi&my
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-<«4he would have oeen
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 impiessioi

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of the sadness of the reality. It was six
days afler my first apprehension, when
Elizabeth Clare came, iur the last time, to
visit me in prison ! In only these short
iix days her beauty, health, strength — all
were gone ; years upon years of toil and
iickness 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 eiTort 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 be 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-
mg of execution, though or 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-
ing—for the daylight never entered here : I
heard the quick tolling of the bell, and the
deep voice of the chaplain reading as be
walked before us —

* ) am the resurrection and the life, saith
the Lord; he that believeth iu tne,
though he were dead, shall live. Ad42

thcueh aftei my skin worms destro;
this body, yet in my flesh shall I sec
Godr

" 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 1 I felt the
transition from these dim, close, h9t, 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
stoiy, choked with gazers. I saw St.
Sepulchre's church through the yellow fog
in the distance, and heard the pealing of
its bell. I recollect the clouc)^, mistv
morning ; the wet that lay upon the scaf-
fold^he 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. Tht
scaffold — the rain-*the faces of the multi-
tude— the people clinging to the house-tops
— the smoke tnat beat heavily downwards
from the chimneys— the waggons filled with
women, staring in the inn-yards opposite —
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 roust go through before he
arrives at it I"

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 neart, and reasoning powen
— it should be read complete in the pages
of "Blackwood."

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BLIND WILLIE, THE NEWCASTLE MINSTREL.

I^ag mMj wor 1^6tid« UkU im tme.

In heart bycth blithe an' mellow.
Bestow the p ake that'i felrlj doe

To this bluff, honest fellow--
And whe I he's hamper'd i' the dnst,

StUl i' wor memoiy springin',
The times we're mn till like to brust

To hear blind wnUe singin .

%V]LLiAM PuRTis, OF, 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 bom
blind, and is the son of Margaret Purvis,
who died in All Saints' workhouse, Februaiy
7, 1819, in her hundredth year.

Willie is, indeed, as the ingenious Mr.
Sykes calls him in hU ** Local Records," a
^ &mous musician,'* for he has long been
celebrated for his minstrelsy throughout
the northern counties, but more particularly
so in Northumberland. In Newcastle,

NzwcASTLB Sova.

Willie is respected by all<— from the rudest
to the gentlest hear* all love him — children
seiie 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
souUinspiring 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

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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
%ll 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 well 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 Rirlley 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 ** S ir Mafia 1
sir Mafia 1 canny sir Mafia 1 God bless sir
Mafia!"

Oixe 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.

IN

1722.
Man to tfaa plongrh •
Wife to the oow;
Qirl to the aow ;
Bojr to the now ;

1872.
MutaUf-Lo:
Misi piano i
Wife silk nadntiB;

_,, , Boy Greek and huiu ;

/ nd voar recta will be netted. And jon'U all he Onttt^d

G.-

* TAe TimM.

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 tnen 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 or
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 " leathern 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 mustachios, dark
eyes, and, as the poet says,

** Hie noee wat \ax^ with oinred liaa
Which some men call the aqniliae.
And aome do eaj the Romans bora
Sneh noses Yore them to die war.*-

The strides were not so long as a talf 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 mv
*' mind's eye " he was clothed in a suurf-
coloured suit, and one of his feet, which

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was not too gonty to admit of a leather
tboe, had upon it a large siWer buckle*
If y ** high foncy** 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
fiaishionable dress; her voice, of course,
was delightful, and the mild expression of
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 airived at its height, my canvass
was full, my picture complete, and I was
enjoying the last delicate touches of creative
fiincy, when a sudden turn in the road
placed before me three persons, who, on a
moment's reflection, 1 te\i constraint^ 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 r
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 was foolish enough to be sulky,
nay, a verr " anatomie of melancholy ;**
till a draught of ** Burton's ** liquid amber
at supper made me friends with the world
again^-—

Eta.

HIGHLAND TRADITION.

Macgregob.

About the middle of the sixteenth cen-
tury, the eldest son of Lamond, of Cowel,
in Argyleshire, was hunting the red deer m
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. Younfl^ 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
Macgrecor*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 iame time, among his own hilb. 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 Macj^rcgor 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 ana 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 rooming his life
should be solemnly sacrificed for their
beloved Gre^or.

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 Lochfioe, where he procured a
boat, made Lamond enter it, and ordered
the boatmen to convey him safely across
the loch into his own country. ** 1 have
now performed my promise,'' said the old
man, " and henceforth I am your enemy —
beware the revenge of a father for his only
sun !"

Before this &tal event occurred, the
persecution against the unfortunate Mao-
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 nim. 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 refiage under his
roof. There the aged chief was treated ai
a father, and ended his days.

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THE TAW.E BOOK

HY-JINKS.
A Scotch Amusemekt.

This is a drunken sort of game.—- Tiie
fueffy or cup, is filled to the brim, then one
of the company takes a pair of dice» and
cries '* Hy-jinks/' and throws. The Dum-
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 mav fall upon himself if the num*
ber be within twelve,) then he sets the dice
to him, or bids him take thera. He on
whom they fell 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 falU 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 ne errs in the aiticles, he
loses the privilege of drawing the money.
The articles are (1 drink ;) 2 draw ; 3 fill;
4 cry '* Hy-jinks ;" 5 count inat ; 6 ehoo9e
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.

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 ofiered 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
desired 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 ruU, that a single drop

• Notes on Allan Raauaj'a Elegy udob MaMr
Johns itn.

•Bore would have made it overflow ; is
this emblematic hint he added not a word
but his countenance expressed deep afflic-
tion.

The candidate understood that he could
not be received because the number was
complete, and the aasembly full; yet he
maintained his courage, and began to think
by what expedient, in the same land of
language, he could explain that a supernu-
merary academician would displace no-
thing, and make no essential difference in
the rule they had prescribed.

Observing at his feet a rose, he picked it
up, and laid it gently upon the surface of
the water, #o 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 u[)on 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, tOO; 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 timee the
vmlue they had-^liOO.*"

CHARLESTOWN UGLY CLUB.*
For the Table Book.

By a standing law of this *' ugly dub,**
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 Uble made by a
back-wo(^sman ; and a Dutch looking-
glass, fijU of veins, which at one glance
would make even a handsome man look a
perfect *' fright." Tliis 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 tb<
next evening of their meeting; and the

S«ec9L9fi3.

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THE TABLB BOOK.

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
could 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 or 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 P

•* Your nose is very long," cries the
spokesman of the deputation. " Noses,"
63} 8 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 ; but I 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 1 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 re<^ives a letter from a pretended female,
(contrived by Uie dub,) to tlie following
purport ;—

" M'^ dear 5?r,

''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, 1 know
of no one better entitled to both than your-
self. I am now almost two years beyond
my grand climacteric, and am four feet four
inches in height, rather less in circumfer-
ence, a little dropsical, have lovely red h&'r
and a fieiir 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 V* cries the
ugly gentleman, ** was ever man tormented
in this manner ! Ugly clubs, ugly women
imps and fiends, all in combination to

Fersecute me, and make my life miserable !
am to be ugly, it seems, whether I will oi
not."

At this critical juncture, the president ol
the club, who is the very pink of ugliness
itself, vraits 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 ^re 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 Dutcb
glass, sir, and be convinced that we canno*
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 1"

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 noieru voletu,

P,».

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THE TABLE BOOK.

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.

I^ut 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 boihng 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
aboui half a pound of fcm-root cut small ;
boil these together till there be about three
gallons. To colour it, bum 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 £ng.
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 Urm 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 thev were often ac-
cused of cabbaging : which means the roll-
mg up pieces of cloth instead of the list
and shreds, which they claim as their due.*

* PbiUips't Hbt, of C«ltiVftted VegeUUM.

APRIL.
From tbe French op Remt Belleap.

April I nireet month, the daiatiast of all.
Fair thee befaU:

April I fond hope of fruits that lie
la Irada of swathing oottoo wrapt.
There eloaely lapt

Noniag their tender infaoof^

April I that doet thy yellow, green, and blvob
Around thee strew.

When, as thou go'st, th« grassy ioor
Is with a million flowers depaint,
"Whose colours quaint

Hare diaper*d the meadows o*er—

A prill at whose glad coming sephyrs nso
With whisper'd sighs.

Then on their light wings brash away.
And hang amid the woodlands fresh
Their aery mesh.

To tangle Flora on her way-->

April I it b thy hand that doth unloek
From plain and rock.

Odours and hues, a bafany store.
That breathing lie on Nature's breast.
So richly blest.

That earth or hearen can ask no moro^

April I thy blooms, amid th« tresses laid
Of my sweet maid,

Adown her neck and bosom flow |
And in a wild profusion then.
Her shining hair

With them hath blent a golden gtow—

April 1 the dimpled smiles, the playful graes^
That in the face

Of Cytherea haunt, are thine:
And thine the bieath, that, from the skies,
The deities
Inhale, an offering at thy shme -

'Tis thou that dost with summons blythe and soA
High up aloft.

From banishment these heralds bring.
These swallows, that along the air
Send swift, and bear

Glad tidings of the merry tpnag.

April I the hawthorn and the eglaatine.
Pnrple woodbine,

Streak*d pink, and lily-eup and rose.
And thyme, and marjoram, are spraadiag^
Where thou art treading.

And their sweet eyes for thee unehMO.

The little nightingale sits tinging ayo
On leafy spray.

And in her fitful strain doth run
A thoasand and a thousand chaiifv^
With Toice that ranges

Through every sweet dinsioa.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

A|ffi1 T It IS w1i«B Hhen dott oom« Aga^n,
Tkat lore U fun

Willi gendest breath the fires to wake*
That oorer^d ap and sliukbering Uf.
Tkroagli oaaay a day

When winter's chill oar Ttias did slake.

Sweet montK thoa seest at this joennd prime
Of the spring time.

The hires poor out their Instf jonag,
Andliear'st the yellow bees that ply,
With laden thigh,

Mormarittg the flow*ry wilds among.

Mat shall with pomp his wary wealth nnfold.
His fruits of gold.

His fertilising dews, that swell
In manna on eaeh spike and stem
And like a gem.

Red honey in the waxen oelL

Who will may praise him. Vat my voioe shall ba,
Sweet month for thee ;

ThoQ that to her do'st owe thy name.
Who saw the sea-waTe*s foamy tido
Swell sad diride,

Whence forth to life and Ugkt shaeama.

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*

I words, sMe and ward: by the omission of

I 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 ; eeaU sif^ified a servant.

Maifor is derifed from the Teutonic

Meyer^ a lover of might.

Sheriff 18 compounded of the old words

) ehyre and reve — an officer of the county,

one who hath the overlooking of the shire.

Yeoman is the Teutonic word gemen^

corrupted in the spellings 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 oar 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 oma>
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 ojp, 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 bee/f 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 75T, 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 ten >
century.

March, 1827.

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THE TABLE BOOK

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 brctber-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 sisiter of the mother-
in-law, her daughter-in-law; the sister of
the daughter-in-law, her mother-in-law;
the ton 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 &ther-in-law, and aunt-in-law to
her husband ; and the offspring of the son
and his wife would be grandchildren to
their ancle 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
I to John Cashick the father. This Cashick
the &ther had a daughter by his first wife,
whom old Hawood married, and hf 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 :-^

fdj fiither ib my aon, aad | My nster U mj daagbter,
I *n Bother*! mother ; | Pm fraadmotlier to mjr brother.

STEPS RE-TRACED.

Catherine oe Medicis made a tow, thai
if some concerns which she had undertaken
terminated successfully, she would send a
pilgrim on foot to Jerusalem, and that at
every three ?teps 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-
Quivies 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
aad a branch of palm-tree. His descend-
ants preserved tne arms; but they dege-
nerated from their nobility, by resuming
the commerce which their ancestor quit*
ted.»

• Koar. Hist, d* Dvch. de Vid^

»trttt Cfrtulartf.

No. L
For the Table Book,
WHISTLING JOE.

He whietlee m he goes for west of 6fvaA<*

Old books deeUre,— to Plntoa* thade,
WhutliBf WM OBoe a mariof tnde,^

Oreat was the eall for aerre aad fiietle ,
That Charoo, with hit Stjx in Ttew,
Piereed old Phlegethoo throogh and fkreogh,

Aad whiaMed ia the ferry-whutle—

That PolTphnaas whtatled when
He p-layed the pipe r ia a pea,

▲ad eooght Uljwteir bark to laoaeh ,
That Troy, Kiaf Priam had not lost.
Bat for the whietlrn that were horvedt

Withia the hone*i woodea paoach.

Japiter was a whist-linf wight,
And Jnao heard him with delight ;

Aad Boreas was a reed/ swaia,
Awak'niag Veaas from the sea :
Bat of the Modems N^oe Is he

That whutles ia the streets for gaia.

Toe woader as 70a hear the toae
Sonad like a herald ia a aooe

IHstiBctlj dear, oBinvtelj sweet;
Yoo list aad Joe is dancing, now
Yoa laugh, and Joe retaras a bow

Retaraing in the orooked street.

He scrapes a stick across his ana

And kaoeks his kaees, la need, to charm ^4

lastead of Ubor aad a iddle,
St oma§ so/is,— on his sole 1
He, solas omms, like a pole

Supports lus bod/ ia the middle.

rhos, of the spntee that creep, or oeg.
With vnthei'd arm, or wooden leg,

Uacatalogaed ia BrideweUls missal s
Joe is the fittest for relief.
He whistles gladaess m his gnef,f

Aad hardly earns it for his whiitU.

J.B.P.

* Vide Dr/den*s C/mon,

•• He whuUed as he weat for want of th^Mght.*'
t This word rh jmes with htt^ to oblige the oockae/a.
t like the punaing clown m the stocks^ that whiaCM
Overthewoodladdul

« WhisUel aad I will tODf to thee «v laeau**

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THE TABLE BOOK.

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 EveryDay Book^ with
accounts of celebrations in other coun-
I 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 singrular reli-
gious ceremony was celebrated by the
court. It is known in German catholic
countries by the name of the I'ViffiMw-
ckungy 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 desenring paupers, and were duitably
clothed in black, with handkerchiefe and
square collars of white muslin, and girdles
round their waists, .

**Thc emperor and empress, with the
arehdukes 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-
^rian guard followed, in their most splen-
did uniform, with their leopard skin jackets
ftdling 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
tastei} a little, drank each a glass of wine,
and answered a few questions put to them
by their sovereigns. The Ubles 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 nte
concluded amidst the sounds of sacred
music.*'

(Soon jTrftrap (Sacttr*

" VisiTiSG THK Churches" in Fr'i«<»^

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. Tlie devout kneel down and re-
peat a prayer to themselves in each ; but
the majority only %o to see and be seen —
to admire or to criticise the decorations of
the churehes and of each other— to settle
which are arranged with the most taste,
which are the most superb. This may be
called the /f Off of eaps^ for there is scarcely
a lady who has not a new cap for the occa-
sion.

Easter Sunday, on the contrary, is the
feast ofkaU; for it is no less general for
the ladies on that day to appear in new haU.
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
giri dressing for her fiist ball ever bestowed
more pains in placing her crnaments 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 insupporlably
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 them to be on al/ 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 as cA^m aw w: the Egyptian
ladies were indeed said to have had in
general a great taste for tlie French offi
cers.^

• Mtw Pltnptrt.

239

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PHLEBOTOMY.

Bleeding was much in fashion in the
middle ages. In the fifteenth century, it
! was the subject of a poem ; and Robert
BouteTylleyny a founder, claimed in the
I abbey of Pipewell four bleedings per a»-
futm. Among the monks this operation
I was termed **. minution.''
I In some abbeys was a bleed ing^ouse,
• called ** Fleboto-maria." There were cer-
' tain festivals when this bleedins was not
' allowed. The monks desired oJten 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 Adrent, before Lent, alter Easter,
and at Pentecost, which bleeding lasted
three days. After the third day they came
to Mattins, and were in the oonyent ; on
the fourth day, they received absolution in
the chanter. In another rule, one choir
was blea at the same time, in silence and
Dsalmody, sitting in order in a cell*

OLD CEREMONIES, &c
OmDEft OP TUB Mauwdat, made at
Greenwich on the 19th of MARt-n,
1572} 14 Elis. From No. 6183 Add.
MSS. in the British Museum.
Extracted by W. H. Dewhurst

Ftr the TabU 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 majestic to kneel when
she should wash them. There was also
another table set across the upper end of
the ball, somewhat aboTe 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 majestic 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 baring taken the
said plaoesi, the laundresse, armed with a
faire towell, and taking a silver bason filled
with warm water and sweet 6owers, washed
their feet all after one another, and wiped
the same with his towell, and soe making a
CfOflse 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
iTAJestie came into the hall, and after some

L=:

FosWokiTt Brititk MbniMkinu

singing and prayers made, and the gospel
of Christ's washing of his disciples' ieet
read, 39 ladves and gentlewomen ffor 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-
tic, and she kneeling down 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, to 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 elaret 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 tney 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 manve leather purses alsoe, each
containing 20 sh. for the redemption of her
majesties eown, 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. Ana so taking
her ease upon the cushion of estate, and
hearine 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.)

• irnetettOrohMttoU.

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TUB TABLE BOOK.

Takev bt W. H. Dewhuest fsom the same MS9.

Extracts frwn the ekHrehwardevCt aecompie of the jiarith of St. Helen, in Abingdon,
Berkshire, /rom the first year of the reign of Philip and Mary ^ to the thirty-fourth
of Q. Elixabeth, now in the possession of the Rev. Mr. Georoe Bbnsov.
With some OhsenratioDs on them, by the late professor J. Wakd.

Aum. MDLV. or I & 8 •/ PhU. amd ifory.
Psjde for makeing* the roode, and peynfe-

inf the same

for naketn^ the herte li^hta, aad

paaehaU tapen

for makeinM the roode Ijghtet

for a lecena

forabdliewi

• water pott.

An». MDLYI. orikZcfP.midM.

Payde for a boke of the ttrtielei

for a tkifp4 of frmmkencnag .......

for new wax, and roakeinge the hene

lifhte

for the font taper, aad the paekall

taper

Recmed for the holye loof Ijr^te

for the lode Iff^tn at Chnstmas . . .
at the barinaU aad wtomtlkei mjfmd of

Oeorfe Chjmche

for IS tapers, at the «0re« mynd of

Mauter John Hide.. ,

At the bnriall and momrtkn mj/nd of

the good wiff Braoache

Am. MDLVII. or3 Ikio/ P. mtdU.
Reeerred of the parishe of the rode Inrhts

atChrUtmae .r...

of the Clarke for the hoire loft

at the bnrf alfof Rich. Ballerd for 4

Pafde for Myating the roode of Marie

aad John, the patron of the chnrehe

to fasten the tabernacle where the

patron of the ehnreh now standeth

for the roode Marie and John, with

the patron of the chnrehe

toe natron of the chnrcbe

for inaKeiaff the hone hmktt

for the roode Marie aad John, aad tha

patron of the chnrehe

to the sextia, for watching the sepnl-

ter two ar^ta
to the saiingaa for hallowing the

chnrehe yard, aad other inple-

meats of the c^nreh

for the waste of the pascall aad for
holyeyoyle •

ifaa. MDLyiir. MDLIX. or 4 Ik ft •/ P.

Boetvred for roo^ Ipghti at Xmaa, 1558.
for roode lyghts at Xmas, 1559 .

at Ester, for the pascaU lyghte, 1558
' I ehaich oa

for waxo to (Aeaw the

Ester daye

at Ester, for the pascaU lyghte, 1569

for theholte loB, 1568 ....*

fertheholMMlfta*

Payde to the beOmatt for Meaia, drfakt^
aad eoolea, watehiag the sepaifiara

fi>rth«(»MMwafoafre*«

for takoing dowwtho o/tore

for 4 song bokes aad a sawter •

Amu MDLZ. or 3 o/ BUm.
Payde for tymber aad makd^ tfM c

mnnion table ..«

for a carpet for dob. •••••••«««,«

7

4

Sob.

S8

tl

4

8

Sob.

•

SO
0

8
8

Payde for mending and paring the plaoe

where the anitere stoode

for too doesia of Morrss 6«li«t.

for fowor BOW sanlter bockes.

for gatheriag the herse lyghtes

AwM. MDLZI. or 4 4/ Bltu.
Payde for 4 nowade of caadilles apoa
Cristmas aaye ia the noniiag for the

for a table of the eomaaadeaientee
aad cealeader, or rswle to find oat
the lessons and spallmes, and for
the frame

to the somaer for briagiag the order
for the roode lofte

to the carpenter for takeimg down the
roode loftOt aad stoppiar the holes
ia the wall, where thejoisoes stoode

to the peynter for wrigting the scrip-
ture, where roode lofte stoode aad
overthwarte the same isle

to the clarkes for saayateyninr aad
repeyring the song bokes m the

q«7™

^aa. MDLXII. or 6 of KHm.
Payde for a 6y6t7/ for the charch ...

ifaa. MDLXI V. or 7 o/ Bltn,

Payde for a oomnaaioa boke

for rKwratioas of the cioss ia the
Buurket place

An. MDLXV. or 8 0/ Blim.
Tmj^ for too holkes of oommom Vfegfer
agagfuto inoading of th§ TmrU . . .
for a repetitioo of the

^aa. MDLX VI. or 9 of Btis.
Payde for settiag np Jto5ia Bood^t

Aom. MDLZXIII. or 16 of Elin.
Payde for a qaire of paper to make four

bokes of OoMvasalmet

for S bockes of comaioa prayer aew
MUfortk ;.

ifaa. MDLXXIV. or 1? of Btte.
Payde for eaadlDoB for tha ehnraH at
Cristaias

Atm. MDLXXVI. MDLXXTII. or 19 ft
MofBliM,

Payde for a aew byUo ••

for a books of ooouaoa prayer.

for wrytyng the oommaadements ia
the qnyre, aad peyatiag the saaM.

^aa. MDLXXyill. or SI of Btto.
Payde for a (oofte qf the aiiiolot .......

.^aa. MDXCI. or 84 of BUm.
Payde for aa homm glauefor the ptilpitt.

10

^aa. MDLXIII. or 8 of Blio.
Payde for a boke of Weadsdaycs fastiag.

which ooatayas omellies 0

2rU

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ObSCSTATIOHS. &C. on the PftECEDmO
CaAROE«.

The churchwaideD's accounts of a parti-
cular pariah* may in themselves be thought,
justly, as a matter of no great consequence,
and not worthy of much regard. But these
seem to deserre some consideration, as they
relate to a rery remarkable period in our
hutory, and prore by facts the gjeat altera-
tions that were made in religious affairs
under the reigns of queen Mary and queen
Elizabeth, together with the time and man-
ner of putting them into execution ; and
may therefore serre both to confirm and
illustrate several things related by our ec-
clesiastical historians.

1. We find mention made in these ex-
tracts of the rood and rood loft. By the
former of which was meant either a crucifix,
or the image of some saint erected in popish
churches. And here that name is given to
the images of saint Mary and saint John,
and to saint Helen, the patroness of the
church. These images were set in shrines,
or tabernacles, and the place where they
stood was called the rood lofk, which was
commonly over or near the passage out of
the body of the church into the chancel.
In 1548, the first of king Edward VI., all
images and their shrines were ordered to be
taken down, as bishop Burnett informs us.
But they were restored again on the acces«
sion of queen Mary, as we find here, by
the first article.

2. The 9hip for fnmfnneenMe, mentioned
in the year 1556, was a small vessel in the
form of a ship or boat, in which the Roman
catholics bum frankincense to perfume their
churches and images.

3. The boke of artlcUsy purchased in
1550, seems to be that which was printed
and sent over the kincdom by order of
queen Mary, at the end of the year 1554,
containing instructions to the bishops for
visiting th^ clergy.

4. We find frequent mention made of
lights and other expenses at a Jnnemiy the
monthn mindj the years and iwo years mind,
and the obit of deceased persons, which
were masses performed at those seasons for
the rest of their souls; the word mind^
meanirg the same as memorial or remem^
branch And so it is used in a sermon yet
extant of bishop Fisher, entitled A mom^
fnge remembrance had at themonteth mindi
of the most noble pryneee Margarets, eoun'
tesse of Riehmonde and Darbye, &c. As

• rnllei't Hlit of Waltham Abber, p. ]& T.
UwU's HiaL of tk« EngUak TraasUtioB of tk* BiUa^
a.lM

to the term obits, services of that kind seem
to have been annually performed. The
ofiioe of the mass for each of these solenini-
ties may be seen in the Rov¥in Miand^
under the title of Missal pro dejnnetie.
And it appears by the different sums here
charged, tnat the expenses were suited to
persons of all ranks, that none might be
deprived of the benefit which was supposed
to accrue from them.

5. It was customary in popish countries
on Good Friday to erect a small building,
to represent the sepulchre of our Saviour.
In this they put the host, and set a person
to watch both that night and the next. On
the following morning very early, the host
being taken out, Christ is risen. This was
done here in 1557 and two following years,
the last of which was in the reign of queen
Elizabeth. Du Fresne has given us a par-
ticular account of this ceremony as per-
formed at Rouen in France, where three
persons in female habits used to go to the
sepulchre, in which two others were placed
to represent angels, who told them Christ
was ri:$en. {Latin Glossary, under the words
Sejmlchro officinum.) The building men-
tioned must have been very slight, since
*the whole expense amounted to no more
than seventeen shillings and sixpence.

6. In the article of wax to tkense the
church, under the year 1558, the word thense
is, I presume, a mistake for cense, as they
might use wax with the frankincense in
censing or perfuming ibe church.

7. In 1559 the altar was taken down,
and in 1560 the communion table was put
in its place, by order of queen Elizabeth.

8. Masses for the dead continued to this
time, but here, instead of a moneths mynde,
the expression is a months monument. But
as that office was performed at the altar,
and this being taken down that year, the
other could not be performed. And yet we
have the word mass applied to the service
performed on Christmais-day the year fol-
lowing.

9. The morrice bells, mentioned under
the year 1 560 as purchased by the parish,
were used in their mortice dances, a diver,
sion then practised at their festivals; in
which the populace might be indulged from
a political view, to keep them in good
humour.

10. In 1561 the rood loft was taken
down, and in order to obliterate its remem-
brance, (as had been done before in the •
reign of king Edward VI.,) some passages
out of the Bible were painted in tne place
where it stood, which could give but little
offence, since the images had been removed

Jl

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the preceding year by the queen*8 injunc-
tioD, on the representation of the bishops/
11. In 1562 a Bible is said to have been
bought for the church, which cost ten shil-
lings. This, I suppose, was the Geneva
Bible, in 4to., both on account of its low
price, and because that edition, having the
divbion of verses, was best suited for public
use. It was an English translation, which
had been revised and corrected "by the Eng-
lish exiles at Geneva, in queen Mary's reign,
and printed there in 1560, with a dedica-
tion to queen Elizabeth. In the year 1576
we find another Bible was bought, which
was called the New Bible, and is said to
have cost forty shillings ; which must have
been the large folio, usually called arch-
bishop Parker's Bible, printed at London,
in 1568, by Richard Jugge, the queen's
printer. Tney had prayer-bookSf pealtere,
and song'booke, for the churches in the
beginning of this reign, as the whole Bible
was not easily to be procured.

12. In 1565 there is a charge of sixpence
for two common prayer-books against in'
vading the T\trke. It was then thought the
common cause of the Christian states in
Europe to oppose the progress of the
Turkish arms by all methods, both civ!\
and religious. And this year the Tums
made a descent upon the Isle of Malta,
where they besiegea the town and castle of
St. Michael four months, when, on the ap-
proach of the Christian fleet, they broke up
the siege, and suffered considerable loss in
their flight. (Thuanus, lib. 38.) And as the
war was afterwards carried on between
them and the emperor Maximillian in Hun-
gary, the like prayer-books were annually
purchased for tne parish till the year 1569
mclusive.*

13. In 1566 there is an article of eight-
een pence for setting up Robin Hoode^s
bowere. This, I imagine, might be an ar-
bour or booth, erected by the parish, at
some festival. Though for what purpose it
received that name T know not, unless it
was designed for archers.

14. In 1573 charge is made of paper for
^r bookes of Geneva psalms. It is well
known, that the vocal music in parochial
churches received a great alteration under
the reign of queen Elizabeth, being changed
from antiphonyes into metrical psalmody,
which is nere called the Geneva psalms.

15. In the year 1578 tenpence were paid
lor a book of the articles. -These articles were
agreed to ana subscribed for by both houses

* Fref ad Camdeni •* Elix.** p. xxix. }. i. g.

of convocation in 1562, and printed the
year following. But in 1571, being again
revised and ratified by act of parliament,
they seem to have been placed in churches.

16. The last article in these extracts ii
fourpence for an houre glass far the pulpit.
How early the custom was of using hour
glasses in the pulpit, I cannot say; but
this is the first instance of it I ever met
with.

It is not to be thought that the same re-
gulations were all made within the same
time in all other places. That depended
with the several bishops of their dioceses,
and according to their zeal for the R«forma-
tion. Abinj^on lies in the diocese of Sa-
lisbury, and, as bishop Jewel, who was first
nominated to that see by queen Elizabeth,
and continued in it till the year 1571,
was so great a defender of the reformed
religion, it is not to be doubted but every
thing was there carried on with as much
exp^ition as was judged consistent with
prudence.

No. XIII.

[From the *< Battle of Alcazar, a Tragedy,
1594.]

Muly Mahomet, driven from his throne
into a desartf robs the Lioness to feed hit
fainting fTife CalipoUs.

MtUy, Hold thee, Calipolit ; feed, ud fftbt bo mom
This fleeh I forced from a laoness ;
Meat of a Princess, for a ?rino««* meat.
Learn bj Her noble ttomach to etteem
Penury plenty in extremett dearth ;
Wbu, when ihe law her fora^ment bereft.
Pined not in melancholy or childish fear;
But, as brare minds are strongest in extremes.
So she, redonblinf her former force.
Ranged through the woods, and rent the bf0«dix)g

raulU
Of proudest savages, to save herselL
Feed then, and faint not, fair Calipolis ;
For, rather than fierce famine shall prevail
To gnaw thy entrails with her thorny teeth.
The conquering Lioness shall attend on thee,
And lay huge hea^s of slaughter'd carcases
As bulwarks in her way to keep her back.
I will proride thee of a princely Ospray,
That, as she flieth ovei fish n pools.
The fish shall turn their glistering bellies up,
And thou shall take the liberal choice oF all.
Jov«*s sutely Bird with wide-commanding wing
Shall borer still about thy princely head.

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And bf at dourn fowh bjr tboali bin thj ]9]w
Tetd then, and faint not, fttii CafipolU.*

• Tbit addroi, for its baibaria aplflBdor of e«Mrp»
ton, «ztraTa|r«at rein of promiie, not to mention tone
idiomaUe peenUaritieo, and the Torj stnietnre of the
▼cm. lavo^ra tron^j of Marlova; bat tbt rml
nnthor* I b«iuT% la nnknown.

4 A wrtof voanf Caliban, her eon, who prenently
•nten, oompUintnf of n *« bioodr eonooinb ** which the
Yoonff Saint George had given bim.

tCalab had killed the paraata of the Tonag Saint
weovjk

That CaliVt kdling knife fell from aer hand |
And. 'atead of stabe, I kica*d the i«d-lipt Boy,

[From the <' Seven Champions of Chrbteiw
dom,** by John Kiik, acted 1638.]

Caiib, the 9Fiteh, in the opening Scene,
in a Storm.

Calih, Hal louder alittle; n, thatbofit wae weO.
▲gain } hn, ha I hoaae* honta fonr henda, je fear*
•etmek mortal fimla, when CaUVt ooneort ]^je
4 honte-np to her. How rarrlj doth it laagnell
In mine aaro ! these are mine organs t the toad.
The bat. the raTon, and the fell whietUag bird.
Are aU mj aathem-eingiag qniristen.
bueh upleai roota, and liTeleot wither'd woodi»
Are pieavanter to me than to behold
The jocnnd month of Ma/, in whoie green head of yonA
The amorous Flora strews her ranoos flowen.
And smiles to see how brave she i^Ma dcekt her girL
Bat paae we Maj, as game for faagled CdoIs,
That dare not set a foot in Art's dark, seo-
•ret, and bewitching path, ae Calib has.
Here is m j mansion
Within the ragged bowels of this care.
This crag, this eliff, this den ; which to behold
Would freese to ice the hissbg trammels of Mednsa.
Tet hers enthroned I sit, more richer in mj spells
And potent ehanni, than is the stetely Moontaan Qneea,
Drest with the beantj of her sparkling gems.
To Tie a lustre 'gainst the heavenlj lamps.
But we are sank in tbese antipodee ; so ohonkt
With darkness is groat CaUb's cave, that it
Canstidedaj. It oaa 7— it shall— for we do loath tho

lights
And, ae our deeds are black, we hog the night
Bat whereas this Bo/, m/ Qxonoi, m/ Lore^ m/ lAfo,
ITlliom Calib Intel/ dotes on more than life ?
I must not hnre him wnnder from m/ lore
Farther than summons of m/ e/e, or book.
Can oaU Um baek again. But »tb m/ dead*
•begotten and deferm'd Issnef, misleads hin i
For which 1*11 rock him in n storm of hail.
And dash htm 'gainst the paTemeat oa the rook/ den ;
He most not lead m/ Jo/ astra/ from me.
The parents of that Bo/, bcfsttiag him.
Begot and bore the issue of their deaths ,
Which donet the Child I stole.
Thinking aloae to triumph in his death.
And bathe m/ bod/ b his popular gore ;
But doTo-like Nature fhvour'd so the ChQd,

fFrom *Two Tragediet in One,** by Ro-
bert YanriDi^on, who wrote in the rti^n
of Elizabeth.]

7ntf A, ike Chonte, to the SpetkUore,

All /ou, the sad SpecUtors of thb Act,
Whose hearu do taste a feeling pennTeneaa
Of this unheard'of sarage maesaere :
Oh be far off to harbour such a thought^
As this audacious murderer put in aet 1
I sse /our sorrows flow up to the brim.
And orerflow /our cheeks with brinish tenrs t
But though this sight bring surfeit to the e/e.
Delight /our ears with pleanng harmoa/.
That eats ma/ eountereheek eoar e/es, and sn/,
• Why shed /on tears? tUs deed is but a P%."*

Mnrderer to Ail Surf«r, about to etou
mwnif the trunk o/tke botfy, having Metered
itfirom the Hmb9.

Hark, Rachel! I wiU cross the water stnit»
And fliag this middle mention of a Man
Intoeoi

It is curious, that this old Play comprises
the distinct action of two Atrocities; the
one a Tulgar murder* committed in our
own Thames Street, with the names and
incidents truly and historically set down ;
the other a Murder in high life, supposed
to be acting at the same time in luly, the
scenes alternating between that comitry and
England : the Story of the latter is ntutatie
mutandie no other than that of our own
^ Babes in the Wood," transferred to luly,
from delicacy no doubt to some of the
family of the rich Wicked Uncle, who
might yet be living. The treatment of the
two differs as the romance-like narratives
in ** God*s Revenge against Murder,** in
which the Actors of the Murders (with the
trifling exception that xhiy were Murderera)
aie represented as most accomplished and
every way amiable young Gentlefolks ot
either sei— 4tf much as thmi differs from the
honest unglossing pages of the homely
Newgate Ordinary,

C.L.

* The whole theory of the renson of our delight b
Tmgie Repreeentations, which has rost so man/
elaborate chapters of Criticism, is condensed in theet
four last lines : ArisMU qmiiUeuntiMlued.

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lEbt ^Cb Star ^utHtn

" AT BANKSIDE^ SOUTHWARK.

Bear Baitimo — ^Masters or the Bears

AID Doo5— Edward Alletn — ^The

Falcon Tavern, &c.

Tbe Bull and the Bear baiting, oa the
Bankside, seem to hare preceded, in point
of time, the several other ancient theatres
of the metropolis. The precise date of their
erection is not ascertained, but a Bear-
ffarden on the Bankside is mentioned by one
Crowley, a poet, of tbe reign of Henry VIII.,
as being at that time in existence. He
informs m, that the exhibitions were on a
Sunday, tliat thev drew full assemblies, and
that the price oi admission was then one
halfpenny 1

* What foflit b fty to ktep with danger,
A great maftttra dog, aad fowla onglie bear |
Aad to this tad, to mo thorn two flgkt,
With torriUo toannga. a fal oaglio sight
And aethialNB thoso mm aro oicot fooll of al.
Whoso BUm ti aoBOjr is hat Tsr j saial ;
And yot wry AMiAy thSf wil snrolj spend
One pemy or two» tho hoarward's liTiag to mead.

** At Paris gardtm oaoh Amitajft a man shal not fail
To fiad two or thrso hnadred for the bearwanis vak,
Om U^^nmjf a|ii«co thej nse for to giro,
When s«M hat« So aM»rft in thsir poms, I beliere ;
WeL at tho laat da]r* their eoaseiiaoe wil dsdare.
That the poor ought to hate al that they ma/ spare.
If jon therefore giro lo see a bear dght.
Bo sara Ood his eoTM npol rot Wtt Hglitr

Whether these "rough games,*' as a
certain author terms them, were then ex-
hibited in the same or similar amphitheatres,
to those afterwards engraved in our old
plans, or in the open air, the extract does
not inform us. Nor does Stowe's account
aflbrd any better idea. He merely tells us,
that there were on the west bank ** two
bear gordeM^ the old and Uie neut ; places,
wherein were kept beares, bulls, and other
beasts to be buy ted; as also mastives in
several kenels, nourished to bayt them.
These beares and other beasts,'* he adds,
** are there kept in plots of ground, scaf-
folded about, for the beholders to stand
safe.''

In Aggass's plan, taken 1A74, and tbe
plan of Braun, made about the same time,
these plots of ground are engraved, with
the addition of two tird^ for the accommo-
dation of the spectators, bearing the names
of the **BowU Baytyng, and theBtoftf Baift-
hige.*' In both plans, the buildings appear
to be eonpletely circular, and were evi-

dently intended as humble imitations of
the ancient Roman amphitheatre. They
stood in two adjoining fields, separated only
by a small slip of land ; but some differences
are observable in the spots on which they
are built.

In Aggas's plan, which is the earliest,
the disjoining slip of land contains only one
large pond, common to the two places of
exhibition; but in Braun, this appears
divided into three ponds, besides a similar
conveniency near each theatre. The use of
these pieces of water is very well explained
in Brown's Travels, (1685) who has given
a plate of the ** Elector of Saxony his beare
garden at Dresden," in which is a large
pond, vrith several bears amusing them-
selves in it; his account of which is highly
curious :

** In the hunting-house, in the old tovm,*'
says he, '* are fifteen bears, very well pro-
Tided for, and looked unto. They have
/ountaitu and pondi, to wash themselves in,
wherein they much delight : aud near to
the pond are high ragged po»t$ or treee, set
up K>r the bears to climb up, and eeaffolds
made at the top, to sun and dry themselves ;
where they will also sleep, and come and
go as the keeper calls them.*'

The ponds, and dog-kennels, for the
bears on the Bankside, are clearly marked
in the plans alluded to ; and tbe construc-
tion OI the amphitheatres themselves may
be tolerably well conceived, notwithstand-
ing the smallness of the scale on which
thev are drawn. They evidently consisted,
within-^ide, of a lower tier of circular seats
for the spectators, at the back of which,
a sort of screen ran all round, in part ope^
so as to admit a view from without, evident
in Braun's delineation, by the figures who
are looking through, on the outside. The
buildings are unroofed, and in both plans
shown during the time of performance,
which in Aggas's view is announced by the
display of little flags or streamers on the
top. The dogs are tied up in slips near
each, ready for the sport, and the com-
batants actually engaged in Braun's plan.
Two little houses for retirement are at the
head of eadi theatre.

The amusement of bear-baiting in Eng-
land existed, however, long before the
mention here made of it. In the North-
umberland Household Book, compiled in
the reign of Henry VII . enumerating " al
manor of rewardis customable usede yearely
to be yeven by my Lorde to strangers, as
players, mynstraills, or any other strangers,
whatsomever they be,"* are the follow-
ing.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

THE BEAR GARDEN IN SOUTHWARK, A J). 1574.
From the long Print of London bt Vischer called the Antwerp View.

Fant, my Lorde nsith and aeeiutcmTth to gjW
]*«rel7, tka King* or the Qae«ie*s barvrarde. If
tkej hare one, when they eoatome to com nnto
hjm, yearely — tj. «• riij. d.*

* Item, mj Lorde nsith and aoonatora/lh to fjrfe
jerlj, when hie Lordshipe is at home, to his l»r-
ward, when he oomjth to m j Lorde in Christmas,
with his Lordshippe*s beests, for makjnge of his
Lordihip pastjme, the said xij. dajra— xx. s.**

It iDftde one of the favourite amusements
of the romantic age of queen Elizabeth,
and was introduced among the princely
pleasures of Kenilworth in 1575, where the
droll author of the account introduces the
bear and dogs deciding their ancient grudge
per duellum.*

• Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth, p. 9i, qnotad bf
V?. Pennant, in his Aceonnt of LondoB, p. 116.

** Well, Syr (says he), the bean weai
brought foorth intoo coourt, the dogs set
too them, too argu the points eeven ftice to
face, they had leamd coounsell allso a both
parts : what may they be coounted parciall
that are retained but a to syde* I ween.
No wery feers both tou and toother eager
in argument : if the dog in pleadyng
woold pluk the bear by the throte, the bear
with trauers woould claw him again by the
skaip, confess and a list; but a royd a
coold not that waz bound too the bar : and
hiz counsell toird him that it coold be toe
him no poliecy in pleading. Thearfore
thus with fending and proouing, with
pluckmg and tugging, skratting and byting,
oy plain tooth and nayll, a to side and
tootner, such erspes of blood and leather
was thear between them, az a moDth's

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TEE TABLE HOOK

./'\t^^SS^,<^.

^y-'.

THE BEAR GARDEN IN SOUTHWARK, A.D. 1648.

Fbom thb ulbob voub-bhkbt View ov London bt Hollab.

THE LAST KNOWN EEPBESENTATION OF THE PLACE.

ickiDg, I ween, wyl not recoover, and yet
remain az far oout az euer they wear. It
waz a sport very pleazaunt of theez beastys :
to see the bear with hiz pink nyez leennff
aAer hiz enmiez approch, the nimblness and
wayt of ye dog too take his auauntage, and
the fors and experiens of the bear agayn to
anoyd the assauts : if he wear bitten in one
place, hoow he woold pynch in anoother
too get free : that if he wear taken onez,
dien what shyft with by ting, with clawyng,
with roring^ torsing and tumbling, he woold
work to wynde hymself from them; and
when, he was lose, to shake hiz earz twyse
or thryse wyth the blud and the slaver
aboout hiz fiznamy, was a matter of a goodly
releef."

It is not to be wondered at, that an
amusement, thus patronised by the great,
and even by royalty itself, ferocious as it
was, should be the delight of the vulgar,
whove untutored taste it was peculiarly cal-
culated to please. Accordingly, bear-baiting
seems to have been amazingly frequented,
at this time, especially on Sundays. On
one of these days, in 1582, a dire accident
befell the spectators. The scaffolding sud-
denly gave way, and multitudes of people
were killed, or miserably maimed. This
wa« looked upon as a judgment, and as

such was noticed by divines, and other grave
characters, in their sermons and writings*
The lord mayor for that year (sir Thomas
Blanke) wrote on the occasion to the lord
treasurer, ** that it gave great reason to
acknowledge the hand of God, for breach of
the Lord*8 Day," and moved nim to redress
the same.

Little notice, however, was taken of his
application ; the accident was forgot ; and
the barbarous amusement soon followed as
much as ever, Stowe* assuring us, in his
work, printed many years afterwards, ** that
for baiting of bulls and bears, they were,
till that time, much frequented, namely, in
bear gardens on the Bankside." The com-
monalty could not be expected to reform
what had the sanction of the highest ex-
ample, and the labours of the moralist were
as unavailing as in the case of pugilism in
the present day.

In the succeeding reign, the general in-
troduction of the drama operated as a check
to the practice, and the public taste took a
turn. One of these theatres gave place to
"the Globe;*' the other remained long
after. This second theatre, which retained
its original name of the " Bear-baiting,"
was rebuilt on a larger scale, about the
beginning of James the First's reign ; dud

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of an octagonal fonn instead of round, as
before ; in which respect it resembled the
other theatres on the Bankside. The^r«/
engraving in this article contains a view of
it in thb state, from the long print of Lon-
don by Vischer, usually called the Antwerp
view. In this representation, the slips, or
dog-kennels, are again distinctly marked,
as well as the ponds. The «eeofuf engraving,
from Uollar*s view about 1648, shows it as
it was a third time rebuilt on a larger scale,
and again of the circular shape, when
'* plays" and prize-lighting were added to
the amusements exhibited at it.

In the reign of James I. the ^ Bear-
garden'' was tinder the protection of
royalty, and the mastership of it made a
patent place. The celebrated actor Alleyn
enjoyed this lucrative post, as keeper of
the king's wild beasts, or master of the
royal bear*garden, situated on the Bank-
side, in Southwark. The profits of this
place are said by his biographer to have
Deen immense, sometimes amounting to
500/. a year; and well account for the great
fortune he raised. A little before his death
he sold his share and patent to his wife's
ftither, Mr. Hinchtoe, for 580/.

We have a good account of the ** Bear-
baiting/' in the reign of Charles 11., by one
Mons. Jorevin, a foreigner, whose observa*
tions on this country were published in
1672,* and who has given us the following
curious detail of a visit he paid to it :^-

" We went to see the Bergiardin, by
Sodoark,t which is a great amphitheatre,
where combats are fought between all sorts
of animals, and sometimes men, as we once
saw. Commonly, when any fencing-roas-
ters are desirous of showing their courage
and their great skill, they issue mutual chal-
lenges, and, before they engage, parade
the town with drums and trumpets sound-
ing, to inform the public there is a challenge
between two brave masters of the science
of defence, and that the battle will be fought
on such a day. We went to see this com-
bat, which was performed on a stage in the
middle of this amphitheatre, where, on the
flourishes of trumpets, and the beat of
drums, the combatants entered, stripped to
their shirts. On a signal from the drum,
they drew their swords, and Immediately
be^n the fight, skirmishing a long time
without any wounds. Th^ were both very
skilful and courageous. Tne tallest had the

• Repvblitlied in the AatiqaariftB Rmertorr, Ed.
180S. «Bd«r tlia titfo of - A Dwcriptioa of Enflnd aad
Irdaad^tB Um 17th CcBtwj, by Ku. JMm.** toL
!▼. p. 549.

C«Btw7, V '
SMtkwark.

advantage over the least; for, according to
the English fashion of fencing, they endea-
voured rather to cut, than push in the
French manner, so that by his height he
had the advantage of bein^ able to strike
his antagonist on the head, against which,
the little one was on his guard. He had,
in his turn, an advantage over the great
one, in being able to give him the Jaroac
stroke, by cutting him on his right ham,
which he left 1a 1 manner quite unguarded.
So that, all things considered, th^ were
equally matchid* Nevertheless, the tall
one struck his antagonist on the wrist,
which he almost out off; but this did not
prevent him from Continuing the fight, after
he had been dreMed, and taken a glass or
two of wine to give nim coartg«, when he
took ample vengeance for his wound ; for a
little afterwards, making a feint at the ham,
the tall man, stooping in order to parry it,
laid his whole head open, when the little
one gave him a stroke, which took off a
slice of his head, and almost all his ear.
For my part, I think there is an inhumanity,
a barbarity, and cruelty, in permitting men
to kill each other for diversion. The sur-
geons immediately dressed them, and bouud
up their wounds ; which being done, they
resumed the combat, and both being sen-
sible of their respective disadvantages, they
therefore were a long time without giving
or receiving a wound, which was the cause
that the little one, fiiiling to parry so ex-
actly, being tired with this long battle
received a stroke on his wound^ wrist,
which dividing the sinews, he remained
vanquished, aiid the tall conqueror received
the applause of the spectators. For my
part, 1 should have haa more pleasure in
seeing the battle of the bears and dogs,
which vras fought the following day on the
same theatre."

It does not appear at what period the
Bear-baiting was destroyed, but it was,
probably, not long after the above period
dtrype, in his first edition of Stowe, pub-
lished 1720, speaking of ** Bear Alley »^' on
this spot, says, *' Here is a glass-house, and
about the middle a new-built court, well-
inhabited, called Bear-garden Sqnare ; so
called, as built in the place where the Beaiw
garden fbrmeriy stood, until removed to
the other side of the water ; which is more
convenient for the butchers, and such like,
who are taken with such rustic sports as
the baiting of bears and bulls." The theatre
was evidently destroyed to build this then
new court.*

• Umd. ittssniL

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Affording to an entry in the Parochial
Books in 1586, one Morgan Pope agreed
to pay the parish of St. Saviour, Southwark,
for the Bear-garden, and the ground vhere
the dogs were kept, 6«.8d. arrears and 6«. Qd,
for tithes.

The ohl Bear-garden at Bankside, and
the Globe theatia wherein Shakspeare's
plays were originally performed, and he
himself sometimes acted, was in the manor
or liberty of Paris Garden. Near this, and
in the same maoor, were the Hope, the
Swan, and the Rose theatres. It appears
from ** an ancient Survey on vellum made
in the reign of queen Elizabeth," that
** Olde Paris Garden Lane " ran from
Bankside, in the direction of the present
Blackfriars-road, to stairs at the riverVside
near to, or perhaps on the very spot now
occupied bv, the Surry end of Blackfriars-
bridge, and opposite to this lane in the road
of the Bankside stood an old stone cross,
which, therefore, were it remaining, would
now stand in Blackfriars-road, near Hol-
land-street, leading to the present Fal-
con glass-house, opposite to which site
was the old Falcon tavern, celebrated for
having been the daily resort of Shakspeare
and Ms dramatic companions. Till of late
years, the Falcon inn was a house of great
business, and the place from whence coaches
went to all parts of Kent, Surry, and
Sussex. In 1805, before the old house was
Uken down, Mr. Wilkinson, of Cornhill,
caused a drawing to be made, and published
an engraving of it. "The Bull and Bear
Baiting'* were two or three hundred yards
eastward of the Falcon, and beyond were
the Globe and the other theatres jiist men-
tioned. " The site of the Old Bear-garden
reUining its name, is now occupied by Mr.
Bradley's extensive iron-foundery, in which
shot and shelhi are cast for the govern-
ment."*

The royal officer, called the ** master of
the bears and dogs," under queen EUiabeth
and king James I., had a fee of a farthing
per day. Sir John Darrington held the
office in 1600, when he was commanded
on a short notice to exhibit before the qneen
in the Tilt-yard ; but not having a proper
stock of animals, he was obliged to apply
to Edward AUeyn, (the founder of Dnlwich-
coUege,) and Philip Henslow, then owner
of the Bear-garden in Southwark, for their
assutanoe. On his death, king James
granted the office to sir William Steward,
who, it seems, interrupted AUeyn and
Henslow as not having a license, and yet

« MaoBiag aod Br»7*t Sairf.

refused to take their stock' at a reasonable
price, so that they were obliged to buy his
patent. Alleyn and Henslow complained
much of this m a petition to the king, con-)
taining manv curious circumstances, which
Mr. Lvsons has published at length. AUeyn
held this office tiU his death, or very near
it : he is styled by it in the letters patent
for the foundation of his college in 1620
Among his papers there is a covenant from
Peter Street, tor the buildins at the Bear-
garden, fifly-six feet long and sixteen wide,
the estimate of the carpenter's work being
sixty-five pounds.

llie latest patent discovered to haTe been
granted for tne office of master of the bears
and dogs is that granted to sir Sanders
Duncombe in 1639, for the sole practising
and profit of the fighting and combating of
wild and domestic beasts in England, for
fourteen years.

This practice was checked by the parlia-
ment in 1642. On the 10th of December
in that year, Mr. Whittacre presented in
writing an examination of the words ex-
pressed by the master of the Bear-garden,
^ that he would cut the throats of those
that refused to subscribe a petition :" where-
upon it was resolved, on the question ** that
Mr. Godfray, master of the Bear-garden,
shall be forthwith committed to Newgate —
Ordered, the masters of the Bear-garden,
and all other persons who have interest
there, be enjoined and required by this
house, that K>r the future they do not per-
mit to be used the game of bear-baiting in
these times of great distraction, till this
house do give further order herein.'^ The
practice, however, did not wholly discon-
tinue in the neighbourhood of London til.
1 750. Of late years this public exbibitioc
was revived in Duck-lane, Westminster, and
at the present time is not wholly sup-
pressed.

A NEW POEM.
<<AHAB,in four Cantos. ByS.R.Jacksos.''

Mr. Jackson, the author of several poema^
whose merits he deems to have been dis*
regarded, puts forth " Ahab," with renewed
hope, and a remarkabU address. He
says—

«* Reader, hast thou not seen a solitary
buoy floating on the vast ocean ! the w«ves
dash against it, and the broad keel ot the
ressel sweeps over and presses it down,
yet it rises again to the surfae«, pfepaiea

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for every assault — I am like that buoy.
Thrice have I appeared before you, thrice
have the waves of neglect pass«^d over me,
and once more I rise, a candidate for vour
{ood opinion. My wish is not merely to
succeen, but to merit success. Palmam
qui meruit feraty was the motto of one who
will never be forgotten, and I hope to
quote it without seeming to be presump-
tuous. I am told by some who are deemed
competent judges, thp» I am deserving of
encouragement, and I here solicit it.

^ During the printing of this woik, one
has criticised a rough rhyme, another cried
— * Ha ! what you turned poet V and
giving his head a significant shake, said,
' better mind Cocker.' < So I would,' I
replied, ' but Cocker won't mind me.' la
all the various changes of my life the Muse
has not deserted me: beloved ones have
vanished — friends have deceived — ^but she
has remained faithful. One critic has
advised this addition, another that curtail-
ment ; but remembering the story of the
old man and the boy, and the ass, I plod
on : not that I am indifferent to opinion —
far from it ; but there are persons whose
advice one cannot take — who find fault
merely for the sake of ta*king, and impale
an author from mere spleen.

'* Tlie poem now submitted to your notice
is founded on the 21st and 22d chapters in
the First Book of Kings : in it I have en-
deavoured to show, that crime always
brings its own punishment ; that whenever
we do wrong, an inward monitor reminds
us of it : and have sought to revive in the
spirits of Englishmen that patriotic feeling
which is daily becoming more dormant.

" At this season * when the leaves are
blling fast, booksellers, as well as trees, get
cold-hearted — they will not purchase ; nor
can I blame them, for if the tide of public
opinion sets in against poetry, they would
oe wrong to buy what they cannot sell.
Yet they might, some of them at least,
treat an author more res{>ectfully ; they
night look at his work, it would not
take them a long time to do so; and
they could then tell if it would suit them
or not. Unfortunately, a manuscript need
Sut be in verse, and it will be worth
sothing. I fiauicy the booksellers are like
the hoise in the team, they have carried
4he poet's bells so long that they have be-
come weary of the jingle. Be this as it
may, I have tried, and could not get a
purchaser. It was true I had published
before, but my productions caiT/f out un-

• Miehaelinu. Ift2fi.

aided, and remained unnoticed. I had nn
patron's name to herald mine. I sera
copies to the Reviews, but, with the excep-
tion of the Literary Chronicle and Gentle-
man's Magazine, they were unnoticed. The
doors to publicity being thus closed against
me, what could I do, but &il, aa bettei
bards have done before me——"

There is an affecting claim in the ver-
sified conclusion of the prefisure.
** *Tis doM I the work of maaj a pentirr lionr

!• o'er : the frait ie gathrz'd from the tree,
Wann*d bf oare** ran, and by aflietioB't ahower

Water*d and ripen*d in obeeaiit/.
Few bopet hare I that it maj welcome be ;

Yet do I not give waf to black despair;
Small barki hare IW'd throogh man/ a stormy sea.

Small birds wing 'd far their way throoyh boandleei
nir

And joy's sweet rose tow'rd o^er the weeds of enTiont
care.

'' With these feelings I submit my poem
to notice, and but request such patronage
as it may deserve."

The following invocation, which com
mences the poem, will arrest attention.

** Ood I whom my fathers worshipp'd, God of all.

From mid thy throne of brig htness hear my call :

And thoagh nnworthiest 1 of earthly things.

To wake the harp of Darid's silent strings ;

Though, following not the light which in my path

Shone bright to guide me, I hare brar'd thy wrath

And walk'd with other men in darkness, yet.

If penitent, my heart its sins regret—

If^ bending lowly at thy shrine. I craTO

Thy aid to gaide my bark o'er life's rough wave.

Till all the Khoals of error safely past.

In truth's calm haren I repoee at last;

O, let that sweet, that unexttngaish'd beam

Which fimdly came to wake me from my dream,

Agam appear my waad'ring steps to gnide^

liCst my soul mnk, and perish in its pride.

I ask not, all-mysterioos as Thon art.

To see Thee, bnt to feel Thee in my heart ;

Unfetter'd by the ranous roles and forms

That bound the actions of earth's subtle worms.

From worldly arts and prejudices free.

To know that Thon art God, and worship Thee.

And, whether on the tempest's sweeping wing

Thou comeat, or the breath that wakes the spring

If u the thunder's roar thy roice I hear.

Or the loud blast that marks the closing year ;

Or in the gentle music of the bveese.

Stirring the learea upon the forest trees {

Still let me feel thy prBsene«s let me bear

In mind that Thou art with me every where.

And oh f since inspiration comes from Thee

To mortal mind, like rain unto the tree,

Bidding it flourish and put forth its fruit.

So bid my soul, whose roice han long b^en mute.

Awaken ; giro me words of fire to sing

The deeds and fall of Israel's hapless king.

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Perhaps the reader may be further pro-
pitiated in the author's behalf iy the

<* Dedication.''

"To THE Rev. Christopher Bensow.M. A.
Prebendary of Woicester, and Rector of
St. Giles in the Fields.

** Sir — Being wholly unused to patronage,
I know not how to inToke it, but by plainly
saying, that I wish for protection to what-
ever may be deemed worthy of regard in
the following pages.

'* I respectfully dedicate the poem to you,
sir, from a deep sense of the esteem whore*
in vou are held ; and, I openly confess,
with considerable anxiety tnat you may
approve, and that your name may sanction
and assist my efforts.

"In strictness perhaps I ought to have
solicited your permission to do this ; but,
with the wishes I have expressed, and con-
scious of the rectitude of my motives, I
persuade myself that you will see I could
not afford to hazard your declining, from
private feelings, a public testimony of un-
ieigned respect, from a humble and
unknown individual.

'' I am, sir, your most obedient

And sincerely devoted servant,
** Samuel Richard Jacksoh.
" Sept. 29, 1826."

Mr. Jackson has other offspring besides
the productions of his muse, and their infant
voices may be imagined to proclaim in
plain prose that the present volume, and it
t9 a volume — a hundred pages in full sized
octavo— is published for the author, by
Messrs. Sherwood and Co. '' price 4«. in
boards.'*— Kind-hearted readers will take
the hint.

PULPIT CLOCKS, AND HOUR
GLASSES.

In the annals of Dunstable Priory is
this item: ** In 1483, made a clock over
the pulpit.*"

A stand for an Aoicr-^Aitt still remains in
many pulpits. A rector of Bibury used to
preach two hours, regularly turning the
glau. After the text, the esquire of the
parish withdrew, smoked his pipe, and
returned to the blessing. Lecturers pulpits
have also hour-glasses. The priest nad
sometimes a watch found him by the
pariah.^

• Foibrak«*t Britiak MoDAcluanu

eadter.

RESTORATION OF THE CATHOLIC
RELIGION IN FRANCE.

The catholic religion was that in which
the French were brought op; and they
were, from habit at least, if not from coik
viction, atuched to it : so far was its over-
throw from meeting with the general ap-
probation and concurrence of the nationi
that if it was acquiesced in for a time, it was
merely from a feeling of inability to avert
the blow; and the persecution which it
experienced only served, as all persecution
does, to endear the object of it more
strongly to them.

Such would have been the effect, even if
the attempt made had only been to substi-
tute by force some other mode of faith in
its place; but when the question was to
annihilate religion itself, no sane mind
could possibly dream of ultimate success.
The sense of dependence upon some un-
seen power far above our comprehension,
is a principle inherent in human nature ; —
no nation has yet been discovered, how
remote soever from civilisation in its cus-
toms and manners, in which some ideas
of a power superior to all earthly ones
were not to be round.

The French are generally characterised
as fond of novelty, and always seeking
after it with eagerness ; and yet, however
paradoxical it may appear, it is no less
true, that in many respects no people
adhere more tenaciously to ancient habits
and customs. Nothing contributed so es-
sentially to the final overthrow of the vio-
lent revolutionists — no, not even the horror
excited by the torrents of blood which they
shed — as their endeavouring all at once to
deprive the people of many habits and
customs which they particulaHy cherished ;
nor did any thing contribute more strongly
to Bonaparte's power, than his restoring
them.

These reflections were suggested to Miss
Plumtre by one of the most remarkable
scenes that occurred while she was at Paris —
the procession to the church of Notre-Dame
on Easter Snnday, for the public restora-
tion of the catholic worship. The free
exercise of their religion had been for
several months allowed to the people, and
the churches, which had long been shut,
were reopened ; but this was the first
occasion on which the constituted autho
rities had, as a body, assisted in any reli^
gious ceremony. As to the reestablish*
ment of religion being i^iateful to tin

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people, not a doubt remained in her mind ;
erery opportunity which had been afforded
her of investigating the matter, since she
first landed in France, had given her so
strong a conviction of it, that it could not
be increased by any thing she was about to
witness. But another experiment which
was to be made on the occasion was a
greater subject of curiosity ; and this was,
that the procession and ceremonies were to
be in some sort a revival of the ancient
court splendour and pageantry.

Deeply impressed with this kind of curi-
osity, and knowing that the only way
to be fully informed of the sentiments of
the people was to make one among them,
she ana her friends took their stations
in the square before the great entrance
to the Palais-royal, where a double rank
of soldiers formed a lane to keep a passage
clear for the procession, lliey procured
chairs from a neighbouring house, which
served as seats till the cavalcade began,
and then they stood on them to see it pass.
She describes the ceremonies in the follow*
ing manner.

The square was thronged with people,
and we could with the utmost facility
attend to the sentiments uttered by the
circle round us. The restoration of reli-
gion seemed to engage but a small part of
their attention— that was an idea so familiar
to them, that it had almost ceased to excite
emotion ; but they were excessively occu-
pied by speculations on the procession,
which report had said was to be one of
the most magnificent sights ever seen in
France, at least since the banishment of
royalty with all its brilliant train of ap-
pendages.

At length it began : — Tt consisted firf«^
of about five thousand of the consular
guard, part infantry, part cavalry; next
foilowed the carriages of the senate, the
legislative body, the tribunate, and all th«.
public officers, with those of the foreign
ambassadors, and some private carriages
After these came the eight beautiful cream-
coloured horses which had. been just be-
fore presented to Bonaparte by the king of
Spain, each led by a young Mameluke, in
the costume of his country; and then
Roustan, Bonaparte's Mameluke, friend,
and attendant, upon all occasions. Then
came the coach with the three consuls,
drawn by eight horses, with three footmen
behind, who, with the coachmen, were all
in rich liveries, green Telvet laced with
i^old, and bags : the servants of some of
che great public officers were abo in bags
md liveries. About a hundred dragoons

following the consular carnage closed the
procession.

A sort of cynical philosopher who stood
near us made a wry face every now ana
then, as the procession passed, and onoe
or twice muttered in his teeth, Qui est-ce
qui peut dire que cet homme l^ n'a point de
t ostentation ^ ** Who will pretend to sa^
that this man is not ostentatious V But
the multitude, after having been lavish of
" charmant .'" " euperbe /" « magnifique n
and other the like epithets, to aU that pre-
ceded the consular carriage, at last, whei
they saw that appear with the eight horsey
and the rich liveries and bags, gave a
general shout, and exclaimed, j4k, voil^k
encore la bourse et la Uvr4e I^^oh, comme
(» est beau I — Comme ^fait plaisir ! voiUt I
qui commence vMtablement un peu h pren^
dre eouleur I *' Ah ! see there again the
bag and the livery 1 — Oh, how handsome
that is !— What pleasure it gives to see it !
—This begins indeed to assume something
like an appearance!" Nor in the plea-
sure they felt at the revival of this parade,
did the idea seem once to intrude itself, of
examining into the birth of him who pre-
sided over it, or his pretensions to being
their chief magistrate : it was enough that
their ancient hobby-horse was restored,
and it was matter of indifference to them
by whom the curb which guided it was
held. Among those whom I had a more
particular opportunity of observing, was a
well-dressed and respectable-looking man,
about the middle age, who from his appear-
ance might be supposed some creditable
tradesman. He had been standing by me
for some time before the procession began,
and we had entered into conversation ; he
was eloquent in his eulogium of Bonaparte,
for having made such an extraordinary
progress in calming the spirit of faction,
which had long harassed the country ; and
particularly he spoke with exultation of bis
having so entirely silenced the Jacobins,
that there appeared every reason to hope
that their influence was fallen, never to
rise again. He was among the most eager
in his expressions of admiration of the
procession ; and at the conclusion of it,
turning to me, he said, with a very tri-
umphant air and manner, Comme lee Jo*
cobine eertmt kSbiti de tout ceci. «< How
the Jacobins will be cast down with all
this !•'

While the procession was passing, the
remarks were confined to general exclama-
tion, as the objects that presented them-
selves struck the hncy of the spectators ;
but when all was gone by, comparisons in

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abundance began to fly about, between the

splendour here displaced, and the mean

I appearance of every thing during the reign

! of Jacobinism, which all ended to the dis-

' advantage of the latter, and the advantage

; of the present system : Tout itoU n mesquine

' dans ce terns /d — Ceci est digne d'une na'

tion telle que la France, ** £very thing was

so mean in those days — This is worthy of

such a nation as France.'* Some, who

; were too much behind to have seen the

consular carriage, were eager in their in-

' quiries about it. They could see» and had

admired, the bags and liveries, but they

could not tell what number of horses there

were to the carriage; and they learned,

with great satisfaction, that there were

eight. Aky e*est bien, they said, e'est

eomme autrefois— enfin nous reconnoissons

notre poj/s. ** Ah, 'Us well— His as formerly

—at length we can recognise our own

country again." And then the troops-^

never was any thing seen plus superbe, plus

magnifique — and tl^y were all French, no

Swiss guards. Here the ancien regime

came in for a random stroke.

After discussing these things for a while,
the assembly dispersed into different parts
of the town, some going towards the church,
to try whether any thing further was to be
jeen there ; but most went to walk in the
gardens of the Tliuilleries, and other parts,
to see the preparations for the illumination
;n the evening, and thus pass the time
away till the procession was likely to re-
turn. We employed ourselves in this
manner ; and, alter walking about for near
two hours, resumed our former stations.
Here we saw the procession return in the
same order that it had gone ; when it was
received with similar notes of approbation.
In the evening there was a concert for the
public in the gardens of the Thuilleriea,
and the principal theatres were opened to
the pubhc gratis. The chateau and gaiv
dens of the Thuilleries were brilliantly illu-
minated, as were the public offices and
the theatres, and there weie fireworks in
different parts of the town.

A very striking thing observable in this
day, was the strong contrast presented be-
tween a great garnering together of the
people in France and in England ; and I
must own that this contrast was not to the
advantage of my own fellow-countrymen. On
such occasions honest John Bull thinks he
does not show the true spirit of liberty,
unless he jostles, squeezes, elbows, and
pushes his neighbours about as much as
possible. Amenff the Parisian populace,
on the contrary, there is a peaceaoleness of

demeanour, a spirit of order, and an eDae»
vour in each individual to accommodate
his neighbour, which T confess I thought
far more pleasins — shall I not say also
more civilized — ^than honest John's free-
bom elbowing and pushing. All the
liberty desired by a Frenchman on such
occasions, is that of walking about quietly
to observe all that passes, and of imparting
his observations and admiration to his
neighbour; for talk he must — he would
feel no pleasure unless he had some one to
whom his feelings could be communicated.

We went the next morning to see the
decorations of Notre-Dame, before they
were taken down. All that could be done
to give the church a tolerable appearance
had been effected ; and when full of com-
pany its dilapidated state might perhaps be
little seen ; but empty, that was still ver^
conspicuous. The three consuls sat toge-
ther und^r a canopy, Bonaparte in the
middle, with Cambaceres on his right
hand, and Lebrun on his left. Opposite
to them sat cardinal Caprara, the pope's
legate, under a corresponoing canopy.

A very curious circumstance attending
this solemnity was, that the sermon was
preached by the very same person who had
preached the sermon at Rheims on the
coronation of Louis XVI., Monsieur Bois-
gelin, then archbishop of Aix, in Provence,
now archbishop of Tours. His discourse
was allowed by all who heard it to be a
very judicious one. He did not enter into
politics, or launch into fulsome flattery of
those in power; but dwelt principally on
the necessity of an established religion, no'
only as a thing right in itself,- but as essen-
tial to the preservation of good morals
among the people — illustrating his argu-
ment by the excesses into whidi they had
been led during the temporary abandon-
ment of religion, and oestowing com-
mendation upon those by whom it had
been restored.*

£a8t«b at Pobtaferbt, Belfast, Sec.

For ike Takk Book.

On Easier Monday several hundred of
voung persons of the town and neighbour-
hood ot Portafeny, county of Down, resort,
dressed in their best, to a pleasant walk
near that town, called " The Walter." The
avowed object of each person is to see the
fun, which consists in tne men kissing the
females, without reserve, whether married

• MUs Pluiptn^

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or single. Hiis morle of salutation b quite
a matter of course; it is never taken amiss,
nor with much show of coyness; the
female must be very ordinary indeed, who
returns home without having received at
least a dozen hearty busses. Tradition is
silent as to the origin of this custom, which
of late years is on the decline, especially in
the respectability of the attendants.

On the same day several thousands of
the working classes of the town and vicinity
of Belfast, county of Antrim, resort to the
Cave-hill, about three miles distant, where
the day is spent in dancing, jumping, run-
ning, climbing the nigt^ed rocks, and drink-
ing. Here many a rude brawl takes place,
many return home with black eyes and
bloody noses, and in some cases with
broken bones. Indeed it is with them the
greatest holiday of the year, and to not a
few it fumishet laughable treats to talk
about, till the return of the following spring.
On this evening a kind of dramatic piece
is usually brought forward at the Belfisist
theatre, called " The Humours of the Cave*
hill.*'

S.M.S.

OLD MAP OF SCOTLAND.

In the year 1545 was published at Ant-
werp, the Cosmography of Peter A planus,
** expurgated from all faults," by Gemma
Frisius, a physician and mathematician of
Louvain. It is sufficient to say, that in
this correct ** expurgated " work, Scotland
is an ulatuif of which York is one of the
3hief cities •

PEN BEHIND THE EAR— PAPER.

The custom of carrying a pen behind the
ear, lately common, is ancient. In the life
of S. Odo is the following passage : ** He
saw a pen sticking above his ear, in the
manner of a writer."

Mabillon says, that he could find no
paper books more ancient than the tenth
century : but the pen made of a feather
was certainly common in the seventh cen-
tury ; and though ascribed to the classical
ancients, by Montfaucon*s mistaking a pas-
sage of Juvenal, it is first mentioned by
Adrian de Valois, a writer of the fifth cen-
tury. This rather precedes Beckmann,
who places the first certain account of ii to
Isadore.-f*

• Fosbrokt't British Monaehua^

^tAurban ^otauto.

IV.

HAMPSTEAD.

HAMTsnAD I I doublj Tuentt thj m»«.

Becauaa 'twM in th/ meadows that I gnw
Enanoai'd of that litararj fame

Which Touthfal poets eagerly pnraiM.
And fint beheld that be^aty-beaming form.

Which death too quieklf tore from mj embrac«
That peerless girl, whose blnshes were as warn

As erer g low'd «poo a viigio faoe I
Hence, lartlj Tillage I I am still thj debtor.

For pleasares now irreroeably flown—
For that traaseendant maid, who, when I met hot

Along thy meadows mnsing, and alone,
Uwk'd like a spirit from the realms abore^
Sent down to prote the sov'reignty of Love 1

V.
THE NEW RIVER.

Thou pleasant rirer I in the summer time

About thy margin I delight to stray,
Pemsing BjToa*s oaptirating rhjme.

Ana urinking inspiration from his laj I
For there b something in th j placid stream

That gives a keener relish to his song,
And makes the spirit of his nvmbers seem

More fascinating as I move along :^
There is besides apon thj waves a moral.
With which it were ridicvloos to qnarrel ;
For, like the current of oar lives, thej flow
Thro* mnltifarbus channels, till thej go
Down into darkness, and preserve no more
The - form and feature" they possess'd before I

VI.
MINERVA TERRACE, ISLINGTON

Ts, who are anxious for a '* eountrj seat,**

Pnre air, green meadows, and suburban views.
Rooms snug and light, not over large, but neat.

And gardens water'd with refreshing dews,
Maf find a spot adapted to jour taste.

Near Barnsburf^arik, or rather BamsVurj^vn,
Where ev*r7 thing looks elegant and chaste.

And wealth reposee on a bed of down 1
I, therefore, strongly recommend to thoee

Who want a pure and healthy situation.
To choose MiKEnvA TxnnAon, and repoee

*^idMt protpeets worthy of their admiration ;«
How long they'll last is quite another thing.
Not longer, p*rhaps, than the approaching spring I

J. a

IslinFtotif March 25, 182T.

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L

LONDON CBIES.

"Boj • fl^e flnging-Uid 1"

The eriert of singing birds are extinct :
^e have only the hixA-tellerM. This en-
^niTingy therefore, represents a by^ne
character: it is from a series of etchings
called the " Cries of London," by Mareellus
Lauron, a native of the Hague, where he
was bom in 1653. He came to England
with his father, by whom he was instructed
in painting. He drew correctly, studied

Mr. Fenn of East Dereham, NorfulV,
writing to the Rev. Mr. Granger, who was
the Linnteus of "engraved British port»
raits," sends him a private etching or two
of a " Mr. Orde's doing," and says, " He
is a fellow of King's College, Cambridge,
and is exceedingly luckv in Ukin^ oft any
peculiarity of person. Mr. Orde is a gen-
tleman of family and foxtune, and in these

nature.diligently, copied it closely, and so etchings makes his genius a conveyance of

surpassed his contemporaries in drapery, his charity, as he gives the profits arising

that sir Godfrey Rneller employed him to from the local sale of the impressions in

clothe his portraits. He likewise excelled the University, to the originals from whom

in imitating the different styles of eminent he draws his likenesses. — Randal, the

masters, executed conversation pieces of orangeman, got enooffh by the sale of him-

considerable merit, and died at London in self to equip himself from head to foot :

1705. His ''London Cries •• render his he always calls his oranees, &c. by some

name corresponding to the time he sells

name fiimiliar, on account of the popularity
which these performances still possess, and
there being among them likenesses of
several " remarkable people ** of the times.
''Lauren's Cries" are well known to col-

at the commencement. Corn-
oranges; at a musical enter-

them; as,

§MneemetU ,,-,

tainment. Oratorio oranges. By this hu-

__ mour he is known throughout the Univcr-

lectors, with whom the portrait of a pedlar, sity, where he is generally called Dr.Randal.
if a " meniiwMd print,'' is quite as covet- His likeness, manner, and gait, are exactly

able as a peei^s.

Uken offw—The Cla-e-hall fruit-woman too

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is ▼ery striking, as indeed are all the etch-
ings. *

Mr. Malcolm tells of a^ negro-man
abrosid) who cried ** balloon lernons, qua-
lity oranges, quality lemons, holiday linaeS,
with a certain peculiarity, and whimsicality,
that recommended him to a great deal of
custom. He adventured in a lottery, ob-
tained a prize of five thousand dollars, be*
came raving road, through excess of joy,
and died in a few days.**

Lauron*s *• London Cries " will be fur-
ther noticed: in the mean time it ma]^
suffice to say, that this is the season where-
in a few kidnappers of the feathered tribe
walk about with their little prisoners, and
tempt young fanciers to ** buy a fine sing-
ing bird.**

4wii 9, 1827. •

(garririt ^lapd.

No. XIV.

{.From the "Arraignment of Paris,'' a
Dramatic Pastoral, by George Peel,
1584.]

Flora dresses Ida Hill, to honour th$
coming of the Three Goddesses,

Flora. Not Iris in her pride and bnTery
Adorns her Arch with sacb Tsrietj ;
Nor doth the MUk-whlte Way in frosty night
Appear so fair and beaatifal in sight.
As done these fields, and grores. and sweetest bowers^
Beetrew'd and deck'd with parti-oolonr'd flowers.
Along the bubbling brooks, and silver gUde,
That at the bottom doth in silence slide.
The watery flowers and lilies on the banks
Like biasing comets bargeon all in ranks ;
Under the hawthorn and the poplar tree^
Where sacred Phcsbe maj delight to be i
The primroee, and the pnrple hyacinth.
The dainty riolet, and the wholeeome minfh i
The doable daisy, and the cowslip (Qneen
Of snmmer flowen), do ov»r-peer the green i
And roond aboat the valley as ye pass.
Ye may ne see (for peeping flowers) Che gtasiL—
They are at hand by this.
Jnao hath left her chariot Ung ago.
And hath retnmM her peaeoeks by her Ralabov t
And bimvely, as beeoroes the Wife of Jove.
Doth hcMnr by her prssenoe to o«r grave :
Fair Venus she hath let her sparrows fly,
Td teadoa her. Mid auike her mdody ;
Her forties and her swans nayoked be, .
Aad Ceker near her side for company :
PhUas hath set her tigers loose to feed,

^ tittMi Uiwita Rev. J. GrUger, ftr.

Commanding them to wait when she baSh need :
And hitherward with prond and stately pace,
To do ns hononr in the sylran chaoe.
They march, like to the pomp of heay*n above,
Jnno, Uie Wife and Sister of King Jore,
The warlike Pallas, and the Queen of Love.

The Muses, and Country Godsy assemble
to welcome the Goddesses,

Pomona, with oonntry stors like friends wt

Tentare forth.
Think'st, Fannns, that these Goddesses will take oar
gifts in worth ?
Famus. Nay, doubtless; for,*shall tell thee, Dame,
'twere better give a thing,
A rtgn of love, unto a mighty person, or a King,
Than to a rude and barbarous swain both bad and
basely bom :

Foa OtlfTLV TAKVS TBX OXNTLZMAV TBAT OFT VBI
OLOWH WIU. SCOBV.

The Welcoming Song.
Cowtty Oodt. O Ida, O Ida, O Ida, happy hill I
This honour done to Ida may it continue still I

Ifaiet. Ye Country Gods, that in this Ida wonte.
Bring down yonr gifts of welcome.
For honour done to Ida.

flMs. Behold in sign of joy we nng,
And signs of joyful welcome bring.
For honour done to Ida.

Pom. The God of Shepherds, and his mates.
With conatry cheer salutes your States :
Fair, wise, and worthy, as you be I
Aid thank the gracious Ladies Threes
For honour done to Ida.

Part*. (Enone,

PariM. (Enone, while we bin disposed to walkc
Tell me, what shall be subject of our talk.
Thou hast a sort of pretty tales in store ;
*Oare say no nymph in Ida's woods hath more.
Again, beside thy sweet alluring face.
In telling them thou hast a special grace.
Then prithee, sweet, aflford eume pretty thrag.
Some toy that from thy pleasant wit doth spnn/^.

<S: Paris, my heart's contentment, and my choice
Uee thou thy pipe, and I will use my voice ;
So shall thy just request not be denied.
And time well spent, and both be satisfied,

P»U. Well, gentle nymph, although thon Sk mo
wrong,
Th4t oaa »e tiAe my pipe unto h ioog,
lie list this enee, (Eaoo^ for thy sake,
TUe Idle laek na me to ndenake.

(They sit under a tree together.)

(B%, And whereon then ehall be my tmindeh." f
For thou haet heard my store long since, 'dare savi*

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Kjw Satorn did divide kb kiagdom tho*

To Jore, to Neptane» and to Dis below :

How mightj men made foal aaooenlea war

Agaiaat the Ooda. and Sute of Japi ter :

Bow Fkorcyae* 'jmpe, that was m txicic aad fair.

That tangled Neptune in her golden hair.

Became aOceon for her lewd mudeed;—

A pre«!/ Cable, Paris, for to read t

A pieee of eanning^ trust aie for the aonoe.

That wealth aad beanty alter men I* ttoaea I

How Salmaeia, resembltag Idlenesa,

rims men to women all thro* wantonaeaa t

How Pluto ranght Qaeen Plato's danghter thcMi^

And what did fellow of that lore-offinet t

Of Daphne tnm'd into the Laarel Tree.

rhat shews a myrror of Tirginitj t

How fair Narossna, tootbg on his shada.

Reproresdlsdata. and tells how foim doth mdei

Bow eaaninf Phikmela's needla tella.

What fene in hyre, what wit in sorrow, dwells t

What pains nnhappj Sonls abide in Hell,

Thej aaf , becaost on Earth they Ured not well.^

Izion's wheel, pvovd Taatal*s pining woe,

ProsBetheos* torment, nad a many moe ;

How Dnnaos* daof hten ply their endless ta^k ;

What toil the toil of Sysiphas doth ask.

All these are old, aad known, I know; yet, if thon wilt

hare any.
Chose some of these; for, trust me dse, QBnone hath

not many.
Paris. Nay, what thou wilt ; but sinoe my canning

not eomparee with thine,
Bfgin some toy that I can play upon this pipe of mine.
(Bu. There is a pretty Sonnet then, we eall it

CvriD*s Cvnst t
** They that do change old loTe for new, pray Goda they

change for worse.**

(Theyiing,)

(Ba, Fair, aad fair, and twice so fair,

Aa ftir as any may be.
The fairest shepherd on our green,

A Lore for any Lady.

Pdrif. Pair, and fair, and twice so fiiir.

As (kir as any may be.
Thy Lore is fair for thee alone,

And for no other Lady.

(S; My Lore is fair, my Um is gay.
And freak as bin the flowen in Hay,
Aad of my Lote my ronadelay.
My merry, merry, merry roundelay,
Coaclndea with Cnpid's Curse :
They that do change old lore for new.
Pray Ooda they change for worse.

j^ f Wr. «d W». *.. ]^„,,^.y
^ Fair, and fair, ftc '

iSn. My Love on pipe, my Lore can sbtf.
My LoTc caa many a pretty thing.
And of his lovely praises ring
My merry, merry, merry roaadilayB

Amen to Cupid's Curse :

They that do change old lore for new,

Piay Gods they change for worse.

3^ I Fair, and fair, jko. }(„^eeA)
i Fair, aad fair, &e. J ^

To MT BSTEZMED FrIEMD, AND EXCELLBKt

MuBiciAHy V. N.» Es^
DzAB Sib,

I conjure you in the name of all the
Sylvan Deities, and of the Muses, whom
YOU honour, and they reciprocally love and
honour you,— -rescue this old and passion-
ate i>i</^— the very flower of an old for-
gotten PoMtoraty which had it been in all
parts equal, the Faithful Shepherdess of
rletcher had been but a second name in

this sort of Writing ^rescue it from the

profane hands of every common Composer:
and in one of your tranquillest moods,
when you have most leisure from those sad
thoughts, which sometimes unworthily beset
you ; yet a mood, in itself not unallied to
the better sort ojf melancholy ; laying by
for once the lofty Organ, with which you
shake the Temples ; attune, as to the Pipe
of Paris himself, to some milder and more
love-according instrument, this pretty
Courtship between Paris and his (then-not
as yet^forsaken) (Enone. Oblige me ; and
all more knowing Judges of Music and of
Poesy; by the adapution of fit musical
numbers, which it only wants to be the
rarest Love Dialogue in our language.
Your Implorer,

C.L.

" For the HOMCE.''

The original of nonee, an old word used
by George Peel, is uncertain : it signi-
tes puipose, intent, design.

I saw a wolf
Nnrsmg two whelps ; I saw her fittle cnea
la wanton dalliance the teat to crare,
Wh&e ahe her neck wreathed from them/bf tte WNfOb

They need at first to fame the fish In a honse buk
/br th€ yovoz.

Gima.
When in yonr motion yon an hot,
And that he calls for drink. 111 have preptted kim
A chaUce for Me voircs.

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Svcb A lifbt and meUll'd daaM ;
Saw you nerer ;

Aad they lead men for the vovex,
ThAt tvni rooad like griadle stones.

BeuJcmion,

A Totder/or Okg irovcs,
I wfonf the deril shoold I pick their bones.

Cominf ten ^es/or the iroircs,
I neTer yet eonld see it flow bnt once.

Gotten,

These authorities, adduced by Dr. John-
son, Mr. Archdeacon Nar«s conceives to
have suiiicientlv explained the meaning of
the word, which, chough obsolete, is still
<< provincially current.** He adds, that it is
sometimes written notiM, and exemplifies
the remark by these quotations :—

The mAsk of Menkes, derised for the nones.

Mhmrfor Magittrateu
And ennaittfly eoatrived them for the nones
In likely nags of exeelleat denee.

JDroytoA.

We also find *' for the nonet" in
Chaucer.

THE BANQUET OF THE DEAD, OR
GENERAL BIRO'S TALE.

A Legend of Kirbt Malhamdalb
Church-yard, Craven, Yorkshire.

For the Table Book.

Comcf'All ye joviaI fArmers bold, Aad dAmsels sweet

Aad fAir,
Aad listen nato me awhile a doleful tAle yoa*Il~keAr.
Btoodg S^re, or Derbsfshtre Tragedy,

Proem.

On Sheep-street-hill, in the town of Skip-
ton, in Craven, is a blacksraithVshop,
commonly called ** the parliament-house."
During the late war it was the resort of all
the eccentric characters in the place, who
were in the habit of assembling there for
the purpose of talking over the political
events of the day, the knowledge whereof
was gleaned from a daily paper, taken in
by Mr. Kitty Cook, the occupier of the
premises, and to the support of which the
various members contributed. One win-
ter's morning in the year 1814, owing to a
very heavy snow, the mail was detained on
it* road to the great discomfiture and vexar
non of the respectable parliamentary mem-
ben, who were all as usuai at their posts at
«iie hoar of nine. There happened on that

morning to be a full house, and I very well
recollect that Tom Holderd, General Bibo,
Roger Bags, Duke Walker, Town Gate
Jack, and Bill Cliff of Botany,* all of
whom are since dead, were present. Afiei
the members had waited a long time, with-
out the accustomed <^ folio of four pages *'
making its appearance, general Bibo arose
and turning to the speaker, who in pensive
melancholy was reclining on the anvil, he
thus addressed him : —

** Mr. Speaker, I am convinced that the
mail will not arrive to day, (hear 1 hear 1)
and therefore, that the members of this
honourable house may not, at the hour of
twelve, which is last approaching, go home
to their dinners without having something
to communicate to their wives and &milies,
I will, with your permission, relate one of
those numerous legendary tales, with which
our fomantic district so much abounds—
May I do so?"

Kitty upon this gave the anvil a thunder-
ing knock, which was his usual sigual oi
assent, and the general proceeded to relate
the full particulars, from which is extracted
the following

It was the 14th day of July, in the year
17 — f when the corpse of a villager was
interred in the romantic church-yard of
Kirby Malhamdale. The last prayer of
the sublime burial service of the English
church was said, and the mourners had
taken a last lingering look at the narrow
tenement which enshrined mortality. All
had departed, with the exception of the
sexton, a village lad of the name of Kitchen,
and a soldier, whose long, flowing, silvery
hair and time-worn frame bespoke a very
advanced age ; he was seated on a neigh-
bouring stone. The grave was not entirely
filled up, and a scull, the melancholy rem-
nant of some former occupier of the same
narrow cell, was lying beside it. Kitchen
took up the scull, and g^zed on the socket^
eyeless then, but which had contained orb^
that perhaps had reflected the beam sent
from beauty's eye, glowed with fury on the
battle-field, or melted at the tale of com-
passion. The old soldier observed the boy,
and approaching him said, ** Youth I that
belonged to one who died soon after the
reign of queen Mary. His name was
Thompson, he was a military man, and as
mischievous a fellow as ever existed— ay,

* The SAint Oilet's of Skipton, where the Inwtr oe
dtr of JahAhitiAte geDenUv reude.

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for many a long year he was a plague to
Kirby Malhamdale."

** Tben^'' replied the boy, '' doubtless his
death was a benefit, as by it the inhabitants
of the valley would be rid from a pest.**

^ Why, as to that point," answered the
▼eteran, " I fear you are in the wrong.
Thompson's reign is not yet finished ; 'tis
whispered he often returns and visits the
scenes of his childhood, nay, even plays his
old tricks over again. It is by no means
improbable, that at this very instant ht is
at no great distance, and listening to our
conversation/'

** What," ejaculated the boy, " he will
neither rest himself nor allow other people
to do so, the old brute 1" and he kicked the
jcuU from him.

** Boy," said the soldier, •* you dare not
do that again."

'^ Why not V asked Kitchen, giving it at
the same time another kick.

^ Kick it again," said the soldier.

The boy did so.

The veteran smiled grimly, as if pleased
with the spirit which the boy manifestedy
and said, in a joking way, ** Now take up
that scull, and say to it — Let the owner of
this meet me at the midnight hour, and
invite me to a banquet spread on yon greea
stone by his bony fingers—

Come g^ott, eome d«TU»

Come good* oome evil.

Or let old Thompson kimtelf appear.

For I will partake of his mtdiughi cheer.'*^

Kitchen, laughing with the glee of a
schoolboy, and with the thoughtlessness
incident to youth, repeated the ridiculous
Unes after bis director, and then leaving the
church-yard vaulted over the stile leading
to the school-house, where, rejoining his
companions, he quickly forgot the scene
wherein he had been engaged ; indeed it
impressed him so little, that he never men-
tioned tlie circumstance to a single indi-
vidual.

The boy at his usual hour of ten retired
to rest, and soon fell into a deep slumber,
from which he was roused by some one
rattling the latch of his door, and singine
beneath his Window. lie arose and opened
the casement. It was a calm moonlight

• Shoald anv iwder of thii dajr find fanlt with the
belegaat manner in which the dialogne is earned on
Wtween Ritehco and the soldier, in defence I beg leave
to sar, the dialogne is told as general Bibo related it,
aad thoogh in B«anY parts of the tale I hare made so
auuiy alteratMBs, that I should not be gvilty of any
improvrietT in calling it an original : I do not consider
nyseir anthorised to change the dialognes eceaaioaally
Inuoiaccd.

Dight, and he distinctly discerned the old
soldier, who was rapping loudly at the
door, and chanting the elegant stanzas be
had repeated at the grave or the villager.

** And what pray now may you be vrant^
ing at this time of night?" asked the boy,
wholly undaunted by the strangeness of the
Tisitation. ''If you cannot lie in bed your-
self, vou ought to allow others to rest."

** What," replied the old man, <' hast thou
so soon forgotten thy promise ?" and he re-
peated the lines *' Come good, eome evil.

Kitchen laughed at again hearing the
jingle of these ridiculous rhymes, which to
him seemed to be ** such as nurses use to
frighten babes withal." At this the sol-
dier's countenance assumed a peculiar ex«
pression, and the lull gaze of his dark eye,
which appeared to glow with something
inexpressioly wild and unearthly, was bent
upon the boy, who, as he encountered it,
felt an indescribable sensation steal over
him, and began to repent of his incautious
levity. After a short silence the stranger
again addressed him, but in tones so hoUow
and sepulchral, that his youthful blood was
chilled, and his heart beat strongly and
quickly in his bosom.

f* Boy, thy word must be kept I Pro-
mises made with the grave are not to be
lightly broken —

•• Amidst the eoU graves of the eoSn*d dead
Is the toble deck*d aad the banquet spread ;
Than haste thee thither withoat delay.
For nigh is the time, away 1 awaj I**

«* Then be it as you wish," said the boy,
in some slight degree resuming his courage;
** go ; I will follow." On hearing this the
soldier departed, and Kitchen watched his
figure till It was wholly lost in the mists of
the night.

At a short distance from Kirby Malham-
dale church, on the banks of the Aire, was
a small cottage, the residence of the Rev.
Mr. , the rector of the parish. [Ge-
neral Bibo mentioned his name, but I shall
not, for if I did some of* his descendants
might address themselves to the Table
Book, and contradict the story of their
ancestor having been engaged in so strange
an adventure as that contained in the
sequel of this legend.] Mr. > bad

from his earliest years been addicted to
scientific and literary pursuits, and was gene*
rally in his study till a late hour. On thift I
eventfiil night he was sitting at a table
strewed wiUi divers ancient tomes, intently
perusing an old Genevan ediUon (^^ the

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Institiitet of John Caliin. IfVhile dras
employed^ and boried in profoond meditai-
tfon, the awful and death-like stillneat was
broken, and he was roused from his rererie
by a hurried and Tiolent knocking at the
door. lie started from his diair, and
rushing out to ascertain the cause of this
strange interruption, beheld Kitchen with
a hue as pale as a wtnding-sheet. ** Kit-
chen, what brings you here at this untimely
hoar?" asked the clergyman. The boy was
silent, and appeared under the influence of

extreme terror. Mr. , on lepeating

(he question, had a confused and indistinct
acconnt given him of all the circumstances.

The relation ftoi!»hed, Mr. looked

at the boy, and thus addressed him : ^ Yes,
I thought some evil would come of your
misdeeds ; for some time past your conduct
has been ?ery disorderly, you having long
set a bad example to the lads of Malhara-
dale. But this is no time for upbraiding.
I will accompany you, and tosether we
will abide the result of your rash engage-
ment."

Mr. — — and the boy left the rectory, -
and proceeded along the road leading to
the cnurch-yard ; as they entered the sacred
precinct, the clock of the venerable pile
told the hour of midnight. It was a beau-
tiful night — scarcely a cloud broke the
cerulean appearance of the heavens «~
countless stars studded heaven's deep blue
vault^the moon was glowing in her high-
est lustre, and shed a clear liirht on the
old grey church tower and the distant hills
-—scarcely a breeie stirred the trees, then
in llieir fullest foliage— every inmate of the
village-inn* wu at rest— there was not a
sound, save the mutmuring of the lone
mountain river, and the deep-toned baying
of the watohAil sheep-dog.

Mr. — ->-^ looked around, but, seeing
no one, said to the boy, *' Surely you have
been dreaming— vour tale is some illusion,
some chimera of the brain. The occurrences
ol the day have been embodied in your
visions, and the over excitement created by
the scene at the tomb has worked upon
your imagination.''

**()h no, sir 1" said Kitchen, "but his eyes
which glared so fearfully upon me could
not have been a deception. 1 saw his tall
figure, and heard his hollow sepulchral
voice sing those too well-remembered lines,

0 !■ Kirbf Miil1iAmJ»l« ehnrah-rftrd It a p*ibIio
SMM, fSrifyinf ih« linn of th« tatiriet :—

Wktif Ood «r«ets a lid«i»« of fnjnt,
Tkf devil bttiku a ohap«l thr t.

bat — HeaTcnsl did yon not see it!" He
started, and drawing nearer to the pr«st,
pointed to the eastern window of the edi-
fice. Bir. looked in the diiectioc.

and saw a dari^ shadowy Ibnn gliding amid ;
the tombstones. It approached, and as its '
outline became more distinctly marked, he
recognised the mysierioos being described
to him in his study by the terrified biij.— ,
The figure stopped, and looking long and
earnestly at them said, ** One ! two I How
is this ? I have one more guest than I in-
vited ; bat it matters not, all is ready, follow

" Amiibt tk« a»kl frares of tlM eoff a'd dead.
Is tha table dack'd aad tke baaqaet spraad. '

The figure waved its arm impatiently,
and beckoning them to follow moved on in
the precise and measured step of an old
soldier. Having reached the eastern win-
dow, it turned the comer of the building,
and proceeded directly to the old green
stone, near Thompson's grave. The thick
branches of an aged yew-tree partially
. shaded the 8jx>t from the silver moonlight,
which was peacefully falling on the neigh-
bouring graves, and gave to this particular
one a more sombre and melancholy charac-
ter than the rest. Here was, indeed, a
table spread, and its festive preparations
termed a striking contrast witn the awfiil
mementos strewed around. Never in the
splendid and baronial halls of De Clifford,*
never in the feudal mansion of the Nor-
tons,t nor in the refectory of the monks of
Sawley, had a more substantial banquet
been spread. Nothing was wanting there
of roast or boiled— the stone was plentifully
decked ; yet it was a fearful sight to see,
where till now but the earthworm had ever
revelled, a banauet prepared as for revelry.
The boy looked on the stone, and as he
gazed on the smoking viands a strange
thought crossed his brow — at what fire
weie those provisions cooked. The seats
placed around were coffins, and Kitchen
every instant seemed to dread lest their
owners should appear, and join the sepul-
chral banquet. Ineir ghostly host having
placed himself at the head of the table,
motioned his guests to do the same, and
they did so accordingly. Mr. ■ ther

in his clerical character rose to ask the ac-
customed blessing, when he was interrupted.
** It cannot be,*' said the stranger as he
rose ; ** I cannot hear at my board a pro*

• Sklpton-eastla.
^ RyhtoQ^a
tka Wkiu

• sRipnm-eastia.

t Ryhtoa^aaU. Sea Woidr irtb*i b<a«t*f«l poMi

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testant grace. When I trod the earth as a
mortal, the catholic religion was the religion
of the land 1 It was the blessed faith of ray
fore&thers, and it was mine. Within those
walls I have often listened to the solemni-
zation of the mass, but now how different I
listen r He ceased. The moon was over-
cast by a passing cloud, the great bell tolled,
a screech-owl flew from the tower, lights
were seen in the building, and through one
jf the windows Mr. — — beheld dis-
tinctly the bearings of the various hatch-
ments, and a lambent flame playing over
the monument of the Lamberts — music
swelled through the aisles, and unseen
bein^ with Toices wilder than the unmea-
sured notes

Of that strani^ lyre* whose stnngs
Th« genii of the breesei sweep,

chanted not a Gratias agimus, but a De
Profundis. All was again still, and the
stranger spoke, '* What you have heard is
my grace. Is not a De Profundis the most
proper one to be chanted at the banquet
of the dead V

Mr. , who was rather an epicure,

now glanced his eye over the board, and
flnding that that necessary appendase to a
good supper, salt, was wanting, saia, aa an
astonished tone, " Why, where's the 9alt ^'
when immediateW the stranger and his feast
vanished, and of all that splendid banquet
nothiug remained, save tne mossy stone
whereon it was spread.

Such was the purport of general Bibo*8
tale ; and why those simple words had 60
wondrous an effect has long been a subject
of dispute with the illnminati of Skipton
and Malhamdale. Many are the conjec-
tures, but the most probable one is this, —
the spectre on hearing the word 9alt was
perhaps remind<Ml of the Red Sea, and
naving, like all sensible ghosts, a dislike to
that awful and tremendous gulf, thought
the best way to avoid being laid there wa^
to make as precipitate a retreat as possible.

Kirby, or as it is frequently called, Kirby
Malhamdale^ from the name of the beautiful
valley in which it is situate, is one of the
most sequestered villages in Craven, and
well worthy of the attention of the tourist,
(torn the loveliness of its surrounding sce-
nery and its elegant church, which hitherto
modem baibarity has left unprofaned by
decorations and ornaments, as churchward-
ens and parbh officers style those acts of
VandalLim, by which too many of the Cra-

ven churches have oeen spoiled, and on
which Dr. Whitaker has animadverted
in pretty severe language. That excellent
historian and roost amiable man, whose
memory will ever be dear to the inhabitants
of Craven, speaking of Kirby church, says,
" It is a large, handsome, and uniform build-
ing of red stone, probably of the age of
Henry VII. It has one ornament peculiar,
as far as I recollect, to the churches in
Craven, to which the Tempests were bene-
factors. Most of the columns have in the
west side, facing the congregation as they
turned to the altar, an elegant niche and
tabernacle, once containing the statue of a
saint. In the nave lies a grave-stone, with
a cross fleury in high relief, of much greater
antiquity than the present church, and pro-
bably covering one of the canons of Dere-
ham."*

At the west end of the church, on each
side of the singer's gallery, are two em-
blematical figures, of modem erection,
painted on wood ; one of them. Time with
nis scythe, and this inscription, *' Make use
of time ;" the other is a skeleton, with the
inscription ^ Remember death." With all
due deference to the taste of the parishion-
ers, it is my opinion that these paintings are
both unsuitea to a Christian temple, and
the sooner they are removed the better.
The gloomy myihology of the Heathens ill
accords with the enlightened theology of
Christianity.

At the east end of the church are monu-
mental inscriptions to the memory of John
Lambert, the son, and John Lambert, the
ffrandson of the well-known general Lam-
bert, of roundhead notoriety. The resi-
dence of the Lamberts was Calton-hali, in
the neighbourhood ; and at Winterburn, a
Tillage about two miles from Calton, is < ne
of the oldest Independent chapels in the
kingdom, having been erected and endowed
by the Lamberts during the usurpation of
Cromwell; it is still in possession of this
once powerful sect, and wot a picturesque
object : it had something of sturdy non-
conformity in its appearance, but alas 1
modern barbarism has been at work on it,
and given it the appearance of a respecta-
ble Iwm. The deacons, who " repaired and
beautified " it, ought to place their names
over the door of the chapel, in characters
readable at a mile's distance, that the
traveller may be informed by whom the
chapei erected by the Lamberts was de-
formed.

I ofien have lamented, that ministers o

* History of CfBTea

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religion have so little to do with the repairs
of places of worship. The clergy of all
denominations are, in general, men of cul-
tivated minds and retined tastes, and cer-
tainly better qualified to superintend altera-
tions than country churchwardens and
parish officers, who, though great pretenders
to knowledge, are usually ignorant destroy-
ers of the beauty of the raifices confided
lo their care.

T.Q.M.
4pnl, 1827.

SALT.

The conjecture of T. Q. M. concerning
the disappearance of the spectre-host, and
the breaking up of the nocturnal banquet,
in the church-yard of Kirby Malhamdale,
IS ingenious, and entitled to the notice of
the curious in spectral learning: but it
may be as well to consider whether the
point of the legend may not be further
illustrated.

According to Moresin, mU not being
liable to putrefaction, and preserving things
seasoned with it from decay, was the em-
blem of eternity and immortality, and
nightily abhorred by infernal spirits. " In
• eference to this symbolical explication,
how beautiful," says Mr. Brand, " is that
expression applied to the righteous, * Ye
are the salt of the earth I '"

On the custom in Ireland of placing a
plate of 9alt over the heart of a dead per-
wn. Dr. Campbell supposes, in agreement
with Moresin's remark, that the salt was
considered the emblem of the incorruptible
part; « the body itself," says he, "being
the type of corruption."

It likewise appears from Mr. Pennant,
that, on the death of a highlander, the
friends laid on the breast of the deceased
a wooden platter, containing a small quan-
tity of OTftand earth, separate and unmixed ;
the earth an emblem of the corruptible
body— the salt an emblem of the immortal
spirit.

The body's salt the tonl i*, wtich when goM
Th« flevh Moone sacks in pttirefActioo.

Htrrick.

The custom of placing a plate of mH
upon tiic d<»ad, Mr. Douce says, is still re-
tained in mau^ parts of England, and par-
ticularly in Leicestershire ; but Uie pewter
plate and salt are laid with an intent to
binder air from getting into the body and
dUtending it, so as to occas>-« burstini^ or

inconvenience in closing the coffin. Though
this be the reason for the usage at pre-
sent, yet it is doubtful whether the practice
is not a vulgar continuation of the ancient
symbolical usage ; otherwise, why is salt
selected ?

To these instances of the relation that
•alt bore to the dead, should be annexed
Bodin*s affirmation, cited by Reginald Soot;
namely, that as mtt ** is a sign of eternity,
and t»ed by divine commandment in ^1
sacrifices," so « the devil hveth no salt
in hie maaf."—- This saying is of itself,
perhaps, sufficient to account for the sud-
den flight of the spectre, and the vanish-
ing of the feast in the church-yard of
Kirby Malhamdale on the call for tlie eali.

Finally may be added, salt from lh«
" Hesperides ^ of Herrick :—

TO PERILLA

Ah, mj PerilU I doit thou griert to set
Me, daj hj day, to iteale away from thee?
Age cals m« henee, and my gny haarw bid ojim
And haste away to mine eternal home ;
*TwiU not be long, PeriUa, after this.
That I ranst ffive thee the sapremest kisse i
Dead when I am, first east in $alt, and bring
Part of the ereame from that religions spring.
With which, PeriUa, wash mj hands and feeti
That done, then wind me in that verj sheet
Which wrapt thy smooth limbs^ when tkoa dtaltS

plore
The gods protection bnt the night before |
Follow me weeping to mj inrfe, and thert.
Let fall a pnmroee, and with it a tean :
Tnen, lastly, let some weekly strewiags ba
Deroted to the memory of me ;
Then shall my ghost not walk abont, bnt keep
Still in the cold and silent shades of sleep.

A CORPORATION.

Mr. Howel Walsh, in a corporation case
tried at the Tralee assises, observed, that
"a corporation cannot blush. It was a
body it was true ; had certainly a head— a
new one every year — an annual acquisition
of intelligence in every new lord mayor.
Arms he supposed it had, and long ones
too, for it could reach at any thing.' Legs,
of course, when it made such long strides.
A throat lo swallow the rights of the com-
munity, and a stomach to digest them I
But whoever yet discovered, in the anatomy
of any corporation, either bowels, oi a
heart?"

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HOUSE AT KIRKBY-MOORSIDE, YORKSHIRE,
WHEREIN THE SECOKJ) DUKE OF BUOKINGHAH DIED.

In the woztt inn^i wont room, with m*t'liAlf-haiig,
The floon of piaster, and the walls of dung,
Cn onoo a flook-bed, bat repaired with straw
With tap«-t7'd oortains, never meant to draw
The Oeonge and Garter dangling fh>m that bed
Where tawdrj yellow strove with dirtj red.
Great vmUn Hee slui 1 how chang'd fh>m him.
That Uf e of pleasnre, and that aool of whim I
Gallant and gaj, in CliTeden's prond aloore^
The bow*r of wanton Shrewsboiy and Lore;
Or jost as gaj at council, in a ring
Of mimick'd Statesmen, and their meny King.
No wit to flatter, 'reft of all his store I
No fool to laugh at, which he valoed more I
There rictos of his health, of fortune^ friends,
And fame ; this lord of naelea thovsands ends.

Pop*,

In an amusing and informing topogra*
phical tnujt, wiitten and publiftbed by Mr.
John Cole of Scarborough, there ia the
preceding representation of the deathbed-
house of the witty and dissipated nobleman,
whose name is recorded beneath the en-
graving. From this, and a brief notice of
the duke in a work possessed by most of
the readers of the T<ible Book,* with some
extracts from documents, accompanying
Mr. Cole's print, an interei»ting idea may l>e
formed of this nobleman's last thoughts,
and the scene wherein he closed his eyes.

• The Evtm-Do}/ Book,

The room wherdn he died is markeJ
above by a star * near the window.

Kirkby-Moorside is a market town, about
twenty-six miles distant from Scarborough,
seated on the river Rye. It was formerly
part of the extensive possessions of Villiers,
the first duke of Buckingham, who was
killed by Feltoii, from whom it descended
with his title to his son, who, afler a profli-
gate career, wherein he had wasted hia
brilliant talents and immense property,
repaired to Kirkby-Moorside, and died
there in disease and distress.

In a letter to bishop Spratt, dated *^Ker-
by-u*oor Syde, April 17, 1(^7," the earl

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of Arntn relates that, beiofi^ accidentally at
York on a journey towards Scotland, and
hearing of the duke of Buckingham's ill-
ness, lie visited him. *'He had been
long ill of an ague, which had made
him weak; but his understanding was
as good as ever, and his noble parts were
so entire, that though I saw death in
his looks at first sight, he would by no
means think of it.— I confess it made my
heart bleed to see the duke of Buckingham
in so pitiful a place, and in so bad a con-
dition.— ^The doctors told me his case was
desperate, and though he enjoyed the free
exercise of his senses, that in a day or two
at most it would kill him, but they durst
not tell him of it ; so they put a hard part
on me to pronounce death to him, which I
saw approaching so fast, that I thought it
was high time ror him to think of another
world. — After having plainly told him his
condition, I asked him whom I should send
for to be assistant to him during the small
time he had to live : he would make me no
answer, which made roe conjecture, and
havine formerly heard that he had been
inclinmg to be a Roman Catholic, I asked
him if I should send for a priest; for I
thought any act that could be like a Chris-
tian, was what his condition now wanted
most; but he positively told me that he
was not of that persuasion, and so would
not heai' any more of that subject, for h^
was of the church of England.— After some
time, beginning to feel his distemper mount,
he desired me to send for the parson of
this parish, who said prayers for him, which
he joined in very freely, but still did not
think he should die ; though this was yes-
terday, at seven in the morning, and be
died about eleven at night.

** I have ordered the corpse to be em-
balmed and carried to Helmsley castle, and
there to remain till my lady duchess her
pleasure shall be known. There roust be
speedy care taken: for there is nothing
here but confusion, not to be expressed.
Though his stewards have received vast
sums, there is not so much as one farthing,
as they tell me, for defraying the least
expense. But I have ordered his intestines
to be buried at Helmsley, where his body
IB to remain till farther orders. Being the
nearest kinsman upon the place, I have
lAken the liberty to give his majesty an
account of his death, and sent his George
tad blue ribbon to be disposed as his ma-
jesty shall think fit. I have addressed it
under cover to my lord president, to whom
I beg vou would carry the beaier the
minute he arrives.**

A letter, in Mr. Cole*s publication, writ-
ten by the dying duke, confesses his ill-
spent life, and expresses sincere remorse tor
the prostitution of his brilliant talents.

•* From the younger Villxers,Dukb

OF BUCKINGBAJC, C» HIS DeaTHBED

TO Dr. W—

** Dear doctor,
'< I always looked upon yon to be a per-
son of true virtue, and know you to have a
sound understanding ; for, however I have
acted in opposition to the principles of re-
ligion, or the dictates of^ reason, I can
honestly assure ^ou I have always had the
highest veneration for both. The world
and I shake hands ; for I dare affirm, wc
are heartily weary of each oiher. O, what
a prodigal have I been of that roost valuable
of all possessions, Time I I have squan-
dered it away vnth a profusion unparal-
leled ; and now, when the enjoyment of a
few days would bt worth the world, 1
cannot flatter myself with the prospect ol
half a dozen hours. How despicable, my
dear friend, is that man who never prays to
his God, but in the time of distress. In
what manner can he supplicate that Om-
nipotent Being, in his afflictions, whom» in
the time of his prosperity, he never remem-
bered with reverence.

«< Do not brand me with infidelity, when I
tell you, that I am almost ashamed to offer
up my petitions at the throne of Grace, or
to implore that divine mercy in the next
world which I have so scandalously abused
in this.

** Shall ingratitude to man be looked upon
as the blackest of crimes, and not ingrati-
tude to God ? Shall an insult offered to a
king be looked upon in the most offensive
light, and yet no notice (be) taken when the
King of kings is treated with indignity and
disrespect ?

*' The companions of my former libertin-
ism would scarcely believe their eyes, were
you' to show this epistle. They would
laugh at me as a dreaming entliusiast, oi j
pity me as a timorous wretch, who was I
shocked at the appearance of futurity ; but
whoever laughs at me for being right, or
pities me for being sensible of my errors, is
more entitled to my compassion than re^
sentment. A future state may well enough
strike terror into any man who has not
acted well in this life ; and he must nave
an uncommon share of courage indeed who
does not shrink at the presence of God.
The apprehensions of death will soon bring
the most profligate to a proper use of his

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ODderstandinflc. To what a situation am I
now reduced 1 Is this odious little hut a
suitable lodging for a prince? Is this
anxiety of mind becoming the character of
a Christian ? From my rank I might have
expected affluence to wait upon my life;
from religion and understandmg, peace to
smile upon my end : instead of which I
am afflicted with t>oyeTty, and haunted with
remorse, despised by mv country, and, I
fear, forsaken by my God.

*^ There is nothing so dangerous as ex-
traordinary abilities. I cannot be accused
of vanity now, by being sensible that I was
once possessed of uncommon qualifications,
especially as I sincerely regret that 1 ever
had them. My rank in life made these
accomplishments still more conspicuous,
and fascinated by the general applause
which they procured, I never considered
the proper means by which they should be
displayed. Hence, to procure a smile from
a blockhead whom I despised, I have fre-
quently treated the virtues witli disrespect ;
and sported with the holy name of Heaven,
to obtain a laugh from a parcel of fools,
who were entitled to notning but con-
tempt.

'* Your men of wit generally look upon
themselves as discharged from the duties
of religion, and confine the doctrines of the
gospel to meaner understandings. It is a
sort of derogation, in their opinion, to com-
ply with the rules of Christianity; and tliey
reckon that man possessed of a narrow
genius, who studies to be good.

** What a pity that the holy writings are
not made the criterion of true judgment ;
or that any person should pass for a fine
gentleman in this world, but he that ap-
pears solicitous about his happiness in the
next.

'* I am forsaken by all my acquaintance,
utterly neglected by the friend of my
bosom, and the dependants on my bounty ;
but no matter 1 I am not fit to converse
with the former, and have no ability to
serve the latter. Let me not, however, be
wholly cast off by the good. Favour me
with a visit as soon as possible. Writing
to you gives me some ease, especially on a
subject I could talk of for ever.

'* I am of opinion this is the last visit I
shall ever solicit from you ; my distemper
is powerful ; come and pray for the depart-
ing sjpirit of the poor unhappy

^ BUCKIVGHAM.**

Tlie following is from the parith register
of Kirkby Moorside.

Copt.

bwried In the yeare of our Lord [1687.,
Ayril y0 17.
Gorgee vUuae Larddoohe o/hoohtngam^ ete.

This vulffar entry is the only public me-
morial of the death of a nobleman, whose
abuse of faculties of the highest order, sub-
jected him to public contempt, and the
neglect of hid associates in his deepest
distress. If any lesson can reach the sen-
sualist he may read it in the duke's fate and
repeotani letter.

The publication of such a tract as Mr.
ColcTs, from a provincial press, is an agree-
able surprise. It is in octavo, and hears
the quaint title of the ** Antiquarian Trio,"
because it describes, 1. The house wherein
the duke of Buckingham died. 2. Rudston
church and obelisk. 3. A monumental
effigy in the old town-hall, Scarborough,
with a communication to Mr. Cole from
the Rev. J. L. Lisson. expressing his
opinion, that it represents John de Nlowbray,
who was constable of Scarborough castle
in the reign of Edward II. Engraving
illustrate these descriptions, and there is
another on wood of the church of Hun-
manby, with a poem, for which Mr. Cole is
indebted to the pen of " the present in*
cumbent, the Rev. Archdeacon Wrangham,
M.A. F.R.S."

^Servian popular Poetby, translated
by John Bowkimg,*' 1827.

It is an item of '* Foreign Occurrences,*'
in the " Gentleman's Magatine/' July,
1807, that a firman of the grand signior
sentenced the whole Servian nation to ex-
termination, without distinction of age or
sex ; if any escaped the sword, they were
to be reduced to slavery Every plain
matter-of-fact man knew from bis Gazet-
teer that Servia was a province of Turkey
in Europe, bounded on the north by the
Danube and Save, which separate it from
Hungary, on the east by Bulgaria, on the
west by Bosnia, and on the south by Al-
bania and Macedonia; of course, he
presumed that fire and sword had passed
upon the country within these boundaries,
and that the remaining natives had been de-
ported ; and consequently, to render the
map of Turkey »n Europe perfectly correct,
Ue took his pen, and bloUed out ** Servia.'*

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[t appears, however, that by one of those
acciaentSy whish defeat certain purposes
of state policy, and which are quite as
common to inhuman affairs, in ** sublime "
as in Christian cabinets, there was a
change of heads in the Turkish admi-
nistration. The Janizaries becoming dis-
pleased with their new uniforms, and with
the ministers of Selim, the best of grand
signiorS) his sublime majesty was gra-
ciously pleased to mistake the objects of
their displeasure, and send them the heads
of Mahmud Effendi, and a few ex-minis-
ters, who were obnoxious to himself, in-
stead of the heads of Achmet Effendi, and
others of his household ; the discontented
therefore immediately decapitated the latter
themselves; and, further, presumed to de-
pose Selim, and elevate Mustapha to the
Turkish throne. According to an ancient
custom, the deposed despot threw himself
at the feet of his successor, kissed the
border of 4tis garment, retired to that de-
partment of the seraglio occupied by the
princes of the blood who cease to reign,
and Mustapha, girded with the sword of
the prophet, was the best of grand sig-
oioTS in his stead. This state of affairs at
the court of Constantinople rendered it
inconvenient to divert the energies of the
faithful to so inconsiderable an object as
the extinction of the Servian nation ; and
thus Servia owes its existence to the Jani-
zaries' dislike of innovation on their dress ;
and we are consequently indebted to that
respectable prejudice for the volume of
" Servian popular Poetry," published by
Mr. Bow ring. . We might otherwise have
read, as a dry matter of history, that the
Servian people were exterminated ▲. d.
1 807, ana have passed to our graves without
inspecting that (hey had songs and bards,
ana were quite as respectable as their feio-
cious and powerful destroyers.

Mr. Bowring*s ^ Introduction ** to his
specimens of " Servian popular Poetry,'* is
a rapid sketch of the political and literary
history of Servia.

" The Servians must be reckoned among
those races who vibrated between the
north and the east ; possessing; to-day, dis-
possessed to-morrow ; now fixed, and now
wandeiing : having their head-quarters in
Sarmatia for many generations, in Mace-
donia for following ones, and settling in
Servia at last. But to trace their history,
as to trace their course, is impossible. At
last the eye fixes them between the Sava
and the Danube, and Belgrade grows op
IS the central point round which the power
of Servia gathers itself together, and

•iretches itself along the right bank of the
former river, southwards to the range of
mountains which spread to the Adriatic
and to the verge of Montengro. I^x)king
yet closer, we observe the influence of the
Venetians and the Hungarians on the cha-
racter and the literature of the Servians.
We track their connection now as allies,
and now as masters ; once the receivers of
tribute from, and anon as tributaries to^
the Grecian empire ; and in more modern
times the slaves of the Turkish yoke. Every
species of vicissitude marks the Servian
annals— annals represented only by those
poetical productions of which these are
specimens. The question of their veracity
is a far more interesting one than that of
their antiquity. Few of them narrate events
previous to the invasion of Europe by the
Turks in 1355, but some refer to fUcts co-
eval with the Mussulman empire in Adri-
anople. More numerous are tne records of
the struggle between the Moslem and the
Christian parties at a later period ; and last
' of all, they represent the quiet and friendly
intercourse between the two religions, if
not blended in social affections, at least
associated in constant communion."

Respecting the subject more immediately
interesting, Mr. Bowring says —

** The earliest poetry of the Servians has
a heathenish character ; that which follows
is leagued with Christian legends. But
holy deeds are always made the condition
of salvation. The whole nation, to use the
idea of Giithe, is imaged in poetical super-
stition. Events are brought about by the
agency of angels, but the footsteps of Satan
can be nowhere traced ; the deaa are oflen
summoned from their tombs ; awful warn-
ings, prophecies, and birds of evil omen,
bear terror to the minds of the most cou-
rageous.

'' Over all is spread the influence of a
remarkable, and, no doubt, antique mytho-
logy. An omnipresent spirit — airy and
fanciful — making its dwelling in solitudes —
and ruling over mountains and forests — 9.
being called the Fila, is heard to issue its
irresistible mandates, and pour forth its.
prophetic inspiration : sometimes in a form
of female beauty — sometimes a wilder
Diana — now a goddess, gathering or dis-
persiniir the clouds — and now an owl, among
luins and ivy. The Vila, always capncious,
and frequently malevolent, is a most im-
portant actor in all the popular poetry of
Servia. The Trica Polonica is sacred to
her. She is equally renowned fur the
beauty of her person and the swiftness ot
her step >^ r air as the mountain Vila,'

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b the highest compliment to a Servian
lady — * Swift as the Vila,' is the most
eloquent eulogium on a Servian steed.

** Of the amatory poems of the Servians,
Gothe justly remarks, that, when viewed
all together, they cannot but be deemed of
singular beauty; they exhibit the expres-
sions of passionate, overflowing, and con-
tented affection ; they are full of shrewd-
ness and spirit; delight and surprise are
admirably portrayed ; and there is, in all,
a marvellous sagacity in subduing diffi-
culties, and in obtaining an end ; a natural,
but at the same time vigorous and energetic
tone; sympathies and sensibilities, with-
out wordy exaggeration, but which, 'not-
withstanding, are decorated with poetical
imagery and imaginative beauty; a correct
picture of Servian life and manners— every
thing, in short, which gives to passion the
force of truth, and to external scenery the
character of realiiv.

"The poetry of Servia was wholly tradi-
tional, until within a very few years. It
had never found a pen to record it, but has
been preserved bv the people, and prin-
cipally by those of the lower classes, who
had been accustomed to listen and to sing
these interesting compositions to the sound
of a simple three-stringed instrument, called
a GtuUf and it is mentioned by Gothe,
that when some Servians who had visited
Vienna were requested to wiite down the
songs they had sung, they expressed the
greatest surprise that such simple poetry
and music as theirs should possess any
interest for intelligent and cultivated minds.
They apprehended, they said, that the art-
less compositions of their country would
be the subject of scorn or ridicule to those
whose poetrv was so polished and so su-
blime. And this feeling must have been
ministered to by the employment, even in
Servia, of a language no longer spoken ; for
the productions of literature, though it is
certain the natural affections, the every-day
thoughts and associations could not find
fit expression in the old church dialect :— « ,

•Thetilk
Mm liold^ with week-ilaj man in the honrlf walk
Of the mind** bnsiaen, ie the vadoabCed stalk
Trm §omg * doth grow on.**

** The collection of popular songs,
Narodne trptke ftjesme, from which most of
those which occupy this volume are taken,
was made by Vuk, and committed to paper
either from early recollections, or from the
repetition of Servian minstrels. These, he
nforms us, and his statement is corrobo-
•9 led by every intelligent traveller, form a

very small portion of the treasure of song
which exists unrecorded among the pea-
santry. How so much of beautiful anony-
mous poetry should have been created in
so perfect a form, is a subject well worthy
of inquiry. Among a people who look
to music and song as a source of enjoy-
ment, the habit of improvisation grows up
imperceptibly, and engages all the fertilities
of imagination in its exercise. The thought
which first finds vent in a poetical form,
if worth preservation, is polished and per*
fected as it passes from lip to lip, till it
receives the stamp of popular approval,
and becomes as it were a national posses-
sion. There is no text-book, no authentic
record, to which it caa be referred, whose
authority should interfere with its improve-
ment. The poetry of a people is a common
inheritance, which one generation transfers
sanctioned and amended to another. Poli-
tical adversity, too, strengthens the attach-
ment of a nation to the records of its ancient
prosperous days. The harps may be hung
on the willows for a while, during the
storm and the struggle, but when the tu-
jnult is over, they will be strung again to
repeat the old songs, and recall the time
gone by.

" The historical ballads, which are in
lines composed of five trochaics, are always
sung with the accompaniment of the Gtule,
At the end of every verse, the singer drops
his voice, and mutters a short cadence. The
emphatic passages are chanted in a louder
tone. * I cannot describe,' says Wessely,
' the pathos with which these songs are
sometimes sung. 1 have witnessed crowds
surrounding a blind old singer, and every
cheek was wet with tears^t was not the
music, it was the woids which affected
them.' As this simple instrument, the
Gusle, is never used but to accompany the
poetry of the Servians, and as it is difficult
to find a Servian who does not play upon
it, the universality of their popular ballads
may be well imagined."

While Mr. Bowring pays cheerful ho-
mage to a rhyme translation of a Servian
ballad, in the Quarterly Review, No. LXIX.
p. 71, he adds, that it is j^reatly embel-
lished, and offers a version, m blank verse,
more faithful to the original, and therefore
more interesting to the critical inquirer.
The following specimen of Mr. Bowring*s
translation may be .ompared with the cor-
responding passage in ne Review.

She wa«i lovelj— nothing e'er was lovelier ;
She was tall and slender as th« pine tree;
White her cheeks, bat tinged wita rosy oliishc^
As if morning's beam had shw>

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TiU that Warn hU naeVd ite Kifk iii«ridlMi ;
AbI her ejos, the/ were two preeioos jewels ;
And her ejebrewe, lecohee from the oeeu ;
Aad her ef elide, the/ were winge of swellowi t
Bilkoi tntU the meide< *s flmxea riaf lets ;
Aad her eweet month was a sngar easket ;
Acd her teeth were pearls arraj'd in order ;
Whits her bosom, like two saowj dorelets ;
Aad her roiee was like the dorelet's eooiaf ;
Aad her sibUes were like the glowng suashiae.

On the eyebrows of the bride, described
«s ** hecket from the ocean," it is obsenr-
able that, whh the word leech in Serrian
poetry, there is no disagreeable association.
^ It is the name usually employed to de-
set ihe the beauty of the eyebrows, as swal-
lows^ wings are the simile used for eye-
lashes/' A lover inquires

* Hftst thou wandered aear the oeeaa ?
Has thoQ seea the pijavUna f *
Like it are the maiden's ejebrows.**

There is a stronger illustration of the
sitnile in

The Broth EftLESs Sisters

Two solitarj sisters, who
A brother's fondaess nerer knew.
Agreed, poor girls, with one another.
That thej wonld make themselves a brother
Thej ent them silk, as saoW'drops while ;
And silk, as richest rabies bright;
Thej oarred his bodf from a bongh
Of box-tree from the monntain's brow ;
Two jewels dark for ejes thej gare ;
For eyebiowa. from the ooeaa*s wave
Th«7 took two leeches ; aad for teeth
Fix*d pearls above, aad pearls beneath |
For food they gave him hooejr sweet, •
Aad said, ** New live, aad speak, and eat.**

The tenderness of Servian poetry is
prettily exemplified in another of Mr.
Bowring's translations.

Farewell.

Against white Boda's walls, a vine

Doth its white branches fondlj twine t

O no 1 it was no vine-tree there •

It wae a foad, a faithful pair.

Bound each to each in earliest vow^*

Aad, O I thej most be severed now !

Aad these their ftrewell words ^-** We par^

Break from mj boeoos— breal^->m]r ieart 1

Oo to a garden— go, and see,

tome roie4na&eh blashiag on the tiMi

And from that braaeh a roee-flower tear*

Thsa plaee It oa thjr boeom bare ;

Attd as its leavelets fade and pine,

ba fadee mj sinking heart ia thine^ '*

* Tkelaeok.

Aad thos the other spoke : •* Uy bre I
A fpw short paces backward move*
Aad to the verdant forest go;
There's a fresh water-fonnt below (
Aad in the fount a marble stoae.
Which a gold cup repoees on ;
And in the cop a ball of snow-
Love ! uke that ball of snow to net
Upon thine heart within th]r breast.
And as it melts unnoticed there.
So melti my heart ia tldne, mjr dear I**

One other poem may suffice for a speci-
men of the delicacy of feeling in a Senriao
bosom, influenced by the master-passkon.

The Youho Shepherds.

The sheep, beneath old Bnda's wall.

Their wonted quiet r«et enjoy ;
Bat ah I rode stony firagmenta fall.

And many a silk-woolM sheep deetmy ;
Two youthful shepherds peri»h there,
The goldea Geoige, aad Mark the fisir.

For hf ark, O many a friend grew sad,

Aad father, mother wept for him :
Oeorge— father, fhead, nor mother had.

For him ao tender eye grew dim :
Save oBe~-« maldea far away.
She wept— aad thus I heard her aay :

** My goldea George— aad shall a song,

A song of grief be sung for th«e —
'Twould go from lip to lip— ere long

By careless lips profaned to be ;
Uahallow*d thoughts might soon defune
The parity of womaa's aame.

•• Or ehall I take thy picture fair,
Aad fix that picture m my sleeve f

Ah I time will sooa the vestmeat tear.
And act a shade, aor fragment leave:

m not give him I love so well

To what is so corruptible.

** 1*11 write thy name withm a book ;

That book will pass from hand to hand.
And many an eager eye will look,

Bttt ah I how few will naderstaad 1—
Aad who their holiest thonghto caa shioad
From the eold iasalts of the orowd ?"

GRETNA GREEN.
For the Table Book.

This celebrated scene of matrimonia
mockery is situated in Dumfrieshire, near
the mouth of the river Esk, nine miles
north-west from Carlisle.

Mr. Pennant, in his journey to Scot-
land, speaks in the following terms ot
Gretna, or, as he calls it, Gretna Green.
By some persons it is written Graitnev

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Green, according in (he pronunciation of
the person from whom thev hear it: —

'* At a short distance from the bridge,
stop at the little village of Gretna^ the
resort of all amorous couples, whose union
the prudence of parents or guardians pro-
hibits. Here the young pair may be in-
^ntly united by a fisherman, a joiner, or
a blacksmith, who marry from two guineas
a job, to a dram of whiskey. But the
price is generally adjusted by the informa*
tion of the postilions from Carlisle, who
are in pay of one or other of the above
worthies ; but even the drivers, in case of
necessity, have been known to undertake
the sacerdotal office. This place is distin-
guished from afar by a small plantation of
firs, the Cyprian grove of the place — ^a sort
of landmark for fugitive lovers. As I had
a great desire to see the high-priest, by
stratagem I succeeded. He appeared in
the form of a fisherman, a stout fellow in a
blue coat, rolling round his solemn chaps a
quid of tobacco of no common size. One
of our party was supposed to come to ex-
plore the coast ; we questioned him about
the price, which, after eying us attentively,
he left to our honour. The church of Scot-
land does what it can to prevent these
clandestine matches, but in vain ; for these
infamous couplers despise the fulmination
of the kirk, and excommunication is the
only penalty it can inflict.*'

The <' Statistical Account of Scotland ^
gives the subsequent particulars : — " The
persons who follow this illicit practice are
mere impostors — priests of their own crea-
tion, who have no right whatever either to
niarry, or exercise any part of the clerical
function. There are at present more than
one of this description in this place ; but
the greatest part of the trade is monopo-
lized by a man who was originally a
tobacconist, and not a blacksmith, as is
generally believed. He is a fellow without
education, without principle, without mo-
rals, and without manners. His life is a
continued scene of drunkenness : his irre-
gular conduct has rendered htm an object
of detestation to all the sober and virtu-
ous part of the neighbourhood. Such is
the man (and the dcncription is not exag-
gerated) who has had tne honour to join
in the sacred bonds of wedlock many
people of great rank and fortune from all
parts of England. It is forty years and
upwards since marriages of this kind began
to be celebrated here. At the lowest com-
putation, about sixty are supposed to be
solemnized annually in this plare.'*

Coj/y Certificate of a Gretna Green
Marriage,

" Gretnay Green Febry 17 1784
^' This is to Sertfay to all persons thai
may be Cunsemed that William Geadea
from the Cuntey of Bamph in thee parish
of Crumdell and Nelley Patterson from the
Sitey of Ednbiough Both Comes before me
and Declares them Selvese to be Both
Single persons and New Mareid by thee
way of thee Church of Englond And Now
maried by thee way of thee Church of
Scotland as Day and Deat abuv menchned
by me

David M'Fakson
hie

WiLLIAM X OBADES

Mark
fFUneee Nelly Patorsov

Danell Morad

By the canons and statutes of the church
of Scotland, all marriages performed under
the circumstances usually attending them
at Gretna Green, are clearly illegal; for
although it may be performed by a layman,
or a person out of orders, yet, as in Eng-
land, bans or license are necessary, and
those who marry parties clandestinely are
subject to heavy fine and severe imprison-
ment. Therefore, though Gretna Gre<!n be
just out of the limits of the English Mar-
riage Act, that is not sufficient, unless the
forms of the Scottish church are complied
with.

H. M. Lander.

SCOTCH ADAM AND EVE.

The first record for marriage entered
into the session-book of the West Parish of
Greenock, commences with Adam and Bve^
beini; the Christian names of the first
couple who were married af\er the book
was prepared. The worthy Greenockians
can boast therefore of an ancient origin,
but traces of Paradise or the Garden ot
Eden in their bleak regions defy research.

BOA CONSTRICTOR.
Jerome speaks of ^* a dragon of wonder-
ful magnitude, which the Dalmatians in
their native language call hoa»f because
they are so large that they can swallow
oxen.^ Hence it should seem, that the boa^
snake may have given birth to the fiction
of dragons.*

* Fosbroka's British Moiuuslum.

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Wuvin.

PIOUS DIRECTION POST.

Under this title, in a west-country paper
of the present year, (1827) there is the fol-
lowing statement :—

On the highway near Bicton, in DeTon*
Aire, the seat of the right hon. lord RoUe,
m the centre of four cross roads, is a
directing post with the following inscrip-
tions, by an attention to which the traTcilcr
learns the condition of the roads over which
he has to pass, and at the same time is
furnished with food for meditation :—

To Woodbury, Toptham, Exeter. — Her
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her
paths are peace.

To Brixton, Ottery^ Honiton.--^ hold
up our goings in thy paths that our foot-
steps slip not.

To Otterton^ Sidmoutk, CulUton, A. D.
1743.— -O that our ways were made to
direct that we might keep thy statutes.

To BHtUeigh, — ^Make us to go in the
paths of thy commandments, for therein is
our desire.

MARSEILLES.

The history of Marseilles is full of in-
terest. Its origin borders on romance. Six
hundred years before the Christian era, a
band of piratical adventurers from Ionia,
in Asia Minor, by dint of superior skill in
navigation, pushed their discoveries to the
mouth of the Rhone. Charmed with the
'White cliffs, green vales, blue waters, and
bright skies, which they here found, they
returned to their native country, and per-
suaded a colony to follow them to the bar-
barous shores of Gaul, bearing with them
their religion, language, manners, and cus-
toms. On the very day of their arrival, so
says tradition, the daughter of the native
chief was to choose a husband, and her
affections were placed upon one of the
leaders of the polished emigranU. The
friendship of the aborigines was conciliated
by marriage, and their rude manners were
softened by the refinement of their new
allies in war, their new associates in peace.
In arts and arms the emigrants soon ac-
quired the ascendancy, and the most musi-
cal of all the Greek dialects became the
prevailing language of the colony.*

• Aaeriean paper.

CHANCERY.

Cnlisppr CkreiMi, neighboar to s peer.
Kept half kU lordnkip's eheep, and half hie drer ;
Each daj hU gate* thrown doira, his feaoes broke
And ii^ar'd atUl the more, the more he cpoke ;

At laet reeolred hit potent fue to awe.

And foard hie rif ht b/ etatnto and bj law—

A enit in Chaaeerj the wreteh began ;

Nine happj terme throngh bill and aaewer ran,

Obtain'd hie eaoie and ooete, and waa vadone.

A DECLARATION IN LAW.

Fee elmple and a simple fee.

And all the fees in UiU
Are nothmf when eompared to thee,

rhoa beet of fees— fe-male.

LAW AND PHYSIC.

It has been ascertained from the alma-
nacs of the different departments and of Paris,
that there are in France no less than seven-
teen hundred thousand eight hundred and
forty-three medical men. There are, accord-
ing to another calculation, fourteen hundred
thousand six hundred and fifty-one patients.
Turning to another class of public men,
we find that there are nineteen hundred
thousand four hundred and three pleaders,
and upon the rolls there are only nine hun
dred and ninety-eight thousand causes ; so
that unless the nine hundred and two thou-
sand four hundred and three superfluous
lawyers see fit to fall sick of a lack of fees
and employment, there must remain three
hundred thousand one hundred and ninety-
two doctors, with nothing to do but sit with
their arms across. *

** THE NAUGHTY PLACE."

A Scotch f>astor recognised one of his
female parishioners sitting by the side of
the road, a little fuddled. " Will you just
helo me up with my bundle, gude mon V*
said she, as he stopped.— « Fie, fie, Janet,"
cried the pastor, *« to see the like o' you in
sic a plight: do you know where all
drunkards ^A"— " Ay, sure," said Janet,
" they just go whar a drap o* gude drink is
to be got."

• F^iet.

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MAY-DAY AT LYNN IN NORFOLK.

For the Table Book.

Where May-day is still observed, many
forms of commemoratioD remain, the rude
and imperfect outlines of former splendour,
blended with local peculiarities. The fes-
tival appears to have originated about a. m.
3760, and before Christ 242 years, in con-
sequence, of a celebrated courtezan, named
f7ora, having bequeathed her fortune to the
people of Rome, that they should at this
lime, yearly, celebrate her memory, in sing-
ing, dancing, d linking, and other excesses;
from whence these revels were called Fio'
ToUa^ or May.games.* After some years,
Che senate of Rome exalted Fhra amongst
heir thirty thousand deities, as the goddess
of flowers, and commanded her to be wor-
shipped that she might protect their flowers,

fruitSy and heibs.* During ihe Catholic
age, a great portion of extraneous ceremony
was infused into the celebration, but that
the excesses and lawless misrule attributed
to this Fhralian festival, by the fanatic
enthusiasts of the Cromwellian age, ever
existed, is indeed greatly to be doubted. It
was celebrated as a national festival, an
universal expression of joy and adoration,
at the commencement of a season, when
nature developes her beauties, dispenses hei
bounties, and wafts her ** spicy gales/' rich
with voluptuous fragrance, to exhilarate
man, and enliven the scenes around him.

In no place where the custom of cele-
brating May-day still continues does it pre-
sent so close a resemblance to its Romao
origin as at Lynn, litis perhaps may be
attributed to the circumstance of a colony
of Romans having settled there, about the

• Homlnlui d« Orig. rMtomm— Polydore YlnU— * Ang. de CMt D«1..-1toclttiis de Antlqolt
•Bd <}odiria AaUq. and lialV* FuiMbrU Flora.

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time of the introductioQ of Christianity
into Britain, and projected the improve-
ment and drainage of the marsh land and
fens, to whom Lynn owes its origin, as the
mother town of the district.* That they
brought with them their domestic habits
and customs we know ; and hence the fes-
tival of May-day partakes of the character
of the Roman celebrations.

Early on the auspicious morn, a spirit of
emulation is generally excited among the
juveniles of Lynn, in striving who shall be
first to arise and welcome *' sweet May-
day," by opening the door to admit the
genial presence of the tutelary goddess,

— boriM on Attroral Mphyrs

And deck*d in tpaagled, pearlj, dew-drop fens.

The task of gathering flowers from the
fields and gardens for the intended garland
succeeds, and the gatherers frequently
fasten the doors of drowsy acquaintances,
by driving a large nail through the handle
of the snack into the door-post, though,
with the disappearance of tnurob-snacks,
that peculiarity of usage is of course disap-
pearing too.

The Lynn garland is made of two hoops
of the same size, fixed transversely, and
attached to a pole or staff, with the end
through the oentre, and parallel to the
hoops. Bunehes of flowers, interspersed
with evergreens, are tied round the noops,
from the interior of which festoons of blown
birds' eggs are usually suspended, and long
strips of various-coloured ribbons are also
pendant from the top. A doll, full dressed,
of proportionate size, is seated in the
centre, thus exhibiting an humble, but not
inappropriate representation of Flora, sur-
rounded by the fragrant emblems of her
consecrated offerings. Thus completed,
the gariands are carried forth in all direc-
tions about the town, each with an attend-
ant group of musicians, (i. e. Aorfi-d/birer#,t)

• Tlia Romnnt liETinf vndertaken to drain the fea«t
tad mcne manih lands, bj %lnmg embaakmenta, from
tha rarages of the ocean, founded Ljnn, (it is rap-
poaed,^ in the reign of the emperor CUuuUmtt ander the
direction of Catm Deeummt, the Roman procnrator of
the lemUt who was the principal saperintendant of tha
oanals, embankments, and other works of improTo*
ment then carried on in the fens. He is also thought
to hare brought over to his assistance, in this stupen-
dous labour, a oolonr of Belgians, or BataTiann, from
whose dialect, the Belgio Celtiqne, the etrmologj of
Lycn is considered to be deriTad. (Richard's Hist, of
L^tMt Tol. i. p. 931.)

t Bj sound of tnmptt all the courtesans in Roma
were called to the Fhraliam sports, where thej danced.
It is said, (though greatlj to oe doubted,) in a state d
nuditjr, about the streets, with the tnw^ets blown be-
fore them. Hence JuTonal, (Sat. 60,) speaking of a
lewd woman, calls her a FtoralioH eomrtezm. (God-
win Antin.— Polrdnw Virgil—Farnab. in Martial,
Rpig. lio. v— Hairs Fnnebna Flora.)

collecting eleemosynary tributes fro?^ rneir
acquaintances, llie horns, used only on
this occasion, are those of bulls and cows,
and the sounds produced by them when
blown in concert, (if the noise from two tc
twenty, or pernios more, may be so termed,)
is not unlike the ^owing of a herd of the liv-
ing animals. Forgetful of their youthful
days, numberless anathemas are ejaculated
by the elder inhabitants, at the tremendous
hurricane of monotonous sounds throughout
the day. Though deafening in their tones,
there appears something so classically
antique m the use of these horns, that the
imagination cannot forbear depicturing the
horn-blowers as the votaries of lo and
Seraphj* (the Egyptian Isis and Osiris,)
in the character of the Lynn juveniles,
sounding their lo Paatu to the honour of
Fiora,

Having been carried about the town, the
garland, faded and drooping, is dismounted
from the staff, and suspended across a
court or lane, where the amusement of
throwing balls over it, from one to another,
generally terminates the day. The only
public garland, amongst the few now ex-
hibited, and also the largest, is one belongs
in|f to the young inmates of St. Jam^ s
workhouse, which is carried by one of the
ancient inhabitants of the asylum, as ap-
pears in the sketch, attended by a numer-
ous ' train of noisy horn-blowing pauper
children, in the parish livery. Stopping at
the door of every respectable house, they
collect a conitiderable sum, which is dropped
through the top of a locked tin canister,
borne by one of the boys.

Previou.<< to the Reformation, and while
the festival of May-day continued under
municipal patronage, it was doubtless
splendidly celebrated at Lynn, with other
ceremonies now forgotten ; but having, by
the order of council in 1644,t become
illegal, it was severed from the corporation
favour, and in a great measure annihilated.
After the Restoration, however, it resumed
a portion of public patronage, and in 1682
two new May-poles were erected ; one in
the Tuesday market-place, and the other at
St. Anne*s Fort. The festival never entirely
recovered the blow it received under the
Commonwealth ; the May-poles have long
since disappeared, and probably the rem-

* Jo, in heaUien mytholo^, was the daughter of
Inachus, transformed by Juptter into a white heifer
and worshipped under the name of Itis br the Kgriv
tians. Serapit was the son of Jupiter and Niobe ; ha
fintt Unght the Egyptians to sow com and plant rines,
and, after his death, was worshipped as an ox, uadai
the name of OrirU,

t Everir-Dar Book. vol. u p. 656L

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nantSy the gai lands themseWes, will soon
&de away ; for the celebration is entirely
confined to the youneer branches of the
inhabitants. The refinement, or, more
strictly speaking, the degeneracy of the age,
has so entirely changed the national cha-
racter, that while we ridicule and condemn
the simple, and seemingly absurd, habits of
our ancestors, we omit to Tenerate the qua-
lities of their hearts ; qualities which, un-
mixed with the alloy of innovating debase-
ment, are so truly characteristic, that

•* wiA all their faults, I tvaerata them 11111,

- and, while yet a nonk it left,

Where aacient English eoetoms may be firaad.
Shell be ooastrain'd to love them.**

That the celebration of May-day, as a
national festival, should have been abolish-
ed, is not surprising, when we consider the
formidable attacks directed against it by
the spirit of fonaticism, both from the
pulpit and the press ; a curious specimen
of which is here inserted from « Funebria.
Flora, the DownfaU of May-game9,** a
scarce tract, published in 1661 *'bv Thomas
Hall, B. D., and pastor of King's Norton.'**
It is, as the author observes, ^ a kind of
dialofpie, and dialogues have ever been
accounted the most lively and delightful,
the most facile and fruitfullest way of
teaching. Allusions and similes sink deep,
and make a better impression upon the
spirit; a pleasant allusion may do that
which a solid argument sometimes cannot
do ; as, in some cases, iron may do that
which gold cannot.'' — From this curious
tract is derived the following, with some
slight omissions—

" Indictment of Flora."

** Flora, hold up thy hand, thou art here
indicted by the name of Ftoroy of the city
of Rome, in the county of Babylon, for
that thou, contrary to the peace of our
sovereign lord, his crown and dignity, hast
brought in a pack of practical &natics, viz.
— ignorants, atheists, papists, drunkards,
swearers, swashbucklers, maid-marian's,
morrice-dancers, maskers, mummers, May-
pole stealers, health-drinkers, together with
a rascallion rout of fiddlers, fools, fighters,
gamesters, lewd-woraen, light-women, con-
temners of magistracy, affronters of minis-
try, rebellious to masters, disobedient to
parents, misspenders of time, and abusers
of the creature, Sec.

* A copy of Hairs Fwtebrfa Fhr» was sold Jaaaary
M. 181$. (a the Biadlej CoUeetaoa. for 466. IS*. U,

" Judge. What sayest thou, guilty or no(
guilty ?

" Prisoner, Not guilty, my lord.

" Judge, By whom will iliou be tried ?

" Prisoner. By the pope's holiness, my
lord.

" Jw^e, He is thy patron and protector,
and so unfit to be a judge in this case.

" Prisoner. Then I appeal to the prelates
and lord bishops, my lord.

" Judge. This is but a tiffany put off, for
though some of that rank did let loose the
reins to such profiineness, in causing the
book of sports, for the profanation of God's
holy day, to be read in churches, yet 'tis
well known that the gravest and most pious
of that order have abhorred such profane-
ness and misrule.

" Prisoner. Then I appeal to the rout
and rabble of the world.

" Judge. These are thy followers and
thy favourites, and unfit to be judges in
their own case.

" Prisoner, My lord, if there be no
remedy, I am content to be tried by a jury

** Judge. Thou hast well said, thou shaU
have a full, a fair, and a free hearing. —
Crier, call the jury.

" Crier. O yes, O yes; all manner of
persons that can give evidence against the
prisoner at the bar let them come into
court, and they shall be freely heard.

^ Judge. Call in the Holy Scriptures.

" Crier. Make room for the Holy Scrip-
tures to come in.

** Judge. What can you say ag^ainst the
prisoner at the bar?

" Holy Scriptures. Very much, my lord.
I have often told them, that the night of
ignorance is now past, and the lieht of the
gospel is come, and therefore they must
walk as children of the light, denyine all
ungodliness and worldly lusts. I have
often told them, that they must shun all the
appearance of evil, and have no fellowship
with the unfruitful works of darkness, nor
conform themselves like to the wicked of
this worid. I have often told them, that
our God is a jealous God, and one that
will not endure to have his glory given to
idols.

" Judge. This is full and to the purpose
indeed ; but is there no more evidence to
come in ?

" Crier. Yes, my lord, here is Pliny, an
ancient writer, fiimous for his Natural His-
tory.

" Judge. What can you say against the
prisoner at the bar ?

'* Pliny. My lord, I have long since told
them, that these were not christian, but

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pagan featts ; they were heathens, (and as
such knew not God,) who first instituted
these Floralia and May-games. I have
lold them that they were instituted accord-
ing to the advice of the SibyPs books, in
the 516th year after the foundation of the
city of Rome, to prevent the blasting and
barrt^nness of the trees and the fruits of the
earth. (Piin. Nat. Hist. lib. xviii. c. -29.)
I " Judg0, Sir, you have given us good
light in this dark case ; for we see that the
rise of these feasts was from Pagans, and
that they were ordained by the advice of
SibyPs books, and not of God's book ; and
for a superstitious and idolatrous end, that
thereby Flora, not God, might be pleased,
and so bless their fruits and fiowers. This
is clear, but have you no more evidence ?

" Crier, Yes, my lord, here is CaeUtts
Lactantiv* FirmianttSf who lived about
three hundred years after Christ, who will
plainly tell you the rise of these profane
iports.

*' Judge, I have heard of this celestial,
sweet, and firm defender of the faith, and
that he was a second Cicero for eloquence
in his time. Sir, what can you say against
the prisoner at the bar ?

*' Lactantiue, My lord, I have long since
declared my judgment against this Flora,
in my first book of false religions, &c

'* Judge. This is plain and full, I now
see that Laetanthu is Firmiauue, not only
sweet, but firm and constant, &c. Have
you no more evidence ?

" Crier, Yes, my lord, here is the Sy-
nodue Franeica, which was called, Anno
Dom. 742.

" Judge, What can you say against the
prisoner at the bar ?

'' Synodue. My lord, I have long since
decreed, that the people of God shall have
no pagan feaate or interludes, but that they
reject and abominate all the uncleannesses
of Gentilism, and that they forbear all sacri-
legious fires, which they call bonjirea, and
all other obserratfons of the Pagans what-
soever.

" Jttdge. This is clear against all heathen-
ish feasts and customs, of which this is
one. But hare you no evidence nearer
home?

" Crier, Yes, my lord, here is one that
will conquer them all, and with the sword
of justice suddenly suppress them.

*' Judge. Who is that! pray you ? Let me
see such a man.

'' Crier. My lord, it is Charlee the
Second, kinff of Great Britain, France, and
Ireland, defender of the faith.

** Judge. Truly he deserves that title, if

he shall now appear in defence of the truth,
against that profane rout which lately
threatened the extirpation both of sound
doctrine and good life. I hear that the
king is a sober and temperate person, and
one that hatea debauchery ; I pray you let
us hear what he saith.

*^ Crier, My lord, the king came into
London May 29th, and on the 30th he
published a Proclamation agaiuat Profane^
neaa, to the great rejoicing of all good
people of the land. When all was running
mto profaneness and confusion, we, poor
ministers, had nothing left but our prayers
and tears : then, even then, it pleased the
Most High to put it into the heart of our
sovereign lord the king, eminently to ap-
pear in the cause of that God who hath so
eminently appeared for him, and hath
brought him through so many dangers and
difficulties to the throne, and made so
many mountains a plain before him, to
testify against the debauchery and gross
profaneness, which, like a torrent, had sud-
aenly overjpread the land. (Proclamation
against Protaneness, &c. &c.)

*' Judge. Now blessed be the Lord, the
King of kings, who hath put such a thing
as this into the heart or the king, and
blessed be his counsel, the good Lord re-
compense it sevenfold into his bosom, and
let ail the sons of Belial fly before him ; as
the dust before the wind, let the angel of
the Lord scatter them.

** Prisoner. My lord, I and my retinue
are very much deceived in this Charles the
Second ; we all conceited that he was for
us. My drunkards ctied, '^ A health to the
king ;*' the swearers swore, '< A health to
the king;" the papist, the atheist, the
roarer, and the ranter, ail concluded that
now their day was come; but alasl how
are we deceived 1

*' Judge, 1 wish that you, and all such as
vou are, may for ever be deceired in this
kind, and that your eyes may rot in your
heads before you ever see idolatry, super-
stition, and profaneness countenanced in
the land. — Have you no mure evidence to
produce against these profane practices?

** Crier, Yes, my lord, here is an Or"
dinance of Parliament against them.

** Priaoner. My lord, I except asainst
this witness above all the rest ; for it was
not made by a full and free parliament of
lords and commons, but by some rump
and relic of a parliament, and so is invalid.

'' Judge. You are quite deceived, for this,
ordinance was made by lords and commons \
when the house was full and free; and
those the best that England ewtx had, for

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piety towards God and loyalty to their
sovereign. Let as hear what they say.

'* OrtHfmnce of Parliament. My lord, I
save plainly told them, that since the pro*
fanation of the Lord's day hath been here-
tofore greatly occasioned by May-poles, the
.ords and commons do therefore ordain that
ihey shall be taken down and removed, and
that no May-pole shall be hereafter erected
or suffered to remain within this kingdom,
under the penalty of ^v^ shillings for every
week, till such May-pole is taken down.*

*' Jvdge. This is lo the purpose. This
may clearly convince any sooer man of the
sinfulness of such practices, and make them
abhor them ; for what is forbidden by the
laws of men, especially when those laws
are consonant to the laws of God, may not
be practised by any person ; but these pro-
fane sports being foi bidden by the laws of
men, are herein consonant to the laws of
God, which condemn such sinful pastimes.
Have you no more evidence besides this
ordinance to batter these Babylonish towers?

** Crier. Yes, my lord, here is the Solemn
Leagne and Covenant^ taken in a solemn
manner by king, lords, and commons, the
assembly of divines, the renowned city of
London, the kingdom of Scotland, and by
many thousands of ministers and people
throughont this nation.

'* Prieoner. My lord, these things are
'out of date, and do not bind now our trou-
bles are over.

** Judge. The sixth branch of the cove-
nant will tell you, that we are bound all
the days of our lives to observe these things
zealously and constantly against all opposi-
tion ; and I suppose every good man thinks
himself bouna to preserve the purity of
religion, to extirpate popery, heresy, super-
stition, and profaneness, not only in times
of trouble, but as duties to be practised in
our places and callings all our aays. Now
if May-{{:ames and misrules do savour of
superstition and profaneness, (as 'tis appa-
rent they do,)— if they be contrary to sound
doctrine and the power of godliness, (as to
all unprejudiced men they are,)— then, by
this solemn league and sacred covenant, we
are bound to root them up. This is suffi-
cient, if there were no more ; but because
men are loath to leave what they dearly
love, let us see whether you have any fur-
ther evidence ?

" Crier, Yes, my lord, here is an excel-
lent OriEer from the Council of State^ mtide
this present May, (1661,) wherein they take

•Ordiamee of PArliamnt, 16Ur^M
rol. i. p. fiAS.

Bjerjf-Daif

notice of a spirit of profoneness and im-

{>iety that hath overspread the land ; there-
ore they order, that the justices of the
peace and commissioners for the militia do
use their utmost endeavours to prevent all
licentiousness and disorder, and all profana-
tion of the sabbath ; that they suppress all
ale-houses, and ail ungodly meetings ; that
they own and protect aH good men in theit
pious and sober walking. The council doth
likewise command them to have a specia«
care to prevent profaneness and disorders
of people about Mmf^olee and meetines or
that nature, and their rude and disorderly
behaviours towards people, in molesting
them, to get monies to spend vainly at such
meetings.

** Judge. This is full and to the point
indeed, blessed be God, and blessed be
their counseL But have you yet no more
evidence ?

** Crier. Yes, my lord, here is Mr. BUony
a man eminent for piety, and of known
integrity in his time ; he hath long since
told us, that such filthy company, where
there is such filthy speeches and lascivious
behaviour, with mixed dancing at tneir
merry meetings, &c. ; and therefore to be
abhorred by all sober Christians.*

" To him assents that great divine. Dr.
jimee, who telb us, that those who will
shun incontinency and live chastely, must
shun such profane meetings ; and take heed
of mixed dancing, stage-plays, and such
incentives.f

" Prisoner. My lord, these were old
puritans and precisians, who were more
nice than wise.

«• Crier. I will produce men of another
strain ; here are bishops against you. Bishop
Babington hath long since told us, that
these sinful pastimes are the devil's festi-
val, &c. being forbidden by ecripture, which
commands us to shun all appearance ot
evil.t

^ Here is also bishop Andrewey who tells
us that we must not only refrain from evil,
but also horn the show of evil ; and must
do things honest not only before God, but
also before men ; to this end we must shun
wanton dancing, stage-plays, &c because
our eyes thereby behold much wickedness
and a man cannot go on these hot coals
and not be burnt, nor touch such pitch snd
not be defiled, nor see such wanton actions
and not be moved $

• E]ton*k EzpMitioa of tbe Scecad CommaBdmeat.

t A me*, Cftn. Con*. 1 ▼. c. 89l

X Bubington on the ScTeath Commaadmnit.

I Bishop ABdr«ws*t EspotitioB o( tke Sercnt> Com

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** Judge. This is pioos, and to the pur-
pose; here is evidence sufficient; I shall
now proceed to sentence.

" Crier, My lord, I desire your patience
to hear one witness more, and then I have
done.

*' Judge, Who is that which comes so
late into court ?

*< Crier. My lord, 'tia the acute and
accomplished Ovid,

** Pritouer, My lord, he is a heathen
poet, who lived about twenty years before
Christ.

<' Judge, His testimony will be the
stronger against your heathenish vanities.
Publiue Ovidiue Nato, what can you say
against mistress Flora ^

'< Ovid, My lord, I have long since told
the world, that the senatorian fathers at
Rome did order the celebration of these
Floralian sports to be yearly observed about
the beginnmg of May, in honour of Flora,
that our fruits and flowers might the better
prosper. At this feast there was drinking,
dancing, and all manner, &c.*

** Prieoner^ Sir, you wrong the poet, and
may for ought I know wrong me, oy wrap-
ping up his ingenious narrative in so little
room —

'< Judge. I love those whose writings are
like jewels, which contain much worth in a
little compass.

** Crier, And it please you, my lord, we
will now call over the jury, that the prisoner
may see we have done her no wrong.

" Judge, Do so.

" Crier, Answer to your names— /To/y
SeriptureSf one— P/tny, rwo^Lactantiue,
THBEE — Synodue Frandooy four — Charles
the Secondy five — Ordinance of Parlk^
meni, six — Solemn League and Covenant,
SEVzv-^Order of the Council of State^
EIGHT — Meesre, Elton mid Ameey nine —
Bishop BabingtoUf TEV^^Biehop Andrewe^
ELEVEN — Ovid, TWELVE. — ^Thcsc, wiih all
the godly in the land, do call for justice
against this turbulent male&ctor.

*^ Judge, Flora, thou hast here been in-
dicted for bringing in abundance of misrule
and disorder into church and state ; thou
hast been found guilty, and art condemned
both by God and man, — by scriptures,
lathers, councils, — ^by learned and pious
divines,— and therefore I adjudge thee to

Perpetual Banishment,

that thou no more distuib this church and
state, lest justice do arrest thee." —

K.

* Ovid, FMtoram. lib. ▼.

ACCOUNT OF A MAY-DAY
COLLATION

Given by fFhiteloeke, in the EngUak
Marnier, {during hie Embassy from
Oliver Cromwell,) to Christina, Queen
of Sweden, and some of her favourite
LaiUes and Courtiers.

This being May-day, Whitelocke, ac-
cording to the invitation he had made to
the queen, put her in mind of it, that as
she was his mistress, and this May -day, he
was bv the custom of England to wait
upon her to take the air, and to treat her
with some little collation, as her servant.

The queen said, the weather was very
cold, yet she was very willing to bear him
company after the English mode.

With the queen were Woolfeldt, Tott,
and five of her ladies. Whitelocke brought
them to his collation, which he had com-
manded his servants to prepare in the best
manner they could, and altogether after the
English fashion.

At the table with the queen sat La Belle
Countesse, the Countesse Gabriel Oxen-
stierne, Woolfeldt, Tott, and Whitelocke
the other ladies sat in another room. Their
meat was such fowl as could be gotten,
dressed after the English fashion, and with
English sauces, creams, puddings, custards,
tarts, tanseys, English apples, bon chr^tien
pears, cheese, butter, neats' tongues, potted
venison, and sweetmeats, brought out of
England, as his sack and claret also was ;
his beer was also brewed, and his bread
made by his own servants, in his own
house, after the English manner ; and the
queen and her company seemed highly
pleased with this treatment : some of her
company said, she did eat and drink more
at it than she used to do in three or four
days at her own table.

The entertainment was as full and noble
as the place would afford, and as White-
locke could make it, and so well ordered
and contrived, that the queen said, she had
never seen any like it : she was pleased so
&r to play the good housewife, as to in-
quire how the butter could be so fresh and
sweet, and yet brought out of England?
Whitelocke, from his cooks, satisfied her
majesty's inquiry ; that they put the salt
butter into milk, where it lay all night, and
the next day it would eat fresh and sweet
as this did, and any butter new made, and
commended her majesty's g^d house-
wifery; who, to express her contentment
to this collation, was full of pleasantness
and gayety of spirits, both in supper-time,
and afterwards: among other frolics, she

IL

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commanded Whitelocke to teach her ladies
the English salutation ; which, after some
pretty defences, their lips obeyed, and
Whitelocke most readily.

2»he highly commended Whitelocke*s mu-
sic of the trumpets, which sounded all
supper-time, and her discourse was all of
mirth and drollery, wherein Whitelocke
endearoured to answer her, and the rest of
the company did their parts.

It was late before she returned to the
castle, whither Whitelocke wailed on her ;
and she discoursed a little with him about
his business, and the time of his audience,
and gave him many thanks for his noble
treatment of her and her company.

Two days after this entertainment, Mons.
Woolfeldt, being invited by Whitelocke,
told him that the queen ¥ras extremely

E leased with his treatment of her. White-
N^ke excused the meanness of it for her
majesty. Woolfeldt replied, that both the
queen and all the company esteemed it as
the haodM>me8t and noblest that they ever
saw; and the queen after that, would
drink no other wine but Whitelocke's, and
kindly accepted the neats' tongues, potted
venison, and other cakes, which, upon her
commendation of (hem, Whitelocke sent
unto her majesty.*

MAY-DAY CHEESES.

To tke Editor.

Deae Sir,— On the first of May, at the
village of Bandwick, near Stroud, there
has been, from time imnemorial, the fol-
lowing custom : — ^Three large cheeses^Glou-
cester of course,) decked with the gayest
flowers of this lovely season, are pla<^ on
litters, equally adorned with flowers, and
boughs of trees waving at the comers.
They are thus borne through the village,
accompanied by a joyous thiong, shouting
and huzzaaing with all their might and
main, and usually accompanied by a little
band of music. They proceed in this
manner to the chuicb-yard, wb^re the
cheeses being taken from the litters, and
divested of their floral ornaments, are rolled
three times round the church. They are
then carried back in the same state, and in
the midst of the village are cut up and dis-
tributed piecemeal to the inhabitants.
I am, dear, sir, &c.
Aprils 1827. C. ToMLiNSOV

• GMtJ«iBU*s MifBciaa, IStt.

EASTEiUBOX.
A custom was mstituted in the city o.
Thoulouse by Charlemagne, that at Eastei
any Christian might give a box on the eai
to a Jew, wherever he chanced to meet
him, as a mark of contempt for the nation,
which had, at that season, crucified the
Saviour of mankind. This usage, scanda-
lous in itself, was sometimes, through sea),
practised with great violence. It is stated
that the eve of a poor Jew was forced out,
on that side of the head whereon the blow
was given. In the course of centuiies
this cruel custom was commuted for a tax,
and the money appropriated to the us** of
the church of St. Saturnin.'* Accounts uf
the prevalence of this custom in our own
country are related in the Every-Ihty
Booky vol. i.

DOCTOR GIBBS, alias « HUCK'N !"
For the Table Book.

Dr. Gibbs, commonly called " Huck'n I"
was an extraoidinary individual, who fol-
lowed the profession of an itinerary vete-
rinary surgeon in the west of Enj^land.
His ways were difierent from hb neigh-
bours, and his appearance was so singular,
that a stranger might have taken him for a
tramping tinker. Like Morland, he had an
unfortunate predilection for ** signs,^ under
whose influence he was generally to be found.
He would " keep it up to the last,*' with
his last shilling ; and, like the wit in doctor
Kitchiner's converzaziones, he would << come
at seven and go it at eleven.'' To love for
his profession, he added a love for old
pastimes, customs, and revelries. He was
a man, in the fullest extent of the word, a
lover of his country — zealous in his friend-
ships, he exercised the virtues of humanity,
by aiding and even feeding those who were
in severe distress. He spent much, for his
means were considerable— -they were de-
rived from his great practice. His know-
ledge of his art was profound ; a horse's
life was as safe in his hands, as the writer's
would be in sir Astley Cooper's.

In his person, " Huck'n r was muscular,
and he stood above the middle size; his
habits gave him an unwieldy motion ; his
complexion was sandy ; his as]>ect muddled ;
large eyebrows pent-housed his small glassy
blue eves ; a wig of many curls, perking
over his haXd forehead, was dosea by a
bosh of his own hair, of another colour
behind; his whiskers were carroty, and

' Mm Flamptrt.

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h« usually had ait unsnorn oeard. It was
when he entered a stable, or cow-pen, m
his leather apron half-crossed, wich his
drufc-pouch at nis side, that he appeared in a
skilful light. His thick holly walkin^-stick
^ith a thong run through the top, was
tried in the service, as its worn appearance
estified, and many an animal s mouth
oould witness. He rarely pulled the
drenching horn, or fleam from his pocket
to operate, but he rolled his tongue over
his beloved *' pigtail," juicily deposited in
he nook of a precarious touth, and said,-^
** Huck'n I" Hence his nomme de guerre
^nd hence the proverb that outlives him
— *' he that can chew like Hucltn I may
mre like Huck'n /'* The meaning of this
emphatic monosyllable remains a secret.
Some of the superstitious conjectured, that
he used it in stables and outhouses as a
(harm to scare the witches from riding the
cattle. This liberty is verily believed by
many to exist to this day ; hence a horse-
shoe is nailed to the sill of the stable-door,
that the midnight hags of ** air and broom "
mav not cross the iron bar-rier.*

It is thirty years since " Huck'n"
flourished. If he had a home, it was at
iiullavington, near Malmsbury, where as
a pharmacist, farrier, and phlebotomist of
high character and respectability, to his
patients — who are known to evince more
patience than most of the human species—
ne was very attentive. He would cheer-
fully forego his cheerful glass, his boon
companions, his amusing anecdotes, neces-
sary food, and nocturnal rest, to administer
to the comfort of a poor " dumb crealure,*'
and remain day and night till life departed,
or ease returned. Were he alive he would
tell us, that in our Intercourse with the
brute creation, we should exercise humane
feelings, and bestir ourselves to assuage the
acute pain, betokened by agonizing looks
and groans, in suffering animals.

" UucK*N 1" was an improvident man :
under more classical auspices, he might
have stood first in his profession; but he
preferred being *• unadorned — adorned the
most.*' He lived to assist the helpless, and
died in pcac^ Let persons of higher pre-
tensions do more — " HucVn K\

iklarch, 1827. J. R. P.

« VfTmin Md destmctive Wrdii are nailed, or ratKer
•trucift^, on the parR oanw of noblemen by their gfamo*
U«ppcr«, to hold intrndem in <errorem, and give ocular
proofs of skill and vifn lance.

t The Saxon woA ** Hattdom** signifies ** Holr
Jidgincnt :•• whence in old tiinen, ** By my Halidtmr
was a solemn oath among conntrj p^'jple. — " By Gon-
tiesl**— >*By Qoethr* and a hundred other exdama-
mns, may have originated in the avoiding an oath, or
tf«r performing a pledge— but what is ** Huek*n f**

flnnortal Bearing

OF THE LORD OF THE MANOR OF

The above print, obligingly presented, \*>
submitted to the reader, wixh the following
in explanation —

To the Editor.

Sir, — As I have taken in your Everjf
Day Bookf and continue with the TabL
Bookf I send you the subjoined account,
which, perliaps, may be worth your con-
sideration, and the engraved wood-block
for your use.

I remain your well-wisher,
X.

Ak Account of the Manor of Stoke
Lyne IN Oxfordshire, late the Pro*
PERTT of the Earl and Countess of
Shipbrook.

The lord of the manor has a ri^ht, by
ancient custom, to bear a hawk alK>ut his
arms agreeable to the print : it arose from
the following circumstance. When Charles
the First held his parliament at Oxford, the
then lord of Stoke Lvne was particularly
useful to the king in his unfortunate situa^
tion, and rendered him service. To re-
ward him he offered him knighthood, which
he declined, and merely requested the
king*s permission to bear behind his coat
of arms a hawk, which his majesty in
stantly granted. The present lord of the
manor is Mr. Cole of Twickenham, inhe-
nting the estate by descent from the late
earl and countess, and whose family are
registered in the parish church as early as
March 22, 1584. There is also a monu«
ment of them in the church of Petersham.
1624; and another branch of the same
family were created baronets, March 4,
1641, supposed to be the oldest fiunily ui
the county of Middlesex,

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MAY-DAY DANCE IN 1698.

This engniTing of the milkmaids' fi^rlancl,
ind the costume of themselves and their
fiddler, at the close of the century before
last, is from a print in ** M^moires, &c.
par un Voyageuren Angleterre," an octavo
volume, printed '< ik la Haye 1698," wherein
t is introduced by the author, Henry
Misson, to illustrate a passage descriptive
of the amusements of London at that lime.
His account of the usage is to the follow-
ing effect :—

On the first of May, and the five or six
days following, all the young and pretty
peasant girls, who are accustomed to bear
about milk for sale in the city, dress them-
selves very orderly, and carry about them
a number of vases and silver vessels, of
which they make a pyramid, adorned with
nbbons and flowers. This pyramid they
bear on their heads instead or the ordinary
milk-pail, and accompanied by certain of
their comrades and the music of a fiddle,
they go dancing from door to door sur-
rotmded by young men and child ren, who

follow them in crowds ; and every whew
they are made some little present.

ISABELLA COLOUR,
The archduke Albert married the infimta
Isabella, daughter of Philip II. king of
Spain, with whom he had the Low Coun-
tries in dowry. In the year 1609, he laid
siege to Ostend, then io the possession of
the heretics, and his pious princess, who
attended him in that expedition, made a
vow that till the city was taken she would
never change her clothes. Contrary to
expectation, it was three years before the
place was reduced; in which time her
hi^hness's linen had acouired a hue, which
from the superstition of the princess and
the times was much admired, and adopted
by the court fashionables under the name
of the •• Isabella-colour:** it is a whitish
yellow, or soiled bufi*— better imagined
than described.*

• SirJ. tfswklM.

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®arnt& ^lapd.

No. XV,

[From the " City Night-Cap," a Trari-
Comedy, by Robert Davenport, 1651. |

Lorefixo Medico aubortu three Staves to
Mwearfaleely to an adultery between hU vir-
tuoue fVife Abetenuoy and hU Friend Phi'
lippo. They give their tettimony before the
Duke of Ferona, and the Senatore,

Phil. — kowmoD
Two ioiiIb, more precious than a pair of worldi.
An loreU'd below death 1

AhMt, Ok hark 1 did yoa aot kmr it ?

5«a. Wkat^Ladj?

Ahit. This kour a pair of (lorioas towon is fhUea
Two goodlj buildings beatsa witk a breatk
Beaeath tko ^ave : yon all kavs seaa tkis daj
A pair of soals both cast and kiss'd awaj.

5m. What omsars giYOs jovr Graos?

Dmkf. la that I aat kiasmaa
To the aeenier, that I might not appear
Partial in judgment, let it seem ao wonder.
If unto yonr OraTities I leave
The following sentnioe : bat as LoreoMttaad*
A kinsman to Verona, so fofget not,
Abetemia still is suter onto Venice.

PhU. MiMry of goodneal

Abst. Ob Lorenao Medico,
%bstemia*s LoTcr once, when he did tow.
And when I did believe ; then when Abstemia
Denied so manj princes for Lorenao,
rhen when joa swore : — Oh maids, how men caa weep
Print protestations on their breasts, and sigh.
And look so tmlj, and then weep again.
And then protest again, and again dissemble I—
When once enjo/'d, like strange sights, we growitale;
And find oar comforts, like their wonder, faiL

PhU. OhLorensol
Look upon tears, eaeh one of which weli-Talned
!s worth the pitj of a king ; bat thon
Art harder tu than rocks, aad eanst not prise
rhe preeioos waters of tratVs injured ejes.

Xor. Please your Grace, proceed to eensnre.

Jhdu. Thos 'tis decreed, as these Lords have set
down.
Against all ooDtradictJon : Signor Philippo,
la that 70a hare thus groeslj. Sir, dishonoui'd
Kyen onr Uood itMlf ia this rods lajnrj
Lights on oar kinsman, his prerogatiTe
Implies death on joar trespass ; bbt, Oroor merit
Of more aotiqnitj than is joar trespass),
TLit death is blotted oat ; perpetual baajthmfat,
On pwa of death if you return, for ctv*
If torn Venma and her signories.

PkU. Verona is kind.

fien. Unto jou. Madam,
Taia ooasure is allotted: your high blo«l

Takes off the danger of the law ; nay from

Even baaishmeat it»elf : this Lord, your hbibaad.

Sues only for a legal ilair divorce.

Which we thiak good to great, the church allowiag

And ia that the injury

Chiefly rpflecU on him, he hath free licence

To marry whea and whom he ptoasre

Ahtt. I thank ye.
That you are favorable unto my Lovo^
Whom yet I loTe and weep for.

PhU, Farewell, Lorenso,
This breast did nerer yet haibonra thought
Of thee, but man was in it, honest man :
There's all the words that thon art worth. 01 ym

Grace
I hnmhly thus take leave. KareweU, my Lords ;^
And lastly farswell Thou, lisirest of many.
Yet by far au>re unfortunate I— 4ook up,
Aad see a crown held for thee ; win it, aad die
Love's martyr, the lad map of injury. —
And so remember. Sir, yoar injured Lady
Has a brother yet ia Venice.

Philippo, at an after-trHd, challenges
Dorenxo,

PhiL » in the integrity.
And glory of the canae, I throw the pawn
Of my aflieted honour; and on that
I openly affirm your abaent Lady
Chastity's well knit abstract ; snow in the faU«
Purely refined by the bleak northern blast.
Not frser from a toil ; the thoughts of infsnts
0ut little nearer heavea : aad if these prioeea
Pleaee to permit, before their guilty thoughts
Ii^ure another hour upon the Lady,
My rightpdrawn sword shall proTe it. —

Abstemia, decoyed to a Brothel in Mitan^
is attempted by the Duke's Son.

Prince. Do you know me ?

AbtL Yes, Sir, report hath given intelligence.
You are the Prince, the Duke's son.

Prtace. Both in one.

AM, Report, sure.
Spoke but her natiT* langaagt. Yoa are noaa
Of either.

Prittes. Howl

AUi, Were you the Priaoa, yon would not tms bo

To your blood's passion. I do crave your pardoa
For my rough languages Tru^ hath a forehead fret
Aad ia dM tower of her integrity
Sits an uavnaquish'o yixgin. Can you imagine.
Twill appear possible you are the Prince ?
Why, whea you set your foot first ia this house.
You cmsh'd obedient duty unto denth ;
And even then fell from you yoer respect.
Eononr is like a goodly old konse, which

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If w« TCpair not ttiU with Tirtne's hand.
Like s eitadrl beiag madlj raised on aaad.
It falls, is •iraUow*d, and not foand.

Pfimoe. If tho« rail vpoa tha plaoa^ prithte hov
eameat thon hUhar ?

Ahtt. Bj traaeheroas iateUifenea ; hoaant maa ao,
la the waj ifnoraat, throA^ thiaTea' parliaoa go.—
Ara yoa Sob to raeh a Father i
SebJ him to hia graTe then,
like a white almond tree, full of glad dajs
I With jo/ that he begot so good a Son.
O Sir, methiaks I see sweet Majestj
8it with a moaning sad face full of aorrow^
To see 70a u this place. This is a cave
Of scorpions and of dragoaa. Oh tan back ;
Toads haze engender : 'tis the steam of death ;
The ver J air poisons a good maa*s breath.

Priace. Let me borrow goodneaafrom thj lipa. Fare-
waU!
Here'a a new wonder; I'ta met haaT*a ia halL

Undue pr&ue decUnetL

■- . 70a are far too prodigal in praise,
Aad crown me with the garlands of year merit; '
As we meet barks oa rivers^— the strong gale
Being beat friends to asr-»ar owm swift motion
Makes as beUeve that t'other aimbler rows ;
dm'itt Tirtoa thiaks small goodneaa fasteat goaa.

[From the " Conspiracy/' a Tragedy by
Henry Killigrew, 1638. Author*s age
17.]

The Rigktflil Hdr to the Crown kept
/VoNi Ait itiheritanee t an Angei einge to

Song.

While Morpheas thns does genUj lay
His powarfnl charge npoa each part.

Making thy apirito er'n obey
The silrer charms of his dnll art ;

1, thy Good Aagel, from thy side,-
As SBMka doth from the alter rise,

Makiag no a<»ae aa it doth glide,—
Will laaTC thee ia this soft sarprisa ;

Aad from the doads will fetch thee dowa

A holjT Ttdoa, to express
Thy right vato aa earthly crowa ;

No power oaa make thia kingdom lasa.

Bat geaUy, gntlj, last I briag

A stert ia sleep hj saddea flight,
Flajiag aloof; aad hoTeriag,

Till I am loot aato the sight.

Tlus is a motioB still aad aoft;

80 free from aoise aad cry.
That JoTt hiMaU; who hears a thoaght,

Kwwt aat wImb we oaaa br*

CL.

THE GOOD CLERK.

He writeth a lair and s^vift hand, and is
oompletety versed in the four first rules of
Arithmetic, in the Rule of Three, (which is
sometimes called the Golden Rule,) and in
Practice. We mention these things, that
we may leare no room for cavillers to say,
that any thing essential hath been omitted
in our definition ; else, to speak the truth,
these are but ordinary accomplishments,
and such as every understrapper at a desk
is commonly furnished with. The charac-
ter we treat of soareth higher.

He is clean and neat in his person; not
from a vain-glorioiis desire of setting him
self forth to advantage in the eyes of the
other sex, (with which vanity too many oi
our young sparks now-a-days are infected,)
but to do credit (as we say) to the office.
For this reason he evermore taketh care
that his desk or his books receive no soil ;
the which things he is commonly as soli*
dtous to have hit and unblemished, as the
owner of a fine horse b to have him appear
in good keep.

He riseth early in the morning; not
because early rising conduceth to health,
(though he doth not altogether despise that
consideration,) but chiefly to the intent that
he may be first at the desk. There is his
post — there he delighteth to be; unless
when his meals, or necessity, calleth him
away ; which time he always esteemeth as
lost, and maketh as short as possible.

He is temperate in eating and drinking,
that he may preserve a clear head and
steady hand for his master's service. He
is also partly induced to this observation
of the rules of temperance by his respect
for religion, and the laws of bis country ;
which things (it may once for all be noted)
do add special assistances to his actions,
but do not and cannot ftimish the main
spring or motive thereto. His first ambi-
tion (as appeareth all along) is to be a good
clerk, his next a good Christian^ a good
patriot, &c.

Correspondent to this, he keepeth him-
self honest, not for fear of the laws, but
because he hath observed how unseemly an
article it maketh in the day-book or ledger,
when a sum is set down lost or missing ; it
being his pride to make these books to
agree and to tally, the one side with the
other, with a sort of architectural symmetry
and correspondence.

He marrieth, or raarrieth not, as best
suiteth with his employer's views. Some
merchants do the rather desire to hav^
married men in their counting-house^,

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jecause they think the marned state a pled ^
hr their servants' integrity, and an incite-
nent to them to be industrious; and it was
an obserration of a late lord mayor of
London, that the sons of clerks do gene-
rally proTe clerks themselves, and that
merchants encouraging persons in their em-
ploy to marry, and to have families, v?as
the best method of securing a breed of
sober, industrious young men attached to
the mercantile interest. Be this as it may,
9uch a character as we have been describ-
ing, will wait till the pleasure of his em-
ployer is known on this point ; and regu-
lateih his desires by the custom of the
house or firm to which he belongeth.

He avoideth profane oaths and jesting,
as so much time lost from his employ ;
what spare time he hath for conversation,
which in a counting-house such as we have
been supposing can be but small, he
spendeth m putting seasonable questions
to such of his fellows, (and sometimes re-
tpectjklfy to the master himself,) who can
^ve him information respecting the price
and quality of goods, the state of exchange,
or the latest improvements in book-keep-
ing ; thus making the motion of his lips,
as well as of his fingers, subservient to his
master's interest. Not that he refuseth a
brisk saying, or a cheerful sally of wit,
when it comes enforced, is free of offence,
and hath a convenient brevity. For this
reason he hath commonly some such phrase
as this in his mouth :—

It's a slovealj look
To Uot jroar book.

Or,

Had iak for onamest, Uaek for vm,
Tho best of tkiBfi art open toabaaa.

Si> upon the eve of any great holiday, of
which he keepeth one or two at least every
year, he will merrily say in the hearing of a
confidential friend, but to none other : —

All work and no plajr
Makot Jack a daU boy.

A bow alwa>i brat mnat craek at last.

But then this must always be understood
to be spoken confidentially, and, as we say,
un^er the roMe.

Lanly, his dress is plain, without singu-
laritv ; with no other ornament than the
quill, which is the badge of his function,
stuck under the dexter ear, and this rather
for convenience of having it at hand, when
he hnth been called away from his desk,
and expecteib to resume his seat there

again shortly, than from any delight wnicf.
he t^dieth in foppery or ostenution. Th«
colour of his clothes is generally noted tt
be black rather than brown, brown rathe-
than blue or green. His whole deportment
is staid, modest, and civil. His motto i&

regularity.

This character was sketched, in an inter-
val of business, to divert some of the melan-
choly hours of a counting-house. It i>
so little a creature of fancy, that it is scarce
any thing mure than a recollection of some
of those frugal and economical maxims
which, about the beginning of the last cen-
tury, (Enffland*s meanest period,) were en-
deavoured to be inculcated and instilled
into the breasts of the London apprentices,*
by a class of instructors who might not
inaptly be termed the matten of mean
morale. The astonishing narrowness and
illiberality of the lessons contained in some
of those books is inccnoeivable by those
whose studies have not led them that way,
and would almost induce one to subscribe
to the hard censure which Drayton has
passed upon the mercantile spirit :^-

Tbe fnpple morebant, bom to bo (be onna
Of this braw iala. f

Befoeana.

No.L

THE TRADESMAN.

1 have now Ijfing before rae that cunooa
book, by Daniel Defoe, '*The complete
English Tradesman." The pompous de-
tail, the studied analysis of every little mean
art, every sneaking address, every trick
and subterfuge (short of larceny) that is
necessary to the tradesman's occupation,
with the hundreds of anecdotes, dialogues
(in D,efoe*s liveliest manner) interspersed,
all tending to the same amiable purpose,
namely, the sacrificing of every honest
emotion of the soul to what he calls the
main chance — if you read it in an irouiea,
eenee, and as a piece of covered eatire^
make it one of tne most amusing books
which Defoe ever wrote, as much so as
any of his best novels. It is difficult to
say what his intention was in writing it. It
is almost impossible to suppose him in
earnest. Yet such is the bent of the book

* Tkis terra dnrinated a larger elan cf younr mes
than that »o which tt is now eonfined ; it took m th4
artirW elerks of merchaats and baaken, the Qootf
Barawellsoftheda/.

t The Rdkctor.

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to narrow and to degrade the heart, that if
such maxims were as catching and infec-
tious as those of a licentious cast, which
happily is not the case, had I been living
at tnat time, 1 certainly should have re-
ocronended to the grand jury of Middle-
sex, who presented the Fable of the Bees, to
have presented this book of Defoe's in pre-
ference, ai of a far more vile and debasing
tendency. I will give one specimen of his
advice to the young tradesman, on the
gtwemment of hut temper, ^ The retail
tradesman in especial, and even every
tradesman in his station, must furnish him-
self with a competent stock of patience ; I
mean that soit of patience whicn is needful
to bear with all sorts of impertinence, and
the most provoking curiosity that it is im-
possible to imagine the buyers, even the
worst of them, are or can be guilty of. A
tradeeman behind hie eonnter mvet have no
fieah and blood about ^my no paeeionty no
reeentment i he must never be angry, no
not so much as seem to be so, if a customer
tumbles him five hundred pounds worth* of
goods, and scarce bids money for any
thing ; nay, though they really come to his
bliop with no intent to buy, as many do,
only to see what is to be sold, and though
he knows they cannot be better pleased
than they are, at some other shop where
they intend to buy, 'tis all one, the trades-
man roust take it, he must place it to the
account of his calling, that Ui» hie bueineee
io be ill need and reeetit nothing ; and so
must answer as obligingly to those that
give him an hour or two*s trouble and buy
nothing, as he does to those who in half the
time lay out ten or twenty pounds. The
case is plain, and if some do give him
trouble and do not buy, others make amends
and do buy ; and as for the trouble, 'tis the
business of the shop.'' Here follows a
most admirable story of a mercer, who, by
his indefatigable meanness, and more than
Socratic patience under aifronts, overcame
and reconciled a lady, who upon the re-
port of another lady that he had behaved
saucily to some third lady, had determined
to shun his shop, but by the over-persua-
sions of a fourth lady was induced to go to
't ; which she does, declaring beforehand
that she will buy nothing, but give him all
the trouble she can. Her attack and his
defence, her insolence and his persevering
patience, are described in colours worthy of
a Mandeville ; but it is too long to recite.
'* The short inference from this long dis-
burse," says he, ** is this, that here you see,
and I could give you many examples like this,
how and in what manner a shopkeeper is

to behave himself In the way of his bast
ness; what impertinences, what taunts
flouts, and ridiculous things, be must bear
in his trade, and must not show the least
return, or the least signal of disgust: he
must have no passions, no fire in his tem-
per ; he must be all soft and smooth : nay,
if his real temper \\t naturally fiery and
hot, he must show ncme of it in his shop;
he must be a perfect, complete hypocrite if
he will be a complete tradeeman,* It is
true, natural tempers are not to be always
counterfeited ; the man cannot easily be a
lamb in his shop, and a lion in himself;
but, let it be easy or hard, it must be done,
and is done : there are men who have, by
custom and usage, brought tliemselves to
it, that nothing could be meeker and
milder than they, when behind the counter,
and yet nothing be more furious and raging
in every Qther part of life ; nay, the pro-
vocations they have met with in their shops
have so irritated their rage, that thev would
ga up stairs from their shop, and mil into
frenzies, and a kind of man ness, and beat
their heads against the wall, and perhaps
mischief themselves, if not prevented, till
the violence of it had gotten vent, and the
passions abate and cool. I heard once of
a shopkeeper that behaved himself thus to
such an extreme, that when he was pro*
voked by the impertinence of the customers,
beyond what his temper could bear, he
would go up stairs and beat his wife, kick
his children about like dogs, and be as
furious for two or three minutes, as a man
chained down in Bedlam ; and again, when
that heat was over, would sit down and cry
faster than the children he had abused;
and after the fit, he would go down into
the shop again, and be as humble, cour
teous, and as calm as any man whatever ;
so absolute a aovernment of his passions
had he in the shop, and so little out of it :
in the shop, a soulless animal that would
resent nothing ; and in the family a mad-
man : in the shop, meek like a lamb ; but
in the fiimily, outrageous like a Lybian
lion. The sum of the matter is, it is neces-
sary for a tradesman to subject himself bv
all the ways possible to his business ; 4i/
euetomere are to be hi» idole : eofar ae he
may worahip idole by allowance, heieto bow
down to them and worahip them ; at least,
he is not in any way to displease them, or
show any disgust or distaste, whatsoever
they may say or do; the bottom of all is,

* As BO omilifieAtioii aoeomiMiiiei thu nudm, U
moat be naaentood m th* (aiaia« ■Mtmeat of tbi
aaiher.

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that oe IM intending to get money by them,
and it is not for hira that gets money to
offer tfie least inconvenience to them by
whom he gets it; he is to consider that, as
Solomon says, the borrower is servant to the
Jender, so the seller Is servant to the buyer.**
What he says on the head of pleaturM and
reereoHofu is not less amusing: — ^"The
tradesman's pleasure should be in his busi-
ness, his companions should be his books,
(he means his ledger, waste-book, &c. ;) and
if he has a family, he makes kit e^eurnona
wp wUnrt and no finiher : — none of my
cautions aim at restraining a tradesman
from diverting himself, as we call it, with
his fireside, or keeping company with his
wife and diildren."*

MANNERS OF A SPRUCE LONDON
MERCER, AND HIS FEMALE CUS-
TOMER, A HUNDRED YEARS
AGO.

Those who have never minded the con-
versation of a spruce Mercer, and a young
Lady his Customer that comes to his shop,
have neglected a scene of life that is very
entertaining.->-Iiis business is to sell as
much silk as he can, at a price by which he
shall iret what he proposes to be reasonable,
according to the customary profits of the
trade. As to the lady, what she would be
at is to please her fancy, and buy cheaper
by a groat or sixpence per yard than the
things she wants are usually sold for. From
the impression the gallantry of our sex has
made upon her, she imagines (if she be not
verv deformed), that she has a fine mien
and easy behaviour, and a peculiar sweet-
ness of voice ; that she is handsome, and
if not beautiful, at least more agreeable
than most young women she knows. As
she has no pretensions to purchase the same
things with less money than other people,
but what are built on her good qualities, so
she sets herself off to the best advantage
her wit and discretion will let her. Tlie
thoughts of love are here out of the case ;
so on the one hand she has no room for
playing the tyrant, and giving herself angry
and peevish airs ; and on the other, more
liberty of speaking kindly, and being affa-
ble, than she can have almost on any other
occasion. She knows that abundance of
well-bred people come to his shop, and
endeavours to render herself as amiable, as
virtue and the rules of decency admit of.

- * Tha ReAeetor.

Coming with such a resolution ot behaviour,
she caimol meet with anything to ruflle her
temper. — Before her coach is yet quite
stopt, she is approached by a gentleman-
like man, that nas every thing clean and
fashionable about him, who in low obei-
sance pays her homage, and as soon as her
pleasure is known that she has a mind to
come in, hands her into the shop, where
immediately he slips from her, and through
a by-way, that remains visible for only half
a moment, with great address intrenches
himself behind the counter: here facing
her, with a profound reverence and modish
phrase he begs the favour of knowing her
commands. Let her say and dislike what
she pleases, she can never be directly con-
tradicted : she deals with a man, in whom
consummate patience is one of the myste-
ries of his trade ; and whatever trouble she
creates, she is sure to hear nothing but the
most obliging language, and has always
before her a cheerful countenance, where
joy and respect seem to be blended with
good humour, and all together make up an
artificial serenity, more engaging than un-
taught nature is able to produce. — When
two persons are so well met, the conversa-
tion must be very agreeable, as well as
extremely mannerly, though they talk about
trifles. Whilst she remains irresolute what
to take, he seems to be the same in advising
her, and is very cautious how to direct her
choice ; but when once she has made it,
and is fixed, he immediately becomes posi-
tive that it is the best of the sort, extob her
fiancy, aud the more he looks upon it, the
more he wonders he should nut have dis-
covered the preeminence of it over any
thing he has m his shop. By precept, ex-
ample, and great observation, he has learned
unobserved to slide into the inmost recesses
of the soul, sound the capacity of his cus-
toiners, and find out their blind side un-
known to them: by all which he is in-
structed in fifty other stratagems to make
her overvalue her own judgment, as well as
the commodity she would purchase. The
greatest advantage he has over her, lies in
the most material part of the commerce
between them, the debate about the price,
which he knows to a farthing, and she is
wholly ignorant of: therefore he no where
more egregiously imposes upon her under-
standing; and though here he has the
liberty of telling what lies he pleases, as to
the prime cost and the money he has re-
fused, yet he trusts not to them only ; but,
attacking her vanity, makes her believe the
most incredible things lu uie worlo, con-
cerning his own weakness and her superioi

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abilities. He had taken a resolution, he
says, ne?er to part with that piece under
such a price, but she has the power of talk-
ing him out of his goods beyond anybody
he e?er sold to : he protests that he loses
by his silk, but seeing that she has a fancy
for it, and is resoWed to give no more,
rather than disoblige a lady he has such
an uncommon value for, he will let her have
ity and only begs that another time she will
not stand so hard with htm. In the mean
time the buyer, who knows that she is no
fool and has a voluble tongue, is easily
persuaded that she has a very winning way
of talking, and thinking it sufficient for the
sake of good breeding to disown her merit,
and in some witty repartee retort the com-
pliment, he makes her swallow very con-
tentedly the substance of every thing he
tells her. The upshot is, that with the
satisfaction of having saved ninepence per
yard, she has bought her silk exactly at the
same price as anybody else might have
done, and often gives sixpence more than,
rather than not have sold it, he would have
takeiL—

We have copied the above from Mande-
ville's ** Fable of the Bees,** Edition 1725.
How far, and in what way, the practice
between the same parties differs at this
day, we respectfully leave to our fair shop-
ping friends, of this present year 1827, to
determine.

L.

CURING OF HERRINGS.

From the Worke of Thomas Naeky 1599.

** It is to bee read, or to bee heard of,
howe in the punie shipe or nonage of Cer-
dicke sandes, when tne best houses and
walles there were of mudde, or canvaze, or
poldavies entiltments, a fbherman of Yar-
mouth, having drawne so many herrings
hee wist notwhat to do with all, hung the
residue, that hee could not sel nor spend,
in the sooty roofe of his shad a drying ; or
■lay thus, his shad was a cabinet in deeimo
JteopiOj builded on foure crutches, and he
had no ronme in it, but that garret in ex-
eehU, to lodge them, where if they were drie
let them be drie, for in the sea they had drunk
too much, and now hee would force them doo
penance for it The weather was colde,
and good fires hee kept, (as fishermen,
what hardnesse soever they endure at sea,
will make all smoke^ but they will make

amends for it when they come to land ;)
and what with his fiering and smoking, or
srookie fiering, in that his narrow looby,
his herrings, which were as white as whale-
bone when he hung them up, nowe lookt
as red as a lobster. It was four or five
dayes before either hee or his wife espied
it; and when they espied it, they fell
downe on their knees and blessed them-
selves, and cride, * A miracle, a miracle T
and with the proclaiming it among their
neighbours they could not be content, but
to the court the fisherman would, and pre-
sent it to the King, then lying at Burrough
Castle two miles off."

The same facetious author, in enume-
rating the excellences of herrings, says,
*' A red herring is wholesome in a frosty
morning : it is most precious fish-mer-
chandise, because it can be carried through
ail Europe. No where are they so well
cured as at Yarmouth. The poorer sort
make it three parts of their sustenance. It
is every man*s money, from the king to the
peasant. The round or cob, dried and
Deaten to powder, is a cure for the stone.
Rub a quart-pot, or any measure, round
about the mouth with a red hening, the
beer shall never foam or froath m it. A
red herring drawn on the ground will lead
hounds a false scent. A broiled herring is
good for the rheumatism. The fishery is a
great nursery for seamen, and brings more
ships to Yarmouth than assembled at Troy
to fetch back Helen."

At the end of what Nash calls <' The
Play in Praise of Red Herrings," he boasts
of being the first author who bad written
in praise of fish or fbhermen : of the latter
he wittily and sarcasticallv says, " For
your seeing wonders in the deep, you may
be the sons and heirs of the prophet Jonas ;
you are all cavaliers and gentlemen, since
the king of fishes chose you for his sub-
jects ; for your selling smuke, you may be
courtiers ; for your keeping fasting days,
friar-observants ; and, lastly, look in what
town there is the sign of the three mari-
ners, the huff-capped drink in that house
you shall be sure of always."

Should any one desire to be informed to
what farther medicinal and culinary pur-
poses red herring may be applied with
advantage, Dodd*s Natural History of the
Herring may be consulted. If what is
there collected were true, there would be
little occasion for the faculUf, and cooker)
would no longer be a science.

Norwich. G. B

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^oetrp.

TO JOVE THE BENEFICENT.
For ike Tuble Book.
Oh Uiov, that holdait in thy spaeioos hand*
The deativiea of men 1 whose ejr* annreys
Their rariom aotioas ! thoo, whoee temf^ suada
Abore all tempUa I tlioo, whom all men praiae I
Of good the author I then, whose wiadom swaya

The vniverae I all boaateoua I graat to me
TranqaUlity, aad health, and length of days;

Good will f wards all, and roTerenee onto thee j
AUowaaoe for aaB*a failiaga, of my own

The knowledge ; aad the power to eenqaer aU
Thoee eril thlnga to which we are too j/ioafr—

lialiee, hate, cnTy— all that ill we call.
To me a blameless life. Great Spirit ! grant,
N«r hnrden'd with mnch care, nor narrow*d by mnch
waat.

S. R. J.

t^anae

WILSON AND SHUTER.

When Wilson the comedian made his
d^but, it was in the character formerly sup-
ported by Shuter; but upon his appear-
ance on the sta^, the audience called out
for their former favourite, by crymg, " Off,
of£^Skuter, Skuterr Whereon Wilson,
turning round, and with a face as stupid as
art could make it, and suiting his action to
his words, replied, '* Skoot ker, ekoot kerf**
(pointing at the same time to the female
performer on the stage with him,) *^ I'm sure
she does her part Tery well." This well-
timed sally of seeming stupidity turned the
scale in his favour, and called down re-
peated applause, which continued during
the whole of the performance.*

KITTY WHITES PARENTHESIS.

Kittjr White, a pupil to old Rich, the
comedian, was instructed by U*Brien, of
Drury-lane, how to perform Syhfia, in
•• The Recruiting OflScer." The lady re-
citing a passage improperly, he told her it
was a parentkeeUf and therefore required a
different tone of Toice, and greater toIu-
bility. ^AparentkeeUr said Miss White,
« What's that?" Her mother, who wbb
present, blushing for her daughter's igno-
rance, immediately exclaimed, ^ Oh, what
an infernal limb of an actress will you
make ! not to know the meaning of 'prm-
Ifee, and that it is the plural number of
preHtieeer

• hUmthlT Mirro.-

LADY WALUS AND Ma. HARRIS.
Mr. Harris, patentee of CoTcnt-garden
theatre, having received a Tery civil mes-
sage from lady Wallis, offering him her
comedy for notking, Mr. U. observed,
upon his perusal, that her ladyship knew
the exact value of it.*

SMOKY CHIMNIES.
A large bladder filled with air, suspend-
ed about half way up the chimney by a
piece of string attached to a stick, and
placed across a hoop, which may be easily
fastened by nails, will, it is said, prevent
the disagreeable effects of a smoky chim-
ney.

OLD ENGLISH PROVERB.

'' An ounce of motker wit ie wortk a
ponnd of learnings" seems well exemplified
10 the following dialogue, translated from
the German :

Hans, the son of the clergyman, said tu
the farmer's son Frederick, as thev were
walking together on a fine summer's even-
ing, « How large is the moon which we
DOW see in the heavens V
Frederick, As large as a baking-dish.
Hane. Ha! ha! ha! As largre as a bak-
ing-dish? No, Frederick, it is foil as large*
as a whole country.

Frederick. What do you tell me? as
large as a whole country? How do you
know it is so large?
Hane. My tutor told me so.
While they were talking, Augustus,
another boy, came by; and Hans ran
laughing up to him, and said, « Only bear.
Augustus ! Frederick says the moon is no
bigger than a baking-dish.''

••No?" replied Augustus, "The moon
must me at least as big as our bam. When
my fether has Uken me with him into the
city, I have observed, that the globe on the
top of the dome of the cathedral seems like
a very little ball ; and yet it will conuin
three sacks of com; and the moon must be
a mat deal higher than the dome/'

Wow which of these three little philoso-
phers was the mon intelligent ?— I must
give it in favour of the last; though Hans
was most in the right through the instrao-
tion of his master. But it is much more
honourable to come even at all near the
tmth, by one*s own reasoning, than to give
implicit faith to the hypothesis of another.

•hlMChly Minor.

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^^\^3il^^^^

.£^lkJ^

BEAL AND AUTOGRAPH OP THE LORD HIGH ADMIRAL.

CHARLES LORD HOWARD OF EFFINGHAM, 1585.
287

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OFFICE OF LORD HIGH ADMIRAL.

An engra?ingr of the great seal of Charles

Lord Howard of EfBngnam, as high admiral

of Fjagland, with another* his lordship**

autograph, are presented to the leadefs of

the Table Book from the originals, before

the Editor, affixed to a commission in the

first year of that nobleman's high office,

! granting to sir Edward Hoby, knight, the

I ^ice-admiraltv of the hundred e€ jJiMoo, in

I the county of Kent**

It will be renembered, thai the lord
I Howard of Effingham, afterwaids created
carl of Nottingham, was the distinguished
! admiral of the English fleet, which, in
|oonjunction with the winds of heaven,
dispersed and destroyed the formidable
Spanish armada ibr the in?asion of Eng*
land in 1588, during the reign of queen
Elizabeth. These engra?ed representations
therefore are no mean illustrations to a
short account ^ the office of lord high
admiral^ which, after haTtng been in com-
mission iipwards of a century, is Wfirtd ia
the perseo of the heir Apparent to the
throne.

It is ccmflKinfy said, that we hav« ob
ined the term admirai ffom the Freneh

ob-

The first admiial of France, or that ever
had been there by title of office, was
Enguerrand de Bailleul, lord of Coucy, who
was so created by Philip the Hardy in 1284,
and under that title appointed to command
a fleet for the conquest of Catalonia and
'other Spanish proviuces from Peter of
Arragon.

The French are presumed to have gained
the term in the crusades a little before this
period, under St. Lewis, who instituted the
Ofder of ^ the ship,*' an honour of knight-
hood, to encourage and reward enterprise
against the Turks. The collar of this order,
at the lower end whereof hung a ship, was
interlaced on doubie chains of gold, with
double scallop-shells of gold, and double
crescents of silver interwoven, *' which
figured the sandy shore and port of Aigues-
Mortes, and, with the ship, made manifest
declaration that this enterprise was to fight
with infidel nations, which followed the
blse law of Mahomet who bare the cres-
cent.''t Ibe chief naval commander of the
Saracens is said to have been called the
tukUraaie, and from him the French are
conjectured to have gained their amirai : if

• For tli« loM of tkU doeouMt, tk« editor te i».
inbtod to kbTslMU«MdvslMd«ormpoodHit J. J.K.

♦ FaviM^V. iiL« 4

they did, it was the only advantage secured
to France by the expedition of St.
Lewis.*

Still, however, whether the French mnirm
COBMS from the Saracen aidniroii/e is doubt,
ful ; and though the title occurs in Frendi
history, before we discover admiral in our
own, it is also doubtiiil whether we derive
it from our neighbours. The Saxons had
an officer, whom from his duties they called
^ Ae^MUr^-sO, that is All t^n the «m t*i
this title therefore of our ancient ancestors
may reasonably be presumed to have been
the etymon of our odmiraL

William de Leyboume was the first
Englishman that had the style of admiral.
At the assembly at Bruges in 1297, (25
Edward I.) he was a^led AdmhaWu Mmi»
tUgi»t and soon after the oflice became
tripartite. We subsequently meet with the
titles of admiralty of the north and of the
west, and in 1387 (10 Richard II.) we find
Ricluud, son of AUan^ earl of Arundel and
Surr^, dcnominiiled AdmiraUua An^luft
this is the earliest mention of that stylet

Charles, lord Howard of Effinsham, the
illustiious high admiral of Elizabeth,held tht
office 4righteen yean under his heroic mis*
tress, and was continued in it fourteen years
longer by her successor James I. In 1619
he was succeeded in it by George, marquis
(afterwards the first duke) of Buckingham,
who held the dignity till 1636, (temp. Car.
L) when it was in commission for a week,
and then conferred on Algernon, eail of
Northumberland, and afterwards, by the
parliament, on Robert, earl of Warwick. He
surrendered his commission in 1645, under
an ordinance that members should have no
employment, and the office was executed
by a committee of both houste, of whom
the earl was one. In 1649, the commis-
sioners of the admiralty under the Common-
wealth were allowed three shillings each per
diem.

* ** Thii food priBM beivf d«ad of a djwntiy at
tiM eampof CarUiflfo in AfNoi, tho fifth day of Aafut
Ob« thoMaad two kandrod throetoore aad tm, his UAj
was boilsd ia wiae aad wattr, vatil that the ftesh was
Matly diridod (rom tho boaos. His Sesh aad eatrails
wore ftTCB to tho kiaf of Sietl/, nioasisttr Charles of
Fraaoo. brothor to the kiar , who eaased th«B to be la-
tmrred la tho moaasteiy Jt Moat Roail, of Um order ol
8t. Beaediet, aaar to the eitj ol Paleraio ia Sicily.
Bat the boaes, wrapped ap worthily ia seare doth aad
silks, ezoeUsaay eBbalmed with most prs<«oos p^r-
fnmm, were carried to St. Deais ia Fraaee i tad with
them those of his soa, moosieur Joha of France, eoaat
of Nevors. djiaf in the camp aad of thesame d
Favim0.

t Maidaad, Cok. Jost. p. t

t Qoda^ia's Admiraltf Jarisdiotioa. 1746.

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At the restoration of Charles II. in 1660,
his brother James, duke of York, was ap-
pointed lord high admiral ; but on the pass-
ing of the test act in 1673, being a Roman
Catholic, he resigned, and the office was put
in commission, with prince Rupert as nrst
lord, till 1679. It remained in commission
till the end of that reign.

James II. (the duke of York just men-
tioned) on his accession declared himself,
in. council, lord high admiral, and lord
general of the navy, and during his short
reign managed the admiralty aflfairs by Mr.
Secretary Pepys.

Throughout the reign of William III., the
admiralty was continued in commission.

Queen Anne, in 1702, appointed her
consort, prince George of Denmark, lord
high admiral of England; he executed
the office under that style, with a council,
till 1707, when, on account of the union, he
was styled lord high admiral of Great
Britain, and so continued wtth a council as
before. He died October 28, 1708, and
the queen acted bv Mr. Secretary Burchel,
till the 29th of November, when her ma-
jestv appointed Thomas, earl of Pembroke,
lora hign admiral of Great Britain, with a
fee of 300 marks per annum. In November,
1709, the admiraitv was again put in com-
mission, and has been so continued from
that time till April 1827, when the duke of
Clarence was appointed lord high admiral
of Gieat Britain.

The lord high admiral has the manage-
ment and controul of all maritime afairs,
and the government of the royal navy. He
commissions all naval officers, from an ad-
miral to a lieutenant ; he takes cognizance
and decides on deaths, murders, maims,
and all crimes and offences committed on
or beyond sea, in all parts of the world,
on the coasts, in all ports or havens, and
on all rivers to the first bridge from the lea.
He appoints deputies for the coasts, coro-
ners for the view of dead bodies found at
sea, or on the waters within his jurisdiction,
and judges for his court of admiralty. To
him belongs all fines and forfeitures arising
from the exercise of his office, the goods
of pirates. Ice. maritime deodands, wrecks,
salvage, searprise, waift and strays, dof-
poises, and other great sea-fishM, cailed
royal fishes, whale and sturgeon only ex-
cepted.* He is conservator of rivers and
pulilie streams, and of all ships and
fisheries, with power to reform unlawful
nets and engines; and he arrests and seixes

ships, impresses manners, pilots, masters^
gunners, bombardiers, and any other per-
sons wheresoever they may be met with, as
often as the naval service may require.*
Formerly, in common with other admirals,
he wore a whistle suspended by a gold
chain, with which he cheered his men to
action, but which has now descended to
the boatswain.f

The powers of the commission from the
lord Howard of Effingham, high admiral of
England, to sir Edward Uoby, may iiirther
illustrate the nature and extent of this high
office. The deed itself is in Latin, fairiy
engrossed on parchment, with a large and
fine illumiLation, entirely filling the side
and bottom margins, representing a branch
of white roses tinged with red, entwined
with a branch of honeysuckle, the leaves
and flowers in fair and proper colours.

This commission empowers ** sir Edward
Hobbie, knight,'* to take cognizance of, and
proceed in all civil and maritime causes,
contracts, crimes, offences, and other
matters, appertaining to the jurisdiction of
the English admiralty of the queen in the
hundred of Milton in the county of Kent,
and the maritime parts thereof, and thereto
adjacent, and to hear and determine the
same : Amp to inouire by the oath of good
and loyal men of the said hundred of all
traitors, pirates, homicides, and felons, and
of all suicides, and questionable deaths and
casualties within such admiralty jurisdiction,
aiKi of their estates, and concerning whatever
appertains to the office of the lord high
admiral in the said hundred. And of and
concerning the anchorage and shores and the
royal fishes, viz. sturgeons, whales, shell-
fish, (cetis,) porpoises, dolphins, rigge and
grampuses, and generally of all other fishes
whatsoever, great and small, belonging to
the queen in her office of chief admiralty of
England : Ann to obtain and receive all
pecuniary penalties in respect of crimes
and offences belonging to such jurisdiction
within the said hundred, and to decide on
all such matters : And to proceed against
all offenders according to the statutes of the
aueen and her kingdom, and according to
the admiralty power of mulcting, corrects
ing, punishing, castigating, reforming, and
impnsoning within the said hundred or it(
jurisdiction : And to inquire concerning
nets of too small mesh, and other contriv-
ances, or illicit instruments, for the taking of
fish : AvD concerning the bodies of persons

« Cowel. &e.

i FwbiolM*s EDcy. of AntiqutiM.

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wrecked and drowned in the waters of the
hundred : And concerning the Iceeping and
preservation of the statutesi of the queen
and her kingdom in the maritime parts of
the said hundred: And concerning the
wreck of the sea : An d to exercise the oflBce
of coroner, according to the statutes m the
third and fourth years of Edward the First :
And to proceed according to the statutes con-
cerning the damage of eoods upon the sea in
the 27th year of Edward III. : '* And you the
aforesaid sir Hobbie, our Tice-admiral, com-
missary, and deputy in the office of vice-
admiralty, in and over the aforesaid hundred
of Milton, we appoint, recommending to
you and your locum tenens firmness in the
execution of your duty, and requiring you
yearly in Easter and Michaelmas term to
account to the Court of Admiralty your

proceedings in the premises/*

^ Given at Greenwich under our great seal
the twelfth day of the month of July in
the year of our Lord from the incarnation
one thousand five hundred and eighty-five,
and in the twenty-seventh year of the reign of
our moat serene lady Elizabeth by the grace
of God queen of England, France, and
Ireland, defender of the fitith, Sec.''

The ^ great seaP above mentioned is
the great seal of the admiralty, engraved on
a preceding page, and as there represented,
of the exact size of the seal appended to the
commission.

Milton Hundred, Kent.
Throuffh a difierent source than that,
whence the commission just set forth came
to handy Uie Editor has now before him
variou original papers formerly belonging
CO tir Edward Hoby, concerning his private
and public concerns. The two following
relate to the hundred of Milton.

L
Articles of the Queene's Majestie
Lands belonging to the Manoor
of Afitton with ther yearly values
as thev wilbe letten, and of the
other benefttts belonging to the
same mannor, which are now
letten by her Majestie in farme.

Earabl* Lands 276*- 13«. 4d. \S4U.
Meadowe Lands 39-20«. - 39/t.
Mershe Lands - 12 - 20«. - 12/i.
Pasture Lands - 80 - t5«. - 60^;.
(Shent T) Lands - 34 - 6#. 8<f. UU. 6% M
T^wne meade -25- 5#. - 6/t.5«.

466

33Wt.O Bd.

Rents of Assise - - • 115n.lt. lOff

The Myll 12^1.

Faires and Marketts - - 10/1.
Relieves and Alienac'ons - 41L
Fines and Amercements . 6U. 13«. id
Wastes Strayes Fellons 1 ^^,: -. «.
GoodsandWiadtofSea J^^**- ^' ^

161/t. 1#. lOif

492/i. 29. 6d.

Articles of the Queene*s Majestie
Lands and other benefitts be-
longing to the Hundred of Afar*
den now less letten in farme.

Queene's Lands - 9 - 8«. - 32i.l2«.
Rents of Assise - - . - 14it. 9«. 5il.
Wastes Straies and Fellons goods 3ft'. 69. Sd.

21 /i. 8t. lif.

It is oversom*ed viij p. ann.

II.

Sim Edward Host /or a Lea9eofftke
autwtie of Milton and Marden.

The Queene*s Ma*tie b^ warrant of the
late Lord Treasourer the sixt daye of July,
in the xiijth Yeare of her Raigne, did
graunt Custodia of the Mannor of Milton,
and the Hundred of Milton, and Marden,
&c. vnto Thomas Randolphe for Threescore
years, yieldinge 120it. yearly rent and vjs.
viiid increase of the rent. Prouiso semper
ci'd si aliquis alius plus dare voluerit de
incr'o per Annum pro Custod. predict
sine fraude vel malo ingenio Quoa tunc
idem Thomas Randolphe tantum pro eadem
ioluere teneatur si Custod. voluerit her^e
sup*dict.

The Lease is by meane conve3rance
oolorably sett over vnto one Thomas Bod-
ley, but the interest is in one Richard Pot-
man, Attorney towards the Lawe.

Sr Edward Hoby knight the xxvjth of
Maye xlmo Regine nunc, before the nowe
Lord Treasourer and the Barons of the
Exchequer did personally cum, and in
wrytinge under his hande. Offer, sine fraude
vel malo ingenio, to increase the Queene*s
rent 1001*. vearly, which sayd Offer was
accepted and attested, with Mr. Baron
Clarke's hande redy to be inrolled.

Whereupon the savd Sr Edward Hoby
doth Humbly praye 4bat Yor Lo'pp wilbe

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pleased to gyve wan ant for the iorowlinge
thereof accordingely, and that a scire facias
maye presently be awarded agaynst the
Leasee, to shewe cause whye the former
Pattent shoulde not be repealed, and the
custody afbresayd graunted to the sayd
Sr Edward Uoby.

Note.
The lyke tender was heretofore made
nxijdo Regine Elizabeth by Richard Var-
ney Esquyer, agaynst Gregory Wolmer
Esquyer, for the Mannor of Torrington
Magna: beinge in extent to her Ma*tie
for the dett of Phillipp Basset, and leased
with the like Prouiso, and thereby ob-
teyned a newe Lease from her Ma'tie.

The preceding documents are so far
interesting, as they connect sir Edward
Hoby with the hundred of Milton and
Marden, beyond his public office of vice
admiral of the former place, and show the
underletting of the crown lands in the
reign of Elizabeth, with something of the
means employed at that time to obtain
grants.

6arri(ii pas£(.

No. XVI.

[From ^ Tottenham Court,'' a Comedy, by
Thomas Nabbs, 1638.]

Lovert Funued,
fFortkgoody BeUame, a» travelling to-
gether before daylight.

JFerth, Come» m j Delight ; l»t not raeh paatad
gfiefs
PnMdoirnthjaovl: the darkaett bnt pretenti
Shadows of fnr : whieh shottld lecare u best
From daager of parsoit

Bed. Woalditwersdsyl
My appreheBsioB b so foil of horrori
I think each loand, the ur's light motion
If akes in these thiohets. is m J UnekTs Toio^
Threal'ning oar mins.

JTertA. Let his rage persbt
To enterprise a yeageanee, mfH prerent it
Wrapt in the arms of Night, that favonrs Lorm.
We hitherto hare 'seaped his eager searcii ;
And are arrivsd near London. Sore I hear
The Bridges eataraets, and s«eh-like mnrmnrs
As night and sleep yield from a popnlons nnmber.

Bftf. Bat when wiU it be day? the light balk eomr

fort: • ,

Oar first of osefol senses being ket,

fhe rest are less deUghted.

Worth, TV early Coek
Bath song his sammons to fhe day's approach t
Twill instanar appear Why startled, Bellamia,

Btlli IMd no amastng sounds amre thy ear /
Pray, listsn.

fFortk, Come, come ; *ds thy fear saggests
lUosiTS fancies. Under LorsTs proteetiea
We saay presome of safety.

(JFiHUa.) F9lhm,fMam,foa^.

Bttt, Aye me^ tis sure my Unele; dear Lots
Worthgood?

FFarA, Astoaishment hath seis*d my (aenltics.
My lore, my BeUamiCk ha 1

IML Doet thoa fonake me, Worthgood?

(£eil, OS /oiia^ Ami.)

fFordL Whers's my Love ?
Dart from thy silvsr erssceat one fair beam
Thfoogh this black air, thoa GoTcraess of Night,
To shew me whither she b led by fesr.
Thoa sntioos Darknees, to assut as hersb
Aad then prove fistall

(JTiCUn.) FoUow^foOow.foUaw.

fFortk, Silence year noise, ye danaoroos ministers
OfthUi^jostiee. Bellamie b lost ;
BhePskettome. Not her fleroe Uncles rage.
Who whets yoor eager aptness to parsas me
With threats or promises ; nor hb painted tenors
Of lawi^ seTsrity ; eoaU erer work
Upon the temper of my raeolate soal
To eofteaitto fear, tiU she was lost
Not all the iUasivs horrors, which the night
Preeente anto th' inuginatien,
T affright a gailty eonseieaee, coald posssss mok
While I posssss'd my Lore. The dbmal shrieks
Of fatal owls, and groans of dying mandmkes.
Whilst her soft palm warm*d mine, were mosio to me.—
Their light appears— No salety does eoasist
In pnssion or oomplaints. Night, let Uiine arms
Again assbt me i and, if no kind minuter
Of better fste gnide me to Bellamie,
Be then eternal.

(iTtiMa.) Fott9w,foaow,fotUm.

BeHamie, alone. In Marybone Park,
BdL The day begins tobreak; and trembling Ugat
As if affrighted with thb aighfs dbastar,
Bteab thro the farthest air, and by dcf rees
Balntss my weary kagiagsw— O, my Worthgood,
Thy presence woald have checkt theee passbM ;
And ihot delight thro* all the mbte of sadnees.
To gnide my fear safe throP the paths of danget 4
Noiir feai* assaolt me.— Tb a woman's VMoe.
She sings t nad in her masic's ehearf ulaess
Seems to expreu the freedom of a beait,
VotehainMtoaay

5ofi^, unUUn,
What a dainty life the ITOkflMi^
When over the fiowery mends
She dabbles in the dew.
And sings to her cow;
And feeb not the paia
or Lore or DIsdaia.

Sbesleepe in the night, tho^ she toib in the day.
And aserrily patsethher time away.

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Bfff. Oh, might t ehaag« mj miwry
For tach a ithape of qniet !

[From the " Duchess of Suffolk," an His.
torical Play, by T. Heywood, 1631.1

A Tragic Purwit.

The IHchest^ with her UttU Mld^ ^r#*
paring to escape by night from thereUntkse
pereecution of the Ronumiete,

Duck, (to the Nwru.} Oire mo m j child, and muUe s
—now Hearen** pleasure :
Farv;^ll ;~coine life or death, I'll hag mj trensart.
Naj, chide aot, pretty habe ; oar enemies come :
Thjr crying will pronoonoe th j mothei't doom*
Be thoa bat still ;
This gate may shade at Irpm th^r enriont wilL

(SxiL)

{A noiee of Pumere* She re-^nter$.)
Dueh, Oh fear, what art fhon ? lead me wiags to

fir;

Direct me in this plonge of misery.
Nature has taaght the Child obediraoe s
Thou hast ^oen hamble to thy mothex^s wish.
0 let me kiss these duteous lips of thine.
That would not hill thy mother with a cry.
Now forward, whither heaT*n dir«fcts; for I
Cao guide no better than thine iofiuiey.
Here are two Pilgrims bound for Lyon Qaay,^
4nd neither knows one footstep of the way.
(IfifUe again heard,)
Iheh. Return you? then tie time to shift me heneo.

(Esii, OMdpmentljf Rt-rvten.)
Jhuh. Thus far, but heay^ kaows where, we haTO
escaped
The eager pursuit of our enemioe.
Having for guidance my aitentire fear.
Still I look back, still start my tired feet.
Which aeror ttU aonr aMrnrsd Lowlon street t
My Honours seora*d that eattom ; they would tide i
Now forced to walk, more weaty pain to bida.
Thou Shalt noe do S0| child ; 1*11 carry thee
la Sorrow's arms to welcome misery.
Custom must steel thy yoath with idachlaf want.
That thy great birth ia sge may bear with aoaat
Sleep peaoeably, eweet duck, aad make no aoieo i
Methiaks eaeh step u death's arrestinK Toiee.
We shall meet nurse anon ; a duf will eome^
To please my qniet iafaat c when, aaiM, when f

The Ducheee, pereeeuied from place to
place, with Berty, her Ilutband, takee com"
IbW from her Bahy*e smilee,

Ihieh. Yet we have scaped the daager of our (bet i
ind 1, that whilom was ezeeeding weak

den.

From which plaos ihe hopoe to embat k Ifer Flaa-

Through my hard travail ia this inraafs birth.

Am now grown strong upon necessity.

How forwards are we towards vVindham CaMle ?

Bertp, Just half our wayx but w« hats kit em
fHeads,
Thro^ the hot pursuit of our onemiet.

Dueh, We are aot utterlr deroid of fhcnds {
Behold, the young I«rd Willoughby smiiss oa us:
Add *tis great help to have a Lord our friend.

Wbttitxiaii Cudtomsfe

PLAY-BILLS.
To the JBditor.

Sir, — Conjecturing that some slight no-
tices of the early use of play-4>i)b by our
comedians might be interesting to youi
readers, allow me respectfully to request
the insertion of the following: —

So early as 158T, there is an entry in the
Stationers* books of a license granted to
John Charlewood, in the month of October,
" by the whole consent of the assistants,
for the onlye ymprinting of all maner of
bills for players. Provided that if any
trouble arise herebye, then Charlcwoode to
bear the charges." Ames, in bis Typogr.
Antiq^ p. 342, referring to a somewhat
later date, states, that James Roberts, who
printed in quarto several of the dramas
written by the immortal Shakspeare, also
« printed bills for the players;" the license
of the Stationers* Company had then pro-
bably devolved to him. The announce-
ments of the evening's or rather afternoon's
entertainment was not circulated by the
medium of a diurnal newspaper, as at pre-
sent, but broadsides were pasted up at the
comers of the streets to attract the passer-
by. Tlie puritanical author of a " Treatise
against Idleness, Vaine-playes, and Inter-
ludes," printed in black letter, without date,
but possibly anterior to 1587, proffers an

admirable illustration of the practice.

" They use,** says he, in his tirade against
the players, ** to set up their bills upon
postes some certain dayes before, to ad*
monish the people to make resort to their
theatres, that they may thereby be the
better furnished, and the people prepared
to fill their purses with their treasures/*
The whimsical John Taylor, the water>poet
under the head of Wit tod Minh,^
alludes to the custom. ^ *< Master Nat
Field, the player, riding up Fleet-street at
a great pace, a gentleman called him, and
asked what play was played that day. He
being angry to be stay'd on so frivolous t

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^enMiid, anslrered, that lie might see what
play was plaied on every poste. I cry your
mercy» said the gentleiaao, I took jfow for a
poste, you rode so iast."

It may naturally be inferred, that the
emoluments of itinerant players could not
affbid the oon?enienoe of a printed bill,
and hence from necessity arose the practice
of announcing the play by beat or drum.
Wilt Slye, who attended Kempe in the
provincial enactment of his ^ Nine Men of
Gotham," is figured with a drum. ParoUes,
in ShakspeanTs <* AU's Well that ends
Well," alludes to this occupation of some
of Will. Slye's fellows, «' Faith, sir, he has
led the drum before the English como-
dians."

The long detailed titles of some of the
early quarto plays induce a supposition,
that the play -bills which introduced them-
to public notice were similarly extended.
The ** pleasant conceited Comedy,** and
" the Bloody Tragedy," were equally cal-
culated to attract idling gazers on the book-
stalls, or the "< walks at St. Paul's," and
to draw gaping crowds about some voci-
ferous Autoiycus, who was probably an
underling belonging to the company, or a
servant to one of the players ; tor, as they
ranked as gentlemen, each forsooth had his
man. A carping satirical writer, who wrote
anonymously ** Notes from Blackfriers,'*
1617, presents some traces of a play-bill
crier of that period.

" Prithee, wfcaf • tbe pimy ?

TW Ant I Tistted this twelvemmtli dsf .
Thej Mf— ^ A Btw imTttated hoy of purle.
That )eo|NNrded his wmk. to Steele a girl
Of twelve : and Ijriag fast impooaded for*t.
Has hither seat his beards to act lus part,
Agaiast aU those ia open malioe bea^
That wonU not freely to the theft oonMnt:
Faiaes all to *s wish, aad in ths epilogne
Goes oat applauded for a famotw-^rogos.*
—Now haag ne if I did not look at first.
For some sneh staff, by the fond-people's throst"

In 1642, the playen, who till the suA>»
versioa of the kii^y ]^rogative in the
preoedng year, bviked in the sunshine of
eamt favour, and publicly acknowledged
the patronage of royalty, provoked, by
their loyalty, tbe veageaaee of the stem un-
yielding men in power. The kmb and
oommou, waaenklM on the second day of
September is the former year, suppressed
nttge plays, during these cabmiteas time^
by the following

Ordinance,
^ Whereas the distressed estate of Ire-
land, steeped in her own blood, and the

distracted estate of England, threatened
with a cloud of blood, by a Civill Wrrre ,
call for all possible meanes to appease and
avert the wrath of God, appearing in these
judgments; amongst which, fosting and
prayer having been often tried to be very
efiiectuall, have bin lately, and are still en-
joyned: And whfreas public sports doe
not well agree with public calamities, nor
publike SUkge Playes with the season* of
humiliation, this being an exereise of sad
and pious solemnity, and the other specta-
cles of pleasure, too commonly eznressing
lascivious mirth and levitie : It is tnerefore
thought fit, and ordeined by the Lords and
Commons in this Parliament assembled,
that while these sad causes, and set times
of humiliation doe eontinue, publike Stage
Playes shall cease, and bee forborne. In-
stead of whieh, are recommended lo the
people of this land, the profitable and eea-
sonable eonsideralions of repentance, re-
conciliation, and peace with God, which
probably may produce outward peace and
prospenty, and bring againe times of joy
and gladnesse to these nations."

The tenour of this ordinance was strictly
enforced ; many young and vigorous actors
joined the king's army, in which for the
most part they obtained commissions, and
others retired on the scanty pittances they
had earned, till on the restoration, the
theatre burst forth with new eAilgenoe.
The play-bill that announced the opening
of the new theatre, in Drury-lane, April 8»
1663, has been already printed in the
Everf-Day Book, The actors' names
were then, for the first time, affixed to
the characters they represented; and, to
evince their loyalty, "Vivat Rex et Re-
gina," was appended at the foot of the
bilb, as it continues to this day.

In the reign of the licentious Charles II.,
wherein monopolies of all kinds were
granted to court favourites, licenses were
obtained for the sole printing of play^bills.
There is evidence in Bagfonrs Collections,
Ilarl. MSS. No. 5910, vol ii., that in
August, 1663, Roger UEstrange, as sur-
veyor of the imprimery and printing presses,
had the ^sde license and grant or print-
ing and publishing all ballads, plays, &c.
not previously printed^ play-biUs, &c."
These privileges he sold to operative prints
•rs. When that license ce8sed,I have |ct
to learn.

The play-bUls at Bartholomew«4air were
in form the same as those used at the regu^
lar theatres ; but, as they were given among
the populace, they were only half the sixe
One that Dc^get published recently, in mj

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possession, had W. R. in the upper corners,
as those printed in the reign of Charles 11.,
had C. R., the royal arms being in the
centre.

The luxurious mode of printing in
diternate black and red lines, was adopted
m Gibber's time ; the bills of Co?ent-garden
theatre were generally printed in that man-
ner. The bills of Drury-lane theatre, with-
in the last ten years, hate issued from a
private press, set up in a room below the
stage or that theatre. The bilb for the
royal box, on his majesty's ?isit to either
theatre, are printed on white satin.

Connectea with these notices of play-
bills, are the means by which they were
difpersed. A century ago, they were' sold
in the theatres by young women, called
' orange-girls," some of whom, Sallv Harris
and others, obtained considerable cele-
brity ; these were succeeded by others, who
neither coveted nor obtained notoriety.
The ^orange-girls" ha?e gone outj and
staid married women, who pay a weekly
stipend to the box-lobby fruit- woman, now
vend plav-bills in the theatre, but derive
most of their emolument from the sale of
the *« book of the play," or •* the songs "
of the evening. The old cry about the
streets, *< Choice fruit, and a bill of the
play — Drury-lane or Covent-garden,*' is
almost extinct; the barrow-women are
obliged to obtain special permission to re-
main opposite some friendly shopkeeper's
Qoor; and the play-bills are chiefly hawked
by little beggarly boys.

I am, sir, &c.

Will o' the Wisp.

March, 1827.

THE LINNET FANCY.

To the Editor of the Table Book.

It U my faotane to hav« these thingt.
For thej maaae me in mj moody boars :
Their voices wmft mj soal ioto the woods :
Where bends th* ensmoar'd wiUov o*er the stream,
Thej make sweet melody.

Of all the earthly things by which the
brain of man is twisted and twirled, heated
and cooled, fancy is the most powerful.
Like a froward wife, she invariably leads
tiim by the nose, and almost every man is
in some degree ruled by her. One fancies
a horse, another an ass— one a dog, another
1 rabbit— one's delight is in dress, an-
other's in negligence— one is a lover of
flowers, another of insects— one's mind
nms or. a pigeon, another's on a hawk-

one fancies himself sick, the docto* fimdes
he can cure him : death— that stem reality-
settles the matter, by fancying both. One,
because he has a little of Uiis life's evif
assail him, fancies himself miserable, an-
other, as ragged as a colt, frmcies himself
happy. One, as ugly as sin, and as hide-
ous as death, fancies himself handsome—
another, a little higher than six-penn'orth
of halfpence, fancies himself a second Saul,
lu short, it would take a monthly part of
the Table Book to enumerate the different
vagaries of fancy — so multifarious are her
forms. Leaving this, proceed we to one
of the fancies which amuse and divert the
mind of man in his leisure and lonely
hours— the « Linnet Fancy."

'' Dnnet fancy !" I think I hear some
taker-up of the Table Book say, *^ What's
in a linnet?— •rubbish —

A bird that, when eanght.
May be had for a groat**

Music 1 I answer — melody, unrivalled
melody-^-equal to Philomers, that ever ehe»
bird of the poets. — I wish they would call
things by their proper names ; for, after all,
it is a cock — ^hens never make harmonious
sounds. The frmcy is possessed but by a
few, and those, generally, of the ** lower
orders " — the weavers and cobblers of
Whitechapel and Spitalfields, for instance.
A good bird has been known to fetch ten
sovereigns. I have frequently seen three
and four given for one.

Whence the song of the linnet was ob-
tained I cannot tell ; but, from what I have
heard the tit-lark and sky-lark do, I incline
to believe that a good deal of theirs is in
the song of the linnet. This song consists
of a number of jerke, as they are called,
some of which a bird will dwell on, and
time with the most beautiful exactness:
this is termed a ** weighed bird.^ Others
rattle through it in a hurried manner, and
take to what is termed battling g these
are birds often ** sung '* against oUiers. It
is with them as in a party where many are
inclined to sing, the loudest and quickest
tires them out ; or, as the phrase is, '* knocks
them down.'' These jerke are as undec
Old fanciers remember more, and regret
the spoliation and loss of the good old
strain. I have he^^d some of them say,
that even larks are not so good as they
were forty years ago. Tlie reader must not
suppose that the jerke are warbled in the
apple-pie order in which he sees them
here: the birds put them forth as they
please : good birds alway!«^uA them.

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Jerki.

:^>^I^>-^

LONDON BIRD CATCHER, 1827.

ToUoc, Tolloc, cha— ICy Ic, Ic, Ic, quake

Tuck^Tuck— Fear.

Tuck, Tuck, Fear— Ic, Ic, Ic

Tuck, Tuck, Fear— Ic quake-e-wcet.
rhis is tiflnUhedJerk.

Tuck, Tuck, Joey.

Tuck, Tuck, Tuck, Tuck, Joey— Tolloc
cha, Ic quake-e-weet.

Tuck, Tuck, Wizzcy.

Tuck, Tuck, Wizzey— Tyr, Tyr, Tyr,
Cher— Wye wye Cher.

Tolloc, Ejup, Rr-Weet, weet, weet.

Tolloc, F4up, R— Weet, cheer.

Tolloc, Ejup, R— Weet, weet, weet—
cheer.

Tolloc, Tolloc, cha— Ic, Ic, Ic, Ic quake
— Ic,Ic

— Ic, Ic, Tyr, Fear.

Tolloc, Tolloc, R— Weet, weet, weet,
cheer — ^Tolloc, cha— Ejup.

Tolloc, Tolloc, R^Ejup.

Tolloc, Tolloc, R— Cha, cea— Pipe, Pipe,

npe.

Tolloc, Tolloc, Rr-Ejup— Pipe, Pipe,
I'ipe.

Lug, Lug, G— ^her, Cher, Cher.

Lug, Lug— Orchee, weet.

Lug, Lug, G— Pipe, Pipe, Pipe.

Luff, Lug, G— Ic, Ic, ic, Ic, quake, e
Pipe Chow,

Lug, Lug, E chow— Lug, Ic, Ic, quake e
weet.

Lug, Lug,_or— cha cea.

Iclc

Ic R— Ejup^Pipe chow

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Lag, Lttgf E chow, Lag, Ic, Ic, quik»«-
vreti,

Ic, Ic, K — Ejup, Pipe.

Ic, Ic, Rr— Ejup, Pipe, chow.

Ic Ic — R cher — Wye, wye, cher.

Ic, Ic R, cher— Weet, cheer.

Icy ic^-quake-e-weet.

Ic, chow^E chow — Ejup, weet.

Tyr, Tyr, Cher— Wye, wye, cher.

Bell, Bell, Tyr.

Ejup, Ejup, Pipe, Chow.

Ejup, Ejup, Pipe.

Ejup, Ejup, Poy.

Peu PoY — Peu Poy. Tliis is when call-
ing to each other.

Cluck, Cluck, Cha.

Cluck, Cluck, Cha, Wisk— R, Wiak.

Ic, quake-e-weet^R Cher.

Ic, Quake-e-Pipe— Tolloc Ic— Tolloc Ic
ToUocIc— RCher.

Fear, Fear, weet^>Ejup, Pipe, Chow.

Pipe, Pipe, Pipe, Pipe— Ejup, Ejup^
Ejup.

Ejup R — Lusr, Ic, Ic, qnnke-e-weet.

Ic, Ic, R, Chow, Ic, Ic, Rp— Ic, le,
quake, tyr, fear.

Most of these my own birds do. Several
strains have been known of the linnet, the
best of which I believe was Wildei's.

The method of raising is this. Get a
good bird— 4tf soon as nestlingi can be had,
purchase four, or even six ; put them in a
large cage, and feed them with boiled or
scalded rape-seed, mixed with bread. This
will do till about three weeks old; then
throw in dry seed, rape, flax, and canary,
bruised ; they will pick it up, and so be
weaned from the mout fooa. You may
then cage them off in back-cages, and hang
them under the old ones.

If you do not want the trouble of feeding
them, buy them at a shop about a month
old, when they are able to crack the seed.
Some persons prefer brauchen to nestlings ;
these are birds caught about July. When
they are just able to fly among the trees,
they are in some cases better than the
others; and invariably so, if they take yonr
old bird's song, being stronger and steadier,
ffestlings lose half their time in playing
about the cage.

As two heads are said to be better than
one, so are two birds, therefore he who
wants to raise a strain, should get two
good ones, about the end of May—- «lop one
of them This is done by putting your
cage in a box, just big enongh to hold it,
having a door m front to pull up. Some
have a glass in the door to enable them to
vec the birds; others keep them in total

darkness, only opening their prison to give
them food and water. The common way
is to put the cage in the box, and close the
door, by a little at a time, daily, keeping it
in a warm place. This is a braul practice,
which I have never subscribed to, nor
ever shall ; yet it doet improve the bird,
both in feather and song. By the time he
has ^ moulted off,'' the other bird will
** oome in " stout, and your young ones
will take from him ; thus you will obtain
good birds.

To render your birds tame, and free in
long, move them about ; tie them in hand-
kerchiefs, and put them on the table, or
any where that you safely can; only let
their usual place of hanging be out of
sight of each other. Their seeing one an-
other makes them fretful. To prevent this,
have tin covers over their water-pots.

The man who keeps birds tkoM pay
attention to them : they cannot speak, out
their motions will often tell him that some-
thing is wrong; and it will then be his
bosiness to discover what. He who con-
Anes biids and nealects them, deserves to
be cpaiiied himself; they merit ail we can
do for them, and are grateful. What a
foMMMig of wings— what a stretching of
neeks aod legs— what tappings with the
bflt against the wires of their cages have I
heard, when comicif down to breakfast ;
^t^ak a bwvt of song as OMich as to say,
^ Hen^ master I"

Should any one be indtmed, from this
perusal, to l>ecome a ftmewr^ let him be
careful with trAom, and how he deals, or he
wiH assuredly be taken in. In choosing' a
bird, let him see that it stands up on its
perch boldly; let it be snake-headed, iU
Kathers smooth and sleek, its temper good; '
this you may know by the state ot its tail :
a bad-tempered bird generally nibs his
tail down to a mere bunch of rags. Hear
the bird tmg; and be sure to keep the
seller at a distance from him ; a motion of
his master's hand, a turn of his head, may
stop a bird when about to do something
bad. Let him *'go through^ with his
song uninterrupted; you will then discover
his faults.

In this dissertation (if it may be so
called) I have merely given what has come
under my own observation; others, who
are partial to linnets, are invited to convey,
through the same medium, their know-
ledge, theoretical and practical, on the
subject. '

1 am, sir, fcc.

S.R.J

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FotJlfVATION OF THE

LONDON UNlVERSlXr.
On Monday, the 30th of April, 182r,
hii royal highness the duke of Sussex laid
the foundation-stone of the London Univer-
sity. The spot selected for the building is
situated at the end of Gower-street, and
' comprehends a very extensive piece of
' ground. The adjacent streets were crowded
with passengers and carriages moving to-
wards the place. The day was one of the
6nest of this fine season. The visiters, who
were admitted by cards, were conducted to
an elevated platform, which was so much
inclined, that the most distant specUtor
could readily see every paiticular of the
ceremony. Immediately oefore this plat-
form, and at about three yards distant from
it, was another, upon which the foundation-
stone was placed. Ihe persons admitted
were upwards of two thousand, the sreatest
proportion composed of well-dressed ladies.
Every house in the neighbourhood, which
afforded the smallest opportunity of wit-
nessing the operations, was crowded from
the windows to the roof; and even many
windows in Gower-street, from which no
view of the scene could be any way ob-
tained, were filled with company. At a
quarter past three o'clock, the duke of
Sussex arrived upon the ground, and was
greeted bv the acclamations of the people
both inside and outside the paling. When
he descended from his carriage, the band
of the third regiment of foot-guards, which
had been upon the ground some time before,
playing occasional airs, struck up ** God
save the king." The royal duke, attended
by the committee and stewards, went in
procession to the platform, upon which the
foundation-stone was deposited. The stone
had been cut exactly in two, and in the
bwer hidf was a rectangular hollow, to
iBceive the medals and coins, and an in-
scription engraved upon a copper-plaAe : —

DEO OFT. VAX.

SEHPXTERNO OEBIS ARCHITECTO

VAVEHTB

QVOO FELIX FAVSTVIC QVE SIT

OCTAVVK RBOVI AHHVIC INEVNTE

OEOEGIO QVARTO BRITAMHIAEVlC

REGB

CELSISSIKTS PRIVCEPS ATOTSTTS fREOfi-

ElCVt

SUSSEXIAB DVX

Omin'V BOVARVIC artivm patrohvs

AKTIQVISSIUI ORDINIS ARCHITECTOKICI

PRAE8ES APVn AM0L08 SVMMVS

ORXMVlCLONDIllEySISACADEMlAELAPIDEM

INTER CIVITIC ET PRATRVK

CIRCTMSTAXTIVM PLAVSVS

HAIIV 8VA LOCAVIT

PRIO. RAL. MAIL

OPVS

DtV VVLTVM QVE DESinERATVH

VRBI PATRIAE COM MOOISSIMVM

TARDEM ALIQVAMDO IRCHOATVM EST

AN«0 SALVTIS HVMAITAS

MDCCCXXVII

ARHO LVCIS KOSTRAB

MMMMMDCCCXXVII.

XOMTVA CLARISSIMORVM VIRORVM

QVI 8VNT B COKCIUO

BBNRICVS DVX NORFOLCIAB

HENRICVS MARCHIO DE IJLMSDOWN

DOMINVS I0ANME8 RVSSELL

lOANNES VICECOMES DVOLBT ET WARD

0E0RGIV8 BARD DE AVCKLAND

BONORABILIS lAC. ABERCROMBIE

lACOBVS MACI1IT08U EQVES

ALEX. BARINO OEORGIVS BIRKBECB

BEN. BROUGHAM THOMAS CAMPBELL

I. L. GOLPdMID OLIMTUVS GREGORY

GEORGIVS GROTB lOSEPBVS HVMB

ZAC. MACAVLAT. IAC0BV8 MILL

BENIAMINVS SHAW lOHAVVES SMITH

GVLIELMVS TOORB HEN. WARBVRTON

REN. WAYMOVTH IOANNE8 WISHAW

THOMAS WILSON

GVLIELMVS WILKINS, ARCBITECTVS.

After this inscription had been read, the
upper part of the stone was raised by the
help of pullies, and his royal highness
having received the coins, medals, and ii>-
scription, deposited them in the hollow
formed for their reception. The two parts
of the stone were then fastened together,
and the whole was lifted from the ground.
A bed of mortar was next laid upon the
ground by the workmen, and his royal
highness added more, which he took from
a silver plate, and afterwards smoothed the
whole with a golden trowel, upon which
were inscribed the following words: —
^ With this trowel was laid the first stone
of the London University, by his r6yal
highness Augustus duke of Sussex, on the
SOth of April, 182r. William Wilkins,
architect ; Messrs. Lee and Co. builders.**
The stone was then gradually lowered
amidst the cheers of the assembly, the band
playing ** God save the king.** His royal
nighness, after having proved the stone
with a perpendicular, struck it three times
vrith a mallet, at the same time sayine,
** May God bless this undertaking which
we have so happily commenced, and make
it prosper for the honour, happiness, and
glory, not only of the metropolis, but of
the whole country '*

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An oration was then deliyered by the
iiev. Dr. Maltby, in which he offered up a
prayer to the Almighty in behalf of the
proposed University.

Dr. LusHiNGTON stated, that he had
been chosen by the committee as the organ
of their opinions. He remarked that the
London Uni?ersity must effect good. The
clouds of ianorance had passed away, and
the sun had broken forth and dispelled the
darkness which had hitherto prevailed. No
man dared now to assert that the blessings
of education should not be extended to
every, even the lowest, of his majesty*s
subjects. He then expatiated on the ad-
vantages which were likely to arise from
the establishment of a London University,
and especially on its admission of Dissen-
ters, wno were excluded from the two great
Universities. He concluded by passing an
eloqfient compliment upon the public con-
duct of the duke of Sussex, who, attached
to no party, was a friend to liberality, and
p.x>moted hj his encouragement any efforts
of the subjects of this realm, whatever
their political opinions, if their motives
were proper and praiseworthy.

The duke of Sussex acknowledged the
compliments paid to him, and stated, that
the proudest day of his life was that upon
which he had laid the first stone o( t'ne
London University, surrounded as he was
bv gentlemen of as high rank, fortune, and
character, as anv in the kingdom. He was
quite convinced that the undertaking must
be productive of good. It would excite
the old Universities to fresh exertions, and
force them to reform abuses. His xoyal
highness concluded, amidst the cheers of
the assembly, by repeating that the present
was the happiest day of his life.

His royal highness and the committee
then left the platform, and the spectators
dispersed, highly gratified with the exhibi-
tion of the day.

In the evening, the friends and sub-
scribers to the new University dined toge-
ther, in the Freemasons' Hall. On no
previous occasion of a similar nature was
that room so crowded; upwards of 420
persons sat down to table, with his royal
nighness the duke of Sussex in the chair.

The cloth having been removed, ** The
King " was drank with three times three.

l%e next toast was ** The Duke of Cla-
lence, the Lord High Admiral of England,"
and the rest of the royal fitmily. As soon
as the royal chairman, in proposing the
above toast, stated the title of the new
Dffice held by his royal brother, the room
Aing with acclamations.

The duke of Nobfolx then proposed
the health of his royal highness the duke o^
Sussex, who, he said, had added to the
illustrious titJe which he inherited by birth
that of the friend of the arts, and the
patron of every liberal institution in the
metropolis. (Cheers.)

The toast was drunk with three times
three.

His RoTAL Highness said, that he re-
ceived what his noble friend had been
pleased to say of him, more as an admoni-
tion than as acompliment,because it brought
to his recollection the principles on which
his family was seated on the throne of this
country. He was rejoiced at every circum-
stance which occurred to refresh his me-
mory on that subject, and never felt so
happy as when he had an opportunity of
proving by acts, rather than professions,
now great was his attachment to the caua •
of liberty and the diffusion of knowledge.
(Cheers.) He repeated what he had stated
in the morning, that the University of
London had been undertaken with no feel-
ings of jealousy or ill-will towards the two
great English Universities already existing,
but only to supply a deficiency, which was
notoriously felt, and had been created by
changes in circumstances and time since
the foundation of those two great seminaries
of learning. He concluded by once more re-
peating, that he had never felt more proud in
nis life than when he was laying the fbun-
dation<stone of the new University in the
presence of some of the most honest and
enlightened men of whom this country
could boast. (Applause.) He then pro-
posed ** Prosperity to the University of
London,'' which was drunk with mree
times three, and loud applause.

Mr. BaouGHAic rose amidst the most
vehement expressions of approbation. He
rose, he said, in acquiescence to the com-
mand imposed upon him by the council,
to return thanks to the royal chairman for
the kind and cordial manner in which he
had been pleased to express himself to-
wards the new University, and also to the
company present for the very gratifying
manner in which they had received the
mention of the toast. The task had been
imposed upon him, God knew, not from
any supposed, peculiar fitness on his pan
to execute it, but from a well-grounded
recollection that he was amongst the earlieil
and most zealous promoters of the rood
work they were met to celebrate, two
years had not elapsed since he had the hap
piness of attending a meeting, at which,
peradventure, a great proportion of thov

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wiiom he was now addresfing were pr»>
sent, for the purpose of promoting the
foundation of the new University, held in
the middle of the city of London, the cradle
of all our great establishments, and of the
civil and religious liberties of this land;
the place where those liberties had first
been nurtured ; near the spot where they
had been watered by the most precious
blood of the noblest citizens ; and he much
deceived himself if the institution, the
foundation of which they had met to cele*
brate, was not destined, with the blessing
of Divine Providence, to have an exten-
sive influence in rendering the liberties to
which he had before alluded, eternal in
England, and to spread the light of know-
ledge over the world. (Cheers.) On the
day which he had referred to, the circum*
stances under which he spoke were very
different from those which now surrounded
him. The advocates of the University had
then to endure the sneers of some, the more
open taunts and jibes of others, accom-
panied with the timidly expressed hopes of
many friends, and the ardent good wishes
and fond expectations of a large body of
enlightened men, balanced however by the
loudly expressed and deep execrations of
the enemies of human improvement, light,
and liberty, throughout the world. (Ap*
plause.) Now, however, the early clouds
and mists which had hung over the under-
taking had disappeared, and the friends of
the new University bad succeeded in rais-
ing the standard of the establishment tn
triumph over its defeated enemies — they
had succeeded in laying the foundation of
the University, amidst the plaudits of sur-
rounding thousands, accompanied by the
good wishes of their kind in every comer
of the globe. (Cheers.) The council had
come to a fixed resolution that in the selec-
tion of teachers for the University, no such
phrase as *' candidate '' for votes should
ever be used in their presence. The ap-
pointments would be given to those who
were found most worthy ; and if the merits,
however little known, should be found to
surpass those of others the most celebrated,
only in the same proportion as the dust
which turned the balance, the former would
certainly be preferred. Instead of teaching
only four or five, or at the utmost six
months in the year, it was intended that
the lectures at the n*w University should
continue nine months in the year. After
each lecture, the lecturer would devote an
hour to examining, in turn, each of the
pup.ijt, to ascertain whether he had under-
stood the subiect of his discourse. The

lecturer would then apply anoth<»r hour,
three times in the week, if not six, (the
subject was under consideration,) to the
further instruction of such of his pupils as
displayed particular ze*al in the search of
knowledge. By such means, it was hoped
that the pupib might not only be encou-
raged to learn what was already known,
but to dash into untried paths, and become
discoverers themselves. (Applause.) The
honourable and learned gentleman then
proceeded, in a strain of peculiar elo-
quence, to defend himself from a charge
which had been made against him, of
being inimical to the two great English
Universities, which he designated the two
lights and glories of literature and science.
Was it to he supposed that because he had
had the misfortune not to be educated in
the sacred haunts of the muses on the Cam
or the Isis, that he would, like the animal,
declare the fruit which was beyond his
reach to be sour? He hoped that those
two celebrated seats of learning would
continue to flourish as heretofore, and he
would be the last person in the world to do
any thing which could tend to impair their
gloxy. The honourable and learned gen-
tleman said, he would conclude by repeat-
ing the lines from one of our sweetest
minstrels, which he had before quoted
in reference to the undertaking which
they had assembled to support. He then
quoted the passage prophetically — now ii
was applicaole as a description of past
events :—

* As M>m« tall eliff that lifts its awfal fbnn,
Swella from die rale, and midwaj leaves the storm t
Though round its breast theroUiag clouds are spread,
Ktemal smiahme settles on its head.**

The Royal Chairmav then proposed
'' The Marquis of Lansdown, and the Uni-
versity of Cambridge," which was drank
with great applause.

The Marauis of Lansdown, on rising,
was received vrith loud cheers. He felt
himself highly honoured, he said, in having
his name coupled with the University in
which he had received his education. He
felt the greatest veneration for that institu-
tion, and he considered it by no means
inconsistent with that feeling to express the
most ardent wishes for the prospenty of the
new University. (Applause.) He was per-
suaded that the extension of science in one
quarter could not be prejudicial to its cul-
tivation in another. (Applause.)

'* The 'Royal Society'' was next drank,
then ** Prosperity to the City of London,"

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and Mr. Alderman Veoables returned
thanks.

** Prosperity to the City of Westminster *•
oeinc^ drank, Mr. Hobhouse returned
thanks.

«< The health of " Lord Dudl^ ' wai
drank with much applause.

Amongst the other toasts were *' Pros-
perity to the Univeraities of Scotland and
Ireland ;" •< Heniy Brougham, Esq , and
the Society for the Promotion of Useful
Knowledije;'' "The Duke of Norfolk ;**
" The Mechanics* Institution," &c.

The company did not separate till a late
hour.*

A LEGENDE OFFE TINMOUTHE
PRIORIE.

{For the Table Book)

♦• • i&onpWre Trrte toe fcplU a mnnm
torn a ppaat* JeTre.-— Inscription.

Qoahftt w«Bt f, qnfthftt wut j€ thooe joUi« fryai^

3ft]rd« SjrDelarmUct WardoarebnTe ;

Qoakat lack ye, qvahat lack y*. tkom jollie ttfBn ,—

— Saxth*— Openae ya portalK knara,

Tfcree vearya Ugnm fro ye Pryorye

It* oom lyBoe ye aoaae hatha smylda onna ya tea.

Nowe naye, aowe aaye, thoae halie fryara,

I mate notta latt ye ynae;

Syr Delaralles oioode ys notte fonre ya Roodi^

Aada hae earea nott toe shryre hys aymie ;

▲ad achoolde kee ratonie qoithe hyt hooadesad hone,

Hee wiU fare thye kalineia rynne.

Pom Chryate kya aak nowe laie aatt mIc^

Botta opeaae ye poitalla toe aea ;

Aide 1 wylle doBsa aryoha benyniiBe

font thye geatleise aade oorteeye >-

Ef MaoM aade bye Roode fyffi rhys boona ya qoisk-

atooda,
Thoae ehalte parryiha bye i

y*eua qnyeklia ya portalla wala apeaad wyda^
Syr DeUvaUaa hal wala made fraa.

f tabu wala apradda f»m ya fryare q«tba

Aada ha feaatadda ryikta plaatyfeHia I
DfAda a iryara wyg hta erem laek off nyg hta
Qahaaaa aaa tokaa ehepe haatcliya ?

• TkaTiflwa*

Aada f fryare haa ate, aade yefryata hea dnnkaw

Tylk ya oaUanaoaaa wondamd fnlle lore ;

Aad haa wyah'd hyaua atta home att Sayata Oafryaaaa

tooibe,*
Qbithahya ralyckai aada myaaaU lorat
Botta ya fryara heo ate offe ye Teaaoaaa oiaNi,
Aade ye fryara haa droake ye iMra.

Nowa thye data wala a daia off waaaaU h-'^ipl;
Syr Delavallea byrtha dai« I weeaa,
Aad Bwaaaa a kayaghta aada ladya bryghta^
Yoaa Syr Delaralles eaatell wals aaeae ;
Botta e>«aa ye aoaae oaae ye bloe aaa aahaaaa^
They'd haatadd ye woodaa aaa rraaaaw

And ryche aad rare wals ye feste prapardde

Forre ya knyeyhtea aade ladyes gaie ;

Aade ye fyelde aade ye fk>ode baythe yyeldadd yara

Toe irraee ye featalla dale ;

And ye wynaea fro Espagne wyche longe hadda layaai

Aad spyees fro farre Cathaya.

Botte fyrst aada fayreat offe al ye feste.

Bye Syr Delavalle pryxd nioste dere,

A fatteboare rostedde yna seemlye gyse.

Toe grace hya krdlye chera t

Ye rake fro ye fyre sore hong erdde ye fryaie,

Ynae apyto of rafectynge gera.

Aade thaas thoaghte ye fryan ala he aat^

Y*sse Boara ya ryghta aaroarie ;

I wot tya aoa ayaa y tts hade too wyaac^

Oyffs I mote ryghta ennayaglie;

Yaaa goddalaaaa kayeghta ya aaa cboreha hatyaga

wygbta.
Toe fyiche hyauae ae kaaTaria.

Qnitha yatt hee toke hya latheraae poka^

Aade whettadde hya knyfe soa sheae,

Aade hee patyentlye sate atta ye kyteheaae yala

TyU ae rilleias qnehere thyU^r aaeae :

Yeaae qnithe meikle drade eatte effe ye baarea hada.

Ala thoo ytta aarero hadda baaaa.

Yeaae ye fryara hee aymblie footadde ye swerda,
Aada beate hym toe halie pyle ;
Forre aaee qaithyane yttas saeredde ahryana,
Hee'd loacgehe aad joke atte hys gvyle ;
Botte hie thee faate qnitha thye oatno^te haste,
Forrs thye gate ya moaaia a rayla.

Kowa Chrysta ye aara, qneheae y« rylleias aawa.

Ye boars qaithoatea ye hede^

They wyat aade grie yatCe wyteheria

Hadda doaae y ftatoaae dade *

Yaaa sore dystra^ghta ye fryara they ioaegkta

Toe helpe y*am yaaa yen aede.

Theye aaaaithte aad aooeghta aada laag thaya aaaa^M^

Ka fryara ae hede aoU fynda^

Forre f ryars aade hede farre oar ya BMda^

Ware scnddyaga ytta lyk ye wyada i

Botta haata. botta haata, thoae jollU ttjan,

Qaahere boltt aad bam wyUe byada.

• Bt Oawya'alombwasatTyaaowathWatf.

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y« SUM wall bygfce jnat hy yftnuf «y|kt«.

And* hoawwaide ye fftkiar faoto rovedda •

^ QmImm* y« daeps mMlyvft hocM ■kMdda Syr Ddar

TmllM letoni*.
QnitlM hys tey«ktM ud« l«ayw proodet
Y« b«c«T1>«« y'«>iid«Mde ye j«rt« weat sord*.
And* ntvlrye merrye ftade loade.
Botte maUe, botte oieildi wab ye ragtt.
Offe ye hoste tmi eompH^kie,
QaehemM ye tele waU tolde oflb ye deda MM boU«,
QeiUM wela Uyde tw wytoiietie :
■ Aade howe ynae destrftecghte ye Boaeke Ihey weegbte.
Ye BMMieke offe ye Pryorie.
Now rycfhtUe y wjm Syr Delaralle kaewe,
QaebraDe toeld of ye fry&re knave ;
Bye mye knyoiktkoode I towe heeeckalledetelye nie,
Tbye trycke tee tkomeghte soe brare ;
Aade awaie flewe ye kaycf htis lyk aae efk's lytbte,
Oarv ye eaadee of ye aortkeree ware.
^ade faete aad fiute Syr DeUTaBe rodde,
T/lle ye PryorU y*te wali yaoe Tyewe.
Ande ye kayegbto frals awar ofc a fryaw UHe,
Qnicke aae loke baytke tsredde aade grtwe,
Wko qaitbe rapydde spaane eene ye greae ewerde

laaae*
Te wtathe o* ye kaycfhte toe eeebewe.

Bette itaiA. botle etM, Ukw fryaie kaata.

Botte etaae aade ikewe toe laee,

Qaatte fkoue kaete yaae yatte leatbaiae poke.

Q^t^fc* tboaa BMyeet earrie soe kie.

Now Ckryrte ye eaTe, layde ya fryait k»a?e,

Rfo^botle font ye Pryorie.
Tboae lyeit 1 tboee lyert 1 tboae kasrfske prorte.
Tkone lyert eatoe mee.
Ye kaycfhte kee toke ye leatkeme poke,
Aade kye boare*s kede dydde eepie.
And otylle ye reke fro ye eeotebedde ebeke,
Dydde eeeme ryekte eaToarie.
Ooddeeirotte I botte kadde ye leeM ye fryar^
Qttitke kie ekyaae of I'lTidde kue,
Qaekeone ye kaycgkte drewe ootte yetekyafe taoatte,
( Aade floryekedde kye kaatyage tkewe ;

Oramereye, graaicwjye. aowe godde Syr Kaycgbte,

Ab ye Vyrgyaae wylto aiereye eekewe.

Botte ye kaycgkte kee beagedde ye fiyaie abootte,

Aade bette kye baeke f nlle sore ;

Aad koe bette bym ab bee roUedde oaae ye twerde,

Tf Ue ye fryare dydde loodlie roare :

No aioU bee tpare ye fryare maire,

yaaae MeM"**^* oaae eastereae ■hore.f

Novo tak ye yatteye dofge ofli ••• ayiaeke,
Nowetekyeyattefwmee; ^ . ^.^

Aada wraie fwlde ye kayefkta, yww grata delyc^te,

Attaky»fete««»«»««Un«J

Aade ye eaade dydde rtwmade toe kp abevaXe

Ale kee lodde aeie ye maigyaaedde aea.

Botte wkaea yatte kygbee fro ye Pryofie yattt»

Qaitbe a eroeae soe kalie aade taDe,

Aade oib aMmckee a erowde al yelpynge lovde*

Atte qaabatte mote ye fryare befalle;

Fom tbeye aeeae ye dade fra ye Pryorie kad^

Aade berde bym piteoaaae eaUa.

e Tkara b an eld mctoreaqae fiabiac towa, called
CalkreSaTia tt^e dirSt roa<: Wwee^e aeat of tbe

^^'ttft^pJirSSSiwll? *» balbd was v^

Ye fryare bee laye yaae aare dbtnni<^te,

Al wrytbyage yaae grymme dbnaU,

Kobe leetbedde vonade epredde blode oaae ye grcada.

And tyagedde ye dutie gaie :

Wae la* ye dede, aade yere laye ye keda,

Botke reekyage alt weUe aiota tkeya.

Ne worde kee apak, ae cryae colda nuk,
Qoekeaaa ye pryore cam breatkleaae aygke t
Botte ye tearea y*raaae fro ye kalie maaae.
Ab bee kearedde moaie a aygbe t
Y^aae ye prjore wab redde oBi ye aawmrio keda,

Y*atte aere ye oaoaeke dydde ly.

Y*eaae tkeye bora ye aMBcka tee ye Pryerie yatta,

Yaae doloroaaae eteppe aade elowe,

Tbey Teageaaace Towdde, yaae oaraea loade,

Oaae ye boramaaoe wygbte I tnme ;

Ye welkynae range wi yere yammeryagee laagq,

Ab ye earn ye Pryorie loe.

A leaeke offe akylb, qoitke me&kb eaia,

Aade kerbee aade eoajarie,

Sooae gaT ye moncke kye waatedde Bpoake^

Forre fcya qayppea aade kaaTcrie ; ^ , ,

QoAeaaekaetoold fcow ye kaycgkte. Syr Delatalia

kygbte,
Hadde donae ye batterie.

Botte woe forra tkya kaycgkte e«» kygke degr^

Aad greete ala veUe kee male,

Forre ye fryare y^ot bee batteredde aad brayedda.

Toke yUe, ab ye ekarekmeane aaye,

Aade ya aorelb dade qoytboatea xemede,

Qutbyaae yere aade eke a daie.

FareweUe tee y'le laadea, Syr DdaTaHe bolda.

Farewelb toe y»re caatelba tbiee,

Y'ere goeae fro Aye beyre, tbo grelTMti tboae ewfo

Vote gooae toe ye Pryorie:

Aade tboue moete tbole a wolletme ftob»

Aade laeke tbye liberti»—

Tbree laoge laage yeree yaae dolefaOa gyae,

Yaae Tyneoioatbe Abbb praie,

Aad moaie a maaae toe befeuwerde paM^

Forre ye fryare yatte tkoadyddatalaye:

Tkoae mayeat bke o«re ye aea aade wyAe loe ocf

fr«e,
Botte ye pryora offSs Tyaemoolbe aaylbe aaye.

tatxaaee of the Abbey, witbu
utoaVskod ** balie mooekee."

• ITie aeareat foad from ?fl»"iCf^.S 7j^
mootb Abbey b a fiae aandy beacb, beaten bard br M
TtMfir«« da«k of tke Qermaa Oceaa wave.

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QMkMM thMa huce tp«nte tlirM lang* lang* y«m

Tot jm kali« londt thoa« notte lii«,

Aje faltthfooM wfU» oob« je bftttoUtd ffeld«,

Oaywto 7« pftjralmma eberalria t

TkrM OTeweBtM brygkt* moate Ikova wjuae Tima

frghta,
Ert tluHM ifjniiflta dija data aoantria.

Ba ya apotta qnahara ja rnfhleaa deda
Tatejradda ya madowa frena.
Al fft/ra tea aaa prna maaonria,
Ala talk ala aaa oakaDna traen«,
TlMoa moata aatta « stoma qaitha a l^feada tiMraaaaa.
Yttta jt Bvrtharra yara hadda baana.

Ta maatea nuuata frjaradda S/r DalavaUa lorai
Botta pnya he moata aada maye*
Haa thrammalldda hys bada, aada beate bys hada.
Tborovf ba ye sybta aada tboiouf ha ya daye,
Tylla ye tbrea yaraa oarra, baa lapta toa y« aborab
Aada cryadda toa y« battalia awaya 1

Hae doffadda bye atola oft wooleana eooraa,

Aada doaoda yaaa bayoghtlya pryda,

Hya blade aada oniraaaa. aada sayda aa bm> mataa^

Quebyla baa cnMnadda ya byUowya tyd :

Na eaadla, aa rooda, botta ya fygbtyaga BMode,

Wall ya aMXMla oflb jt boidarra ayda.

Soona aooae myddat ya Ibaa offa ya balia loada,

Qaabara ya lavaeaa Uiyekaatta grewe*

Wals Syr Dalaralla aaaaa, qaitba bys braada aaa kcna,

Oaoa bys stade aoastroaga aada trawas

Ta Pagaaaas tbay falla, aada pasadda toa baUe,

Aada baa aioiiia a Sanoaaaa alawa.

fra ye raabea oflb Saladyoaa bora
Tbrea eraaoaataa off sylTarra sbaeaa,
Na pagaaaa kayqgbta note qvitbaatooda bys mygbta,
Wbo foagbtrana forra wjfh aad waaa ;
Saiaeta Gaorga, cryadda f kaycf bta. aada Eaglaada'a

mygbta,
Orra a badde aatba ya bylloeka greaa.

Oallaatlya rodda Syr DaUyaUe oona

Qaabara letbal wooadaa ware gyraaaa.

Aada ya oaaasattae braTS^ lyk a swapyaga wave,

Bolldda ya waniors off Cbrysta toa baraaa :

Botta forra aoba halie kay^bta y* alayaa yaaa fyghta,

A boadradda fals bartes ware ryraaaa.

Nowa braTa SyrDelarallaa peaaaaea wab doaaa,

Haa hamawards soa'gbteaaa bys waie ;

«ro ya battel playaa aerosaa y aiayaa,

Toa fisyra Eagloaadaa walleoai baia ;

Toa aaa bys loaa bryda, toa f9 aortbe bea byedda,

Qaitboateaaa atoppa orr ataya.

Aaea naire ys merrye ye borderre loade,
Harka tboroagba ya aiyddaygbta gale.
TabHP7P« H^TM P^f • waaaallt fCrayaa,
Raada roade daaa ya Joyaaaaa tala t
Moata a Joka oflb ya f ryaras poke
Tf paoMdda afTft bylla aada date

Ta Ladya Dalaralla aaea ntaira amyUe,

Aada saage tylla bem weaa oaaa bci

Aada pryadde bem kaycgbte yaoe foade dalygbia.

Qaihila baa belde berra loryai^ya ;

Ne gryaradda b«« mairs oft bys dolorres sayra

Tba* Btryppadda oft loada aada ffaa.

Atta Warkawortba eaatalla, qailka proadlie
Oarra ya atonua aortberaae aiayaa,
Ta Pareya gratedda ya bordarra kaycgbtai
Qmtba bys aMrryssts myaatrella strayaa i
Tbroagadda wals ya bal, qnitba aobles aUm
Toa walloom ye kayqgLta agayao.

Nowa at tbys days qaihila yaraa roUa oaaa

Aada ya kaycgbte dotbe eaaldlie ly,

Ta stoaaa dotb staade ooae ye aylaata loada

Toa tallea toa atraagersa aygbe.

Yatta aaa borrydda dada forra a pygga bys b«

Dydda y'ara toa bareawerdda crya.

OK THE ABOVE LEGENa
To the Editor.

The legend of '< Syr Delavalle and the
Moncke'' is *< owre true a tale.'' The
•tone syr Delavalle was comoelled to erect
in eommemoration of this ^ liorryd dede ^
is (or rather the shattered remains of its
shaft are) still lying close to a neat farm*
house, called Monkhouse, supposed to be
built on the identical spot on which the
^ flagellrie ^ was effected^ and is often bent
over by the devout lovers of monkish an-
tiquity.

The poem was found amongst the papers
of an ingenious friend, who took pleasure
in collecting such rhymes; but as he has
been dead many vears, I have no means of
ascertaining at what period it was written,
or whether it was the original channel
through which the story has come down to
posterity. I have some confused recollec-
tion, that I heard it stated my friend got
this, and several similar ballads, from a
very old man who resided at a romantic
Tillage, at a short distance from Tynemouth
Priory, called *' Holywell.*' It is possible
that there may be some account of its source
among my lamented friend's papers, but as
they are very multitudinous and in a con-
fused mass, I have never had courage tc
look regularly through them. There are
several other poems of the like description,
the labour of copying which I may be 'm^
duced to undergo should I find that this it
wiUiin the range of the TM$ Booh.

ALfHA

Lfndon,A]^rU \A,\V17.

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THE TALLE BOOK.

ON CHATHAM HILL.

Thi» sketch, in toe pocket-oooi. of an
irtbt, suddenly startled recollection to the
April of my life— the season of sunshine
hopes, and stormy fears— when each hour
was a birth-time of thought, and every
new scene was the birth-place of a new
feeling. The drawing carried me back
to an October morning in* 1797, when I
eagerly set off on an errand to Boughton-
hill, near Canterbury, for the sake of seeing
rh«» country on that side of Chatham for the
,f\ time. The day was cloudy, with gales
r>' wind. I reached Chatham-hill, and
aood close to this sign, looking over the
aood of the Medway to the Nore, intently
peering for a further sea-view. Flashes of
fire suddenly gleamed in the dim distance,
and I heard the report of cannon. Until
then, such sounds from the bosom ot the
watery element were unknown to me, and
ihey came upon my ear with indescribable
solemnity. We were at war with France ;
and supposing there was a battle between
two fleets off the coast, my heart beat high ;
my thoughts were anxious, and my eyes
strained with the hope of catching some-
thing of the scene I imagined. The firing
was from the fleet at the Nore, in expecta-
tion of a royal review. The king was then
oroceedinR from Greenwich to Shecrness,

in the royal yacht, attended by the lords 01
the admiralty, to go on board the Dutch
ships captured by lord Duncan, at the
battle of Camperdown.* On my return to
Chatham, the sign of " the Star " was sur-
rounded by sailors, who, with their ship-
mates inside the house, were drinking grog
out uf pewter-pots and earthen basins, and
vociferating " Rule Britannia."

The following year, on the evening of a
glorious summer's day, I found refuge in
this house from the greatest storm I had
then seen. It came with gusts of wind
and peals of thunder from the sea. Stand-
ing at the bow-window, I \?atched the
lightning sheeting the horizon, making
visible the buried objects in the bladL
gloom, and forking fearfully down, while
the rain fell in torrents, and the trees bent
before the furious tempest like rushes. The
elemenU quickly ceased their strife, the
moon broke out, and in a few miuufs
there was

The tpaeioos firmament on higb,

And nil the blae ethereal tiij

And ipangled heavens, a ihinbg frania.

* Oyr\n% to adverse winds, his msjesty eonld w4
get farther than the Hope.

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The " Star** in war time was the constant
scene of naval and military orgies, and
therefore rather lepelled than courted other
▼isitants. It is now a respectable inti and
a stage for the refreshment of coach tra-
vellers. During a hasty trip to Canterbury
a short time ago, Mr. Samuel Williams
stopped there long enough to select its
sign, and the character of the view beyond
it, as *' a bit'* for his pencil, which I, m
turn, seized on, and he has engraved it
as a decoration for the TMe Book,

My readers were instructed at the outset
of the work that, if they allowed me to
please myself, we might all be pleased in turn.
If I am sometimes not their most faith-
ful, I am never otherwise than their most
sincere servant ; and therefore I add that
I am not always gratified by what grati-
fies generally, and I have,^ in this instance,
{>resented a small matter of my particular
iking. I would have done better if I
could. There are times when my mind
fails and breaks down suddenly — when I
can no more think or write than a cripple
can run: at other times it carries me off
from what I ought to do, and sets me to
something the very negative tu what I wish.
I then become, as it were, possessed ; an
untamable spirit has its will of me in spite
of myself: — what I have omitted, or done,
in the present instance, illustrates the fact.

GREENGROCERS' DEVICES,
For the Table Book.

Dear Sir, — In my wanderings through the
metropolis at this season, I observe an
agreeable and refreshing novelty, an inge-
nious contrivance to make mustard and
cress seeds grow in pleasant forms over
vessels and basketwork, covered on their
exterior with wet flannel, wherein the seeds
are deposited, and take root and grow, to
adorn the table or recess. The most curi-
ous which struck me, consisted of a << hedge-
bog'*— a doll's bead looking out of iu
▼emally-growing clothes— a *« Jack in the
green '*— a Dutch cheese in « a bower »»—
" Paul Pry "—and «' Pompey's pillar."

If greengrocers proceed m these devices,
their ingenuity may suggest a rivalry of
signs of a more lasting nature, suitable to
Jie shop windows of other tradesmen.
Yours, truly,

4pnl 30, 1827. J. R.

No. XVII.

From the " Parliament of Bees;" further
Extracts.]

Oberon. Flora, a Bee,

Ohar, A female Bee 1 Hkj ehaneter ?

Flo. Flon, Oberon'e Qardeaer,
HaswiTe both of herbi and flowen.
To itrew thy tbrine, and trim thy bowen.
With rioleto, rotee, eglantioe,
Daftftdoiroi and blae oolnmbine.
Hath forth the bosom of the Spriog
Plaekt thti aose; ajr, which I bring
From Eleasii (mine own shrine^
To thee, a Monarch all divine ;
And, aa tme impoet of my fnT%
Preeeat it to f^reat Oberoa'a lore.

Oher. Honey dewi refresh thj meada.
Cowvlips spring; with golden heads ;
Jttly-iowers and eamationB wear
Levrss doab]e*fltreakt, with maiden hair t
Majr thy lilies taller grow.
Thy violets fuller sweetness owe;
And last of all, may Phcibas love
To kiss thee: and Areqnent thy frove
As thoQ in service tme shalt be
Unto oor crown and royalty.

Oberon holde a Cottrt, in which he een-
tencee the fFaep, the Drone, and the Hum--
ble-bee, for divere offencee agoUut the
Commonwealth of Beee,

Oberon, Prores, hie Viceroy ; and other
Beee.

Pro, And whither most these flies be sent ?

Obtr. To Everlastmg Baaishmeat.
Underneath two hanging rocks
(Where babbling Echo sits and noeka
Poor travellers) there lies a grove.
With whom the Sun's so oat of feve,
He aerer amiles on*t: pale Despair
Calls it hm Monarchal Chair.
Fruit half-ripe hang rirell'd and shruk
On broken arms, torn from the trunk t
The moorish pools ataad empty, Isfl
By water, stolen by euaatag theft
To h<dJow banks, drivea out by aiakea.
Adders, and newts, that maa Uiese lakes :
The araasy leaves, ha]f-swelter*d, serv'd
As beds for vermia hanger sterv'd t
The woods are yew'treea, bent and brok*
By whirlwinds ; here and there aa oakt
HalfHsleft with thuadsr. Tothisgiwt
We baaish them.

Culpritt. Some merey, Jova !

Ober. You should have cried so la yoar yovfa,
Whea ChroBoa aad his daughter 'Vnth
Scjoara'd aaoag yon t wboa ytm apsat

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Whole yttrt is riotou Kemamft,
TkrastiBf poor Beet oat of their hiVM,
Sdaag boCh hoaej, wax, ud liTe^
Toa thoold hsTO emU*d for merey when
Toa imiMded eomoioD bloeioiiu; when*
laetMd of giTinf poor Beet Ibod,
Tott Me their ie^ and dmk their Uftoi.
Fairiet, thnat 'cm to their fhta.

Oberon then eonfirvM Ptore» kk Ait
Oovemmenit ; and breakt^ up Semon.

Obiir. — ^nowadient
Pkom shall a(aia meir
Hit potent Mignt the metty world,
Whieh in gUtterinf orht ia hnri'd
Ahont the poles, ba Lord eft wt
Oalf leeene onr BoTalljr^
Field Mmtic,* Oberon mast awaj |
For nt onr gentle Fairies stay :
In the noontains and the make
We^U hunt the Grej, and Uttle Fox
Who destroy onr lambs at feed.
And spoil the neets where tartleo fead.

[From ^ DaTid and Bethsabe," a Sacred
Drama, by George Peel, 1599.J

Nathan. Daoid.

KtA, Thns Nathan saith vnto hia Lord the lUng >
There wen two mm both dwellers ia one town;
The one wns aighty. aad esoeeding rich
la oxen, theep, aad cattle of the field ;
The other poor, baring nor ox. nor ealf,
Kor other cattle, sa^ one littla lamb,
Whieh he had boaght, aad nonrUh'd by h<s hnd,
Aad it grew np, aad fed with him aad Ua,
And ate aad drank as he and his were woal,
And in his bosom slept, aad was to lira
As was his daughter or his dearest ehikL-^
Then eame a stranger to this waallhf man.
And he refosed and spared to take his own.
Or of Ms stor« to drcoB or maka his meat.
Bat took the poor man's shasp» pardy poor aum*a

atorss
Aad dreat it Ibt <his stranger m Us honse.
What, tell me, AaU be doao to him for this ?

Aw. Now, as the Lord doth Bve, thU wieked man
Is jndgad, and shaU bseems the child «f death I
Fanrfold to the poor man he shaU restofs,
Tlmt withoat msray took his lamb away.

JfoM. Taov AB« nx mais avd nov BAtv jvmb»

DoTid, &as aaidi the Lord thy God by met
I thee anointed King in Israel.
Aad soTsd thee fiom the tyraaay of Baal i
Thy ■Meter's hoass I gats thee to poaiasik
Bis witas aato thy boaom I did gtva.

Tbahraaf Bee%

Aad Joda and Jemsalem withal ; >

And might, thoo kaow'at. if this had beea too amau.

Bava giTsa thee mofei

Wherefore thea haet thoa goae so far astray,

Andhaatdoos eril, and sinnsd in my tight?

Urins thoa hast killed widi the swerd.

Tea with the sword of the nadreameised

Thoa hast him tlaia t wherefore from this day forth

The sword shsll aeter go from thee and thine .

For thoo hast ta'en this Hidute'e wife to thea^

Wherefore behold I will, taith Jaedb't Gad,

In th'ae owa hoote ttir rril np to thee.

Yea I before diy faoe wiU take thy wiyet.

And give them to thy n^ghboar to potaets.

This ihall be done to David ia die day.

That IsMel openly may see thy shame.

Dm. NadMa, I have agaiast the Lord, I hata
Sinned, oh sinned grieTonsly, aad lol
From hemraa's tiirone doth David dirow himsalt
And groaa aad grovel to the gates of hall.

JVaM. David, stand ap; thas saidi the Lord by ma.
David the Kiag shaU live, for he hadi seen
The tree repeataat sorrow of thy heart}
Bat for thoa hast in this misdeed of thiaa
Stiri'd ap the enemies of Isrnel
To triumph aad blaspheme the Lord of HestSi
Aad say, ** Be set a wicked maa to raign
Over his loved prople and hie tribes ;**
The Child shall snrely die, that erst was bom,
Uls Mothei'e sia, his Kiagly Father's scora.

Dme, How jast is Jacob's God in all his works t
Bat laast it die, that David k>veth to f
O that tha mighty one of Israel
Nill ehaaga his doom, aad says the Babe mast dio
Moara, Israel, and weep in Sion gates ;
Wither, ye eedar trees of Lebaaon t
Y« tpfoadag almonds with yoar dowiag topsb
Droop, drown, and dreaeh ia Hebron's fearM streams i
The Babe mast die, that was to David bom.
Bis Mother's sin, his Kiagly FadMr*s seom.

C. L.

Sf £»trtat(ons( on Bootnsaia^

For the Tabie Book.
§ I. Name.

Doomsday Book, one of the most ancient
records of England, is (he register from
which judgment was to be giren upon the
talue, tenure, and senrioei of lands therein
described.

Other names by which it appears to
have been known were Rotulns Wintoniie,
Scriptura Thesauri Regis, Dber de Win-
tonia, and Liber Regis. Sir Henry Spel*
man adds, Liber Judiciarius, CensoalU
Angliff!, Anglie Notitia et Lustratio, aac'
Rotultts Regis.

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$ il. Date.

The exact time of the Conqueror's un-
Aertakiog the Survey, is differeutly statei
by historians. The Red Book of the Ex-
chequer seems to have been erroneously
qjoted, as fixing the time of entrance upon
it in 1080 ; it being merely stated in that
record, that the work was undertaken at a
time subsequent to the total reduction of
the island to William's authority. It is
evident that it was finished in 1086.
Matthew Paris, Robert of Gloucester, the
Annals of Waverley, and the Chronicle of
Bermondsey, give die year 1083, as the
date of the record ; Henry of Huntingdon,
in 1084; the Saxon Chronicle in 1085;
Bromtouy Simeon of Durham, Florence of
Worcester, the Chronicle of Mailros, Roger
Hovedon, Wilkes, and Hanningford, in
1086; and the Ypodigma Neustric and
Diceto in 1087.

The person and property of Odo, bishop
of Bayeux, are said to have been seizea
by the Conqueror in 1082.

§ III. Grig IV and Gbject.

Ingulphus affirms, that the Survey was
made in imitation of the policy of Alfred,
who, at the time he divided the kingdom
into counties, hundreds, and tithings, had
an Inquisition taken and digested into a
Register, which was called, from the place
in which it was reposited, the Roll of Win-
chester. The formation of such a Survey,
however, in the time of Alfred, may be
fairly doubted, as we have only a solitary
authority for its existence. The separation
of counties also is known to have been a
division long anterior to the time of Alfred.
Bishop Rennet tells us, that Alfred's Regis-
ter had the name of Doroeboc, from which
the name of Doomtday Book was only a
corruption.

Dom-boc is noticed in the laws of Ed-
ward the elder, and more particularly
in those of ^thebtan, as the code of Saxon
laws.

§ IV. Mode of Execution.

For the adjusting of this Survey, certain
commissioners, called the king's justicia-
ries, were appointed inquisitors : it appears,
upon the oaths of the sheriffs, the lords
of each manor the presbyters of every
church, the reeves of erery hundred, the
bailiffs, and six villans of every village,
vere to inquire into ine name of the place,
who held it in the time of Edward (the
Confessor,) who was the present possessor,
how many hides in the manor, how many
camicates in deme>ae, how many homa-

gers, how many villans, how many cotari),
how many servi, what freemen, how many
tenants in socage, what quantity of wood,
how many meadows and pasture, what
mills and fish-ponds, how much added or
taken away, what the gross value in king
Edward's time, what the present value, and
how much each fiee-man or soch-man
had or has. All this was to be triply esti-
mated ; first, as the estate was in the time
of the Confessor ; then, as it was bestowed
by king William ; and, thirdly, as its value
stood at the formation of the Survey. The
juror* werCy moreover, to etate whether
any advance could be made in the value.
The writer of the Saxon Chronicle, with
some degree of asperity, Informs us, thai
not a hyde or yardland, not an ox, cow, or
hog, were omitted in the census.

PRINCIPAL MATTERS NOTICED IN
THIS RECORD.

§ I. Persons.

(1.) After the bishops and abbats, the
highest persons lA rank were the Norman
borons.

(2.) Taini, tegni, teigni, teini, or teinni,
are next to be mentioned, because those
of the highest class were in fact nobility,
or barons of the Saxon times. Archbishops,
bishops, and abbats, as well as the great
barons, are also called thanes.

(3.) Favatsoree, in dignity, were next to
the barons, and higher thanes. Selden says,
they either held of a mesne lord, and not
immediately of the king, or at least of the
king as of an honour or manor and not
m chief. The grantees, says sir Henry
Spelman, that received their estates from
the barons or capitanei, and not from the
king, were called valvasores, (a degree
above knights.)

(4.) The aloariif alodarii, or alodiarii,
tenants in allodium, (a free estate ^* pos-
sessio libera.") The dingee mentioned,
tom i. fol. 298, are supposed to have been
persons of the same description.

(5.) MHUee. The term miles appears
not to have acquired a precise meaning at
the time of the Survey, sometimes im
plying a soldier, or mere military servant,
and sometimes a person of higher distinc-
tion.

(6.) Liberi Hominet appears to have been
a term of considerable latitude ; signify ing
not merely the freeman, or freeholders of a
manor, but occasionally including all the
ranks of society already mentioned, and
indeed all persons holding in military
tenure. ^ The ordinary freemen, beforf

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ihe conqupFt," says Kelham, ** and at the
time of compiling Doomsday, were under
I the protection of great men; but iivhat
! their quality was, further than that their
I persons and blood were free, that is, that
they were not nativi, or bondmen, it will
'give a knowing man trouble to discover to
jus.** Tliese freemen are called in the
I Survey liberi homines comendatu They ap-
pear to hai'c placed themselves, by volun-
tary homage, under this protection: their
lord or patron undertook to secure their
estates and persons, and for this protection
and security they paid to him an annual
stipend, or performed some annual service.
Some .appear to have sought a patron or
protector, for the sake of obtaining their
freedom only ; such the Jiberi homines eo-
mendaiione tantum may be interpreted.
According to the laws of the Conqueror, a
quiet residence of a year and a day, upon
the king's demesne -lands, would enfran-
chise a villan who had fled from his lord.
" Item ei servi permaneerint eine cainmnia
per annum et diem in civitatihne nottrie vel
burgle in muro vallatxMy vel in caetrie nos*
triSf a die ilia liberi afficiuntur et liberi a
htgo eervitntis etue itunt in perpettmm. The
commendati difnidii were persons who de-
pended upon two protectors, and paid half
to one and half to the other. Sub comme^tr
dati were under the command of those
who were themselves depending upon some
superior lord. Sub commendati dimidii
were those who were under the commendati
dimkUi, and had two patrons or protectors,
and the same as they nad. Liberi hominee
integri were those who were under ihe full
protection of one lord, in contradistinction
to the liberi hominet dimidii, Commendatio
sometimes signified the annual rent paid
for the protection. Liberi hominee ad nul-
lam firmam pertinentee were those who
held their lands independent of any lord.
Of others it is said, ** qui remanent in mana
regis.'' In a few entries of the Survey, we
have Uber€e feminee^ and one or two of
Ubereefemina commendatee.

(7.) Sochmannif or eocmeru, were those
nferior landowners who had lands in the
oc or franchise of a great baron; privileged
Lilians, who, though their tenures were
absolutely copyhold^ yet had an interest
equal to a freehold.

(8.) Of this description of tenantry also
were the rachenistrety or radchenistreej who
appear likewise to have been called raii^
wiannt, or radmane. It appears that some
of the radchenistres, liie the sochmen,
were less free than others. Dr. Nash con-
jectured that the radmanni and radchenistres -

were probably a kind of freemen who
served on horseback. Rad-cniht is usually
interpreted by our glossarists equesirie
homo eive milee, and Rabhejie equeetrie
exercittie.

(9.) Fillani, The clearest notion of the
tenure of villani is probably to be obtained
from sir W. Blackstone's Commentaries.
** With regard to folk-land," says he, " or
estates held in villenage, this was a species
of tenure neither strictly Feodal, Norman,
nor Saxon, but mixed or compounded of
them all ; and which also, on account of
the heriots that usually attend it, may seem
to have somewhat Danish in its composi-
tion. Under the Saxon government, there
were, as sir William Temple speaks, a sort
of people in a condition of downright ser«
vitude, used and employed in the most
servile works, and belonging, both they
and their children, and their effects, to the
lord of the soil, like the rest of the cattle
or stock upon it. These seem to have been
those who held what was called the folk-
land, from which they were removable at
the lord's pleasure. On the arrival of the
Normans nere, it seems not improbable
that they, who were strangers to any other
than a feodal state, might give some sparks
of enfranchisement to such wretched per-
sons as fell to their share, by admitting
them, as well as others, to the oath of
fealty, which conferred a right of protec-
tion, and raised the tenant to a kind of
estate superior to downright slavery, but
inferior to every other condition. This they
called villenage, and the tenants villeins;
either from the word viliSf or else, as sir
Edward Coke tells us, a villa; because
they lived chiefly in villages, and were em-
ployed 10 rustic works of the most sordid
kind. They could not leave their lord
without his permission; but if they ran
away, or were puiloined from him, might
be ckimed and recovered by action, like
beasts or other chatels. The villeins could
acquire no property either in lands or
goods ; but it he purchased either, the lord
might enter upon them, oust the villein,
and seize them to bis own use, unless he
contrived to dispose of them before the lord
had seized them; for the lord had then
lost his opportunity. The law however
protected tne persons of villeins, as king's
subjects, agamst atrocious injuries of the
lord."

(10.) Bordarii of the Survey appear at
various times to have received a great variety
of interpretations. Lord Coke calls them
'' boom, holding a little bouse, with some
land of husbandry, bigger than a cottage."

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Some have considered them as oottagera,
taking their name from living on the bor-
ders of a Tillage or manor; but this is suffi-
ciently refuted by Doomsday itself, where
we find them not only mentioned generally
among the agricultural occupiers of land,
but in one instance as ** circa aulam ma^
nentes," dwelling near the manor-house;
and even residing in some of the larger
towns. Bojib. bishop Kennett notices,
was a cottage. The eo^-cett, corces, coiets,
or coses, were apparently the same as the
oottarii and cotmanni ; cottagers who paid
a certain rent for very small parcels of land.
(11.) Bure§y buri, or burs, are noticed
in the first volume of Doomsday itself, as
synonymous with eoliberti. The name of
colibeiti was unquestionably derived from
the Roman civil law. They are described
by lord Coke as tenants in free socage by
nee rent. Cowel says, they were certainly
a middle sort of tenants, between servile
and free, or such as held their freedom of
tenure under condition of such works and
services, and were thereibre the same
landholders whom we meet with (in after-
times) under the name of conditionales.

Such are the different descriptions of
tenantry, and their rights more particularly
noticed in Doomesday.

(ta.) Servi. It is observed by bishop
Kennett, and by Morant after him, in his
Historr of Essex, that the servi and villani
are, all along in Doomsday, divided from
each other; but that no author h«i fixed
the exact distinction between them. The
servi, bishop Kennett adds, might be the
pure villanes, and rillanes in gross, who,
without any determined tenure of land,
were, at the arbitrary pleasure of the lord,
appointed to servile works, and received
their wages and maintenance at the discre-
Uon of the lord. The other were of a
superior degree, and were called villani,
because they were ville or gleb« adscript!,
i. e. held some cottage and lands, for
which they were burthened with such
stated servile works as their lords had an-
nexed to them. The Saxon name for ser-
▼us was 6jn«. The anciUe of the Survey
were females, nnder circumstances nearly
similar to the servi. These were disposed
of in the same way, at the pleasure of the
lord. The laws, however, protected their
chastity ; they could not be violated with
impunity, even by their owners.

(13.) CensmrH, cenwreg, or enwort't,
were also among the occupiers of land.
They appear to have been free persons,
n»€eum reddeniew.

(14.) Poroertt. Although in one or two

instances in Doomsday Survey mere swine-
herds seem to have been intended by Por^^
Mrtt, yet in the generality of entries in
which they are mentioned, they appear in
the rank of free occupiers, who rented the
privilege of feeding pigs in the woodlands,
some for money, and some for payments in
kind.

(15.) The kamnttf who are so fre-
quently mentioned, included ail sorts of
feudatory tenants. They claimed a privi-
lege of having their causes and persons
tried only in the court of their lord, to
whom they owed the duty of submission,
and professed dependance.

(16.) AngU and ^f^ltct occur frequently
in the Surv^ among the under tenants,
holding in different capacities.

(17.) Among the qfleet attached to
names, we find acoipitrarii or ancipitrarii,
arbalistaril or balistarii arcarii biga, came-
rarii campo, constabularius, cubicularius,
dapifer, dispensator, equarius, forestarii
huscarli ingeniator, interpres, lageroanni,
Latinarius, legatus liberatores marescal,
or marescalcus medid, monitor, pincema
recter navis regis, scutularius, stafre, stir-
man or stiremannus regis, thesaurarius and
venatores of a higher description.

(18.) QficM of an infertor description,
and trades, are aurifabri, carpentarii, ce-
metarii, cervisiarii, coci, coqui, or koci,
fabri, ferrarii, figuU fossarii, fossator, grane-
tarius, hoatarius, inguardi, jocolator regis,
ioculatriz, lanatores, loricati, lorimarius,
loripes, mercatores, missatici, monetarii,par-
cher, parm't piscatores, pistores, portarius
potarii, or poters, prebendarii prefect!, pro-
positi salinarii servientes, sutores, tonsor,
and vigilantes homines. Among ecclo-
siasticaT offices, we have Capicerius, JEcel.
Winton the sacrist, and Matricularias,
iEcel. S. Johannis Cestrie. Busecarts were
mariners. Hospites, occupiers of houses.

Among the assistants in husbandry, we
find apium custos, avantes homines, ber-
quarii bovarii ' caprarum mediator dale
granatarius mellitarii, mercennarius, por-
carii, and vacarius. S. R. r.

— ^^ ■ ■ -^^^

I. ANCIENT TENURE.
II. MODERN ANECDOTE.
For the Tabh Book.
Tekurs of the AnciEiiT Maiios ov Bil-

8INGT0N PrIORT, THE SeaT OF ThOMAB

Care Rider, Esq.

The man6r of Bilsington inferior was
held in grand sergeantry in the reign of
Edward III. by the service of presenting
three maple cups at the king's coronation

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and, at the time of the coronation of
Charles II., by the additional service of
carrying the last dish of the second course
to the king's table. The former service was
performed by Thomas Rider, who was
Knighted (Mos nro Lege) by his late
' majesty George IIL, when the king, on re-
' ceiving the maple cups from the lord of
the manor, turned to the mayor of Oxford,
who stood at his right band, and, having
received from faim for his tenure of that
city a gold cup and cover, gave him these
three cups in return.

Anecdote of tbs illustrious Wash-
ington AND THE CELEBRATED AdKIRAL

Verkon, Unclk to the late Earl of

Shipbrook.

When the admiral was attacking Porto
Bello, with bis six ships only, as is de-
scribed on the medal struck on the occasion,
he observed a fine young man in appear-
ance, who, with the most intrepid courage,
attended with the most perfect calmness,
was always in that part of the ship which
was most engaged. After the firmg had
ceased, he sent his captain to request he
would attend upon him, which he imme-
diately obeyed ; and the admiral entering
into conversation, discovered by his an-
swers and observations that he posaessed
more abilities than usually fall to the lot of
mankind in general. Upon his asking his
name, the young man told him it was
George Washington ; and the admiral, on
his return home, strongly recommended
him to the attention of the admiralty. This
great man, when he built his house in
America, out of gratitude to his first bene-
factor, named it ** Mouut Vernon," and at
this moment it is called so.

Zoologp.

L THE KING'S OSTRICH.

II. THE HORSE ECLIPSE.
Mr. Joshua Brookes, the eminent anato-
mist, gave a lecture on Wednesday evening,
the 25th of April, 1827, at the house of
the illogical Society, in Bruton-street, on
the body of an ostrich which his majesty
had presented to the society. The lecture
was attended by lord Auckland, lord Stan-
ley, Dr. Biikbeck, and several other noble-
men and gentlemen distinguished for their
devotion to the interests of science. The
ostrich, which was a female, and had been

g resented to his majesty about two years
efore by colonel Denharo, had been kept
at Win(»or, and had died about three weeks
previous to the lecture, of obesity, a disease

which freauently shortens the lives of wll<i
animals of every species, when attempts
are made to domesticate them.

Mr. Brookes commenced by observing,
that when he retired from the practice of
anatomy, he did not expect to appear again
before the public ; but, as the noble direc-
tors of the society had honoured him by
considering that his services might be of
some use in forwarding that most interest-
ing science loology, he had only to remark
that he felt great pride in adding his mite of
information to the mass with which the
society was furnished from other sources.
The period had arrived, when the science of
natural history bad fair to reach a height in
this country, which would enable us to
rival the establishments founded for its pro-
motion abroad. The founder of the study
of zoology in England was the great John
Hunter; and he was followed by indivi-
doals well known to the scientific world,
in Edinburgh, Gottingen, and Amsterdam.
In the latter city, the science of zoology
was pursued with great success by professor
Camper, who, when he was in London, in-
vited him (Mr. Brookes) and a professional
friend to breakfast, and treated them with
bones, consisting of the teeth of rats, mice,
and deer, served up in dishes made out of
the rock of Gibraltar. The fact was, that
the professor had, shortly before, explored
this celebrated rock, in search of bones, for
the purposes of comparative anatomy.
The learned lecturer then entered into a
very minute account of the various peculia-
rities of the ostrich, and described with
great clearness the organs by which this ex-
traordinary bird was enabled to travel with
its excessive speed. This peculiarity he
ascribed to the power of the muscles, which
pass from the pelvis to the foot, and
cause the ostrich to stand in a vertical
position, and not like other birds resembling
It, on the toes.

For proof of the intimate relation be-
tween muscular power and extraordinary
swiftness, Mr. Brookes mentioned that the
chief professor of the Veterinary College
had informed him, that upon dissecting tne
body of the celebrated racer Eclipse, one of
the fleetest horses ever seen in diis kingdom,
it was found that he possessed muscles of
unparalleled size. The lecturer here pro-
duced an anatomical plate of Eclipse, for
the purpose of displaying his extraordinary

muscular power, and observed, that if he
had not told his heaters that it represented
a race-horse, from the size of the muscles

they might conclude, that he was showing

them the plate of a cart-horse.*

\

. xk* iii

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ECLIPSE.

This engraving is (Vom a drnwinsr, in a
treatise *'on ihe proportions of Eclipse:
bv Mr. Charles Vial de Saint Bel, professor
or the Veterinary College of Ix>ndon, &c."
4li). t79t. Mr. Saint Bel's work was writ-
ten with a view to ascertain the mechanical
causes which conspire to augment the ve-
locity of the gallop ; and no sipgle race-
horse could have been selected as a speci-
men of speed and strength equal to Eclipse.
According to a calculation by the writer
!ust mentioned, Eclipse, free of all weight,
and galloping at liberty in his greatest
speed, could cover an extent of twenty-five
feet at each complete action on the gailop;
and oould repeat this action twice and one
third in each second of time : consequently,
by employing without reserve all his natural
and mechanical faculties on a straight line,
he could nin nearly fosr miles in the space
of six minutes and two seconds.

Eclipse was preeminent above all other

horses, from having ran repeated races
without ever liaving been beat. The me-
chanism of his frame was almost perfect ;
and yet he was neither handsome, nor well
proportioned. Compared with a table of
the geometrical portions of the horse, in
nse at the veterinary schools of France,
Eclipse measured in height one seventh
more than he ought — his neck was one
third too long — a perpendicular hne falling
from the stifle of a horse should touch the
toe ; this line in Eclipse touched the ground,
at the distance of half a head before tht
toe— the distance from the elbow to the bend
of the knee shouid be the same as fironi
the bend of the knee to the ground ; the
former, in Eclipse, was two parts of a head
longer than the latter. These were some of
the remarkable differences between the
presumed standard of proportions in a well-
formed horse^ and the horse of the greatest
celebrity ever bred in England. '

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The excellence of Eclipse in speed,
bloody pedigree, and progeny, will be trans-
mitted, perhaps, to the end of time. He
was bred by the former duke of Cumber-
land, and, being foaled during the ** great
eclipsjB," was named <« Eclipse" by the
duke in consequence. His royal hiffhness,
however, did not surviye to witness the very
great performances he himself had pre-
dicted ; for, when a yearling, Eclipse was
disposed of by auction, with the rest of the
stud, and a remarkable circumstance at-
tended his sale. Mr. Wildman, a sporting
gentleman, arrived after the sale had com-
menced, and a few lots had been knocked
down. Producing his watch, he insisted '
that the sale had begun before the time ad>
▼ertised. The auctioneer remonstrated;
Mr. Wildman was not to be appeased, and
demanded that the lots already sold should
be put up again. The dispute causing a
loss of time, as well as a scene of confusion,
the purchasers said, if there was any lot
already sold,which he had an inclination to,
rather than retard progress, it was at his
service. Eclipse was the only lot he liad
fixed upon, and the horse was transferred
to him at the price of forty-six guineas.
At four, or five years old, Captain O'Kelly
purchased him of Mr. Wildman for seven-
teen hundred guineas. He remained in
Col. CKelly's possession, winning king's
plates and every thing he ran for, until the
death of his owner, who deemed him no
valuable, as to insure the horse's life for
several thousand g^uineaj. He bequeathed
hifi to his brother, Philip O'Kelly, Esq.
The colonel's decease was in November,
1787. Eclipse survived his old master
little more than a year, and died on the
27th of February, 1 789, in the twenty-sixth
year of his age. His heart weighed 13lbs.
The size of this organ was presumed to
have greatly enabled him to do what he did
in speed and strength. He won more
matches than any horse of the race-breed
was ever known to have done. He was at
last so worn out, as to have been unable to
stand, and about six months before his
death was conveyed, in a machine con-
structed on purpose, from Epsom to Canons,
where he breatned his last.

Colonel Dennis O'Kelly, the celebrated
owner of Eclipse, amassed an immense
fortune by gamoling and the turf, and pur-
chased the estate of Canons, near Edgware,
which was formerly possessed by the duke
of Chandos, and is still remembered as the
site of the most magnificent mansion and
esubltshment of modem times. The oolo-
ikel's traioxng stables' and paddocks, at

another estate near Epsom, were supposed
to be the best appointed in Engiafid.

Besides O'Kelly's attachment to Eclipse,
he had an affection to a parrot, which is
filmed for having been the best bred bird
that ever came to this country. He gave
fifiy guineas for it at Bristol, and paid the
expenses of the woman who brought it up
to town. It not only talked what is usually
termed *' every thing," but sang with great
correctness a variety o{ tunes, and beat
time as he sang ; and if perchance he mis-
took a note in the tune, he returned to the
bar wherein the mistake arose, and cor-
rected himself, still beating the time witli
the utmost exactness. He sang any tune
desired, fully understanding the request
made. The accounts of this bird are so ex-
traordinary, that, to those who bad not seen
and heard'the bird, they appeared fabulous

THE EVENING LARK.

For the Table Book.

I Ian tliM Wttor at tkU lumr, when mt
Is thAdowiar Mrtb, thaa 9*9n Uis nifbtinf al« :
Th« loadaess of thf aoag that ia the mom
Rang orar heairen, the day has softeoad down
To pcaslre aiasie*

In the erening, the body relaxed by the
toil of the day, disposes the mind to quiet-
ness and contemplation. The eye, dimmed
by close application to books or business,
languishes for the greenness of the fields ;
the brain, clouded by the smoke and va-
pour of close rooms and crowded streets,
droops for the fragrance of fresh breexes.
and sweet smelling flowers.

Snmmer eometh.
The bee hnmmeth.
The ^rasi spriageth.
The bird siafteth.
The flower yroweth.
And man knowath

The time is eome

Whea he may rore

Thro* Tale aad gntt.
No loager damb.

There he may hear sweet voieet,

Borar softlj on the fale ;
There he majr have jich choices

Of soBKS that aerer fail ;
The lark, if he be eaeerfol,

Aliore his head shall tower;
Aad the nightmrale, if fsarfni.

Shall soothe him from the bowat.

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If nd liis eya with Mtadf ,

If i>aie with care hi* cheek.
To m»ke them bright and rnddj,

The creen hille let him *eek.
Ihe qaiet that it aeedeth

His miad shall there obtaiD ;
Amd relief fnmi eare» that feedeth

Alike <m heart and braia.

Urged by this feeliDg, I rambled along
die Old Kent Road, making my way
through the Saturnalian groups, collected
by that roob-emaocipating-time Easter
Monday; wearied with the dust, and the
exclamations of the multitude, I turned
down the lane leading to the fields, near
the place wherein the fair of Peckham is
held, and sought for cjuietness in their
greenness-— and found it not. Instead of
verdure, there were rows of dwellings of
** plain brown brick," and a half>formed road,
from whence the feet of man and horse im-
pregnated the air with stifling atoms ot
ritrified dust. Proceeding over the Rye,
up the lane at the side of Forestr-hill, I
'ound the solitude I needed. The sun was
iust setting ; bis parting glance came from
between the branches of the trees, like the
mild light of a lover's eye, from her lon^^
(lark lashes, when she receives the adieu of
her beloved, and the promise of meeting
on the morrow. The air was cool and fitful,
playing with the leaves, as not caring to
stir them; and as I strayed, the silence
was broken by the voice of a bird — it was
the tit-lark. I recognised his beautiful
*' weet *' and '* fe-er," as he dropped from
the poplar among the soft grass ; and I lin-
ger^ near the wood, in the hope of hear-
ing the nightingale— -but he had not anived,
or was disposed to quiet. Evening closed
over me : the hour came

When darker ihades anmad u thrown
Oire to thought a deeper toae.

Retracing my steps, I reached that field
which stretches from the back of the Rose-
mai^-branch to the canal; darkness was
veiling^ the earth, the hum 'i\ the multitude
was faintly audible ; above it, high in the
cool and shadowy air, rose the voice of a
sky-lark, who had toarod to take a last look
at the fading day, singine his vespers.
It was a sweeter lay than nis morning, or
mid-day carol— more regular and less ar-
dent— divested of the fervour and fire of
his noontide song — its hurried loudness
and shrill tones. The softness of the pre-
sent melody suited the calm and f^entle
hour. I listened on, and imagined it was
a bird I had beard in the autumn of last
f»ar: I recollected the lengthy and well-

timed mmic— the " cheer che-er/' " wee*,
weet, che-er "— " we^t, weet, cheer**—
** che-er " — " weet, weet " — " cheer, wecl,
weet." I still think it to have been the
very bird of the former season. Since thep
he had seen

The freenneee of the ipnng, and all ita floweia ;

The mddinees of rammer and its fmita ;
And cool and eleepiDf streams, and shadiag hmnn

The sombre brown of aotomn. that best suits
His leisnre hoors, whose meUncholx mind
Is ealm'd with lisfning to the moaning wind«
And watching sick leaves take their silent way.
On Tiewless wings, to death and to decay.

* He had survived them, and had evaded the
hawk in the cloud, and the snake in the
grass. I felt an interest in this bird, for
his lot had been like mine. The ills of
life — as baleful to man, as the bird of prey
and the invidious reptile to the weakest
of the feathered race— had assailed me, and
yet I had escaped. The notes in the air grew
softer and fiunter— I dimly perceived the
flutter of descending wing:^— one short,
shrill cry finished the song— darkness
covered the earth — and I again sought
human habitations, the abodes of carking
cares, and heart-rending jealousies.

S.R.J.
Jpril 16, 18)7.

TIIE VOICE OF SPRING.

. I oome I ye have eall*d me long;

o*er the monntains with light and songi

Ye may traoe my steps o'er the wakening earth.
By the winds which tell of the riolet's birth,
Bjr the primiooe-etan in the shadowy grass.
By the green leaves opening as 1 pass.

I hare breath*d on the sonth, and the ehcstaot flowert
By thonaaads haTo burst from the fsiert bowerib
And the aaeieat grares, and the fisllea fhnea,
Are Teird with wreaths on Italian plains.
— Bnt it is not for me, in my honr of bloom.
To speak of the rain of the tosnb I

I have paasM o'er the hiUs of the stormy north.

And the laroh has bang all his tassels forth s

The fisher is out on the sonny sea.

And the reindeer bounds thrp* the pastare ftoe.

And the pine has a fringe of softer grem.

And the moss looks bright where my step has beeik

I havw aeat aroP the wood-paths a gentle 8igh»
And eall'd oit Mch voice of the deep blue sky,
Ffom the aightbiid's lay thrs* the sUirry tisM
In the groves ef the soft Hesperiaa elimo.
To the swaa's wild noU by the loelaad lakes,
Whea the dark fi^bongh into vefdnre breaaa.

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Tnm &• ftnuit Md temntt I hmft loM*d tte dkai%
Thaj we mrMpiBg <m to tb« silTarf flMia,
Ibaf are iMUiig down fnm tiM Boutats-bioirfl,
Tkef sM iiagiif sprax oa tha fcrael-ba«f ha.
Tkaf aM bantaaf fradi fioa tkair starr j oarae.
▲ad IM earth raMuads witk the jey of waree.

Cone forth. O /• ebOdrea of gladncaa. oeme !
Where the riolata Ue» naj be bow jroar hooie ,
Te of the roeo'cheek aad dew>brif ht 9j%
And the boaadiaf feoUtep, to B»eet aie fly.
With the Ijre, aad the wreath, aad the joyoos laj.
Coma forth to the wiaihine, I aiay aoC aUjr 1

Away from the dwelHage of eare-wom aea.
The wattn an aparkBaf la wood and glea.
Away fnm the ohaMber aad dosky hearth,
Tha yoaoff leavea are daaeiaf ia broeay nurth.
Their light stone thrill to tha wild-wood atraiaa,
Aad yottth ia abroad ia aiy graea doauuaa.

Mes. Ubmavs.

MOTHERING SUNDAY.
For the Ttble Book.

To the accounti in the Everf-Day Book
of the obfenraiioe of Mid Lent, or << Mo-
thering Sunday/* I would add, that the
day is scrupulously observed in this city
and neighbourhood ; and, indeed, I belieTe
generally in the western parts of England.
The festival is kept here much in the same
way as the 6th of January is with you :
that day is passed over in silence with us.

Ail who consider themselves dutiful
children, or who wish to be so considered
by others, on this day' make presents to
their mother, and hence derivea the name
of «< Mothering Sunday.^ The family all
assemble ; and, if the day prove fine, pro-
ceed, after church, to the neighbouring
village to eat frumerty. The higher classes
partake of it at their own houses, and in
I the evening come the cake and wine.
The ^'Motherimg cakes'' are very highly
ornamented, artists being employed to
paint them. This social meeting does not
seem confined to the middling or lower
orders; none, happily, deem themselves
too high to be good and amiable.

The custom is of great antiquity ; and
long, long may it be prevalent amongst
us.

Your constant reader,

JuvEKia (N.)

Brietol, Mardk 38, 1827.

SeCorana.

No. II.
MIXED BREEDS;

OE,

EDUCATION THROWN AWAY.

I came into a public-house once in Lon-
don, where there was a black Mulatto-
looking man sitting, talking very warmly
amonff some gentlemen, who I observed
were listening very attentively to what he
said ; and I sat myself down, and did the
like; 'twas with great pleasure I heard
him discourse very handsomely on several
weighty subjects ; I found he was a very
good scholar, had been very handsomely
bred, and that learning and study was his
delight ; and more than that, some of the
best of science was at that time his employ-
ment : at length I took the freedom to ask
him, if he was born in England? He re-
plied with a great deal of good humour,
out with an excess of resentment at his
father, and with tears in his eyes, <* Yes,
yes, sir, I am a true born Englishman, to
my father's shame be it • spdcen ; who,
being an Englishman himself, could find in
bia heart to join himself to a negro woman,
though he must needs know, the children
be should beget, would cune the memory
of such an action, and abhor bis very name
for the sake of it. Yes, yes, (said he re-
peating it aeain,) I am an Englishman, and
iiom in lawful wedlock ; happy it had been
for me, though my fother had gone to the
devil for wh m, had he uiin with a
cook-maid, or produced me from the mean*
^^ heggar in the street. My father might
do the duty of nature to his black wife ;
but, God knows, he did no justice to his
children. If it had not been for this black
face of mine, fsays he, then smiling,) I had
been bred to the Uw, or brought up in the
study of divinity : but my father gave me
learning to no manner of purpose ; for he
knew I should never be able to rise by it to
any thing but a teamed valet de chambre*
What he put me to school for I cannot
imagine; ne spoiled a good tarpawling,
when he strove to make me a gentleman.
When he had resolved to marry a slave,
and lie with a slave, he should have bego^
slaves, and let us have been bred as we
were bom ; but he has twice ruined me ;
first with getting me a frightful face, and
then going to paint a gentleman upon me.**
—It was a moat afiecting discourse indeed,
and as such I record it; and I found it
ended in tears from the person, who was

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in himself tTie ijaoft desemn^, modest, and
judicious man, thai I ever met with, under
a negro countenance, in my life.

CHINESE IDOL.

It had a thing instead of a head, but no
head ; it had a mouth distorted out of all
roaoner of shape, and not to be described
for a mouth, being only an unshapen
chasm, neither representing the mouth of a
man, beast, fowl, or iish : the thing was
neither any of the four, but an incongruous
monster : it had feet, hands, 6ngers, claws,
legs, arms, wings, ears, horns, every thing
mixed one among another, neither in the
shape or place that nature appointed, out
blended tof^ether, and fixed to a bulk, not a
body ; formed of no just parts, but a shape-
less trunk or log; whether of wood, or
stone, I know not ; a thing that might have
stood with any side forward, or any side
backward, anv end upward, or any end
downward; that had as much veneration
due to it on one side, as on the other ; a
kind of celestial hedgehog, that was rolled
up within itself, and was every thing eveiy
way; formed neither to walk, stand, go,
nor fly ; neither to see, hear, nor speak ; but
merely to instil ideas of something nause-
ous and abominable into the minds of men
that adored it.

MANNERS OF A LONDON WATER.
MAN, AND HIS FARE, A HUN-
DRED YEARS AGO.

What I have said last [of the Mannere
of a spruce London Mercer,*] makes me
think on another way of inviting customers,
the most distant in the world from what I
have been speaking of, I mean that which is
practised by the watermen, especially on
those whom by their mien and garb they know
to be peasants. It is not unpleasant to see half
a dozen people surround a man they never
saw in tneir lives before, and two of them
that can get the nearest, clapping each an
arm over his neck, hug him m as loving
and familiar a manner as if he were their
brother newly come home from an East
India voyage; a third lays hold of his
hand, another of his sleeve, his coat, the
buttons of it, or any thing he can come at,
whilst a fifth or a sixth, who has scampered
twice round him already without oeing
able to get at him, plants himself directly
before the man in nold, and within three

• S-M Tabl9 Book, p. S€7.

inches of his nose, contradicting his rivali
with an open-mouthed cry, shows him a
dreadful set of large teeth, and a small
remainder of chewed bread and cheese,
which the countryman's arHval had hinder-
ed from being swallowed. At all this ni
offence is taken, and the peasant justl)
thinks they are making much of him ; there-
fore far from opposing them he patiently
suffers himself to be pushed or pulled
which way the strength that surrounds him
shall direct. lie has not the delicacy tc
find fault with a man*s breath, who has
just blown out his pipe, or a greasy head
of hair that is rubbing against his chaps :
dirt and sweat be has been used to from
his cradle, and it is no disturbance to him
to hear half a score people, some of them
at his ear, and the furtnest not five feet
from him, bawl out as if he was a hundred
yards off: he is conscious that he makes
no less noise when he is merry himself, and
is secretly pleased with their boisterous
usages. The bawling and pulling him
about he construes in the way it is intend-
ed; it is a ci^ortship he can feel and under-
stand : he can't help wishing them well for
the esteem they seem to have fur him : he
loves to be taken notice of, and admires
the Londoners for being so pressing in
their offers of service to him, for the value
of threepence or less ; whereas in the coun-
try, at the shop he uses, he can have nothing
but he must first tell them what he wants,
and, though he lays out three or four shil-
lings at a time, has hardly a word spoke to
him unless it be in answer to a question
himself is forced to ask first. This alacrity
in his behalf moves his prratitude, and un-
willing to disoblige any, from his heart he
knows not whom to choose. I have seen a
man think all this, or something like it, as
plainly as I could see the nose on his face ;
and at the same time move along very con-
tentedly under a load of watermen, and
with a smiljngf countenance carry seven or
eight stone more than his own weight, tc
the water side.

Fable of the Bees : 1725.

MAY GOSLINGS.— MAY BATHERS.

For the Table Book.

On the first of May, the juvenile inha
bitants of Skipton, in Craven, Yorkshire,
have a similar custom to the one in genefai
use on the first of April. Not content wil>
makincr their companions fools on one day

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they set apart another, to make them ^ May
go9Ung9, or geese. If a boy made any
one a May gosling on the second of May,
the following rhyme was said in reply : —

Tkoo*f s fMliiig, and I'm noao.**

This distich was also said, nniiaih mti-
tanditj on the second of April. The prac-
tice of making May goslings was very
common about twelve years ago, but is
now dying away.

As the present month is one when very
severe colds are often caught by bathers, it
may not be amiss to submit to the readers
of the Table Book the following old say-
ing, which is very prevalent in Skipton :—

« Th« J who bathe ia Ma j
Will br looa laid ia cUj t
Thejr who bathe ia Jnoo
Will siag a merrj tiuu.**

T. Q. M.

SAILORS ON THE FIRST OF MAY.
For ike Table Book.

Sir, — ^You have described the ceremony
adopted by oar sailors, of shaving all nau-
tical tyros on crossing the Une^* but perhaps
you are not aware of a custom which pre-
vails annually on the first of May, in the
whale-fishery at Greenland and Davis's
Straits. I therefore send you an account of
the celebration which took place on board
the Neptune of London, m Greenland,
1 824, of which ship I was surgeon at that
period.

Previous to the ship*s leaving her port,
the sailors collected fiom their wives, and
other female friends, ribands ''for the
garland," of which great care was taken
until a few days previous to the first of
May, when all hands were engaged in pre-
paring the said garland, with a model of
the ship.

The garland was made of a hoop, taken
from one of the beef casks ; this hoop, de-
corated with ribands, was fastened to a
stock of wood, of about four feet in length,
and a model of the ship, prepared ny the
carpenter,^ was fastened above the hoop to
the top of the stock, in such a manner at
to answer the purpose of a vane. The first
of May arrives; the tyros were kept
from between decks, and all intruders ex-
cluded while the principal performers got
ready the necessary apparatus and dresses.
The barber was the boatswain, the barber's

Ktcx j^Day Book, vdL tt.

mate was the cooper, and on a piece of
tarpawling, fastened (o the entrance of the
fore-hatchway, was the following inscrip*
tion :-^

«* N£PTi7N£*s Easy Shaviko Shop,

Kept hff

John John so v.**

The performers then came forward, as
follows : — First, the fiddler, playing as well
as he could on an old fiddle, ^ See the con-
quering hero comes;" next, four men, two
abreast, disguised with matting, rags, &c.
so as to completely prevent them from
being recognised, each armed with a boat-
hook; then came Neptune himself, also
disguised, mounted on the carriage of the
largest gun in the ship, and followed by
the. barber, barber's mate, swab-bearer,
•having-box carrier, and as many of the
•hip's company as chose to join them,
dressed in such a grotesque manner as to
beggar all description. Arrived on the
quarter-deck they were met by the captain,
when hb briny majesty immediately dis-
mounted, and the following dialogue en-
sued:—

Nepi. Are you the captain of this ship
sir?

Copi, I am.

Nepi. What's the name of your ship ?

Capt. The Neptune of London.

Nept, Where is she bound to ?

Capt, Greenland.

Nept, What is your name ?

Capt, Matthew Ainstey.

Nept, You are engaged in the whale
fishery ?

Capt. I am.

Nept, Well, I hope I shall drink your
honour's health, and I wish you a pros-
perous fishery.

[Here the captain preeented him with
three quarte of rum.]

Nept, (JUling a gkue,) here's health to
you, captain, and success to our cause.
Have you got any fresh-water sailors on
board f for if you have, I must christen
them, so as to make them useful to our king
and country.

Capt. We have eight of them on board
at your service ; I therefore wish you good
morning.

The procession then returned in the same
manner as it came, the candidates for
nautical fame following in the rear ; after
descending the fore-hatchway they congre-
gated between decks, when all the oflTerings
to Neptune were given to the deputy, (the
cook,) consisting of whiskey, tobacco, &c«
Tlie barber then stood readv with his boY

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oF lather, and the landsmen were ordered
before Neptune^when the following dialogue
took place with each, only with the altera-
tion of the man's name, as follows :—

Nept.(to amother,) What b your name?

jiwt. Gilbert Nicholson.

Nept, Where do you come from !

Atu. Shetland.

Nept, Hare yoa erer been to tea befote?

Am. No.

Nept. Where are yoa going to?

Aw, Greenland.

At each of these answers, the bmsh dip*
ped in the lather (consisting of soap-ends,
oil, tar, paint, Uc) was thnist into the
respondent's mouth and over his &ce ; then
the barber's-mate scraped bis face with a
razor, made of a piece of iron hoop well
notched; his sore face was wiped with
a damask towel, (a boat-swab aipped in
filthy water) and this ended the ceremony.
When it was over they undressed them-
selres, the fiddle struck up, and thev danced
and regaled with their grog until they were
**fuU three «AMto ni the wind.'*
I remain, sir, Sec.

H. W. Dewhurst.

Creeeent-etreeip
Eueton-eguare.

NAVAL ANECDOTE.

Daring the siege of Acre, Daniel Bryan,
an old seaman and captain of the fore-top,
who had been turned orer from the Blanche
into sir Sidney Smith's ship Le Tigr^, re-
peatedly applied to be employed on shore ;
but, bemg an elderly man and rather deaf,
his request was not acceded to. At the
first storming of the breach by the French,
one of their generals fell among the multi*
tude of the slain, and the Turks, in triumph,
struck off his head, and, after mangling the
body with their sabres, left it a prey to the
-logs, which in that country are of great
ferocity, and rofe in herds. In a few days
it became a shocking spectacle, and when
any of the sailors who had been on shore
returned to their ship, inquiries were con-
stantly made respecting the state of the
Frendi general. To Dan's frequent de-
mands of hb messmates why they had not
buned him, the only answer he received
was, '^ Go and do it yourself.'* One morn-
ing having obtained leave to go and see the
town, he aressed himself as though for an
excursion of pleasure, and went ashore
with the surgeon in the jolly-boat. About
an hour or twe after, while the surgeon was
dressing the wounded Turks in the hospital,
in came honest Dan, who, in his rough,

good-natured manncf, exclaimed, "Vre
been burying the general, sir, and now 1*111
come to see the sick !" Not particularly
attending to the tar's salute, but fearing
that he might catch the plague, which was
making neat ravages among the wounded
Turks, uie surgeon immediately ordered
him out. Returning on board, the cockswain
asked of the surgeon if he had seen old
Dan ? It was then that Dan*s words in the
hospital first occurred, and on further in-
quiry of the boat's crew they related the
following circumstances :—

The old man procured a pick-axe, a
shovel, and a rope, and insisted on being
let down, out of a port-hole, close to the
breach. Some of his more juvenile com-
pariions offered to attend him. ** No I" he
replied, '* you are too young to be shot yet;
as for me, I am old and deaf, and my loss
would be no great matter." Persisting in
his adventure, in the midst of the firing,
Dan was slung and lowered down, with his
implements of action on his shoulder. Hif
first difficulty was to beat away the dogs.
The French lefelled their pieces — they
were on the instant of firing at the hero 1—
but an officer, perceiving the friendly in-
tentions of the sailor, was teen to throv
biiBself across the file : instantaneously th*
din of military thunder ceased, a deaa,
solemn silence prevailed, and the worth/
fellow consignea the corpse to its parer
earth. He covered it with mouloi an 1
stones, placing a large stone at its head
and another at its feet. The uno8tentatiou«
grave was formed, but no inscription re«
corded the fate or character of its possessor.
Dan, with the peculiar air of a British
sailor, took a piece of chalk from his pocket,
and attemptea to write

** Here you lie, old Crop !*'

He was then, with his pick-axe and shovel,
hoisted into the town, and the hostile firing
immediately recommenced.

A few days afterwards, sir Sidney, having
been informed of the circumstance, ordered
old Dan to be called into the cabin. —
** Well, Dan, I hear you have buried the
French general.'* — ** Yes, your honour."—
**^Had you any bodv with you?"—" Yes,
your honour." — ^ why, Mr. — says you
had not."— « But I had, your honour.^—
** Ahl who had your— «* God Almighty,
sir.** — '<A very good assistant, indeed. Give
old Dan a glass of groff." — << Thank your
honour." Dan drank the grog, and left the
cabin highly gratified. He was for severa*
years a pensioner in tne royal ho^ital at
Greenwich.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

THE « RIGHT" LORD LOVAT.

The follovring remarkable anecdote, com-
municated by a respectable correspondent,
with his name and address, may oe relied
on as genuine.

For the Table Book,

An old man, claiming to be ** the right
lord Lovat," i. e. heir to him who was be-
headed in 1745, came to the Mansion-house
in 1818 for advice and assistance. He was
in person and face as much like the rebel
lord, if one may judge from his pictures,
as a person could be, and the more espe-
cially as he was of an advanced asre. He
said he had been to the present lord Lovat,
who had given him food and a little money,
and turned him away. He stated his pedi-
gree and claim thus : — The rebel lord had
an only brother, known by the family name
of Simon Fraser. Before lord Lovat en-
gaged in the rebellion, Simon Fraser went
to a wedding in hift highland costume;
when he entered the room where the party
was assembled, an unfortunate wight of a ,
bagpiper suuck np the favourite march of a
clan in mortal enmity with that of Fraser,
which so enraged him, that he drew his
dirk and killed the piper upon the spot.
Fraser immediately fled, and found refuge in
a mine in Wales. No law proceedings
took place against him as he was absent,
and supposed to have perished at sea. He
manied in Wales, and had one son, the old
man abovenamed, who said he was about
siity. When lord Lovat was executed his
lands became forfeited ; but in course of
time, lord L. not having left a son, the
estates were granted by the crown to a
collateral branch, (one remove beyond
Simon Fraser,) the present lord, it not
being known that Simon Fraser was alive
or had left issue. It is further remarkable
that the applicant further stated, that both
he and his father, Simon Fraser, were called
lord Lovat by the miners and other inhabit-
ants of that spot where he was known.
The old man was very ignorant, not know-
ing how to read or write, having been born
in the mine and brought np a miner ; but
he said he had preserved Simon Fraser*s
highland dress, and that he had it ia
Wales.
» -■»

FAST-PUDDING,
EzTKAcr ntOM tvb Famous HiiromiB or

Friar Bacow.
How Friar Baeon deceived kie Man^ that
would fatt fat e^tudenee eake.
Friar Bacon hiid only one man to attend

bim ; and he, too, was none of the wisest,
for he kept him in charity more than for
any service he had of him. Thbi man of
his, named Miles, never could endure to
fast like other religious persons did ; for he
alwavs had, in one corner or other, flesh,
which he would eat, when his master eat
bread only, or else did fast and abstain
from all things.

Friar Bacon seeing this, thought at one
time or other to be even with him, which
he did, one Friday, in this manner: Miles,
on the Thursday nieht, had provided a
great black-puddmg for his Friday's fast i
that pudding he put in his pocket, (think-
ing to warm it so, for his master had no
fire on those days.) On the next day, who
was so demure as Miles I he looked as
though he could not have eat any things
When his master offered him some bread,
he refused it, saying, his sins deserved a
greater penance than one day's fost in a
whole week. His master commended him
for it, and bid him take heed he did not
dissemble, for if he did, it would at last be
known. '< Then were I worse than a Turk,**
said Miles. So went he forth, as if he
would have gone to pray privately, but it
was for nothing but to prey privily on his
black-pudding. Then he pulled out, and
fell to it lustily : but he was deceived, for,
having put one %nd in his mouth, he conld
neither get it out again, nor bite it ofi*; so
that he stamped for help. His master hear-
ing him, came; and finding him in that
manner, took hold of the other end of the
pudding, and led him to the hall, and
showed him to all the scholars, saying,
**" See here, my good friends and fellow-
students, what a devout man my servant
Miles is 1 He loved not to bresdL a fost-
day— witness this pudding, that his con-
science will not let him swallow T His
master did not release him till night, when
Miles did vow never to break any fostniay
while he lived.

CLERICAL ERRORS.
For the TMe Book.

Thb Ret. Mr. Alcocr, ov Burvsai,
VEAR Skiptov, Yorkshire.
Every inhabiunt of Craven has heard
tales of this eccentric person, and number*
less are the anecdotes told of him. I have
not the history of Craven, and cannot name
the period of his death exactly, but I believe
it happened between fifty and sixty years
ago. He was a learned man and a wit*—
so mudi addicted to waggery, that he

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THE TABLE BOOiC

sometimes forgot his office, and indulj^erl in
sallies rather \inb€A;oming a minister, but
nevertheless he was a sincere Christian.
The following anecdotes are well known in
Craven, and may arouse elsewhere. One
of Mr. Alcock's fr*ends, at whose house he
was in the habit of calling previously to
his entering the church on Sundays, once
took occasion to unstitch his sermon and
misplace the lea/es. \t the church, Mr.
Alcock, when he had read a page, dis-
covered the joke. *' Peter," said he, " thou
rascal 1 what*s thou been doing with my
sermon ?*' then turtiing to his congelation
he said, ** Brethren, Peter's been misplacing
the leaves of my sermon, I have not time
to put them right, I shall read on as I
find it, and you roust make the best of it
that you can;" and he accordingly read
through the confused mass, to the astonish-
roent of his flock. On another occasion,
when in the pulpit, he found that he had
forgotten his sermon ; nowise disappointed
at the loss, he called out to his clerk, ** Jo-
nas, I have left my sermov at home, so
hand us up that Bible, and 1*11 read 'em a
chapter in Job worth ten of it V* Jonas,
like his master, was an oddity, and used to
make a practice of falling asleep at the
commencement of the sermon, and wakmg
Id the middle of it, and bawling out ^ amen,**
thereby destroyed the gravity of the con-
gregation. Mr. Alcock once lectured him
for this, and particularly requested he
would not say amen till he had finished his
discourse. Jonas promised compliance,
Dut on the following Sunday made bad
worse, for he fell asleep as usual, and in the
middle of the sermon awoke and bawled
out ^* Amen at a venture T The Rev. Mr.
Alcock is, I think, buried before the com-
munion-table of Skipton church, under a
slab of blue marble, with a Latin inscrip-
tion to his memory.

T. Q. M.

REMARKABLE EPITAPH.

^or the Tabie Book.

Fbank Fbt, of Chrbtian Malford, Wilts,
whose bones lie undisturbed in the church-
yard of his TuUive village, wrote for himself
the foUowmg

"Epitaph."

Whodiddia:
lUadld
AiIdiAdld,
OldVrankFiyr'

** Wheo dM womif eom#»'
To pick up their erainbt*
Thej'U hav« in I—
A r»rd Frank Fry!*

The worms have had, in Frank, a lust\
subject-^is epitaph is recorded only in the
Table Book. •, •, P.

A MODERN MYSTERY.
To the Editor.
BlackwaU, April 13, 1827.
Sir, — As I perceive you sometimes ipsert
in your Table Book articles similar to the
enclosed original printed Notice, you may
perhaps think it worthy of a place in your
amusing miscellan} ; if so, it is much at
your service.

I am, &c.

F.W.
{Literal Coptf.)

Q NOTICE.

OAturday 30 and on Sunday 31 of the
corrent, in the Royal Theatre of St. Charles
will be represented by the Italian Com-
pany the famous Holy Drama intitled

IL TRIONFO DI GIUDITTA,

OSIA

LA MORTE DOLOFERNE.
In the interval of the fnst to the second
act it shall have a new and pompous Ball
of the composition of John Baptista Gia-
nini, who has by title :

IL SACRIFICIO D'ABRAMO,
in which will enter all the excellent corp of
Bali, who dance at preseut in the said
Royal Theatre; the spectacle will bo
finished with the second act and Ball ana-
log to the same Drama, all with the nesses-
sary decoration.

This is who is offered to ihe Respectable
Pttblick of whom is vaiied all the procte-
tion and concurrence :

It wiU begin at 8 oWoib.

Ns Offlcin* d« Siinio Thaddeo Fenvln. 1811. Oom-
licenca.

ODD SIGN.

For ihe Table Book.

^ At West-end, near Skipton in Craven,
Yorkshire, a gate hangs, as a sig^ to a
public-house, with this inscription on it— >
Thia gata huigi wall.
And hlndava nona;
Safkaah and paj,
And tnval on.

J. w.

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THE TABLE BOOK

PAIR OF CURIOUS OLD SNOFFERa
Jkscribed on th$ next Page*

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THE TABLE BOOR,

SNrfffiRS.

Perhaps there is no implement of domes-
tic use that we are less acquainted with, in
its old form, thau snuffers. I have now
befbre me a pair, which for thor antiquity
and elegant workmanship seem Worth at-
tention: the engraving on the other side
represents their exact size and construction.

After some research, I can only meet
with particulars of one other pair, Which
were round in digging the founaatton of a
granary, at the foot of a hill adjoining to
Cotton Mansion-bouse, (formerly the seat
of the respectable family of the Mohuns,)
in the parish of St. Peter, Fortisham, about
two miles north-east from Abbotsbuty in
Dorsetshire. They were of brass, and
weighed six ounces. ^The great differ-
ence," says Mr. Hutchins, ** between these
and modem utensils of the same name and
use is, that these are in shape like a heart
fluted, and consequently terminate in a
point. They consist of two equal lateral
cavities, by the edges of which the snuff is
cut off and received into the cavities, from
which it is not got out without particular
application and trouble. There are two
circumstances attending this little utensil,
which seem to bespeak it of considerable
age : the roughness of the workmanship,
which is in ail respects as rude and coarse
as can be well imagined, and the awkward-
ness of the form.'' There is an engraving
of the Dorsetshire snuffers in the history of
that county.

The snuffers now submitted to notice are
superior in design and woHimanship to
those found in Dorsetshire. The latter
seem of earlier date, and they divide in the
middle of the upper as well ti the lower
part, but in one respect both pairs are
alike : they are each ** in shape like a
heart,*' and they each terminate in a point
formed exactly in the manner shown by the
present engraving. The printlikewise shows
that the box of the snuffers bears a boldly
chased winged head uf Mercury, wHo had
more employments and occupations than
any other of the ancient deities. Whether
as the director of theft, as the conductor of
the departed to their final destination, as aA
interpreter to enlighten, or as an office-
bearer constantly in requisition, the portrait
of Mercury is a symbol appropriate to the
implement before us. The engraving shows
the exact nze of the instrument, and the pre-
sent appearance of the chasing, which is in
bold relief, and was, originally, very elegant.

These snuffers are plain on tne under-
Me, ana made widiout legs. They were

purchased, with some miscellaneous aiticlet,
oy a person who has no clue «o their former
possessors, but who rightly imagined thdt
m an archseological view they w«^uld bt
acceptable to the Table Book,

No. XVIIL
[From <* David and Bethsabe:" further

ExtMtttB.]

Jl^aion, rebeJUng,

Now Ibf tbe erown and Oinm« of Inrmel.

To be eoiilirA*d with Tirtm of mj sword.

And writ with Darid't blood opoo the Made.

Now, Jove.* let forth the foUen ftrmamcBt,

And look OB Kim wi^ all thjr fiery OTet.

Whieh thou hut node to giTo thnr f lorieo Hfh;.

To mew thou lorcat the rirtoe of thj hand.

Let lUl a wreath of etan opoo njr head,

Whoee infloeaee maj goTem Israel

With itate exreediof all her other Kiaita.

Fight, Lords aod Captaias, that jroer Soverti

Maj shiae in hooonr brighter thaa the sva

Aad with the rirtoe of mjr brantcons rays

Make this fair Land as froitfol as the fields.

That Mrlth sweet milk aod hooey overflowed.

God in the whhsiag of a pleasant wind

Shall mareh apdn the tops of molberry trsssb

1*0 eool all breasts that bam with any fTieu ;

As whilom he was |ood to Moyses' men.

By day the Lord shall sit within a clood.

To goids yoor footsteps to die fields of joy t

And In the night a pillar bright as fire

Shall go before yeo like a seeond son.

Wherein the Enenee of his Godhead is s

That day aad night jrso may be bronght to peaot^

And iiTTer swerre f^to that delightsome path

That leado yoor seals to perfeet happiness :

This he shall do for joy H^hea I am King.

Then fight, brave Captains, that these joys may fiy

tmto yow bosoms with s«ircet rictory.

• « • • •

stiMUoHy trhtmphani.

^ht9im, nrtt Abiilon was by the trampetTs sooad
Pioclaim'd thn>* Rebroo King of Israel;
And BOW b set in fhir Jenualem
With eomplele sMIe and glory of a erowB.
Fifty fair footmeB by my eharioC ran ;
And to the air, whose mptnre rings my farni^
WhereePer J rfde, they offnr rsrerenee.
Why shoold Aot Absalon, that in his faee
Carries the fiha! parpoee of his God,
(That is, to work him graee ia lawel),

• Jove, for Jehovah*

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THE TAfiliS BOOK.

EslMkWat to My*?* vHk in Ms tlrai^^
Tte Malt llMt Bort asjr Mtbty kia Jof^
KmP^ kit stiMtetai aad Ut n&fmanU mtoI
Hb UmbAot b ktMgbdiA ■/ kair.
Ab< wUh My Uamtf is kis ligktewf q«M«k*d.
I ^ tks miM ks aadii tofUrj ia,
Wksn kf tks srran of Mj fatkm*b ^
Hs lost tks fstk, tkat lad iato tke Lud
Wksiwritk ook c

[Ffom m ^ Looking Glus for England and
London,'' a Tragi-oomedy, l^ ThoouM
Lodga and BAbect Oreen, 1598.]

Ahidot Pmrmnour to BtufU, the Great
King ^f AmyriMf comrt$ a pHtjf King of
Cilidtu

Jtvlia. tUlm, go t!t yott d«ini adiUst CMsboivtr,
Aad kt Ck« luioelt plaf yov ill taiLtepi
Fit gftrUadi aMds of rasas «■ yoar kaiit,
Xmd. pUy tka waatoM, wktlst 1 talk awkila.

XMist. lVmkaaattfalariUaw«iarkk,«tirt&
(fiiMat.)

MhUa. IBaicifOillsii^ldidiadaMtflsiMt
Uka t» tkyssii; kasinsa a lavtly Kagi
Com ky tkss ao«ni apaa tky MistiMS* kM*b
Aad 1 1^ skf aid talk of LsTO to tksa.

OirMft kkat gtaatow Psragoa of stosIImmiQ,
it fits aoC soak aa ahjfsot wfetak as I
T« talk wkk Rasai*a Pacaaoar and liOt*.

MmAL To talk, swasi Aricadl wko woaU aol talk
Witktkaa?
Ok ko aot «py i art ikoa not oaly fair t
Coaa twiaa tktas amis ako«t tkis swr Hd '.
A loTS-BSst for tks Qrsat Assyriaa Xkf.
Bksku« I taU tkaoi fair CUieiaa Pnaca.
NoM kot tkysdf caa aiarit sack a fraos.

Ciiiem, If adaa, I kops ysa msaa not for tO Bi^ aM.

Aimdm. Vo, Kkg, fair Kiaf . my auaaiif k lo yoki

RoarmaWnnf oftoTo: Ikoa Vy ny sigks.
My tears, my i^olaf looks, n.f ekaiuiad ekMf,
Tkoa skalt psrcaira kow I dokold tkeo doar. -
Otfkia. Siag; Ifadan. if ^w pkasa; kat lore k Sast
JivUm. Kay, I wiU kT% and sigk at otary jast.

BMMtf, nki I vkara vast tkoa kam,
Tkas to kold Hiysolf k seorn,
Wksa as BsMty kiss'd to wooo Iktof
Tkoa kf B«aty dost nado mx,
Hsitkobdmpuo moaoC

t i«i tkoa k sootk MO oM^

Tahorlkoa,! iMrsraoaoi

Wkntan tiioa I aafi wik IkiB, wimB,

tkld a oraal ksart to idaat in f

Ootno aifkt, and da *o itajM I

Oiainy IS smsad twnson.

■rigkOb I kfo; Bslgka, I kvai
Halgkoi and fst hs ofsa M aol

eUlek. Madam yov8<mffkpnkkffpMknn«iu

JMitu Aad wilt tkoa tken aot pity my sstalo t

Ci/icta. Ask lore of tkem wko pity may impart.

jUvida. I ask of tkoo, sweotj tkoa knit stok m|
ksarL

Cilieia. Yoor kte k itad oa a fvaaler Rinf.

Alnda Tat, womea's fero— it k a Aekk tklaf.
I kro my Rasai for my difnity:
1 krs CiHeka Kkf for kis sweet oyo.
I kro my Rasni. sines ks rales tke world i
Bat more I lo?« tkis Kingly Btfk world.
How sw«ot kr boki I— O wars I Cyatkla*s spko^o^
And tkoa Endirmioa, I sBonld kold tkeo doar:
Tkos skonld mini anns bi spread sboat tky aosk,
Tkas woald I Idss my Love at erery bock.
Tkas woald I sigk to see tkoe sweetly sleep;
Aad if tkoa wak*st aot sooa, tkas would I weep :
Aad tkos, and tkas. aad tbns : tkos maek I kfi tkeo.

[From «Tethys» Fcstiral,*' by Samuel
Daniel, 1610.]

Sang tf I « Court M^quo

Art tkey skadows tkat we sea

And can skadows pleasare fivoF^

Pkasarss only skadows bo.

Cast by bodies we eonceire ;

And are made tke tkiags we deem

la tkoee figures wkiob tkey sosm.—

Bat tkese pkasarss Tsnisk fast,

Wkiek by skndkws are oxprast »«-

Pkasaras vo aot* if tkoy ksti

In tkeir passing k tkeir kest.

Glory k most brigkt and gny

la a flask, aad so away.

Feed apaoe tkea, greedy eyii^

Oa tke wonder yea bekold t

Take it sadden as it fiiis»

no* yon take is aot to boldi

Wksa yoor oyss kavo done tkeir part,

Ikosf kt mast kagtkon it k tko koart.

C.L.

AVCIEVT AXn PRESEVT StaT£«
laeidit k SoylUss, eaplens Ykaia Ckarykdk.

Thk Latin Terse, which has become
piA»?erbial, k thus translated : —
Si Mk on Soylli, wko Ckarybdk

The line has been ascribed to Ovid ; H is
not, however, in that or any other classic
poet, bnt has been derived from Philippe
Gualtier, a modem French writer of Latm
Terses. Charybdis n a whirlpool in the
straits of Messina, on the coast of Sicily,
opposite to Scylla, a dangerous rock on the
coast of Italy. The danger to which mari-
ners were eipooed by the Whirlpool k thus

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TECB TABLE BOOK.

deflcribed bj Homer in Pope's transia-
tiou:

Dire Scjrlla there a scene of horror forms.
And here Charjrbdia filis the deep with storms;
When the tide nwhes from her mmbliny c«Tfrs,
The roafh rock roars i tnmaltnoiu boil the waves :
They toss, thej foam, a wild confusion raise,
lake waters bubbling o'er the fiery blaxe ;
EterBal mists obscure the aCrial plain.
And high abore the rock she spouts the main
When in her gul£i the rushing sea subsides.
She drains the ocean with the refluent tides.
The rock rebellows with a thundering sound ;
Deep, wondrous deep, below appears the ground.

Vir^l imagines the origin of tliis terrific
tceue :

That realm of old, a ruin huge, was rent
In length of ages from the continent.
With force oonvulsiTe burst the isle away ;
Through the dread opening broke the thnnd'ring sea :
At once the thnnd'ring sea Sicilia tore.
And sunder'd from the fair Hesperian shore ;
And stiU the noghbounng coasu and towns divides
With scanty chancels, and contracted tides.
Fierce to the right tremendous Scylla roan,
Charybdift on the left the flood derours.

Fitt

A great earthquake in the year 1783
diminished the perils of the pass.* Thir-
teen years before this event, which renders
the scene less poetical, Brydone thus de-
scribes

Scylla.

May 19, 1770. Found ourselves within
half a mile of the coast of Sicily, which is
low, but finely variegated. The opposite
coast of Calabria is very high, and the
mountains are covered with the finest ver-
dure. It was almost a dead calm, our siiip
scarce moving half a mile in an hour, so
that we had time to get a complete view of
the famous rock of Scylla, on the Calabrian
side. Cape Pylorus on the Sicilian, and the
celebrated Straits of the Faro that runs be-
tween them. Whilst we were still some
miles distant from the entry of the Straits,
we heard the roaring of the current, tike
the noise of some large impetuous river
confined between narrow banks. This in-
creased in proportion as we advanced, till
we saw the water in many places raL«ed to
a considerable height, and forming large
eddies or whirlpools. The sea in every
other place was as smooth as glass. Our
old pilot told us, that he had ofien seen
•hipt caught iu these eddies, and whirled

* Bourn's Qaaetteer.

about with great rapidity, without obeying
the helm in the smallest degree. When (he
weather is calm, there is little danger ; but
when the waves meet with this violent cur-
rent, it makes a dreadful sea. He says,
there were five ships wrecked in this spot
last winter. We observed that the current
set exactly for the rock of Scylla, and
would infallibly have carried any thing
thrown into it against that point ; so'that it
was not without reason the ancients have
painted it as an object of such terror. It
IS about a mile from the entry of the Faro,
and forms a small promontory, which runs
a little out to sea, and meets the whole
force of the waters, as they come out of the
narrowest part of the Straits. The head of
this promontory is the famous Scylla. It
must be owned that it does not altogether
come up to the formidable description that
Homer gives of it ; the reading of which
(like that of Shakspeare*s Cliff) almost
makes one's head giddy. Neither is the
passage so wondrous narrow and difficuK
as he makes it. Indeed it is probable that
the breadth of it is greatly increa.sed since
his time, by the violent impetuosity of the
current. And this violence too must have
always diminished, in proportion as the
breadth of the channel increased.

Our pilot says, there are many small
rocks that show their heads near the base of
the large ones. These are probably the
dogs that are described as howling round
the monster Scylla. There are likewise
many caverns that add greatly to the noise
of the water, and tend still to increase the
horror of the scene. The rock is near two
hundred feet high. There is a kind of
castle or fort built on its summit ; and the
town of Scylla, or ScigUo, containing three
or four hundred inhabitants, stands on its
south side, and gives the title of prince to a
.Calabrese family.

Charybdis.

The harbour of Messina is formed by a
small promontory or neck of land that runs
off from the east end of the city, and sepa-
rates that beautiful basin from the rest of
the Straits. The shape of this promontory
is that of a reaping-hook, the curvature of
which forms tne harbour, and secures it
from all winds. From the striking resem-
blance .of its form, the Greeks, who never
gave a name that did not either describe
the object or express some of its most re-
markable properties, called this place Zancle,
or the Sickle, and feigned that the sickle of
Saturn fell on this spot, and gave it its form.
But the Latins, who were not quite so fond

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of fablp, dlianged its name to Messina, (from
Meuhj a harvest,) because of the great fer-
tility of its Belds. It is certainly one of the
safest harbours in the world after ships
have got in ; but it is likewise one of tne
most difficult access. The celebrated gulf
or whirlpool of Charybdis lies near to its
entry, and often occasions such an intestine
and irregular motion in the water, that the
helm loses most of its power, and ships
have great difficulty to get in, even with
the fairest wind that can blow. This whirl-
pool, I think, is probably formed by the
small promontory I have mentioned ; which
contracting the Straits in this spot, must
necessarily increase the velocity of the cur-
rent ; but no doubt other causes, of which
we are ignorant, concur, for this will by no
means account for all the appearances
which it has produced. The great noise
occasioned by the tumultuous motion of the
waters in this place, made the ancients liken
it to a voracious sea-monster perpetually
roaring for its prey ; and it has oeen repre-
sented by their authors, as the most tremen-
dous passage in the world. Aristotle gives
a long and a formidable description of it in
his 125th chapter De Admirandi9, which I
find translated in an old Sicilian book I
have got here. It begins, ** Adeo profiin-
dum, horridumque spectaculum, &c.'* but
it is too long to transcribe. It is likewise
described by Homer, 12th of the Odyssey ;
Virgil, 3d iEneid ; Lucretius, Ovid, Sallust,
Seneca, as also by many of the old Italian
and Sicilian poets, who all speak of it in
terms of horror ; and represent it as an
object that inspired terror, even when looked
on at a distance. It certainly is not now
so formidable ; and very probably, the vio-
lence of this motion, continued for so many
ages, has by degrees worn smooth the rug-
ged rocks and jutting shelves, that may
have intercepted and confined the waters.
The breadth of the Straits too, in this place,
I make no doubt is considerably enlarged.
Indeed, from the nature of things it must
be so ; the perpetual friction occasioned by
the current must wear away the bank on
each side, and enlarge the bed of the water.
The vessels in this passage were obliged
to go as near as possible to the coast of
Calabria, in order to avoid the suction oc-
casioned by the whirling of the waters in
this vortex; by which means when they
came to the narrowest and most rapid part
^f the Straits, betwixt Cape Pelorus and
Scylla, they were in great danger of being
carried upon that rock. From whence the
proverb, still applied to those, who in at-
tempting to avoid one evil fall into another.

There is a fine fountain of white marbl«
on the key, repiesenting Neptune holding
Scylta and Charybdis chained, under the
emblematical figures of two searmonsters,
as represented by the poets.

The little neck of land, forming the har-
bour of Messina, is strongly fortified. The
citadel, which is indeed a very fine work
is built on that part which connects it with
the roam land. The farthermost point,
which runs out to sea, is defended by four
small forts, which command the entry into
the haibour. Betwixt these lie the lazaret,
and a lighthouse to warn sailors of their
approach to Charybdis, as that other on
Cape Pelorus is intended to give them no-
tice of Scylla.

It is probably from these lighthouses (by
the Greeks called Pharoi) that the whole of
this celebrated Strait has been denominated
the Faro of Messina.

According to Brydone, the hazard to
sailors was less in his time than the Nestor
of song, and the poet of the £neid, had
depicted in theirs. In 1824, Capt. W. H.
Smyth, to whom a survey of the coatt
of Sicily was intrusted by the lords of the
Admiralty, published a ** Memoir^ in 1824, 1
with the latest and most authentic accounts
of these celebrated classic spots — viz. :

Scylla.

As the breadth across this celebrated
strait has been so often disputed, I particu-
larly state, that the Faro Tower is exactly
six thousand and forty-seven English yards
from that classical bugbear, the Rock of
Scylla, which, by poetical fiction, has been
depicted in such terrific colours, and to
describe the horrors of which, Phalerion, a
painter, celebrated for his nervous repre-
sentation of the awful and the tremendous,
exerted his whole talent. But the flights
of poetry can seldom bear to be shackled
by homely truth, and if we are to receive
the fine imagery, that places the summit
of this rock in clouds brooding eternal
mists and tempests — that represents it as
inaccessible, even to a man provided with
twenty hands and twenty feet, and immerses
its base among ravenous sea-dogs ; — why
not also receive the whole circle of mytho-
logical dogmas of Homer, who, though so
frequently dragged forth as an authority in
history, theology, surgery, and geography,
ought in justice to be read only as a pot»t.
In the writings of so exquisite a bai*a. we
must not expect to find aJI his Te|>resenta-
tions Ktrictly confined to a mere occur* t*

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Bairation of facU. Moderns of intelligencey
ia rtftiting this spot, have gratified their
imaginations, already heated by mich de
icriptions as the escape of the Ars;oDauts«
and the disasters of Ulysses, with nuicying
it the scourge of seamen, ttad that in a gale
i$» caverns * roar like dogs;' but I, as a saiior,
never perpeired any difierenoe between the
effect of the surges here, and on any oUier
coast, yet I have frequently watched it
closely in bad weather. It ie now, as I
presume it ever was, a common rock, of
bold approach, a little worn at its base, and
surmounted by a castle, with a eandjr bay
OB each side. The one on the souih side is
memorable lor the disaster that happened
there during the dreadful earthquake of
lt83, when an overwhelming wave (sup-
posed to have been occasioned by the &11 of
part of a promontory into the sea) rushed
up the beach, and, in its retreat, bore away
with it upwards of two thousand people.

Chahtbdis.

Outside ihe tongue of land, or Bmccio
di St. Rainiere, that forms the harbour of
Messina, lies ^e Galofaro, or celebrated
vortex of Charybdis, which has, with more
reason than Scylla, been clothed with ter-
rors by the writers of antiquity. To the
undecked boats of the Rhegians, Locrians,
JSancleans, and Greeks, it must have been
formidable ; for, even in the present day,
small craft are sometimes endangered by it,
tnd I have seen several men-of-war, and
even a seventy four gun ship, whirled round
>n its surface; but, by using due caution,
tbere is generally very little danger or in-
convenience to be apprehended. It appears
to be an agitated water, of from seventy to
ninety fathoms in depth, circling in quick
eddies. It is owing probabW to the meet-
ing of the harbour ana lateral currents with
the main one, the latter being forced over
in this direction by the opposite poii^t of
Pezzo. This agrees in some measure with
the relation of Thucydides, who calls it a
violent reciprocation of the Tyrrhene and
Sicilian seas ; and he is the only writer of
remote antiijuity I remember to have read,
who has assigned this danger its true situa-
tion, and not exaggerated its effects. Many
wonderful stories are told respecting this
▼ortex, particularly some said to have been
related \rf the celebrated diver. Colas, who
lost his life here. I have never found rea-
son, however, during my examination of
this spot, to believe one of them.

For ike Table Booh

A FRAGMENT.

TwoH CoRvxLius Mat's ** Joubvet i«

THE GREATS MaRKETT AT OLYH^ViT —

« Sbvbm Starrs pp Witte."

Oae da j« whea tind witfi worldly toil,
• fJpp to Hie Olfnpian moaato
I sped, as froai MMiKeaak«ni|f cato.

Had orer beea By woatot
JUd there •bo ffodi anmhlod silt

i fo«a4^ 0 etraafe to teUJ
OkaflBrivf, Utoohapmoa, aad ara^sd

Tike warn tbef bad to mU.
JSa^egod had eample of hitfood^i,

Wbieh he di«plaied on hifh ;
jUd ^riod. *' How lack /e r ** Wh»t'e /rojiwda r

To evar/ pauor by.
Quoth X, *« What hare yoa hen to h11?

To parcbaee beiof inclined ;**
3oid ooe, ** We're fit and sGieaoe bora.

And every gifte of miade.**
** What eoia U earrent here?" I atbe4«

Spoke Hermee in a trioe,
** ladastrio, peraorerenee, tofla,

Aad life the bighat price."
I taw ApollOt and went oa,
Likiaghbwaraof oldes
«• Come bay," eaid he, •* tbk lyn^ Mlat.

ini pledge Uatoriiar golde ;
TbSaii 4b« aaaiple of ili wortba,
*T» obeapo at loh, ecMt kmj V
flo eayiaff, be draw olde Hoamr Coftb,

Aad plaoed bim tMatb nif aya.
I tni»*d aeida, whort ia a raw

Bmalle bales high pUad op stood^
T/ed roaade with foUea thraades 4f V$l^

Aad eaaha iaaoribed with bloa4»
** Travell to £ar aad iQ^reign Uuides ;**

- i'ha knowledge of tho sea;**
** Alle hsastes, and birdcs, aad creepiag tbagfi^

Ajad baares's immensity ;"
*• Uasbakea faitho when alle mea dbaagOk**

•• The patriot's holy heart;**
** The might of womaa*s loTf to fC^y

When alle besides departo.**
I BCkt. saw tbiags soe straags of femo.

Tbmr names 1 ndghto not kaowa,
Unlike aaght cither ia hearea «r efuibib

Or ia the deeps below;
Thea Hermes to mjr tboogbto replied.
** Strange as ihese tbtages appsaia,
tfigaatie power, the migbto of aito

A«d seienoe are laide bora i
Taam aftar jaaro of toika^ *avgiitt

Oaa bny Ibeae atoras akao;
Tetbonghtai bow aeaat Ika gads ia4M«»

Wbat koowMge is madt kaowa
Tha powai aad aataie of all tbiagac,

yita. alw, jwd eartbe, aad Bood.
KaowB aad Made subjeet to naa** will
For ovUi or for good."

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Where hookesla s d&rktome d«n«

Webbed o'er witk ■ptder'f thraad.
Next look'd I were piled, ud oa eaeke booke

I ** mecapiijiiee ** read ;
Spoke HermM, *• Friead, tke priee of tkMt

le pusliaif of the brmin,
A fotf of words wkteh, who feti ia,

Cea ■e'er fet oete efain.**
I then eew *« Imw,** pUcd «p a^fte,

Aad asked its priee to kaoy;
** Its priee is, ooascieaoe ad fpod Byae,**

Said Hennas, wkispenag knf •
Neate, ** Pkysie aad diriaitjr.**

I stood as I was lotk.
To take or leare, with eniluq; \i%

Said Hermes, ** Qna^kefj. bofh T
* Now, friead,** said I, •* saee ef |«ar wares

Yon BO good tkiog eaa teller
Yoe arc tke hoacstest chapoiaB

Tkat e*er had wares to seUsb*

DIAMOND CUT DIAMONP:

OB,

MANNERSOFLONDON MERCHANTS

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

Tempore mutato de nobUfabvia narratur.

Decio, a man of great figure, that had
large oommiastons for sugar from several
parts beyond sea, treats about a consider-
able parcel of that commodity with Alcan-
der, an eminent West India merchant;
both understood the market very well, but
could not agree. Decio was a man of sub-
stance, and thought nobody ought to buy
cheaper than himself. Alcander was the
same, and not wanting money, stood for
his price. Whilst they were driving their
bargain at a tavern near the Exchange,
Alcander's man brought his master a letter
from the West Indies, that informed him of
a much greater quantity of sugarf coming
for England than was expected. Alcander
now wished for nothing mK>re than to sell
at Decio's price^ before the news was
public; but being a cunning fox, that he
might not seem too precipitant, nor yet
lose his customer, he drops th^ discourse
they were upon, and putting on a jovial
humour, commends the ^greeableneas of
the weather; from whence mUing upon the
delight he took in his gardens, invites
Decio to go along with him to his country
house, that was not above twelve miles
from London. It was in the month of May,
and as it happened upon a Saturday in the
afternoon, Decio, wno was a single man,
and would have no business in town before

Tuesday, accepts of the other's civility, and
away they go in Alcander's coach. Decio
was splendidly entertained that night and
the day following ; the Monday morning,
to gel himself an appetite, he goes to take
the air upon a pad or Alcander's, and com-
ing back meets with a gentleman of his
acquaintance, who tells him news was come
the night before that the Barbadoes fleet
was destroyed by a storm ; and adds, that
before he came out, it had been confirmed
at Uoyd*8 oofiee-house, where it was thought
fugars would rise twenty-five per cert, bjr
change time. Decio returns to his friend,
and immediately resumes the discourse
they had broke off at the tavern. Alcander
who, tliinking himself sure of his chap, did
Mot design to have moved it till after dinner,
was very glad to see himself so happily
prevented ; but how desirous soever he was
to sell, the other was yet more eager
to buy; yet both of them afraid of one
another, for a considerable time counter-
feited all the indifference imaginable, till at
last Decio, fired with what he had heard,
thought delays might prove dangerous, and
throwing a guinea upon the table, struck
the bargain at Alcander's price. The next
day they went to London ; the news proved
true, and Decio got five hundred pounds by
iua sugaia. Alcander, whilst he fiad strove
to overreach the other, was paid in his own
coin : yet all this is called fair deaUng ;
but I am sure neither of them would have
desired to be done by, as they did to each
other.

Fable of the Beet, 1723.

CHILTERN HUNDREDS.

The acceptance of this office, or steward-
ship, vacates a seat in parliament but with-
out any emolument or profit. Chiltern is
a ridge of chalky hills crossing the county
of Bucks, a liule south of the centre, reach-
ing from Tring in Hertfordshire to Henlj
in Oxford. This district belonp to the
crown, and from time immemorialhas given
title to the nominal office of stewards of
the Chiltern hundreds. Of this office, as
well as the manor of East Hundred, in
Berks, it is remarkable, that although fre-
quently conferred upon members of parlia-
ment, it is not productive either of honour
or emolument ; being granted at the request
of any member of that house, merely to
enable him to vacate his seat by the accept-
ance of a nominal office under the crown ;
and on this account it has frequently been
graute^ to three or four members a week.

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TOMMY BELL OF HOUQHTON-LE-SPRING, DURHAM.

Tt.is is an eccentric, good-humoured cha-
racter— a lorer of a chirruping cup — and a
favourite with the pitmen of Durham. He
dresses like them, and mixes and jokes
with them ; and his portrait seems an ap-
propriate illustration of the following paper,
by a gentleman of the north, well acquaint-
ed with their remarkable manners.

THE PITMAN.

For the Table Book.

**OtU booBf ikit laddie, the eaiuie pit Uddia.

The bomy pit laddie for me. Of—
He ntt in a bole, ai black as a eoal.
And brisge all tbe wbite monej to me, 0 1**

Old Pit Sovo.

Gentle Reader, — Whilst thou sittest
loasting thy feet at the glowing fuel in thy

grate, watching in dreaming unconscions-
ness the various shapes and fentastic forms
appearing and disappearing in the bright,
red heat of thy fire— here a beautiful
mountain, towering with its glowing top
above the broken and diversified valley
beneath — there a church, with its pretty
spire peeping above an imagined village ;
or, peradventure, a bright nob, assuming
the ken of human likeness, thy playful
fency picturing it the semblance of some
distant friend— I say, whilst thou art sitting
in this fashion, dost thou ever think of thpt
race of mortals, whose whole life is spent be-
yond a hundred fathoms below the surface
of mother earth, plucking from its unwilling
bosom the materials of thy greatest com-
fort ?

The pitman enables thee lo set at
nought the "pelting of the pitiless storm.*'

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tnd f«nder a season of severity and pinch-
ing bitterness, one of warmth, and Kindly
feeling, and domestic smites. If thou hast
never heard 3f these useful and daring men
who

** CoBtffBB th« terron of tlie mtiie,

ExpUnv tba csTerna* dark aad dreftr.
Mantled aroaiid with deadly dew ;
Where eongrcff&ted Tapoart blue,
Fir*d by the taper f limmerinic near.
Bid dire exploeioB the deep raalnu iBTade,
AjmI earth-twra lif htntagi fleam athwart th* iarer&al
ihader*

— who dwell in a valley of darkness for thy
Mike, and whose lives are hazarded every
! moment in procuring the light and heat of
the flickering flame— listen with patience,
*f not with interest, to a short account of
them, from the pen of one who ii not un-
mindhil of

** The dmple anaali of the poor.**

The pitmen, who are employed in bring-
ing coals to the surface of the earth, from
immensely deep mines, for the London and
neighbouring markets, are a race entirely
distinct from the peasantry surrounding
them. They are principally within a few
miles of the river Wear, in the county of
Durham, and the river Tyne, which traces
the southern boundary of Northumberiand.
They reside in long rows of one-storied
houses, called by themselves ** pit*rows,*'
built near the chief entrance to the mine.
To each house is attached a small garden,

•• For oreameBt or nee,"

and wherein they pay so much attention to
the cultivation of flowers, that they fre-
quently bear away prizes at floral ex-
hibitions.

Within the memory of the writer, (and
his locks are not yet '* silver'd o'er with
age,**) the pitmen were a rude, bold, savage
set of beipgs, apparently cut off from their
fellow men in tneir interests and feelings ;
often guilty of outrage in their moments of
ebrious mirth ; not from dishonest motives,
or hopes of plunder, but from recklessness,
and lack of that civilization, which binds
the wide and ramified society of a great
city. From the age of five or six years,
their children are immersed in the dark
abyss of their lower worlds; and when
tven they enjoy the '* light of the blessed
ron," it is only in the company of their
immediate relations : all have the same vo-
»tion, and all stand out, a sturdy band.

• HOBDUrOSIK.

separate and apart from the motley raixtan
of general humanity.

The pitmen have the air of a primitive
race. They marry almost constantly with
their own people; their boys follow the
occupations of tneir sires— their daughters,
at the age of blooming and modest maiden-
hood, linking their fiite to some honest
^ neebor'* baUm :" thus, from generation
to fl^eneration, family has united with family,
till their population has become a dense
mass of relationship, like the clans of our
northern friends, "avont the Cheviot's
range." The dress of one of them is that
of the whole people. Imagine a man, of
only middling stature, (few are tall or
robust,) with several large blue marks,
occasioned by cuts, impregnated with coal-
dust, on a pale and swarthy countenance, a
coloured handkerchief around his neck, a
<• posied waistcoat " opened at the breast,
to display a striped snirt beneath, a short
blue jacket, somewhat like, but rather
shorter than the jackets of our seamen,
velvet breeches, invariably unbuttoned and
untied at the knee, on the "tapering calf
a blue worsted stocking, with white clocks,
and finished downwards by a long, low-
quartered shoe, and you have a pitman
before you, equipped for his Saturday's
cruise to ** canny Newcastle," or for his
Sabbath's gayest holiday.

On a Skiturday evening you will see a
long line of road, leading to the nearest
large market town, grouped every where
with pitmen and their wives or " lasses,**
laden with large baskets of the ** stomach's
comforts,'' sufficient for a fortnight's con-
sumption. They only are paid for theii
labour at such intervals; and their weeks
are divided into what they term '< pay
week," and " bauf week," (the etymology
of " bauf,"* I leave thee, my kind reader,
to find out.)^Ail merry and happy^
trudging home with their spoils — not un-
frequently the thrifty husband is «een
" half seas over," wrestling his onward way
with an obstinate little pig, to whose hind
leg is attached a string, as security for al-
legiance, while ever and anon this third
in the number of " obstinate graces," seeks
a sly opportunity of evading its unsteady
guide and effecting a retreat over the road,
and '' Geordie" (a common name among
them) attempts a masterly retrograde reel
to regain his fugitive. A long cart, lent

• Qaare ? Whether •ome war haji not orifinally
glvea the pitman the henefit of thif term from h^fin
or haflblier, to mook or affiroDt ; ** aiblini.** it may hi
m eomption of onr Eaf lUh tern ** baik." to ditap-
^ontm

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by the owners of the colliery for the pur*
pose, is sometimes filled with the women
and their marketings, jogging homewaid at
a smart pace ; and from these every way-
farer receives a shower of taunting, coarse
jokes, and the air is filled with loud, rude
merriment. Pitmen do not consider it any
deviation from propriety for their wives to
accompany them to the alehouses of the
market town, and join their husbands in
their glass and pint. I have been amused
by peeping through the open window of a
pothouse, to see {larties of them, men and
women, sittii^ roMnd a large fir table,
talking, laughing, «rooking, and drinking
con amore ; and yet these poor women are
never addicted to es^pessive drinking. The
men, however, are not particularly abste-
mious when their hearts are exhilarated with
the bustle of a town.

When Che pitman is about to descend to
the caverns or his labour, he is dressed in
a checked flannel jacket, waistcoat, and
trowsers, with a bottle or canteen slung
across his shoulders, and a satchell or
haversack at his side, to hold provender for
his support during his subterrene sojourn.
At all noun, night and dav, groups of men
and boys are seen dressed in this fashion
wending their way to their polliery, some
carrying sir Humphrey Davy's (called by
them " Davy V) safety-lamp, ready trira.-
med, and brightened for use. They descend
the pit by means of a basket or ** corfe,"
or merely by swinging themselves on to a
chain, suspended at the extreme end of the
cordJige, and are let down, with inconceiv-
able rapidity, by a steam-engine. Clean
and orderly, they coolly precipitate them-
selves into a black, smoking, and bottom-
less-looking crater, where you would think
it almost impossible human lungs could
play, or blood dance thiough the heart.
At nearly the same moment you see others
coming up, as jetty as the object of their
search, drenched and tired. .1 have stood
in a dark night, near the mouth of a pit,
light^d by a suspended grate, filled with
flaring coals, casting an unsteady but fierce
reflection on the surrounding swarthy coun-
tenances; the pit emitting a smoke as
dense as the chimney of a steam-engine ;
the men, with their sooty and grimed
faces, glancing about their sparkling eyes,
while the talking motion of their red lips
disclosed rows Qf ivory ; the steam-engines
clanking and crashing, and the hissing from
the huge boilers, making a din, only broken
by the loud, mournful, and musical cry of
the man stationed at the top of the pit
** diaft," calling down to his companions

in labour at the bottom. This, altogether,
is a scene as wild and fearful as a painter
or a poet eeuld wish to see.

All have heard of the dreadful accidents
in coal-mines from explosions of fire-damp,
inundations, 8cc., yet few have witnessed
the heart-rending scenes of domestic cala-
mity which are the eontequence. Aged
fathers, sons, and sons' sons, a wide branch-
ing family, all are sometimes swept away
by a fell lAast, more sudden, and, if possi-
ble, more terrible, than the deadly Sirocca
of the desert.

Never shall I forget one particular scene
of faniiy destruction. I was passing aloog
a " pit-row " immediately afler a '* firing,
as the e]|ploston of fire-damp is called, when
I looked into one of the houses, and my
attention became ao n vetted, that I scarcely
l^new I had eotere4 the room. On one bed
lay the bodies of two men, burnt to a livid
ash colour ; the eldest was apparently sixty,
the other about forty — father and son : —
on another bed, in the same room, were
^ streaked" three fine boys, the oldest not
more than fifteen-T«ons of the younger
dead — all destroyed at the tame instant by
the same destructive blast, let loose from
the mysterious hand of Providence ; and
I saw— Oh God! I shall never forgel-rl
aaw the vacant, maddened countenanoe,
and quick, wild glancing eye of the father-
less, widowed, childless being, who in the
morning was smiling in her domestic feli-
city ; vrhose heart a few hours before was
ezultingly beating as she looked on her
** gndeman and bonny htdrmy Before the
evening sun had set she was alone in the
world; without a prop for her declining
age, and eveiy endearing tie woven around
her heart was torn and dissevered. I passed
into the neat little garden — ^it was the
spring time— part of the soil was fresh
turned up, and some culinaiy plants were
newly set ^— these had been the morning
work of the younger father — ^his spade was
standing upright in the earth at the last
•pot he had laboured at; he had left it
tnere, ready for the evening's employment :
—the garden was yet blooming with all the
delighmil freshness of vernal vegetation
its cultivator was withered and dead — hii
•pade was at hand for another to dig its
owner's grave.

Amidst all their dangers, the pitmen are
a cheerful, industrious race of men. They
weie a few years ago much addicted to
gambling, cock-fighting, horse-racing, &c.
Their spare hours are diverted now to a
widely different channel ; they are for the
most part members of the Wesleyan secu :

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and, not unfhsquently in pawing their hum-
ole but neat dwellings, instead of brawls
and fights you hear a peaceful congregation
of worshippers, uttering their simple pray-
ers; or the loud hymn of praise breaking
the silence of the eventide.

The ancient custom of sword-dancing at
Christmas is kept up in Northumberland,
exclusively by these people. They may be
constantly seen at that testiTe season with
their fiddler, bands of swordsmen. Tommy
and Bessy, most grotesquely dressed, per-
forming their annual routme of warlike
evolutions. I have never had the pleasure
of seeing the Epery-D^ J5po4, but I have
no doubt this custom has jdiere been fuU^
illustrated.

Sqto^ years ago a TyMmouth vcwl.
called the " Northern Star," was lost, and
the following ballad made on the occasion ;
the memory of a lady supplies the wordt^*

Far the Table Book,

THE NORTHERN OTAR.

Jk$ Korthoa Star
8f«l'4aTert)tf bar,

Boaad'to thf Baltie 9e$^
la tiM vpraiag grey
91m ftntdi'd aw«y<—

TwM a wear J day to n*

ToriaMjr M kpar
lBalMtaad«kow«r

Bf the lag^tiwaM I9ek I/itl*a&
4Bd watch tm dark
ror Ike wiafaA Vark

The Meat's WeaA

I wander roead

Batalllhear
U the aorth wiad diMr,
ikad aU I tee an Iha vwair

Qh roam aot there
Thoo moaner feir,

ICor poor the aeelew teer^
Thf pUiat of woe
b all below—

The deadr-4l«y eaaaot lietf .

TheNor&eiaSf^r
Iaeetsfi»r,

8«t«a^94tiBiea»
Aad ^ wares imre ^read
Th9 SMidr bed.

That hflOds thy love firom thei.

For ^he Table Book.

Mines of gold and silver, sufficient to re-
ward jthe conqueror^ were found in Mexico
and Peru ; but the inland of Britain nevet
produced enopffh of the precious metal]
to compensate the i)ivader for the troubii
of slaughtering our ancestors.

Camden mentions gold ^and silver mines
ifi Cumberland, a mine of silver in Flint-
shire, and of gold in Scotland. Speaking of
the copper mines of Qamberland, he say^
that vems of gold and silver were found
intermixed witn the common ore ; and in
the reign of Elizabeth gave birth to a ^uii
at law between the earl of Northumberland
and another claimant.

Borlase, in his History of Cornwall^
relates, 'Mhat so late as the year 17^3
several pieces of gold were found in what
the miners call stream \Sji ; and silver is now
l^ot in considerable quantity from several of
our lead mines.*'

A curious paper, concerning the gold
mines of Scotlandf, is nven by Mr. Pennai>t.
in the Appendix, ^U>. 10. to his second
part of a <'Tour in Scotland, in 1772;"
but still there never was sufficient gold and
silver enough to eonstitute the prioe of
Tictory. The other metaU, such as. tin,
copper, iron, and lead, are found m abun«
dance at this day; antimony aind manga-
nese in small quantities *

Of the ei^flper mines now working in
Cornwall, '' Dolcoath/ situated near Cam-
born, is 4he deepest, having a 220 fathom
level under the adit, which is 40 fathoms
from the surfiace; so that the total depth is
d60 fathopis, or 1560 feet : it employs up-
irvds of 1000 persons. The ^ Consolidated
Mines,** in Gwennap, are Che most nro-
ductive perhaps in the world, yielding from
10/. to 120001. a month of copper ore, with
a handsome pro6t to the shareholders*
<< Great St. George ^ is the only productive
mine uear St. Agnes, and the only one
producing metal to the ^ i^glish Miping
Association.**

Of the tin mines, ** Wheal Nor,"* in
Breagu?, is an immense concern, producing
an ama^mg quantity, and a large profit to
the company. ** Camon Stream,** neai
Perran, is now yielding a good profit on its

• TyBemottthH»stto,.thegn>Wid| jrf whieh an es^
■eaeiiaetery.

• A Miseenri peper states, that copper is la snoh
abaodeaee eoi puntj, from the faUs of 8t Aathoav
to Lake Saperior, that the ladisas snake hatehets ead
oraaiaeats of it. vithont wy other instraaMBt thsn the
hammer. The miaes still xemaia ia the poeessiioa ^

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capital. It has a sbafl sunk in the middle
of the stream. The washings down from
so many mines, the adits of which run in
this stream, bring many sorts of metal, with
some curious bits of gold.

Of late years the mine called, Wheal
Rone, and some others belonging to sir
Christopher Hawkins, have been the most
prolific of lead, mixed with a fair proportion
of silver. Wheal Penhale, Wheal Hope,
and others, promise favourably.

As yet Wheal Sparnon has not done
much in eobait ; the quality found in that
mine is very excellent, but quantity is the
** one thing needful." •

The immense quantity of eoaU consumed
in the numerous fire-engines come from
Wales ; the vessels convey the copper ore,
as it is brought by the copper companies, to
their smelting works: it is a back freight
for the shipping.

Altogether, the number of individuals
who derive their living by means of the
mineral district of Cornwall must be incal-
culable; and it is a great satisfaction to
know, that this county suffered lest during
the recent bad times than perhaps any
other county.

Sam Sam's Son.

jlpril 30, 1827.

AT THAMES DITTON.
For the Table Book.

Thames Ditton is a pretty little villag^e,
delightfully situated on the banks of the
Thames, between Kingston and Hampton
Court palace. During the summer and
autumn, it is the much- frequented resort of
the followers of Isaac Walton's tranquil
occupation.

The Swan inn, only a few pares from the
water's edge, remarkable for the neatness
and comfort of its appearance, and for the
still more substantial attractions of its in-
ternal accommodation, is kept by Mr. John
Locke, a most civil, gooo-natured, and
obliging creature ; and, what is not of
slight importance to a bon-vivanty he has a
wife absolutely incomparable in the pre-
paration of " stewed eels," and not to be
despised in the art of cooking a good beef-
steak, or a mutton-chop.

But what is most remarkable in this
place is its appellation of " lying Ditton " —
from what reason I have ever been unable
to discover, unless it has been applied by
those cockney anglers, who, chagrined at

their want of sport, Viave l)eMowed nnou s
that very opprobrious designation; and
perhaps not entirely without foundation
tor wnen they have been unsuccessful in
beguiling the finny tribe, the fishermen,
who attend them in their punts, are always
prepared to assign a cause for their failure ;
as that the water is too low^-or not suffi-
ciently clear — or too muddy — or there is a
want of rain — or there has been too much of
that element^-or — any thing else — except
a want of skill in the angler himself, who
patiently sits in his punt, watching the
course of his float down the stream, or its
gentle diving under the water, by which he
flatters himself he has a bite, listening to
the stories of his attendant, seated in calm
indifference at his side, informing him of
the mortality produced among the gelid
tribe by the noxious gas which flows into
the river from the metropolis, the alarming
effects from the motion of the steam-boats
on their fishy nerves, and, above all, from
their feeding at that season of year on the
green weeds at the bottom.

However, there are many most skilful
lovers of the angle who pay weekly, month-
ly, or annual visits to this retired spot;
amongst whom are gentlemen of fortune,
professional men, and respectable trades-
men. After the toils of the day, the httle
rooms are filled with aquatic sportsmen,
who have left the cares of life, and the
great city behind them, and associate in
easy conversation, and unrestrained mirth.

One evening last summer there alighted
from the coach a gentleman, apparently 01
the middle age of live, who first seeine
his small portmanteau, fishing-basket, and
rods safely deposited with the landlord,
whom he lie?»rtily greeted, walked into thi
room, and shaking hands with one or twc
of his acquaintances, drew a chair to th(
window, which he threw up higher than ii
was before; and, after surveying with s
cheerful countenance the opposite greei
park, the clear river witn its sedg}
islands, and the little flotilla of punts,
whose tenants were busily engaged or
their gliding floats, he seemed as delighted
as a bird that has regained his liberty :
then, taking from his pocket a paper, he
showed its contents to me, who nappened
to be seated opposite, and asked if I was a
connoisseur in " single hair ;" for, if I was
I should find it the best that could be pro-
cured for love or money. I replied that ]
seldom fished with any but gut-lines; yet
it appeared, as far as I could judge, to be
▼ery fine. " Fine !" said he, " it would do
for the filament of a spiderVweb ; and ye^

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1 eipect to-morrow to kill with it a fish of
a pound weight. I recollect," continued
be, ** when I was but a tyro in the art of an-
gling, once fishing with an old gentleman,
whose passion for single- hair was so great,
that, when the season of the year did not
^rmit him to pursue his favourite diver-
Kon, he spent the greatest part of his time in
lavelling about from one end of the king-
dom to the other, seeking the best speci-
Hens of this invaluable article. On his
Hsits to the horse-dealers, instead of scru-
Ionizing the horses in the customary way,
»y examining their legs, inquiring into
their points and qualities, or trying tlieir
paces, to the unspeakable surprise of the
venders, he invariably walked up to the
nether extremities of the animals, and seized
hold of their tails, by which means he was
enabled to select a capital assortment of
hairs for his ensuing occupation/'

AAer the new-comer had finished his
amusing anecdote, the noise of a numerous
flock of starlings, which had assembled
among the trees in the park preparatory to
their evening adjournment to roost, attracted
his notice by the babeUlike confusion of
their shrill notes, and led him again to en-
tettain us with a story touching their pecu-
liarities.

** I remember," said be, " when I was at
a friend's house in Yorkshire last autumn,
there were such immense numbers of these
birds, who sought their sustenance by day
on the neighbouring marshes, and at night
came to roost in his trees, that at length
there was not room for their entire accom-
modation ; the consequence of which was,
.that it became a matter of necessity that a
separation of their numbers should take
place— a part to other quaiters, the re-
mainder to retain possession of their old
Aaunts. If I might judge from the con-
flicting arguments which their confused
chatterings seemed to indicate, the contem-
plated arrangement was not at all relished
by those who were doomed to separate
from their companions — a separation, how-
ever, did take place — ^but the exiles would
not leave the field undisputed. Birds, like
aid-de-camps of an army, flew from one
side to the other— unceasing voices gave
note of dreadful preparation — and, at last,
both sides took night at the same instant.
The whirring sound of their wings was
perfectly deafening; when they had at-
tained a great height in the air, the two
forces clashed together with the greatest
impetuosity ; immediately the sky was ob-
scured with an appearance like the falling
of saow, descending gradually to the earth.

accompanied with a vast quantity of bodies
of the starlings, which had been speared
through by hostile beaks — they literally fell
like hail. It was then growing rather dusk;
I could merely see the contending flocks far
above me for some time-^-it became darker
— and I returned to narrate this extraordi-
nary aerial combat to ray friend, who in the
morning had the curiosity to accompany
me to the field of battle, where we picked
up, according to an accurate calculation,
1087 of these birds, some quite dead, and
others generally severely wounded, with an
amazing quantity of their feathers."

1 saw this amusing gentleman on the
following morning sitting quietly ih his
punt, exercising his single-hair skill, nearly
opposite to the little fishing-house.

£. J. H.

jiprii, I82r.

TICKLING TROUT.

For the Table Book.

It is a liberty taken by poachers with the
little brook running througn Castle Coombe,
to catch trout by tiekliiig. I instance the
practice there because I have there wit-
nessed it, although it prevails in other
places. The person employed wades into
the stream, puts his bare arms into the
hole where trout resort, slides his fingers
under the fish, feels its position, com-
mences tickling, and the trout falls gradu-
ally into his hand, and is thrown upon the
grass. Tliis is a successful snare, aestruc-
tive to the abundance of trout, and the
angler's patient pleasure. The lovers of
the *' hook and eye " system oppose thes«»
ticklish practices, and the ticklers, when
cauglit, are ** punished according to law,'*
while the patrons of the ** rod and line "
escape. Snakspeare may have hinted at
retrioution, when he said

** A thoosand men thejithet gnawed apo&.*
Pope tell us that men are

** Pl«aMd with a faather. fickM.witk a straw.**

P.

THE CLERKS OF CORNWALL.

1. In the last age there was a familiarity
between the parson and the clerk and the
people, which our feelings of decorum
would revolt at, «. g. — ** 1 have seen the
ungodly flourish like a green bfOf tree.**—
** How can that be, maister V* said the cleii

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ot Si. Cl«iiMiil't# Of this I wals myself an
eir^wiUieaSi

9i At Kutiwyfi, two dogs, ooe of Which
was the fmrson s, wen$ fighting at the west-
encl of the chureh ; the parson, wiio was
then reading the seeond lesson^ rushed out
of ihe' ^w, and want down and parted
them, returned to bis jpiew, and, doubtful
where he had left o£f, asked the cierk»
" Roger, where was I f ^ Why down
^rting the dogs, maisteri" sCiid Roger.

8 1 At Meragixsey, wheh non-resident
^ergyiaen ofiiciatedi it was nlual with xht
iquire of the parish to inyitft them to di&-
tieti Several years ago, a non-resident
slergyman was requested to do duty in the
church of MeVagizsey on It Sunday, when
the Creed of St. Athanasius is directed to
be read. Before he had begun the service,
the parish-clerk asked him, whether he in-
tended to read the Athanasian Creed that
morning. " Why ?" said the clergyman.
** Because if you do, no dinner for you at
the squire's, at Penwame."

4. A very shoM time sinee, parish-clerks
used to read the first lesson, t ouce heard
the St. Agnes clerk cry out, << At the mouth
of the burning vtery viiniw, — Shadrac,
Meshac, and Abednego, com voaik andeam
hetker," [Daniel, chap, iii.]

TKs clerk of Lamorran, in giving out the
Psalm, ** Like a timorous bird to disUnt
mountains fly,** always said, <* Like a tern-
mermm butde, &c. Ice.** with a shake of the
head, and a quavering of the voice, whidi
sottld net but provoke risibility.*

Custom

Oa^EkVEO BY T«

LOttb LlfiUtfeNANTS Ot IRfiLAWO.

On the great road from London to West
Chester, we find, at the principal inns, the
coats of arms of several lord lieutenants of
Ireland, framed, and hung up in the best
rooms. At the bottom of these armorial
pictures (as I may call them) is a full dis-
play of all the titles of the party, together
with the date of the year when each vice-
royship commenced. I have often inquired
.he reason of this custom, but never could
procure a tttisfactory answer. I do not
reprobate the idea of this rclique of an-
sient dignity, as these heraldic monuments
were doubtless intended to operate as pub-
lic evidences of the passage of each lord-

• IUt. tit, Pidwli^a IWMUcteliiai.

deputy to hitf delegated govemmcBt* They
now seem only to be preserved for Ihe
gratification of the vanity of the capital inn-
keepers, by showing to humble travellefs
that such and such lord lieutenants did
them the boDO«# to stop at their houses ;
and yet I will dot iay^ W that for half^
crown handsomely oiered to his excel-
lency's gentleman, they might likewise
become pan of the ftmuture of every ale^
house in Dabst^le.

AfUrfrttitlcss inquinr, accident furnished
me With the ground of this custom, fHiicfa
now only serves to etcite a little transitory
curioeity. Having oooasiort to look into sir
Dudley Digge's ** Complete Ambassador,'*
published lA 1664, I was obliged to the
editor for a solution, who» in the prefiKe,
(signed A. H.^) speaking of the reserve of
the English ambassadors, in not making
public theit negotiations, has this observa*
tioAi-'-^We have hardly any tiotioU of
them bot by their arms, which are hung up
in inns where they passed.''

This paragraph at once aceouiit* lor the
point befoire us, and is sullioient, at the
same time, to show thet the custom was
anciently, and even in the seventeenth cen-
tury, common to every ambassador, though
it now only survives with those who go in
the greater and more elevated line of toyal
representation to Iretand^

For ihe fubU Book,
TttE BACHELOR'S PLaINT.

Ant Oofi or THfe OLDEN TllIK.

mirk 1 tM evrfhr, fritad to alfht^
BaHlskot fbn eL««rfvl light ;
Kow the tdioltf, BMnK and Mig« «
All hf lEttip flurt 6M tb« pae*^
All t* wterii tha Uiht U dMr
Sigh Ihftt taUea kaeU to Imtf .
lAbour M« with dajr is doM I
T» the wsre tkt mrnrymm
RnihM, from iti oool to boitoir
Vifoor for hit oowm tomoriew t
Yet, in Idadootfe, Moiataf qotts
Thva to rob tko world ofligiit,
H« loBdi th« mooa bis wofol beuM*
A»d tbroof b tbo nigbt b/ pioxj fflouBt.
Kiao oajoVd, tbeop tafolj pean*d,
Ploof bmen, biod, and diepberd w«id
To tbo boatol'i woleome lateb,
trvA tbo taakard's draagbt to sMteb

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BtNoff^ nlaz'd, wbiclw UithA U ttnio,
l>aedi of (U7 they act afain I
Now tke atfhthigale's tad aote
Tkroifh th« Ittieniiif air 'gina ioot^
UTarainf fovA in wardod ttf#er,
Maiden ia her freenwood bdirerf
Tu Uka Terf witcUag time»
Daar alika to lore and rlijinfl I
ETerjr lovtr, at tke itraia,
8pe«di the shadjr pore to gain.
Where awaits the traamx'd maid ;
Where each oare and toil*e repaid I
Eaoh food heart now lig htlj Teen.
With alternate hopes and fears ;
Each fond heart now sweetly glowi^
With ]oTe*s rapturous jofs and wdeA &
Kach fond heart— ah, why not mine 1^
Oentljr hails the day's deoUne ;
Bat, alas I mine,— woe is me I—
Is bennmb'd by apathy ;
Is iadlflbrenoe* dull thnm^-
There she reigns, nnmor'd, aloM I
There one stagnant ealm presldeii
Chilling all sweet feeling^ tMss !
Ah, methinks, I 6ene despair
Better than aneh calm oonld bears
I hava nought to hope or fear-
No eaM»taoB elaims a teai^—
No soft rapture wakes a smUs^
Meediag eeaturies of toil I
listlees, ead« forlon,,! rore^
Feeling still the heart waati loro 1
Nought to me can pleasure giTU,

Shadow of the dead I lire I

No swoet maid*s eoasenting blush

On my cheek brings rapture's flush 1
Vo food maiden's tender tear

rhrills my soul with transports dear t

N6 kind maiddi*s kiss bestows

Blest reward for all my woes I

No sweet maid's approring smili

Beams my laboun to beguile I

B<>st inoentive Lore eta claim,

Lttding age to wealth and lime.

▲ loae and lonely being I,

Only seem to liTe— to die I

'ifnth maaluad my Taoant heaarl

Feels as if it had no part I

Lore, thy sUtc I'd rather be.

Than free^ if tkb is being fr«el

Rather feel thy worst siinoy.

Than lire ami aerer know thy joyl

Coma, then, M thy keeaest dart.

Driva this loath'd Freedom from my h«ac« x

rn oeat whole ag«s of thy pais,

Ona BMBeat of ihy Uiii to gain I

W. T. M.

Mr^yten.

BRUMMELUANA.

A great deal used to be said of Beau
Nash and hb witticisms ; but certainly w«
ikt^hf met with any thing of his which wu
at all equal to the oracular sentences of the
gentleman who giTcs a nameto thi^ article^
Of ail the beaux that ever flourished-^-^at
least, of all that ever floorbhed on the satike
score — exemplary of waistcoat, and having
authoritative boots iirom whicih there was
no appeal— he appears to us to have be(ER
the onljf one who made a proper and per-
fect union of the coxcombical and ingenttf
ous. Other men may have been as scientific
on the- subject of bibs, in a draper-lika
point of view ; and others may have said as
good things, which had none of the colouf*
ing arising out of the consciousness off
foshionable preeminence. Beau Fielding^
we believe, stands on recohl as the hahd-
somest of beaux. There is Beau Sk^ng"
ion^ now rathei* sir Lumley, who, under all
his double-breasted coats and waistcoats^
never had any other than a single-hearted
soul; he is to be recorded as the most
amiable of beaux ; but Beau Brummell
for your more than finished coxicomb. He
could be grave enough, but he was any
thing but a solemn coxcomb. He played
with his own sceptre. It was found a
erand thing to be aole to be a consummate
fop^ and yet have the credit of being some-*
thmg greater; and he was both. Never
was any thing tnore exquisitely conscious,
yet indifferent ; ektravagant, ^et judicious^
His superiority in dress gave such imports
ance to his genius^ and his genius so
divested of insipidity his superiority in
dress, that the poet's hyperbole about thte
lady might be applied to his coat ; and

•^ Ton might almost say tke body thoaght.'*

It was a moot point which hMl the more
tact, his gloves or his fingers' ends. H«
played the balls of wit and folly so rapidly
about his head, that they lost tlHsir distinc-
tions in one crowning and brilliant halo.

Mr. Brummell, it is true, is no longer te
favour as a settler of fashions. Why, it ii
not our business to inquire. But thoogfi It
may' be said of his waistcoat, like Troy, that
it um$^ his Wit i»^ and will remain; and
here, for the first time, a fow speciteMbs of
it are collected. If George Btheridge him-
self would not have acknowledged a brother
in George Brummell, then ara no two
gloves of a colour.

To begin with what Is ustfalW reckoned
the prince of his good things. Mr. Brum*
lueli having fallen out of favour with an

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illustrious persoD, was of course to be cut,
as the phrase is, when met in public.
Riding one day with a friend, who hap<
pened to be otherwise regaided, and en-
couDtering the personage in question, who
spoke to the friend without noticing Mr.
brummell, he affected the air of one who
waits aloof while a stranger is present;
and then, when the great Aan was moving
off, said to his companioc, loud enough for
the other to hear, and ^acidly adjusting
his bibs, ** Eh I who is our fat friend ?"

Having taken it into his head, at one
time, to eat no vegetables, and being asked
by a lady if he hsul never eaten any in his
life, he said, ** Yes, madam, I once eat a
pea."

Being met limping in Bond-street, and
asked what was the matter, he said he had
hurt his leg, and *' the worst of it was, it
was his favourite leg.*'

Somebody inquiring where he was going
to dine next day, was told that he reallv
did not know : ^ they put me in my coach
and take me somewhere."

He pronounced of a fashionable tailor
that he made a good coat, an exceedingly
good coat, all but the collar : nobody could
achieve a good collar but Jenkins.

Having borrowed some money of a city
oeau, whom he patronised in return, he
was one day asked to repay it ; upon which
he thus complained to a friend : ** Do you
know what has happened V* — " No.^—
" Why, do you know, there*s that fellow,
Tomkins, who lent me five hundred pounds,
has had the face to ask me for it ; and
yet I had called the dog ' Tom,' and let
myself dine with him."

'* You have a cold*, Mr. Brummell," ob-
served a sympathizing group. " Why do
you know,*' said he, ** that on the Brighton
road, the other day, that infidel, Weston,
^his valet,) put me into a room with a damp
Itranger."

Being asked if he liked port, he said,
with an air of difficult recollection, '' Port ?
port ? — Oh, port ! — Oh, ay ; what, the hot
intoxicating liquor so much drank by the
lower orders ?"

Going to a rout, where he had not been
invited, or rather, perhaps, where the host
wished to mortify him, and attempted it,
he turned placidly round to him, and, with
a happy mixture of indifference and sur-
prise, asked him his name. ** Johnson,"
was the answer. '< Jauhnson," said Brum-
mell, recollecting, and pretending to feel
for a card ; ** Oh, the name, I remember,
was Thaun-son (Thompson;) and Jauhn-
son and Thaunson, you know, Jauhnson

and Thaunson, are really so much the same
kind of thing !"

A beggar petitioned him for charity
" even if it was only a fairthinff." — " Fel-
low," said Mr. Brummell, soRening the
disdain of the appellation in the gentleness
of his tone, '< I don't know the coin."

Having thought himself invited to some
body's country seat, and being given to
understand, after one night's lodging, that
he was in error, he toM an unconscious
friend in town who asked him what sort of
a place it was, that it was an ** exceedingly
good place for stopping one night in."

Speaking lightly of a man, and wishing
to convey his maximum of contemptuous
feeling about him, he said, *^ He is a fellow
row, that would send his plate up twice
for soup." '

It was his opinion, that port, and not
porter, should be taken with cheese. *' A
gentleman," said he, '* never malU with his
cheese, he always porU.**

It being supposed that he once foiled in
a matrimonial speculation, somebody con-
doled with him; upon which he smiled,
with an air of better knowledge on that
pointy and said, with a sort of indifferent
reel of his neckcloth, ** Why, sir, the truth
is, I had great reluctance in cutting the
connection ; but what could I do ? (Here
he looked deploring and conclusive.) Sir, 1
discovered tnat the wretch positively ate
cabbage."

Upon receiving some affront from an
illustrious personage, he said that it was
** rather too good. By gad, I have half a
mind to cut the young one, and bring old
G— e into fashion."

When he went visiting, he is reported to
have taken with him an elaborate dressing
apparatus, including a silver basin; *< For,^
said he, ** it is impossible to spit in clay."

On being asked by a friend, during an
unseasonable summer, if he had ever seen
such a one ? ** Yes," replied B. '< last
winter."

On a reference being made to him as to
what sum would be sufficient to meet the
annual expenditure for clothes, he said,
*^ that with a moderate degree of prudence
and economy, he thought it might be
managed for eight hundred per annum "

He told a friend that he was reforming
his way of life, " For instance," said he,
** I sup early ; I take a-a-little lobster, an
apricot puff, or so, and some burnt cham-
paigne, about twelve; and my man gets
me to bed by three."*

• Lttervj Fboket Dook.

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THE CROOKED BILLET, ON PENGE COVHQN.

Friday, May,-^ 1827.
I had appointed this morning with my
friend W. tor a visit to the gallery of paint-
ings at Dulwich College ; and he was to
obtain from a printseller an admission
ticket, and brins it with him. He came
furnished with the ticket, but as the ticket
provided that the public were not to be
admitted on a Friday, our seeing the pic-
tures was out of the question. Neither of
us, however, was in a humour to be dis-
appointed of a holiday ; we therefore set
out in the direction we bad intended. A
coachman hailed us from the box of a Dul-
wich stage ; we gave him an assenting nod,
and mounted the roof: and after a brisk
drive through Walworth and Camberwell,
which are now no other way distinguishable
from the metropolis, than by the irregular
forms and sizes of the houses, and the bits
of sickly gras^ and bottle-green poplars
that further diversify thero^ we attained to

Ihe sight of the first out-of-town looking trefi
and verdure op the ascent towards Heme-
hill. Here we began to feel ''another air;*'
and during the calm drive down the hill into
Dulwich — the prettiest of all the village
entrances in the environs of London — we
had glimpses, between the elms and syca-
mores, of pleasant lawns and blooming
gardens, with bursts of the fine distances.
The calm of the scene was heightened by
the note of the cuckoo : it was no *' note of
fear*' to us — we remembered our good wives
surrounded by their families; they had
greeted our departure with smiles, and
hopes that the day would be pleasant, and
that we should enjoy ourselves; — the
mother and the children rejoiced in <'&-
ther's holiday** as a day of happiness to
them, because it would make him happier.
Leaving Dulwich College on our rig^ht«
with an useless regret, thut, by our mistake
as to the day, the picture-gallery was closflfl

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to OS, we indulged in a passing remark on
the discrepancies of the building — the hall
and west wing of the Elizabethan age ; the
east wing in the Vanbrugh style ; and the
gallery differing from each. Alighting, just
beyond, at the end of the old road, and
crossing to the new one in the same line,
we diligently perused an awful notice from
the parochial authorities against offenders,
and acquainted ourseWes with the rewards
for apprehending them. The board seemed
to be a standing argument in behalf of
reading and writing, in opposition to some
of the respectable inhabitants of Dulwich,
who consider ignorance the exclusive pro-
perty of labourers and senrants, which they
cannot be deprived of without injury to
their morals.

Ascending the hill, and leaving on the
left hand a large house, newly biiilt by a rich
limber-merchant, with young plauUtionn
that require years of growth before they
can attain sufficient strength to defend the
mansion from the winds, we reached the
summit of the hill, and found a direction-
post that pointed us to a choice of several
roads. We strolled into one leading to
Penge Common through enclosed wood-
lands. Our ears were charmed by throngs
of sweet singin<( birds: we were in a
cathedral of the feathered tribes, where
" every denomination " chanted rapturous
praises and thanksgivings; the verger-
robins twittered as they accompanied us
with their full sparkling eyes and brigh*
liveried breasU. —

Chiefs of the choir, and highest in the heavens.

As emulous to join the angels' songs,

Were soaring larks; and some had dared so for

They seem'd like atoms sailing in the light ;

Their voices and themselves were scarce discem'd

Above their comrades, who, in lower air

Hung buoyant, brooding melody, that fell

Streaming, and gushing, on our thirsty ears.

In this celestial chancel we remained

To reverence tliese creatures' loud Te Deom —

A holy office of their simple natures

To Him — the great Creator and Preserve!*—

Whom they instinctively adored.

A gate In the road was opened to as by
a poor woman, who had seen our approach
from her road-side dwelling ; she had the
care of collecting the toll from horsemen
and carriage-drivers — we were /oo<-pas-
sengers, and credited our tailors for the
civility. At a few yards beyond this turn-
pike we stopped to read a dictatorial inti-
mation : — *^ All trespassers on these woods
will be prosecuted, and the constables have
orders to take them into custody." I am
not sure that there is a ** physiognomy of
hand'Writing,*' but I am a believer in the
physiognomy of style, and the features of
this bespoke a Buonaparte of the hundred
who haa partaken of the carvings under an
enclosure-act. No part was fenced off from
the common road, and the land had been
open to all till spoliation deprived the com-
moners of their ancient right, and annexed
the common soil to a neighbouring domain.
Whose it now is, by law, I know not, nor
inquired. I look around, and cottages
have disappeared, and there are villas in-
*ttad ; and the workhouses are enlarged,

and, instead of labour, tread-mills are pro-
vided. According to a political economist
of ancient times, *' There is much food in
the tillage of the poor;** and **He that
maketh haste to be rich shall not be inno-
cent." To whom of old was it said, " Th*
spoil of the poor is in your houses V*

We lingered on our way, and pa^ed a
bridge over the canal, towards a welUlook-
insf public-house, called " the Old Crooked
Billet." Before the door is, what is called,
a *' sign,'* which, according to modem
usage, is a sign-post, with a sign-board
without a sign, inscribed with the name of
what the sign had been. Formerly this was
a little ale-house, and to denote its use to
the traveller, the landlord availed himself
of one of the large old trees then before
the door, and hung upon the lowest of its
fine spreading branches not the ^ sign *' of
the billet, but a real ^ crooked billet :" this
was the origin of "* the Old Crooked Billet"
on (what was) Penge Common. We had
set out late and loitered, and after a brief
reconnoitre entered the house in search of

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tefreshmeDt The landlord apd his family
were at dinner in a commodious. rcspecU
able bar. He rose to us like ** a giant re^
freshed/' and stood before us a good-
humoured ** Bonifiace ''—every inch a man
—who had attained to strength and fair
proportion, bv virtue of the ease and con-
tent wherein he lived. We found from his
notable dame that we could have eggs and
bacon, and spinach put into the pot from
the garden, in a few minutes; nothing
could have been suggested more suitable to
our inclination, and we had the pleasure of
being smiled into a comfortable parlour,
with a bow-window view of the common.
The time necessary for the preparation of
our meal afforded leisure to observe the
hostel. W. went out to pencil the exterior
in his sketch-book. Except for the situa^
tion, and the broad, eood-numoured, coun-
try face of our landlord, we might have
imagined ourselves in town ; and this was
the only uncomfortable feeling we had.
The sign-board on the other side of the
road revealed the name of our entertainer
^^** R. Harding," and the parlour mantle-
pieoe told that he was a *' Dealer in Foreign
Wines, Segars, Sec." This inscription,
written in clerk-like Grerman text, framed
and glaxed, was transportation against my
will, to the place from whence I came.
Our attention was diverted by the rolling
Dp of a gig, espied afar off by '^ mine host,^
who wait^ at the door with an eye to busi-
ness, and his hands in the pockets of his
jean jacket The driver, a thin, sharp-
featured, pock-faced man, about forty,
alighted with as much appearance of kindly
disposition as he could bring his features to
assume, and begged the fevour of an order
for ** a capital article.'' His presented card
was received with a drop of the landlord's
countenance, and a shake of the bead. The
solicitor — and he looked as keenly as a
Chancery-lane one— was a London Capil-
lairft-maker ; he urged '* a single bottle ;"
the landlord pleaded his usage of sugar
and demurred, nor could he be urged on to
trial. Our repast brought in, and finished
with a glass or country brewed and a segar,
W. completed his sketch, and we paid a
moderate charge, and departed with *' the
Old Crooked Billet" as exhibited in the en-
graving. The house affords as *' good accom-
modation for man and horse" as can be found
in any retired spot so near London. Our
stroll to it was delightful. We withdrew
along the pleasant road to the village of
Beckenham. Its white pointed spire, em-
bowered in trees, had frequently caught our
vght in the cowve of the day, and we de-

sired to obtain a near view of a church that
neii^htened the cheerful character of the
landscape. It will form another article —
perhaps two.

WLmmfL

THE MOUNTAIN ASH.

To the Editor.

FFithenlack, near Milnthorpe
fFesimoreland.,

Sir,-^I think you have not oelebrated
in the Every-Day Book the virtues of
tne mountain ash, or as it is called in
the northern counties, the IFiggen Tree.
—Its anti-witching properties are there
held in very high esteem. No witch will
come near it ; and it is believed that the
smallest twig, which might cross the path
of one of these communers with the powers
of darkness, would as effectually stop her
career, however wild it might be, or liow-
ever' intent she might be on the business o^
evil, as did the *' key-stane" of the bridge
of Doon stop the fiendish crew, that pur-
sued poor Tam 0*Shanter and his luckless
mare Maggie.

You are well aware that there are few
places, especially in the country, in which
one of these agents of the devil, ycleped
** witches," does not reside. She may
always be known by her extreme penury
and ugliness. There is generally also a
protuberance of flesh on some part of the
neck or jaw, by which it is known that she
has sold herself to the father of lies. She
has usually a large black cat, of which she
is prodigiously fond, and takes special care
Some shrewdly suspect this to be the *' old
gentleman" himself. She is very envious,
and frequently makes malicious prognosti-
cations of evil, which subsequent events but
too faithfully veri^. She must therefore,
with all these qualifications, be the authoress
of every mishap, which cannot more rea-
sonably be accounted for. For example,
sliould the '< auld witch" call at any farm-
house during the operation of churning,
and be suffered to depart without a sop
being thrown to her, in the shape of a small '
print of butter, you will be sure to have |
many a weary hour of labour the next:
time you chum, before butter can be ob- {
tained. And, therefore, to prevent the old .
beldam introducing herself into the chum, !
the chum-staff must be made of the " fFig* \
gen Tree," and you will be effectually freed

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from her further interference in that<
The oattle in the stables and cow-houses,
if she takes a spite against you, are fre«

i quently found, or dreaded to be found«
(for many an instance of such things is
recorded on undoubted testimony,) in a
morning, tied together, standing on their
headn, the cows milked, and every other
mischieTous prank played, which a mali*

< rious fiend could invent : and therefore to
prevent all these dire ills, the shafts of
the forks, and all other utensils used in
those places, must be made of the all-
powerful " Wiggen." She frequently does
the same mischief in places far remote on
the same night; ana although old and
crippled, and showing ** all the variety of
wretchedness" by day, at night she mounts
her broomstick, and wings her airy course
to the moon, if need be. All honest people,
who have a due regard to undisturbed
slumbers during the night, when all the
world knows that

Cliureh-jardfl jr^WB,
A«d 1i«ll Itself breftthn fbrili contagioa to ih» world,

take special care to have a branch of
I this never-failing antidote to witchery at
j their bed heads. This has been the prac-
tice of my mother ever since I can re-
member; she also carries a hare's foot
in her pocket, to guard against all at-
tacks in that quarter by day. You will
think that these precautions are very un-
called for, perhaps, at this time of day, but
such we have been in our generations^ and
such to a considerable extent we now are,
and therefore pray do record us.

I remain. Sir, &c.

CARLE.

A PARTICULAR DIRECTION.

A few months ago a letter, bearing the
following curious superscription, was put
into the post.office in Manchester : — ** For
Mr. Colwell that Keeps the Shop in Back
Anderson-st. to Bee Gave lo Jack Timlen
that Keeps the pigs in his own Sellar in
Back Anderson-st. the irish man that has
ihe Large family that bgs the mail from
Mr. Colwell and milk to Bolton.''*

• MtmEcprMi,

No XIX.

[From the "Silver Age," an Historca.
Play, by Thomas Heywood, 1613.J

ProMerpine seeking Fhwers.

Proi. 0 DUf th«M meadowi ever barren be.
That yield of flowen no more Tarietjr I
Here neitker U the White nor Sanguine Rom,
like Strawberry Flower, the Paunce, nor Violet ;
Methinka 1 have too poor a meadow choae:
Going to beg, I am with a Beggar met.
That want! as mneh aa I. I ehoold do ill
To take from them that need.—

Cere*, after the Rape of her Daughter,

Cer, Where is m j fair and lord j Proserpine ?
Speak, JoTe's fair Danghter, whither art thou etray'd
I'to nought the meadow*, glebes* and new-reap*d fieUa
Vet cannot find my Child. Her scatter*d flowers.
And garland half-made-np, I have lit npoa ;
But her I cannot spy. Behold die trace
Of some strange wagon,* that hath sooreht the trees.
And singed the grass : thess rots the snn ne'er sear'd.
Where art thoo. Love, where art thou, Proserpine N-

She queetione Triton for her Danghter.

Cer. — — • thon that on thy shelly trampel
JSvmmons the sea-god, answer from the depth.

Trit. On Neptnne's sea-horse with my eoneave tnnf
Thro* all the abyis I've shriU'd thy daughter's kes.
The ehanneb clothed in waters, ths low cities
la which the water-gods and sea-aymphs dweU,
I have perused ; sought thro* whole woods and fisresti
Of leafless coral, planted in the deeps ;
Toss'd up die beds of pearl j roused up huge whalss,
And stsm sea>monsters, from their rocky dens;
Those bottoms, bottoodess ; shaUows snd shelres.
And all those currents where th' earth's springs break

ia:
Those plains where Neptune feeds his porpoises,
Sea-morses, seals, and all his eattle else :
Thro* all our ebbs and tides my trump hath biased her
Yet oan no cavern shew me Proserpine.

She queetione the Earth*

Cer, Fair suter Earth, for all these beauteous fleUk
Spread o*er thy breast ; for all these fertile crops.
With which my plenty hath enrieh'd thy bo*om ;
For all those rich and pleasant wreaths of grain.
With which so oft thy temples I have crowned {
For all the yearly liveries, and fresh robeib
Upon thj summer beauty I bestow—
Shew ms my Child 1

Earth. Not ia revenge, fair Ceres,
That your remorMless pkughs have rak^ mf brMsC,

•TksewaflKt.

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N«r that jonr in»-too*li*d burowt prat mj Uf
Bo fall of wriakles ; tkat you dig mj sidM
Por marlo and soil, and make m« bleed mjr springt
rkro* aU nj open'd Teiae to weaken me—
Do I eoaeeal jnmr Dangkter. I kare epraad
Mj anna from eea to eea, look'd o'er mj moontaias,
Ezamm'd all mj paetaree, fTOTce, and pLuaa*
jfafifcei aad wol(b, mj woods aad ckawpaia fieUa*
If 7 deas and caves— and fsC, from foot to kead,
1 karo BO plaee on wUck tke Moon* dotk tread.
Cm. Tkea, Bartk, tkoalt kiat ker ; aad, for Proeef^
piaeb
I'll ttriko tkee witk a laetiaf kamaeaa.
No mora akall {deaty erowa tkj fertile Inows |
I'll break tkjr ploofhs, thy osn murrua-striket
Witk idle agaea I'll cooeame tkj awaiaa i
Sow tarn aad cookies m thjr lands of wkeat,
Wkose spikes the weed aad eooob-fraas shall oatfrow,
Aad ehoke it ia tke blade. Tke rotten skowera
Shall drowB thj seed, which tke hot sea shall parch.
Or mildews rot ; aad what remaias, shall be
A prejr to raTcaoos Inrda.— Ok Proeerpiae I—
Toa Oods tkat dwell aboTe, aad joa below,
Botb of tke woods aad gardens, riTsra, brooks,
Foaatiuas aad wells, some one amoag joo all
Skew me her self or grave t to yen I oall.

Arethua ritetk.

Art, That eaa the nver Arothasa do.
Mj streams 70a kaow, fair Oodden, issae fort!
From Tartar/ kj the Teaariaa isles s
Mjr brad's in Hell when Stjgiaa Pinto rmgaa.
There did I see the laitflj ProeerpiaA,
Whom Plato hath rapt keaoe s behold ker girdle,
Wkick on ker waj dropt from ker loreij waiat*
Aad seattar'd ia mj streams.— Fair Qaeea, adieal
Crown joa mj baaks witk iowers, as I tell tree.

[From the " Golden Age^" an Historical
Play, by the same Author, 161 1.]

SibUhi, the fFtfe of Satnm, it fty kirn
n^oined to tUty the new-bom Jvpiter,
None can do Ufor hie emilee,

SibiUa. Feeta. Nurse,

Sib. If otker, of all tkat erer mothen wero
Most wreteked t Kiss tkj sweet babe ero he die.
That hath life oal j leat to snffer death.
Sweet Lad, I woald th j fother saw tkee smile.
Tkj beaatj, aad tkj prettj iafaacj,
Woold moUifj his heart, were't hew'd from flint.
Or eanrrd witk iroa tools from Corsie rock.
Thoo langh'st to think thoa most be kill'd in jest
Ck 1 if thon needs most die, 1*11 be thj mnrtkeresa.
And kill thee with mj kisses, prettj knaTO.—
And caaNt tboa laagk to see tkj mother weep ?
Or art (Lata in thj chearfal smilee so free.

* Proserpine: who was also Loan ia HtaTea, Diana
on Earth.

Ia seoTB of tkj rede folker^t Cjraaaj ?
ril Uss tkee ero I kiU tkeet for mj'ltfo
Tke Lad so smiles, I eaaaot kold tke kaife.

FuL Tkea give him me; I am his Grandmother,
▲adIwiUkiUkimgeatlji tkissadoAoo
Beloags to me, as to the aest of kia.

Sib. For Amms*« sake, when yw kUt kiwi, kmt km
nee.

Frsf. Come, little kaava, prepare joar aaked tkroal
I kare aot keart to gire tkee maaj woands,
If J kindaeas is to take tkj life at onee.
Noww

Alaek, mj prettj Oreadekild, smilest tkoa stfll ?
I kare lost to kiss, bat bare ao heart to kilL

J\r«rse. Yon maj be eareless of theKing*s eommaod
Bot it eeneens me ; aad I lore mj fifo
More tkaa I do a Stripling's. Oirekimme,
I'll make kim snre 1 a skarp weapoa Isadr
I'll qoieklj briag tke Yoongstor to kia ead^*
Alack, m J prettj kaave, 'twere mora tkaa eui
Witk a skarp knife to tonek tkj tender skin.

0 Madam, ke'e so fall of angel grace,

1 eaaaot atrike, ke smiles so ia m j faco.

Sib. I'll wiak, and strike 1 come, onee more vcack
kim hither;
For die he mast, so Satan katk decreed 1
laa, for a world I woald aot see him bleed.

Fttt. Ne shall ha do. Bat swear nu secreoj 1
Tke Babe shall live, aad we be daagerlsss.

C. L.

THE HRST BUTTERFLY.

One of the superstitions prevailing in
Devonshire is, that any individual neglect-
ing to kill the first butterfly he may see for
the season will have ill-luck throughout 1
the year. The following recent example is

Siven by a young lady : — ^ The other Sun.
ay, as we were walking to church, we met '
a man running at full speed, with his hat
in one hand, and a stick in the other. As
he passed us, he exclaimed, * I sha*n*t hat*ea
now, I b'lieve.' He did not give us time
to inquire what he was so eagerly pursuing;
but we presently overtook an old man,
whom we knew to be his father, and who
being very infirm, at upwards of seventy,
generally hobbled about by the aid of two
sticks. Addressing me, he observed, < My
Mtn a took away wan a' my sticks, miss,
wan't be 6bble to kiU'n now, though, 1
b'Ueve.' * Kill what T said I. * Why, 'tii
a butterfly, miss, the first hee'th a seed for
the year; and they zay that a body win
have cruel bad luck if a ditn'en kill a^iirft
a leeth.' "•

• SMaet Cbioaiela, Maj, 189ft.

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KING JAMES I. AT DURHAM.
To the Editor.

Sir, — If you think th^ subjoined worthy
of a place in your Table Book, I snail feel
glad to see it. I believe it has never been
in print ; it is copied from an entry in one
of the old corporation books.

Yours, very trulyy
Durham, May, 1827. M. J.

The Manner of the Kinges Majesti

COMING TO the CitTIE OF DURHAM,

AnnoDom. 1617, AS followeth.

Uoon Good Friday, being the 18th of
April, 1617, Mr. Heabome, one of his
m Jesties gentlemen ushers spoke to George
Walton, Maior, that it was his majesties
pleasure to come in state unto the cittie,
and that it were fitting that the maior and
aldermen should be ready upon the next
daie following, being Satturdaie, to give
their attendance upon his majestic in some
convenient place within the citiie; and
the said maior to have his foot-chth horee
their ready to attend, which likewise was
done upon Elvet Bridge, near the tower
thereof, being new rayled, within the rayles
of wood then made for that purpose:
at which time his said majesties said gen-
tleman usher standing by the said maior
and aldermen till his majesties coming,
when there was a speech delivered by the
said maior to his majestie, together with
the maces and staffe ; and at time fitting in
the same speech so made, a silver bowle gilt,
with a cover, was presented by the said
maior to his majestie, which appeares as
followeth:— ^^

** Most gracious soveraigne. What un-
speakable joy is this your highness pre-
sents unto us, your loving subjects; our
tongues are not able to utter, nor our meanes
to shew you welcome. Your gracious
majestie, at your happie cominge hither
with much peace and plentie found this
cittie inabled, with divers liberties and pri-
veledges, all sovering pittie and power
spiritual and temporal being in yourself,
gave unto us the same againe; and after-
wards, of your gracious lK)untie, confirmed
them under your great seal of England.
We humbly beseech your majestie continue
vour favours towards this cittie ; and in
token of our love and loyaltie, crave the
acceptance of this myte, and we shall be
readie to the uttermost expence of our
dearest bloud, to defend you and your royal
progeny here on earth, as with our prayers

to God to blesse you and all yours io all
eternitie."

After which speech the maior was called
by his majesties gentleman usher to take
his horse, and to ride before his majestie ;
immediate upon which commandment made
by his majesties gentleman usher, there was
at the same place, about forty yards dis-
tance, certayne verses spoken by an appren-
tice of this cittie to his majestie, as follow-
eth : after which, the maior was placed in
rank next the sword, and so rode forward,
earring tbtf citties mace, to the church.

To the Kingee moet Bxcettent Mqfettie.

** Dnrbam^t old dtti» thvi aalntst oar kiaf
With entertainment, the doth homlie bring:
And eanaot enijle npon his majestie
With shew of f reatnees ; but homilitie
Makes her express herself in modem gnise
Dejected to this north, bare to jonreyes.
For the great prelate, which of late adorde
His digiiities, and for which we iocplore
Yonr highnesse aide to have a continaane^—

And so confirmed bj jronr dread arm.

Yet what oar rojal James did grant herein,

William, ow btshoppe, hath oppogaaat ben i

Small task to swaj down smilbws, whars maa*e

Bight
Hath greater faree thaa eqaitj or righC
Bat these are onlj in jcnx bnst incladed
Aom jonr most graeions gnat. Therefore w pra/.
That the faare snashine of jcnt brightest daie,
Would najU vpon this eittie with clere beams.
To exhale the tempest off insning streames.
Soffer not, great prince, oar aaeieat stats^
Bj one foroM wiU to be depopalate,
Tie one seeks oar oadoeing : bat to joo.
Tea thonsaad hearts shall pra j, and kaess shall bowe
And this doll cell of earth whvein we live.
Unto yonr name immortal prajrse shall gire.
Coidfijm oar grant, good kinge. Darham's old dttie
Woald be more powcifol so it has Jame*s pittie.**

Remaak.

The complaint against the bishop arose
from a suit which he had instituted against
the corporation in the Exchequer, for taking
all the bishop's priTileges and profits of
the markets and courts into their own
hands, and for driving his officers by vio-
lence out of the toUbooth on the 3d of
October, (7th of James I.,) and preventing
their holding the courts there as usual, as
well as for several other similar matters,
when judgment was given against the coi^

5 oration on the 24tb of June, (8th ol
amesl.,)1611.

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MARCH OF INTELLECT.

ETery iotetligent mind of right reflection
tccordsits wishes for general enlightenment.
It appears, from a &shionable miscellany,
that a late distinguished writer expressed
himself to that eifect ; the following^ are
' extracts from the article referred to. They
contain, in the sequel, a forcible opinion on
the tendency of the present general diffusion
of literature.—

Conversations of Maturin.
Maturin's opinions of poetry, as of erery
Ihin^ else, were to be inferred rather than
gathered. Ic was very difficult to draw him
into literary conyersation : like Congreve,
he wished to be an author only in his
study. Yet he courted the society of men

, of letters when it was to be had ; but

I would at any time have sacrificed it to
dally an hour in the drawing-room, or
at the quadrille. Sometimes, however,

I amongst friends (particularly if he was in
a splenetic mood) he freely entered into a
discussion upon the living authors of Eng-
land, and delivered his opinions rapidly,
brilliantly, and with effect. On one occa-
sion a conversation of this description took
place, in which I had the pleasure of parti-

, cipating. I will recall the substance of it
as well as I can. Do not expect from

I Maturin the turgidity of Boswell's great
roan, or the amiable philosophy of Frank-
lin : you will be disappointed if you antici-
pate any thing profound or speculative from
dim; for at the best of times he was
exceedingly fond of mixing up the frivolity
of a fashionable conversazione with the
most solid subjects.

I met him in the county of Wicklow on
a pedestrian excursion in the autumn ; a
relaxation he constantly indulged in, parti-
cularly at that season of the year. It was
in that part of the vale of Avoca, where
Moore is said to have composed his cele-
brated song: a green knoll forms a gradual
declivity to the river, which flows through
the vale, and in the centre of the knoll there
is (he trunk of an old oak, cut down to a
seat. Upon that venerable trunk, say the
peasants, Moore sat when he composed a
song that, like the Rans de Vache of the
Swiss, will be sung amidst those mountains
and valleys as long as they are inhabited.
Opposite to that spot I met Maturin, ac-
companied by a young gentleman carrying
a fishing-rod. We were at the distance of
thirty miles from Dublin ; in the heart of
the most beautiful valley in the island ;
iimounded by associations of history and

poetry, with spirits subdued into tranquil-
lity hy the Italian skies above, and the
peaceful gurgling of the waters below us.
Never shall I forget Maturings strange ap*
pearance amongst those romantic dells. He
was dressed in a crazy and affectedly shabby
suit of black, that had waxed into a ** bril-
liant polish** by over zeal in the service of
its master ; he wore no cravat, for the heat
obliged him to throw it off, and his delicate
neck rising gracefully from his thrice-crested
collar, gave him an appearance of great
singularity. His raven hair, which he
generally wore long, fell doWn luxuriantly
without a breath to agitate it; and his head
was crowned with a hat which I could
sketch with a pencil, but not with a pen.
His gait and manner were in perfect keep-
ing ; but his peculiarities excited no sur-
prise in me, for I was accustomed to them
In a short time we were seated on the
banks of the Avoca, the stream cooling our
feet with its refreshing spray, and the green
foliage protecting us from the sun.

** Moore is said to have written his song
in this place.*'

** I don't believe a word of it,** replied
Maturin. *• No man ever wrote poetry
under a burning sun, or in the moonlight.
I have often attempted a retired walk in the
country at moonlight, when I had a madri-
gal in my bead, and every gust of wind
rang in my ears like the footsteps of a rob-
ber. One robber would put to flight a
hundred tropes. You feel uneasy in a
perfectly secluded place, and cannot collect
your mind.'*

" But Moore, who is a poet by inspira-
tion, could write in any circumstances ?**

" There is no man of the age labours
harder than Moore. He is often a month
working out the fag-end of an epigram.
'Pon my honour, I would not be such a
victim to literature for the reputation oi
Pope, the greatest man of them all.'*

'* Don't you think that every man has his
own peculiarity in writing, and can only
write under particular excitements, and in
a particular way ?*'

*' Certainly. Pope, who ridiculed such
a caprice, practised it himself; for he never
wrote well but at midnight. Gibbon dic-
tated to his amanuensis, while he walked
up and down the roon in a terrible pas-
sion; Stephens wrote on horseback in a
full gallop ; Montaisne and Chateaubriand
in the fields; Sherman over a bottle of
wine ; Moli^re with his knees in the fire ;
and lord Bacon in a small room, which he
said helped him to condense his thoughts.
But Moore, whose peculiarity is retirement^

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would never come here to write a song he
could write better elsewhere, merely bt^aiue
it related to the place."

"Why omit yourself in the list? you
have your own peculiarity."

<* I compose on a long walk ; but then
the day must neither be too hot, nor cold ;
it must be reduced to that medium from
which you feel no inconvenience one way
or the other ; and then when I am perfectly
free from the city, and experience no annoy-
ance from the weather, my mind becomes
lighted by sunshine, and I arrange my plan
perfectly to my own satisfaction.''

** From the quanthy of works onr living
poets have gi? en to the public, I would be
disposed to say that they write with great
facility, and without any nervous whim."
• •••••

^ But lord Byron— he must write with
great ease and rapidity 7'*

'* That I don t know ; I never could
finish the perusal of any of his long poems.
There is something in them excessively at
variance with my notions of poetry. He
is too fond of the obsolete ; but that I do
not quarrel with so much as his system of
converting it into a kind of modem antique,
by superadding tinsel to gold. It is a sort
of mixed mode, neither old nor new, but
incessantly hovering between both."

<< What do you think of Childe Harold T

** I do not know what to think of it, nor
can I give you definitively my reasons for
disliking his poems generally.''

** You have taken up a prejudice, per-
haps, from a passage you have forgotten,
and never allowed yourself patience to
examine it."

** Perhaps so ; but I am not conscious of
1 prejudice."

" No man is."

** And which of the living poets fulfils
your ideal standard of excellence V

** Crabbe. He is all nature without
pomp or parade, and exhibits at times deep
pathos and feeling. His characters are cer-
tainly homely, and his scenes raiher un-
poetical; but then he invests his subject
with so much genuine tenderness and
sweetness, that you care not who are the
actors, or in what situations they are placed,
but pause to recollect where it was you met
something similai in real life. Do you re-
member the little story * Delay is Danger T
I'll recite you a few lines describing my
fisvourite scene, an autumn-evening land-
irapec-*

* Ob the ri^Ht side tlie yontli a WMd nurty'd,
Witk all iti dark int«astt/ of thada s
Wli«ro the roagh wiad alone was heard to morot
la thia, the paoae of natare and of lore,
Whea BOW the joazg are rear'd, and when the old
LMt to the tie, fTow acf ligeat and eold^
Far to the left he saw the hnt« of mea
Hftlf hid IB miat that haag apoB the fm ;
Berore him awaUowi, gstheriBg for the aes.
Took their short flights, aad twitter'd on the le«
Aad Bear the heaa-eheaf stood, the harrett doaa,
And slowly blackea'd ia the ncklj svb;
All these were sad ia Batare, or the j took
Sadaess from him, die likcaess of his look,
Aad of his miad— he poader'd for a while.
Them met his Faaaj with a borrow'd smile.'

^ £xcept Gray*s Elegy, there is scarcely
so melancholy and touching a picture in
English poetry."

** Ana whom do you estimate after
Crabber

** I am disposed to say Hogg. His
Queen's Wake is a splendid and impas*
sioned work. I like it for its varieties, and
its otter simplicity. What a fine image is
this of a devoted vessel suddenly engulfed
at sea:

** Some T«B to the oords, some kaeel'd at the shriat.
Bat all the wild eltmeats seemM to oombiao ;
TvBs JBst bat oae ■wmeot of stir aad oommotioa,
Aad dowB west the ship Uko a bitfd of the ooean I"

** But do not altogether take me at my
word in what I say of Crabbe and Hogg.
They have struck the chord of my taste ;
but they are not, perhaps, the first men of
the day. Moore is a writer for whom I
feel a strong affection, beca^use he has done
that which 1 would have done if I could :
but after him it would be vain to try any
thing."

• • • • •

** Is it your Opinion that the swarm of
minor poets and writers advance the cause
of literature, or that the public taste would
be more reBned and informed, if those who
administered to it were fewer and better f

" I o^ect to prescribing laws to the re-
public of letters. It is a free republic, in
which every man is entitled to publicity if
he chooses it. The effect unquestionably
of a swarm of minor poets is the creation
of a false taste amonj^t a certain class ;
but then that is a class that otherwise would
have no taste at all, and it is well to draw
their attention to literature by any agency.
In the next age their moral culture will im-
prove, and we shall go on gradually dirni*
nishing the contagion."*

* 17ew Monthly Ifagazli.eb

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"Bizpenoe a pound, fair clicrrios I *"

'Troop, every one!"

OLD LONDON CBIES No. U.

Wc have here a print of the chenry-
womaa of a hundred years ago, wben
grown, that the

cherries were so little

popular street cry was double the price of the
present day. Readers of the Every- Daif
Book may remember the engraving of the
" London barrow- woman," with her cherry-
cry— "round and sound"— the cherry-
woman ^that wom) of our own tiroes — the
recollection of whose fine person, and
melodious voice, must recur to every one
who saw and heard her — a real picture to
the mind's eye, discoursing ** most excel-
ent music."

The man blowing a trumpet, " Troop,
every one 1 ** was a street seller of hobby-
horses— toys for the children of a hundred
^ears ago. He carried them, as represented
sn the engraving, arranged in a partitioned
frame on his shoulder, and to each horse*s
head was a small flag with two bills at-

tached. The crier and his ware are who!!)!
extinct. Now-a-days we give a boy the
first stick at hand to thrust between hi?
legs as a Bucephalus — the shadow of a
•hade: — our forefathers were better na>
tured, for they presented him with some-
thing of the semblance of the generous
animal. Is a horse now less popular with
boys than then ? or did they, at that time,
rather imitate the galloping of the real
hobby-horse in the pageants and mum-
meries that passed along the streets, or
pranced in the shows at fairs and on the
stage ? Be that as it may, this is a pretty
plaything for ''little master ;** and toy-
makers would find account in reviving the
manufacture for the rising generation. They
have improved the little girPs doll, and
baby-house: are they ignorant that boys,
as soon as they can wala, demand a whip
and a horse T

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THE TABLE BOOK.

MR. HOBDAY'S GALLERY.
No. 54, Pall-mall.

In addition to the associations for the
exhibition and sale of pictures by living
artists, Mr. Hobdav opened an establish-
ment on the 21st of May for the same pur-
pose, adjoining the British Institution.
This gentleman is known to the public as
a respectable portrait paintei, with a taste
for art entitled to consideration for his pre-
sent spirited endeavour in its behalf.

In this exhibition there are performances
of distinguished merit by several eminent
artists. The Upas, or poisoo^ee of Java,
by Mr. Danby, in illustration of the legend
in Darwin's Loves uf the Plants, is a fine
picture, already known. Another by Mr*
Danby — is a wood on the seiiw«bore, with
figures, Ulysses and Nausicaa, from Homer.
A F6ie Champ^tre, by Mr. Stothard, is one
of a class of subjects, which its venerable
painter has distinguished by his magic pen-
cil; Mr. Edwin Landseer*s Lion disturbed at
his repast, a forcible and well-remembered
effort of his genius, stands near it. Mr.
Charles Landseer's Merchant, with Slaves
and Merchandise, reposing in a Brazilian
Rancbo; the Entombing of Christ, by Mr.
Westall; landscapes, by Messrs. Daniel^
Glover, Hoffland, Laporte, Linnell, W.
Westall, &c. ; pictures by sir W. Beechey,
Messrs. Chalon, Kidd, Heaphy, Rigaud,
Singleton, Stephanoff, J. Ward, &c., grace
the walls of the establishment. Every pic-
tore in this gallery is for sale ; and, under
Mr. Hobday s management, it promises to
be a means of introducing the public to an
acquaintance with distinguished works of
art still remaining open to the selection of
its patrons.

ORIGINAL NOTICE.
For th§ TobU Book*

Denton-castle, in the West Riding of
Yorkshire, and on the north-west side of
Otley, was once the seat of the parliament's
general, Fairfax, and came to the present
family of Ibbetson by relationship. Prince
Rupert in passing by it on his march into
Lancashire, in order to assist the king's
troops in that quarter, was about to raze
iU out going into the housci he observed

the pictures of the Manners and the Vil-
liers, Fairfax's ancestors, and out of good
will towards them he desisted. It, how-
ever, was afterwards unfortunately destroyed
by the carelessness of a maid servant, who ,
dropping asleep at the time she was pick- ,
ing feathers, the candle fell into the feathers \
and burnt the house to the ground. Id a
few years afterwards^ it was rebuilt by the
fiither of sir Henry Ibbetson, bart. in the .
jrear 1721, and has this remarkable motto
in the pediment :—

«* Qaod MO JoTii ifaatsifBisaee poteilt Uatwm,*

Verses

To the memory of Denzil Ibbetson,
fourth son of sir Henry Ibbetson, bart.,
who unfortunately lost Uis life by an
accidental discharge of l|is gun when
shooting at Cocken, near- Durham, the
seat of his aunt, lady- Mary Carr,
sister of Henry earl of Harlington—
1774.

1.

Tby fate, Umented Ibbet80i^ 'm%.mm^
With an anfeiga'd and • jaipatliatie tear ;

Tkj Tirtaea, oa oar mein'net ^aven deep,
Reoall tke peinfalsbougkc of what wae dear

Yet *tte Bot for 617 ■uflbringt, bat oar owa.
That heaves the heartfelt mdeaeholj eigh.

That death, which haplf eoet thee act a groaa,
Leares as to laoara with what we ae'er eea tk

That life, good haiaoar, ead that mealy eease,
Thcee evel^plea8iDg ties, that frieadlj heart,

Whieh bat aawittiaglf could give oCeaec,
Diaarm'd ev*a Death's grim tyraat of hu dart.

Withoat oae pang or agonisiag groaa,
Thjr aool reUeT*d forsook iu vile abode»

For jojs Bore worthy of the good aloae—
•^ The bowHa of thjr Father aad thj God.**

PRONUNCIATION.

The difficulty of applying rules to the
pronunciation of our language may be
illustrated in two lines, where the combina-
tion of the letters cmgk^ is pronounced in
no less than seven different ways, vis. as
O9 «/> 0/, lip, 010, oOf and ock.

Thoagh the tough eough aad hicooagh ploufa me

through;
O'er life's dark loagh Bjeoane I still parsaa.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

F» tke Tabu B^ol
EMIGRATION OF THE ROOKS

FROM

CARLTON GARDENS, 1827.

•* I •kaUDot uk Jaaa JMqo«s ReMMM>
If birds eonfftboUte or ao :-~
' Ha MTtoin tbof were alwmp abli.
To boU diaoovaa^ wt ItMt in imble.*'

Cowper*

Tho mudate paat'd, tke axe apidied,
Tke woodmaa*! eflorti eekeed wide s
Tke toppliaf elm trees fell aroand.
And eambroQS roia •trew'd tke groaod.
Tke taaefal tknuk, wkoee ▼ernal waff
Waa earlicat keard fke bovghs amoBf .
Exil'd from icrooads, wkere ke waa bredt
To acme far babitatioB lied ;
Remote from eonrt aad eourtly strife,
To pass a sober, qoiet life.
O'er bead tke Rooks, in eirelas flew,
Aad eloaer still, and ckiaer drew ;
Tken perek'd amid tke desolation.
In senatorial ooaaalUtieB :
Tke ekaarman. Car adran^d in age,
A sapient-looking peiaonage,
Wbokmg tkeeonaeilsof tkaland
Had sway'd witk a tena^oas kand ;
—For e*«a amoag tke featker'd raesr
Tkeia are, wko cUag to pow'r aad plMss*
Tkere waated not, among tke tkrong,
Tkoee wko aTerr'd, tkat mnek too hmg
Be kad, witkia tke sable state.
Coatinaed to adjodicate ir-
80 tardily bis judgments oame^
Tkej injar'd bis judicial fame ;
Wkat, tkough tkey were unting'd by brib^
Or fear ;^tbe sad impatient tribe,
Wko fed on Hope's ezpeeteneies.
Were min'd-by kis jnst decrees I
But to oar tale :— tke speaker now,
Perck*d on an c^ trea^ topmost bongk.
Bad basb'd tke multitude ia awe.
Ton migkt not kear a single - eaw i"
He tkea in pride of eonseioos pow'r,
Commcac'd tke b«s*ness of tke kenr.
•• Te rooks mid daws ia senate met;**
He said, aad smootk*d kb breast of jeti
• Wkat enmes, amoag oar sable band,
Bara brongbt tkis rain on our land?
Has mardsr mArk'd oor noeaday flight T
Or depredation » tke nigkt ?
Has rook or daw, ia Ikoogkt or word,
RebeU'd against onr Sorereiga Lord ?
Ko 1 latker say, onr loyalty
Hasecko'd oft, from tree to treel
Have we aot, wkea tke c
G»Te joyoos iatintftion round.
Of triampk wen by land or sea,
Joia*d ia tke general jnbilae f

Wky, tkea, ye advoeates of ta$f4.
Lay ye onr kabitatioas waste ?
Wky lerel low oor rookery,
Aad blot it oat from memory T
If an lacketk not a kost of pleai^
To Tindieate kis cruelties.

• Improremenf s come t ' 'tis tkus tkey ikyssa

* Upon tke rolling ear of Time.' •—
Tes I oome, if blessings tkey dispeaae,
Witk doe r^ard to feeling— «ense ;
But wken tkey emaaate from pride,
Aad sekeme oa sekeme is multiplied.
To beautify by acts like tkis,

Tkeir otergrowa metropolis.
To please tke Vitiate taste of men,
Tkey eease to be improremeatB tkea.
*Tis not enongk, to please tke eye,
Witk terrace walks, aad turrets kigk ;
Witk sloping lawns, aad dark arcades {
Witk cock-boat lakes, aad forest glades ,
Witk sekoolboy eateraets aad jets ;
Witk Tarkbk mosques aad auaareta
Or Lilliputiaa arckes, rick.
Spanning a Tegetetiag ditck 1
ImpiOTement opes a nobler field,
Tban Grecian plintk and column yield I
* Tie wken tke streams of treasnrs flow.
To ligkten sorrow,— soften woe ;—
Rebuild tke strueture, ruin raa'd,
BelosM tke eye, tkat waat katk glaa*d
Aad flowiag far from revelry,
J%0j ekaer tke sons of penary,
Wko siokea ia tke brseae of bealtk 1
▲ad starve, amid a aatioa's wealtk 1
Tockase despair— aad bring xolief.
For kuaua crime, aad kamaa grief 1
Tkese an tky triumpks. Virtue I tkeae
An sparks of keav'n-bora sympatkiea,
Tkat tkrougk maa*s denser natare skiM^
Aad prove kis origin divine I
Ok I may we kope, ia Britein's sckool,
Tken are, wko, free from sophist rul^
Have leant not, *neatk Italiaa skies,
Tkeir native genius to despise ;
In wkom. amid tke bosom's tkroes,
Tke iaaate love of oonatry gkyws 1
Assembled birds I it is for yoa
To point tke coarse we must parsue f
0«r monarok ns^er could eontemplatt
Amid tke recent ekaage ia sUte,
Tkat we, like otker rooks, sbooU bo
Exil'd from seats of royalty 1
Tkea let us kumbly seek tke tkroaa.
And make our common grievaaea kaowa
Hia Majesty will ai'areoaseat,
Tkat tkis, onr sable parliameat,
SkouU tkus be driv'n abroad to ream.
Aad baaiak'd from our aative kome."

• Come brigbt Improvement on tke car of Tima,
Aad rule tke spamcus world from cbma to etuat .
PtMSiireJ of Hep*

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He eeM A ;— a shoat of wild applaoM^
Tamnltnoas bont, from rooka aad daws "
Ne^ar jet, had yonder eeatral raa.
Since worlds bad in their orblte tvM,
Beheld npoa a spot of earth
So mneh of simaltaaeoas mirth.
Scarce had the tarboleaee subsided.
When, as if Pate their joy dehded.
The hatchet reach'd with thnnd'rinf^ stroke
The tree from whenee the Chairmaa spoke.
Alas! the triumph was bat brief)
The soaad straek awe--like midnight thief—
The senate led from fallinf tiees.
And strotch*d their pinions to the breese t
The shrabs behbd Sprinf Oarden-plaoe
ReeeivM the emifrated raee.
Now far from woodman** axe, with oaro
They bolld, and breed, aad aestle (here.

T. T.

MUSIC AND ANIMALS.

Bonaventure d'Argonne says, ''Doubt-
ing the truth of those who say it is natural
for us to love music, especially the sounds
of iustruments, and that beasts are touched
with it, I one day, being in the country,
endeavoured to determine the point ; and,
while a man was playing on the trump
marine, made my observations on a cat, a
dog, a horse, an ass, a hind, cows, small
birds, and a cock and hens, who were in a
vard, under a window on which I was
leaning. 1 did not perceive that the cat
was the least affected ; and I even judged,
by her air, that she would have given all
the instruments in the woild for a mouse,
sleeping itj the sun all the time ; the horse
stopped short from time to time before the
window, lifting his head up now and then,
as he was feeding on the grass; the dog
continued for above an hour seated on his
hind legs, looking steadfastly at the player ;
the ass clid not discover the least indicatiop of
his being touched, eating his thistles peace-
ably; the hind lifted up her large wide
ears, and seemed very attentive ; the cows
ilept a little, and after gazing as though
they had been acquainted with us, went
forward : some birds who were in an aviary,
and others on the trees and bushes, almost
tore their throats with singing; but the
cock, who minded only his hens, and the
hens, who were solely employed in scraping
on a neighbouring dungnill, did not show^
m any manner that they took the least plea-
uie in hearing the trump marine."

IRISHMEN ON A HOLIDAY.

When they met at a '• pattern/' (patron,
perhaps,) or merry-making, the lively dance
of the girls, and the galloping jig-note of
the bagpipes, usually gave place to the
clattering of alpeens, and the whoops of
onslauffht ; when one of them sold his pig,
or, under Providence, his cow, at the rair,
the kicking up of a "scrimmage,** or at
least the plunging head foremost into one,
was as much matter of course as the. long
draughts of ale or whiskey that closed his
mercant'ile transaction. At the village
hurling-match, the " hurlet," or crooked
stick, with which they struck the ball, often
changed its playful utility ; nay, at a fune-
ral, the body was scarce laid in the erave,
when the voice of petty discord might be
heard above the grave's silence.

These contentions, like all great events,
generally arose from very trivial causes.
A drunken fellow, for instance, was in a
strange public-house ; he could not content
himself with the new faces near him, so
struck at some three, six, or ten, as it might
be ; and, in course, got soundly drubbed.
On his return home he related his case of
injury, exhibitir*^ his closed eye, battered
mouth, or remnant of nose ; enlisting all his
relatives, *' kith-and-kin ;" in fact, all his
neiffhbours who liked " a bit of diversion,"
and they gen<!rally included the whole male
population able tn bear arms. At the head
of his faction he attended the next fair, or
other place of popular resort, where he
might expect to meet his foes ; the noise of
his muster went abroad, or he sent a pre-
vious challenge : the opposite party assem-
bled in as much force as possible, never
declining the encounter ; one or other side
was beaten, and tried to avenge its disgrace
on the first opportunity ; defeat again fol-
lowed, and again produced like efforts and
results; and thus the solemn feud ran
through a number of years and several
generations.

A wicked, '* devil-may-care*' fellow, fever-
ish for sport, would, at fair, pattern, or
funeral, sometimes smite another without
any provocation, merely to create a riot ;
the standers-by would take different sides,
as their taste or connections inclined them ;
and the fray, thus commencing between
two individuals who owed each other no
ill-will, embroiled half the assembled con-
course. Nay, a youth, in despair that so
fine a multitude was likely to separate
peaceably, stripped off his heavy outside
coat, and trailed it through the puddle,
dar:ig any of the lookers on lo tread uwm

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It ; bis defiance was rarely ineffectual ; he
knocked down, if possible, ihe invited
offender; a general battle ensued, that
soon spread like wild-fire, and every '* aU
peen*' was at work in senseless clatter and
unimaginable hostility.

The occurrence of the word **alpecn"
seems to suggest a description of the weapon
of which it is the name, and this can best
be eiven in a piece of biographical anecdote.

Jack Mullally still lives in fame, though
his valiant bones are dust. He was the
landlord of a public^house in a mountain
district; a chivalrous fellow, a righter of
wrongs, the leader of a faction of desperate
fighting men, and, like Arthur, with his
doughty knights, a match for any four
among them, though each a hero; and,
above all, the armourer of his depaitment.
In Jack's cbimbey-corner hung bundles of
sticks, suspended there for the purpose of
being dried and seasoned ; and these were
of two descriptions of warlike weapons;
shortish oaken cudgels, to be used as quar-
ter-staves, or, par exeellenccj genuine shiU
^laghs ; and the alpeens themselves, — long
wattles wiih heavy knobs at the ends, to be
wielded with both hands, and competent,
under good guidance, to the felling of a
reasonable ox.

Jack and his subjects. Jack and his
alpeens, were rarely absent from any f^ir
within twenty miles, having always business
on hands in the way of their association.
When a skirmish took place, the side that
could enlist in its interests Jack, his alpeens,
and his merry men, was sure of victory.
The patriarch was generally to be found
seatea by his kitchen fire ; business was
beneath him ; he left all that to the " vani-
thee ;'* and his hours lapsed, when matters
of moment did not warn him to the field,
either in wetting his sticks with a damp
cloth, and then heating them over the turf
blaze, to give them the proper curve ; or, in
teaching a pet starling to s|>eak Irish, and
whistle *' Shaun Buoy ;*' or, haply, in im-
bibing his own ale or whiskey, and smoking
his short black pipe, or doohdeeii^ as himself
termed it. And here he g^ve audience to
the numt;rous suitors and ambassadors who,
day by day, came to seek his aid, prepara-
tory to a concerted engagement. His an-
swer was never hastily rendered. He pro-
mised, at all events, to be with his corps at
the appointed ground ; and then and there
he would proclaim of which side he was the
lily. This precautionary course became
the more advisable, as he was always sute
of a request from both factions ; and time,
forethought, and inquiry, were necessaiy

to ascertain which side might prove the
weakest ; for to the weakest (the most a^
grieved formed no part of his calculations
Jack invariably extended his patronage.

The vaidthee^ good woman, when she
heard of an approaching fair, or other
popular meeting, immediately set about
preparing plasters and ointments; and
this resulted from a thrifty forecast; ibr
were she to call in a doctor every time her
husband's head wanted piecing, it would
run away wiih the profits of her business.
Jack, indeed, never forgot his dignity so fiir
as to inform his wife that he intended being
engaged on such occasions ; but she always
took it for granted, and with the bustle of
a good housewife, set about her prepara*
tions accordingly : till, at length, a breach
happened in his skull which set her art at
defiance ; and ever since she lives the sole,
proprietor of th^ public-house where Jack
once reigned in glory. The poor widow
has thriven since her husband's death; and
is now rich, not having lately had Jack's
assistance in spending, (she never had it in
earning.) She recounts his exploits with
modest spirit; and one blessing at least
has resulted from her former matronly care
of the good man — she is the Lady Bounti^
ful of her distuct ; a quark it may be, yet
sufiiciently skilful for the uncomplicated
ailments of her country customers.*

LONDON HOLIDAYS.

Holidays, like all other natural and lively
things, are good things ; and the abuse
does not argue against the use. They
serve to keep people in 'mind that there is
a green and glad world, as well as a world
of brick and mortar and money-getting.
They remind them disinterestedly of one
another, or that they have other things to
interchange besides bills and commodities.
If it were not for holidays and poetry, and
such like stumbling blocks to square-toes,
there would be no getting out of the vay
of care and common-places.— They keep
the world fresh for improvement. The
great abuse of holidays is when they are
4oo few. There are offices, we understand,
in the city, in which, with the exception of
Sundays, people have but one holiday or so
throughout the year, which appears to us a
very melancholy hilarity. It is like a sinele
living thing in a solitude, which only adds
to the soliuriness. A clerk issuing forth
on his exclusive Good Friday must in vain

' o T»3w of tb« O'Hara Fmu1|& fSrtt 8mim,

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attempt to be merry, unless he is a Tery
aierry person at other times. He must be
oppressed with a sense of all the rest of the
vear. He cannot have time to smile be-
lore he has to be grave again. It is a differ-
ence, a dream, a wrench, a lay-sabbath,
any thing but a holiday. There was a
Greek philosopher, who, when he was
asked on his death-bed what return could
be made him for the good he had done his
country, requested that all the little boys
might have a holiday on the anniversary of
his birth-day. Doubtless they bad many
besides, and yet he would give them an-
other. When we were at school, we had a
holiday on every saint's day, and this was
pretty nearly all that we, or, indeed, any
one else, knew of some of those blessed
names in the calendar. When we came to
know that they had earned this pleasure
for us by martyrdom and torment, we con-
gratulated ourselves that we had not known
ft sooner ; and yet, upon the principle of
Jie Greek philosopher, perhaps a true lover
of mannikm-kind would hardly object to
have his old age burnt out at the stake, if
he oould secure to thousands hereafter the
beatitude of a summer's holiday.*

THE HUSBANDMEN OF HINDU.

They are generally termed Koonbees,
and on the whole they are better informed
than the lower classes of our own country-
men; they certainly far surpass them in
propriety and orderliness of demeanour.
They are mild and unobtrusive in their
manners, and quickly shrink from any thing
like an opposite behaviour in others. Liti-
gation is not a marked part of their charac-
ter. They are forgetful of injury; or if
they harbour animosity, they are seldom
hCirried by it into acts of violence or cruelty.
Custom has taught them not to have much
respect for their women, or rather, indeed,
to look on them with contempt; but they
are always indulgent to them, and never
put any restraint on their liberty. The

Seat attachment they have to their children
rms an amiable part of their character.
They are usually frugal, inclining to parsi.
mony, and not improvident ; but at their
marriage feasts they are lavish and profuse,
and on these and other occasions often con-
tract debts that are a burden to them for
life. Their religion strongly enjoins chanty,
and they are disposed to be hospiuble, but
tteir extreme poverty is a bar to their being

« Utnmif Poelut Book

extensively so. No person, however, wo'ild
ever be in want of a meal amongst them,
and they are always kind and attentive to
strangers when there is nothing offensive in
their manners. They are just in their deal-
ings amongst themselves, but would not be
scrupulous in overreaching government or
those without. Theft is scarcely known
amongst them, and the voice of the com-
munity is loud against all breaches of de-
corum, and attaches weight and respecta-
bility to virtuous conduct in its members.
The vices of this people, which they owe
chiefly to their government, are dissimula-
tion, cunning, and a disregard to truth.
They are naturally timid, and will endea-
vour to redress their wrongs rather by
stratagem than more generous means; when
roused, however, they will be found not
without courage, nor by any means con-
temptible enemies. Although not remark-
able for sharpness, they are not Wanting in
intelligence. They are all minutely informed
in every thing that relates to their own call-
ing. They are fond of conversation, discuss
the merits of different modes of agricul-
ture, the characters of their neighbours, and
every thing that relates to the concerns of
the community, and many of them are not
without a tolerable knowledge of the lead-
ingevents of the history of their country.
The Hindu husbandman rises at cock
crow, washes his hands, feet, and face, re-
peats the names of some of, his gods, and
perhaps takes a whiff of his pipe or a quid
of tobacco, and is now ready to begin his
labour. He lets loose his oxen, and drives
them leisurely to his fields, allowing them
to graze, if there is any grass on the ground,
as they go along, and takes his breakfast
with him tied up in a dirty cloth, or it is
sent after him by one of his children, and
consisu of a cake (made unleavened of the
flour of Badjeree or Juwaree,) and some of
the cookery of the preceding day, or an
onion or two. On reaching his field it is
perhaps seven or eight o'clock; he yokes
nis oxen, if any of the operations of hus-
bandry require it, and works for an hour or
two, then squats down and takes his break-
fiist, but without loosing his cattle. He re-
sumes his work in a quarter of an hour,
and goes on till near twelve o'clock, when
his wife arrives with his dinner. He then
unyokes his oxen, drives them to drink, and
allows them to graze or gives them straw ;
and takes his dinner by the side of a well
or a stream, or under the shade of a tree if
there happens to be one, and is waited on
during his meal by his wife. After his
dinner he is joined by any of his fellow

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Ubourera who may be near, and after a
chat takes a nap on his spread cuinley or
jota for half an hour, while his, wife eats
what he has left. He yokes his cattle again
about two or half-past two o'clock, and
works till sunset, when he proceeds leisurely
home, ties up and feeds his oxen, then goes
himself to a brook, bathes and washe8> or
has hot water thrown over him by his wife
at home. After his ablutions, and perhaps
on holidays anointing himself with sandal
wood oil, he prays before his household
gods, and often visits one or more of the
village temples. His wife bv this time has
prepared his supper, which he takes in
company with tne males of the ftimily.
His principal enjoyment seems to be be-
tween this meal and bed-time, which is nine
or ten o'clock. He now fondles and plays
with his children, visits or is visited by his
neighbours, and converses about the labour
3f the day and concerns of the village,
either in the open air or by the glimmering
light of a lamp, learns from the shopkeeper
or beadle what strangers have passed or
stopped at the village, and their history,
ana from any of the community that may
have been at the city (Poohnah) what news
he. has brought. In the less busy times,
which are two or three months in the year,
the cultivators take their meals at home,
and have sufficient leisure for amusement.
They then sit in groups in the shade and
converse, visit their friends in the neigh-
bouring villages, go on pilgrimages, fcc. &c.
The women of the cultivators, like those
of other Asiatics, are seldom the subject of
gallantry, and are looked on rather as a
part of their live stock than as companions,
and vet, contrary to what might be expect-
ed, their condition seems far from being
unhappy. The law allows a husband to
) beat nis wife, and for infidelity to maim her
or else put her to death ; but these severi-
ties are seldom resorted to, and rarely any
sort of harsh behaviour. A man is despised
who is seen much in company with women.
A wife, therefore, never looks for any fond-
ling from her husband ; it is thought un-
becoming in him even to mention her name,
and she is never allowed to eat in company
with him, from the time of their wedding
dinner ; but patiently waits on him during
his meals, and makes her repast on what he
leaves. But setting aside these marks of
contempt, she is always treated with kind-
ness and forbearance, unless her conduct is
very perverse and bad, and she has her
entire Ifoeriy. The women have generally
the sole direction of household affairs, and
if dever, notwithstanding all their disad-

vantages, not unfrequentlv gam as great an
ascendancy over their lords as in other parts
of the world.*

ROUND ROBIN.

It was customary among the ancients to
write names, whether of the gods, or of
their friends, in a circle, that none might
take offence at seeing another's name pre-
ferred to his own. The Cordeliers have
formerly been known to have paid the same
attention to delicacy, and when a pope has
demanded the names of some priests of
their order, that one might be raised to the
purple, they have sent those names written
circularly, that they might not seem to re-
commend one more than another. The
race of sailors are the only people who
preserve this very ancient custom in its
purity, for when any remonstrance is on
foot among them, they sign it in a circle
and call it a round robin.

NAMES.

Toward tne middle of the fifteenth cen-
tury, it was the fancy of the wits and
learned men of the age, particularly in
Italy, to diange their baptismal names for
classical ones. As Sannazarius, for instance,
who altered his own plaic name *< Jacopo "
to ^ Actius Syncerus.'^ Numbers did the
same, and among the rest, Platina the his-
torian, at Rome, who, not without a solemn
ceremonial, took the name of ** Callima-
chus," instead of " Philip.- Pope Paul
II., who reigned about that time, unluckily
chanced to be suspicious, illiterate, and
heavy of comprehension. He had no idea
that persons could wish to alter their names,
unless they had some bad design, and
actually scrupled not to employ imprison*
ment,and other violent methods, to discovet
the fancied mystery. Platina vras most
cruelly tortured on this frivolous account ;
he had nothing to confess, so the pope, after
endeavouring in vain to convict him of
heresT, sedition, Sec. released him, after a
long imprisonment.

Formerly there were many persons snr-
naroed DniL In an old book, the tit'e of
which does not recur, mention is made
of one Rogeriut Diabolui, lord of Mon-
tresor.

« Mr. CofttM in Traac Bombay LiLSm.

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An English monk, ** \ iilelmus, cogno-
iDento Diabolus," and another pcnoo,
** lluffhes 1e Diable, lord of Lusignan."

Robert, duke of Normandy, son to Wil-
liam the Conqueror, was sumamed *' the
Devil.-

In Norway and Sweden there were two
fiimilies of the name of '* Trolle,'' in Eng-
lish *' DeTil/' and every branch of these
families had an emblem of the ^ Devil ^
for their coat of arms.

In Utrecht there was a family of *' Teu-
fels,** or '* Devils,*' and another in Brittany
named " Diable."

A SEA BULL.

An Irishman, who served on board a
man of war in the capacity of a waister,
was selected by one of the officers to haul
in a tow-line of considerable length, which
was towing over the tafrail. After rowsing
in forty or fifty fathoms, which had put his
patience severely to proof, as well as every
muscle of his arms, he muttered to himself,
** Sure, it's as long as to day and to-mor-
row I It*s a good week's work for any five
in the ship! — Bad luck to the arm or leg
it'll leave me at last! — What I more of it
yet ! — Och, murder ; tlie sa*8 mighty deep
to be sure I" — After continiiing in a similar
strain, and conceiving there was little pro-
bability of the completion of hb lalH>ur^
he suddenly stopped short, and addressing
the officer of the watch, exclaimed, *' Bad
manners to me, sir, if I don't think some-
body's cut off the other end of itT

CHEERFUL FUNERAL.

Lodovick Cortusius, an eminent lawyer,
who died at Padua on the 15th of July,
1518, when upon his death-bed forbad his
relations to sned tears at his funeral, and
even put his heir under a heavy penalty if
he neglected to perform his orders. On the
other hand, he ordered musicians, singers,
pipers, and fiddlers, of all kinds, to supply
the place of mourners, and directed that
fifty of them should walk before his corpse
with the clergymen, playing upon their
several instruments ; for thi« service he or-
dered each of them half a ducat. He like-
wise appointed twelve maids in green habits
to carry his corpse to the church of St.
Sophia, where he was buried, and that tl.ej

too as they went along should sing tloud
having each of them, as a recompense, a
handsome sum of money allotted for a por-
tion. All the clergy of Padua marched
before in long procession, together with all
the monks of the convent, except those
wearing black habits, whom he expressly
exclud«l by his will, lest the blackness of
their hoods should throw a gloom upon the
cheerfulness of the procession.

ANECDOTE,

Charles I. and Parliaments.

Mr. Pye, the late poet laureate, in bit
** Sketches," savs, " When I was at Ox-
ford, my tutor having the revisal of some
papers relative to the civil war, (I know
not if they have been published,) showed
me a letter from one of the king's secreta-
ries, with remarks on the margin in the
king's own handwriting. One expression
particularly struck me, as seeming to show
nis determination to lay aside the use of
parliaments. The paper was a circular re*
quest to some of the counties for their
pecuniary assistance, I believe on the Scots'
invasion. The words were, as nearly as
I can recollect, (sixteen years having
elapsed since I saw the letter,) * Youi
obliging me in this instance will induce me
to ask your aid in a manner more agreeable
to yourselves.' These words had a line
drawn through them ; and there was written
on the margin, in the king's hand : ' I have
scoREo out these words, as they seem to
imply a promise of calling a parliament, of
which I have no intention.' "

THE YANKEE CAUGHT IN HIS OWN
TRAP.

For the Table Booh.

A Pmt— an odd joker— and YaaiMO mora df ,
Onee ridiof together, a jrallowa paasM by :
Said the Yaakee to Pat, ** If I doQ*t make too f roe,
Oive that gallows its due, pray where th«i woald yot

ber
*• Whj honey;* said Pat, « faith that's earilf knowa
I'd b« riding to town— by mjtelf— all alone."

Sax Sav'» So«

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BRIDGB ON THE ROAD TO BECKENHAM.

— Ancient Charity let flow this brook
Across the road, for sheep and beggar^men
To cool their weary feet, and slake their thirst

On our way from Penge,* W. thought
this object worth sketching. He occupied
himself with his pencil, and I aroused
myself with dropping grains of dust among
a fleet of tadpoles on the yellow sands,
and watching their motions : a few inches
from them, in a clearer shallow, lay a shoal
of stickle-backs as on their Dogrger-bank :
a thread and a blood- worm, and the absence
of my friend, and of certain feelings in
behalf of the worms, would have aflbrded
me excellent sport. The rivulet crosses the
road from a meadow, where I heard it in
iU narrow channel, and mattering inwardly

** the rapids are near,** from the ** Csni^
dian Boat-song," I fell into a reverie on
Wilson's magnificent painting of the falls
of Niagara, in Mr. Landseer*8 painting-
room. While I seated myself by the way-
side, and, among ground-ivy and periwinkle,
discriminating the diminutive forms of trees
in the varied mosses of an old bank, I
recollected descriptions I had read o!
transatlantic scenery, and the gigantic
vegetation on the Ohio and Mississipi.

A labourer told us, that this little brook is
called " Chaffinch's River," and that i(
springs from <* the Alders," near Croydon,
and runs into the Raveosbonme.

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No. XX.

I From " Bussy D'Ambois his RevcfUfe," a
Tragedy, by Georfl^e Chapman, 1613.]

Pknfi and Player*,

(hd$e. — I would hare thaw \hngB
firoofht npon Stages, to let mighty Misers
See all their frave and serious mischiefs plajr*d«
As OBoe they were in Athens and old Rome.

ClermoiU. Na j, we must bow have aothiaf bvoachl
oaStafca
Bot puppetry, and pied ridiculous antics.
Men thither come to laugh, and feed fbotlat ;
Cheek at all goodness there, as being profaned t
When, wheresoerer Goodness comes, she makei
The place still sacred, though with other feet
Nerer so much *tis seaadal'd and polluted.
Let me learn any thing, that Ats a man.
In any Stables shewn, as well as Stages.-*

Ai/iyny Why, iaaot aU the World eeteem'd a Sttftf

ChrmamL Yen. and right worthily ; nad Stnfss to*
Have a respect doe to them, if bot only
For what the good Oreek Moraliat says of Asm •
** Is a man proud of greatnees, or of riehsa f
OiTO me an eipert Actor ; I'll shew all
rhat ean within his grsatost glory Call ;
s a man *fraid with poTorty nnd lowaoss ?
Give me an Actor ; 1*11 shew erary ey«
What he laments so, nnd so much does Ay t
The best nnd worst of both.**— If but for this thea.
To make the proudest outside, that most swells
With things without him, nnd abore his worth.
See how small cause he has to be so blown np {
And the most poor man, to be grier'd with poorness;
BoUi being so endly borne by expert Actors :
The Stage and Actors are not so ountemptfnl*
As erery innomting Puritan,
And ignomnt Swearer out of jealous enry.
Would hare the world imaglno. Andbesidos
That aU things haTO been liken'd to the mirtk
Used upon Stages, and to Stages fitted ;
Tke SpknetiTe Philosopher, that srer
l«ngh*d nt tkom nil, were worthy the SBstngiagi
AU olQeots, were they n«*sr so full of tears.
He so oonoeited, that he could distill thenoo
Matter, that still fed his ridiculous humonr.
Heard he a Lawyer, never so vehement plsadbr
He stood and laugh'd. Heard he a Tradesman, sweai*

Nsrer so thriftily, selling of his wares^

He stood and bugh*d. Heard he a Holy Brother,

For hollow ostentation, nt his prayers

Ne'er so impetuously, he stood and laogVd.

Saw he a Great Man, never so insulting.

Severely infliotng, gravely giving Inws,

Not for their good but hit— he stood and langh'd.

Saw ho a Youthful Widow,

Never so weeping, wringing of her hnnda

For her dead Lord, stiU the Philosopher langh'd.—

Now, whether he supposed all these Pra

Were only mnskeries, and wore false faecal
Or else were simply vun, I take no care :
But still he langh'd, how grave soe'c they w

StoieUm,

in this one thing all the discipline

Of manners and of manhood is eontain'd ;
A Man to join himself with the Universe
In his main sway; and make (in all things fit)
One with that All ; and go on, round as it x
Not plucking from the whole his wretched part.
And into straits, or into nought revert ;
Wishing the complete Universe might be
Subject to such a rag of it as He.

Jpparitiofu before the Bodye Death
ScoTicE, Second Sight,

these true Shadows of the Guiee and CardinnI,

Fore-running thus their Bodies, may approve^
That all things to he done, as bexv we live.
Are done before aU times in th* other life.

[From *' Satiromastix," a Comedy, by Tho-
mas Decker, 1602: in which Beo Jon-
son, under the name of Horace, is repre-
hended, in retaliation of his *' Poetaster;"*
in which h6 had attacked ;wo of his
Brother Dramatists, probably Marston
and Decker, under the names of Crispi
nus and Demetrius.]

ITeraee. What could I do, out of a just revengs.
But bring them to the Stage ? they envy me.
Because I hold more worthy company.

Jkautnmi. Good Boraoe, no; my cheeks do blush

As often ns thou speaks't so. Where one trae
And nobly^rtnons spirit for thy best part
Loves thee, I wish one ten even fn *« mjf heart.
I make account I put up ns deep share
In any good man*s love, which thy worth owns.
As thou thyself; we envy not to see
Thy friends with bays to crown thy Poesy.
No, here the gall lies { we that know what stuff
Thy very heart is made of^ know the staJk
On which thy learning grows, and oaa give lifo
To thy (onee dyinR) baseness, yet must we
Dsace antics on thy paper.

Criifrtaiif. This makes us angry, but not envums.
No ; were thy warpt scnl put m a new mould,
rd wear thee as a jewel set in gokl.

a Comedjy hj

pFrom the ^Antipodes,"
Richard Brome, 1633.]

Direeiiom to Plajfete.

NMemmu My actors

Are aU in readiness, and I think all perfoe^
Bnt one, that never will be perlcct in a thirg

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fla Btndies ; /et he makes sach ehifts eztenipore.
Knowing the purpose wKat he U to s^hk to),
That hb taorH mirth in me ^bove bU the rat
Kor I am none of those Pbetie Furies,
rhat threat* the actor's life, in a whole Plaj
fhat adds a gjUnble, or tekes away.
}f he eaa fKbble thnmgh, and nove delight
In edMi%, I am I>feased4-^ • • • •
Let me not tee yon now,

[n the ncholastid way jroa brooght to torn with .yM*
With ae»«aw saek-a^own, like a sawjer ;
Nor ia a eomieseeoe plaj Hercules Fareai*
rearing jonr throat to split the audieats* eMto|<—
And yon, 8tr« yon had got a trick of late
Of holding out yo«r breech ia a set speech {
Yonr fingers fibnlatiag on your breaat.
As if yonr buttons or yonr baadstrings wen
Helps to yonr memory ; let me see you ia't
No morti, I chArge yon. No, nor yon. Sir,
In that o'er'astion of yonr legs I told yon of,
Yonr singlM and yonr donbles— look yon — tiia»—
Like ofte of the dsncing-masters of the bear*garden |
And when you've spoke, at ecd of every speech,
Not mindisg the reply, yoa tarn yon ronnd
As tnmblers do, when betwixt ^very feat
They gather wind by firking up their breechet.
I'll none of these absurdities in my house ;
But wohis and actions manr^ed so together.
That sliall strike harmony in the ears and eyes
Of the severest, if jndieions, critics.

Ptayen. My Lord, we are corrected.

Nobtema^. Go, be ready.—
Bat yo«i. Sir, are iacorrigiblet n&d
Take licence to yonraelf to add noto
Your parts yonr own fne fstaey ; and sometunea
To alter or diminish what the writer
With eare and skill composed ; and when yon are
To speak to yonr Co-actors in the scene.
You hold interloqntions with the andients.

Playmr, That is a way, my L«rd^ has been allowed
On elder stages, to move mirth and laughter.

NohUmmm. Yen, b the days of Tarleton and Kemp,
Before the Stage was purged from barbarism*
And brought to the perfection it now bhince with.
Then Fools and Jesters spent their wits, becanae
The Poets were wise teongh to save their own
For profitablsr nses.^'

C.L.

THE DWER OF CHARYBDI&

To the Editor,

Sif, — ^Mh Brydone, ifi the quotations yoit
ha^e made,^ appears to doubt the accuracr
ot the stories relating to Gbarybdis. I
never retollect to have heard mention of
tlie name of Colus, but slpprehend he WaS
the same as the fiimous Sicilian diter,
Nicolo I^esce. Associated with Charybdis,

^ At page 643, &o.

some notice of this extraordinary man may
not be uninteresting.

The authenticity of this account depends
eiltirely on the authority of Kircher. He
assures us, he had it from the archives of
the kings of Sicily ; but its having so much
of the marvellous in it, many have been
disposed to doubt its accuracy. Historians
are too fond of fiction, but we should by
no means doubt their sincerity, when we
find them on other subjects not contempti-
ble authorities.

" In the time of Frederic, king of Sicily,
(says Kircher,) there lived a celebrated
diver, whose name was Nichokts^ and who,
from his amazing skill in swimming, and
his perseverance under the water, was sur-
named the fish. This man had from his
infancy been used to the sea ; and earned
his scanty subsistence by diving for corals
and oysters, which be sold to the villagers
on shore. His long acquaintance with the
sea at last brought it to be almost bis
natural element. He was frequently known
to spend five days in the midst of the
waves, without any other provisions than
the fish which he ca(ught there, and ate raw.
He often swam over from Sicily into Cala-
bria, a tempestuous and dangerous passage,
carrying letters from the king. He was
frequently known to swim among the
gulf^ of Lipariy no way apprehensive of
danger.

*' Some mariners out at sea one day
observing something at a distance from
them, regarded it as a sea-monster; but
upon its approach it was known to be
Nicholas, whom they took into their ship.
When they asked him whither he was going
in so stormy and rough a sea, and at such
a distance fihom lahd, he showed them a
packet of letters, which he was carrying to
one of the towns of Italy, exactly done up
in a leather bag, in such a manner that
they could not be wetted by the sea. He
kept them company for some time in their
voyage, conversing and asking qnestioiis,
and, after eating with them, took his leave,
and jumping into the sea, pursued his
voyage alone.

" In order to aid these povtrers of etldur-
ing in the deep, nature seemed to have
assisted him in a very ettraofdinary man-
ner; for the spaties between his ftngers and
toes were weobed as in a goose : and his
chest became so very capacious, that he
tvas dble, at ofie inspifiltion, to take in as
much breath as t(ronld serve him a whole
day.

" The account 6f so extraordinanr a per.
ton did not fail to reach the king himself;

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who commanded Nicholas to be brought
l)efore him. It was no easy matter to fuid
Nicholas, who generally spent his time in
the solitudes of the deep; but, at last, after
much searchinj?, he was discovered, and
Drought before his majesty. The curiosity of
this monarch had long been excited by the
accounts he had heard of the bottom of the
gulf of Charybdis ; he now therefore con-
ceived that it would be a proper oppor-
tunity to obtain more certain information.
He therefore commanded the poor diver to
examine the bottom of this dreadful whirl-
pool ; and, as an incitement to his obedi-
ence, he ovdered a golden cup to be thrown
into it. Nicholas was not insensible of the
danger to which he was exposed ; dangers
best known only to himself, and therefore
he presumed to remonstrate ; but the hopes
I of the reward^ the desire of pleasing the
I kmg, and the pleasure of showmg his skill,
I at last prevailed. He instantly jumped
i into the gulf, and was as instantly swal-
i lowed up in its bosom. He continued for
I three quarters of an hour below, during
' which time the king and his attendants re-
mained on shore anxious for his fkte : but
he at last appeared, holding the cup in
triumph in one hand, and making his way
good among the waves with the other. It
may be supposed he was received with
applause when he came on shore ; the cup
was made the reward of his adventure ; the
king ordered him to be taken proper care
of; and, as he was somewhat fatigued and
debilitated with his labour, after a hearty
meal he was put to bed, and permitted to
refresh himself with sleeping.

<< When his spirits were thus restored,
he was again brought before the king, to
satisfy his curiosity with a narrative of the
wonders he bad seen; and his account
was to the following effect : — He would
never, he said, have obeyed the king*s
commands, had he been apprized of half
the dangers that were before him. There
were four things, he said, which rendered
the gulf dreadful, not only to men but to
the nshes themselves. 1 . The force of the
water bursting up from the bottom, which
required great strength to resist. 2. The
abruptness of the rocks, which on every
side threatened destruction. 3. The force
of the whirlpool dashing against these
t>cks. And, 4. The number and magni-
tude of the polypous fish, some of which
appeared as large as a man ; and which,
every where sticking against the rocks
projected their fibrous arms to entangle
Dim. Being asked, how he was able so
readily to find the cup that had been thrown

in, he replied, that it happened to ne flung
by the waves into the cavity of a rock
against which he himself was urged in ta
descent. This account, however, did n4
satisfy the king's curiosity. Being tequect-
ed once more to venture into the gulf fof
further discoveries, he at first refus^ : bu
the kinff, desirous of having the most accu-
rate information possible of all things to be
found in the gulf, repeated his solicita-
tions; and to give them greater weight,
produced a larger cup than the former, and
added also a purse of gold. Upon these
considerations the unfortunate diver once
again plunged into the whirlpool, and wa.«i
never heard of more."

This is Kircher*s account, some asser-
tions of whom will undoubtedly excite in-
credibility in the minds of all. I do not
wish to offer any remarks, but leave your
readers to form their own opinions.

People, by being accustomed to the
water from their infancy, may often, at
length, not only be enabled to stay much
longer under water, but putting on a kind
of amphibious nature, have the use of all
their iacuUies as well under the water as
on the dry land. Most savage nations are
remarkable for this; and, even among ci*
vilized nations, many persons are found
capable of continuing submerged for an
inciedible time.

I am, &c.

A. B.

Hacknejf, Mmf, 18S7.

COUNTRY LITTLE KNOWN.

We have to inform the public of a re-
markable discovery, which, though partially
disclosed by former travellers, has still
remained, for the most part, a strange
secret It is this ; — that tnere is actually,
at this present moment, and in this our own
beautiful country of Great Britain, a large
tract of territory, which to nine hundred
and ninety-nine thousandths of our beloved
countrymen is as much an undiscovered
land as the other end of New South Wales,
or the Pole which they have gone to find
out. We have read of places in romance,
which were more shut out by magic from
people's eyes, though close to them, than if
a fifty-foot wall encircled them. It would
seem as if some such supernatural prohibi-
tion existed with regard to the land in
question ; for the extremities of it reach to
within a short distance from the metropolis,
which it surrounds on all sides ; najf, we
have heard of persons riding through it.

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withoat seeinf any thing but a sign-post or
Bome corn ; and yet it is so beautiful, that
E is called emphatically '< the country."

It abounds in the finest natural produo-
lions. The more majestic parts of it are at
a distance, but the zealous explorer may
come upon its gentler beauties in an incredi-
oly short time. Its pastures and cattle are
admirable. Deer are to be met with in the
course of half a day's journey ; and the
tra? eller is accompanied, wherever he goes,
with the music of singing birds. Imme-
diately towards the south is a noble river,
which brings you to an upland of the most
luxuriant description, looking in the water
like a rich^haired beauty in her glass : yet
the place is in general solitary. Towards
the north, at a less distance, are some other
billy spots of ground, which partake more
of the rudely romantic, running however
into scenes of the like syWan elegance ;
and yet these are still more solitary, llie
inhabitants of these lands, called the coun-
try-people, seem, in truth, pretty nearly as
blind to their merits as those who never see
them ; but their perceptions will doubtless
increase, in proportion as their polished
neighbours set the example. It should be
said for them, that some causes, with which
we have nothing to do in this place, have
rendered them duller to such impressions
than they appear to have been a century or
two ago ; but we repeat, that ihey will not
liTe in such scenes to no purpose, if those
who know better take an interest in their
improvement. Their children have an in-
stinct that is wiser, till domestic cares do it
away. They may be seen in the fields and
green lanes, with their curly locks and
brown faces, gathering the Howers which
abound there, and the names of which are
IS pretty as the shapes and colours. Tliey
aie called wild roses, primroses, violets, the
!ose campion, germander, stellaria, wild
Anemone, bird's-eye, daisies and bulter-
fups, lady-smocks, ground-ivy, hare-bells
or blue-bells, wake-robin, lillies of the val-
ley, &c. &c. The trees are oaks, elms,
birches, ash, poplar, willow, wild cheny,
the flowering may-bush, &c. &c. all, in
short, that we dote upon in pictures, and
wish that we had about us when it is hot
in Cheapside and Bond-street. It is per-
fectly transporting, in fine weather, like the
present for instance, to lounge under the
nedge-row elms m one of these sylvan
places, and see the light smoke of the cot-
tages fuming up among the ^een trees, the
cattle grazing or lying about with a heavy
placidity accordant to the time and scene,
' Dainted iays ** glancing about the glens.

the gentle hills sloping down into water,
the winding embowered lanes, the leafy
and flowery banks, the green oaks against
the blue sky, their ivied trunks, the silver-
bodied and young-haired birches, and the
mossy grass treble-carpeted after the vernal
rains. Transporting is it to see all this ;
and transporting to hear the linnets, thrush-
es, and blackbirds, the grave gladness ot
the bee, and the stock-dove ** brooding ovet
her own sweet voice.'* And more trans
porting than all is it to be in such places
with a friend, that feels like ourselves, in
whose heart and eyes (especially if they
have fair lids) we may see all our own
happiness doubled, as the landscape itsell
is reflected in tlie waters.*

SPECTROLOGY.
A Remarkable Narrative.

Nicolai, the celebrated German book-
seller, a member of the royal society of
Berlin, presented to that institution a me-
moir on the subject of a complaint with
which he was affected, and one of the sin-
gular consequences of which was, the re-
presentation of various spectres. M. Nicolai
for some years had been subject to a con-
gestion in the head, and was blooded
frequently for it by leeches. After a de-
tailed account of the state of his health, on
which he grounds much medical as well as
pychological reasoning, he gives the fol-
lowing interesting narrative : —

In the first two months of the year 1791,
I was much afiected in my mind by several
incidents of a very dickgreeable nature,
and on the 24th of February a circumstance
occurred which irritated me extremely. At
ten o'clock in the forenoon my wife and
another person came to console me ; I was
in a violent perturbation of mind, owing to
a series of incidents which had altogether
wounded my moral feelings, and from which
I saw no possibility of relief: when sud-
denly I observed at the distance of ten
paces from me a figure — the figure of a
deceased person. I pointed at it, and
asked my wife whethef she did not see it.
She saw nothing, but being much alarmed
endeavoured to compose me, and sent foi i
the physician. The figure remained some i
seven or eight minutes, and at length I be-
came a little more calm; and as I was;
extremely exhausted, I soon afterwards fell
into a troubled kind of slumber, which

• The Indicator.

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lasted for half an hour. The vision was
ascribed to the great agitation of mind in
which I had been, and it was supposed I
should have nothing more to apprehend
from that cause; but the violent affection
having put my nerves into soma unnalural
state, from this arose further consequences,
which require a more detailed description.

In the afternoon, a little after four o*clock,
the figure which I had seen in the morning
again appeared. I was alone when this
happened ; a circumstance which, as may
be easily conceived, could not be very
agreeable. I went iheiefore to the apart-
ment of my wife, to whom I related it.
But thither also the figure pursued me.
Sometimes it was present, sometimes it
vanished; but it was always the same
standing figure. A little after six o'clock
several stalking figures also appeared ; but
they had no connection with tne standing
figure. I can assign no other reason for
this apparition than that, though much more
composed in my mind, I had not been able
so soon entirely to forget the cause of such
deep and distressing vexation, and had re-
flected on the consequences of it, in order«
if possible, to avoid them ; and that this
happened three hours after dinner, at the
time when the digestion just begins.

At length I became more composed with
respect to the disagreeable incioent which
had given rise to the first apparition ; but
though I had used very excellent medicines,
and found myself in other respects perfectly
well, yet the apparitions did not diminish,
but, on the contrary, rather increased in
number, and were transformed in the most
extraordinary manner.

After I had recovered from the first im-
pression of terror, I never felt myself par-
ticulaily agitated by these apparitions, as I
considered tliem to be what they reaily
were, the extraordinaxy consequences of
indisposition; on the contrary, I endea-
voured as much as possible to preserve my
composure of mind, that I might remain
distinctly conscious of what passed within
me. I observed these phantoms with great
accuracy, and very often reflected on my
previous thoughts, with a view to discover
some law in the association of ideas, by
which exactly these or other figures might

g resent themselves to the imagination. —
ometimes I thought I had made a dis-
covery, especially in the latter period of my
visions ; but, on the whole, I could trace no
eonnection which the various figures that
thus appeared and disappeared to my sight
had, either with my state of mind or with
n-v employment, and the other thoughts

which engaged my attention. AfWr fhy
quent accurate observations on the subject,
having fiurly proved and maturely oon«
siderMt it, I oould foroi no other conclusion
on the cause and oonaequenoe of such ap-
paritions than that, when the nervous sys*
(em is weak, and at the same time too
much excited, or rather deranged, similar
figures may appear in such a manner as it
they were actually seen and heard; for
these visions in my case were not the oon-v
sequence of any known law of reason, of
the imagination, or of the otherwise usual
association of ideas ; and such also is tlie
case with other men, as fiir as we can reason
from the frw examples w« know.

The origin of the individual pictuies
which present themselves to us, must un-
doubtedly be sought for in the structure of
that organization by which we thiak ; but
this will always remain no less inexplicable
io us than the origin of these powers by
which consciousness and £uicy are made to
exist.

The figure of the deceased person nev«r
appeared to me after the first dreadful day ;
but several other figures showed themselves
afterwards very distinctly ; sometimes such
as I knew, mostly, however, of persons I
did not know, and amongst thoae known
to me, vvere the semblances of both living
and deceased persons, but mostly the for-
mer; and I made the observation, that
aoquaintanoes with whom I daily conversed
never appeared to me as phantasms ; it was
always such as were at a distance. When
these apparitions had continued some weeks,
and I could regard them with the greatest
composure, I afterwards endeavoured, at
my own pleasure, to call forth phantoms of
several acquaintance, whom I tor that rea-
son represented to my imagination in the
most lively manner, but in vain. — For
hovrever accurately I pictured to my mind
the figures of such persons, I never once
could succeed in my desire of seeing them
extetnaUy ; though I had some short time
before seen them as phantoms, and they
had perhaps afterwards unexpectedly pre-
sented themselves to me in the same man-
ner. The phantasms appeared to me in
every case involuntarily, as if they had been
presented externally, like the phenomena
in nature, though they certainly had their
origin internally ; and at the same time I
was always able to distinguish with the
greatest precision phantasms from pheno-
mena. Indeed, I never once erred in this,
as I was in general perfectly calm and self-
collected on th^ occasion. I knew extremely
well, when it only appeared to me that thp

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Joor was opened, and a phantom entered,
and when tne door really was opened and
any person came in.

It is also to be noted, that these figures
appeared to me at all times, and under the
most different circumstances, equally dis-
tinct and clear. Whether I was alone, or
in com^Kmy, by. broad daylight equally as
in the nighttime, in my own as well as in
my neighbour's house ; yet when I was at
another person's house, they were less fre-
quent ; and when I walked the public street
they very seldom appeared. When I shut
my eyes, sometimes the figures disappeared,
sometimes they remained eiFen after I had
closed them. If they vanished in the
former case, on opening my eyes again
nearly the same figuiei appeared which I
had seen before.

I I sometimes conversed with my physician
and my wife, concerning the phantasms
which at the time hovered around me ; for
in general the forms appeared oftener in
motion than at rest. They did not always
continue present — they frequently left me
altogether, and again appeared for a short
or longer space of time, singly or more at
once ; but, in general, several appeared
together. For the most part I saw human
figures of both sexes; they comroouly
passed to and fro as if they had no connec-
tion with each other, like people at a fair
; where alt is bustle ; sometimes they ap-
peared to have business with one another.
Once or twice I saw amongst them persons
on horseback, and dogs and birds ; these
i figures all appeared to me in their natural
I size, as distinctly as if they had existed in
real life, with the several tints on the un-
I covered parts of the body, and with all the
I different kinds of colours of clothes. But
I think, however, that the colours were
somewhat paler than they are in nature.

None of the figures had any distinguish*
ing characteristic ; they were neither terri-
ble, ludicrous, nor repulsive ; most of them
were ordinary in their appearance — some
were even agreeable.

On the wbole^ the longer I continued in
this state, the more did the number of
phantasms increase, and the apparitions
became more frequent. About four weeks
afterwards I began to hear them speak:
sometimes the phantasms spoke with one
another; but for the most part they ad-
dressed themselves to me : those speeches
were in general short, aud never contained
any thing disagreeable. Intelligent and
respected fnends often appeared to me,
who endeavoured to console roe m my
rrief, which still left deep traces in my

mind. This speaking I heard most fre-
quently when I was alone ; though I some
times heard it in company, intermixed witt)
the conversation of real persons; frequently
in single phrases only, but sometimes even
in connected discourse.

Though at this time I enjoyed rather a
good state of health, both in body and
mind, and had become so very familiar
with these phantasms, that at last they did
not excite the least disagreeable emotion,
but on the contrary afforded me frequent
subjects for amusement and mirth ; yet as
the disorder sensibly increased, and the
figures appeared to me for whole days
together, and even during the night, if I
happened to awake, I had recourse to se-
veral medicines, and was at last again
obliged to have recourse to the application
of leeches.

This was performed on the 20th of April,
tt eleven o'clock in the forenoon. 1 was
alone with the surgeon, but during the
operation the room swarmed with human
forms of every description, which crowded
fast one on another; tnis continued till half-
past four o'clock, exactly the time when the
digestion commences. I then observed that
the figures began to move more slowly;
soon afterwards the colours became gradu-
ally paler; and every seven minutes th^y
lost more and more of their intensity, with-
mil any alteration in the distinct figure of
the apparitions. At about half-past six
o'clock all the figures were entirely white,
and moved very little; yet the forms ap-
peared perfectly distinct ; by degrees they
became visibly less plain, without decreas-
ing in number, as had often formerly been
the case. The figures did not move off,
neither did they vanish, which also had
usually happened on other occasions. In
this instance they dissolved immediately
into air ; of some even whole pieces re-
mained for a length of time, which also by
degrees were lost to the eye. At about
eight o'clock there did not remain a vestige
of any of them, and I have never since
experienced any appearance of the samr
kind. Twice or thrice since that timel
have felt a propensity, if I may be so al
lowed to express myself, or a sensation, as
if I saw something which in a moment
again was gone. I was even surprised by
this sensation whilst writing the present
account, having, in order to render it more
accorate, perused the papers of 1791, and
recalled to my memory all the circumstances
of that time. So little are we sometimes,
even in the greatest composure of mind,
masters of our imagination

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'^m

THE PORCH OF BECKENHAM CHURCH-YARD.

Beyond the Lich-gate stand ten ancient yews —
Branching so high they seem like giant mutes,
With plumes, awaiting rich men's funerals
And poor men's bury'ngs : — stretching, over all.
An arch of triumph for Death*s victories.

Over tne wickets to many of the church- the death-owl was anciently called the iic*.
yards in Kent is a shed, or covered way, of owl.
anaent structure, used as a .esting-place
for funerals, and for the shelter of the
corpse until the minister arrives to com-

meace the service for the dead. This at
Beckenham is one of the most perfect in
the county: the footway beyond, to the
great entrance-door of the church, is cano-
pied by a grove of trees, " sad sociate to
graies." These old church-yard buildings,
now only seen in villages, were formerly
called Uch-gatet^ and the paths to them
were called Uch-lanet, or lich-wayf.
The word lick signified a corpse Hence

The shriekiof Litek-wal, titat doth atrer eiy
Bat bodiDf death, and qniek henelf inters
In darkaome grares, and holloir eepalchres.

Drayton,

Also, from lick is derived the name of
the city of Lichfield^ so called because of a
massacre on that spot.

A thootand other saints whom Amphibal had taught.
Flying the pagan foe. theti; lives that strictly soaght.
Were slain where IMchJlM is, whose name doth rightl?

sound
There, of Uioee Christians slaia. 4eudfeld^ or borying

ground. Drttyt^a.

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THE TABLE BOOS.

For the Table Book.
TUE TWO GRAVES.

!■ fonder cowslip*! sprinkkd maad

A «h«fe1i's toprriof spti* doth ria^.
As if UwsndirtBtiaf «•

Uato a fisirar paradise ;
Wtthia tho yard, so fur Md (reea.
Fall Baay a fraro b to be seea.

Oftea apoa a saainicr's ere

The ehareh-jard's smooth, f reea sward Vf Crod !
Readiaf the ragfed epitaphs

Of those who Ue beaeath the sod {
Bat ia oae spot two fnves were seea-.
Which always stopped B17 waaderiaff.

UpoB one stoae*s eipaauTe froat
Was writ, ia laafoafe stiff aad cold.

That he, who lay beaeath that slab.
Had died when he wae Terjr old ;

Aad at its close a siaiple Uae

Said, that his age was ataetjr-niaek

laother sniall aod polish'd stoae

Beside the former did appear ;
It sud, that that frave's oceapaat

Had died whea ia his third year t
How eloqoeat the polisVd praioe
Lavuh'd on that child's wiaaiaf vrafs I

The old maa lay beaeath the stoae.
Where aoofht in praise of him was tail i

it oaly said, that there he lay,
Aad that he died whea he was old :

It did aot ehnmiele his years.

His joys aad sorxowa— hopes aad feara •

Niaety-niae years of raryiaf life

Ob (lidiaf piaioas by had fled,
(Oh what loog years of toil aad strife 1)

Bra he was aamber'd with the dead t
Bat yet ao liae was left to teU
How he had Ur'd, or how he fell I

Had he ao wife,— ao ehild<-Hio friend ?

To cheer him as he paas'd away ;
No oae who woald hb name eommead,

Aad wail as he was laid in clay ?
Of thb the record aoaght sappUed,—
It oaly said he lir'd aad died I

Bow most his sool hare beea opprees*d.

As iatimatas dropp'd from hb side I
Aad he, almost anknown, was left

Alsne,— apon this desert wide I
Wife— childran— friends^ all, ell wera gone,
Aad he left ia the world aloae J

Hb yoathfal frieads had long grown old,
Aad thca were aamber'd with the dead ;

Hb step had totter'd, sight grown dim.
And ST'ry soaree of pleasara fled ;

By aatan's law sach most haye been,

Tk' eflect of the long yean he*d seeal

Bat then the reoord aoaght sapphed.
How he had spent this leagth'ned life 4

Whether in peace aad qaietacss,
Or had he worried beea with strife 1

Perhaps the mass to him had givea

VisioBe of glory. Are lirom Hearea

All IS ooajeetara 1 He was laid
Beaeath the cold, aafeeliag day .

Hb lame— if he had sigh*d for fame-
Had fimm remembrance pass'd away.

Hope, joy, fear, sorrow, all wera fled,

Aad he lay aamber'd with the dead I

Oh I cold aad cheerless is the thooght*

That I shall be as he is aow.
My rery aanie renwmber'd aot,

Aad fame's wreath withered oa my brow
Of me ao record be sapplied.
Bat that I lir'd, aad that I died I

Saci b the toae of sorrowbg thought
That thnmgh my heart has oftea past,

Asb oa a sammer's brightaiag ere,
A look apoa those grares I'ra cast.

When yoath and age together lie,
s of frail mortality I

O. N. Y.

THE WHITE LADY.

A EOM AVnC AMD TRUB AXBCDOTl.

At NottiDgham, a year or two ago, Sophia
Hyatt, in consequence of extreme deafness,
was accidentally run over by a carrier's cart,
at the entrance of the Maypole inn-yard,
and unfortunately killed. Sne had arrived
that morning in a gig from Newslead Pap-
plewick, or somewhere in that neighbour-
nood, and had been, for the three or four
preceding years, a lodger in one of the
farm-houses belonging to colonel Wild-
man, at Newstead Abbey. No one knew
exactly from whence she came, nor what
were her connections. Her davs were
passed in rambling about the gardens and
grounds of the abbey, to which, from the
kindness of colonel Wildman, she had fre<
access. Her dress was invariabW the same ;
and she was distinguished by the servants
at Newstead, as the *' white lady."' She
had ingratiated herself with the Newfound-
land doe which came from Greece with the
body of lord Byron, by regularly feeding
him ; and on the evening before the fatal
accident, she was seen, on quitting the
gardens, to cut off a small lock of the dog*s
hair, which she carefully placed in her
handkerchief. On that evening also, she
delivered to Mn. Wildman a sealed packet,

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with a request that it might not be opened
till the roilowing morning. The contents
of the packet were no less interesting than
surprismg ; they consisted of various poems
in manuscript, written during her solitary
walks, and ail of them referring to the
bard to whom Newstead once belonged.
A letter, addressed to Mrs. Wildman, was
enclosed with the poetry, written with much
elegance of lan^ruage and native feeling ; it
described her friendless situation, alluded
to her necuniary difficulties, thanked the
fomily for their kind attention towards her,
and stated the necessity she was under of
removing for a short period from Newstead.
It appeared from her statement, that she
had connections in America, that her bro-
ther had died there, leaving a widow and
family, and she requested colonel Wild-
man's assistance to arrange certain matters,
in which she was materially concerned.
She concluded with declaring, that her only
happiness in this world consisted in the
piivilege of being allowed to wander
through the domain of Newstead, and to
trace the various spots which had been
consecrated by the genius of lord Byron.
A most kind and compassionate note was
conveyed to her immediately after the
perusal of this letter, urging her, either to
give up her journey, or to return to New-
stead as quickly as possible. With the
melancholy sequel the reader is acquainted.
Colonel Wildman took upon himself the care
jf her interment, and she was buried in the
church-yard of Hucknall, as near as pos-
sible to the vault which contains the body
of lord Byron. The last poem she com-
posed was the following : it seems to have
oeen dictated by a melancholy foreboding
)f her fate.

Mr LAST Walk in the Gardens op
Newstead Abbey.
Here no loafer shall I wander

Lone, bnt in eommanion high.
Kindred spiriti greet K.e— yonder
Glowa the form that's erer nigh.

Wrapt in blissfnl eonteinplatioo*

Fram that hill no more I gun
On seenee as fair as when oveatiea

Rose the fbemt of serapha* lay*.

And thoo, fair sylph, that roand its basis
Drir'st thy ear, with milk-white ateed )

Oft I wateh'd its gentle pacca—
Mark'd ito tnek with evrimis heed.

Why ? oh I why thna interesting.

Are forms and scenes to me unknown ?
Oh yon, the Mases* power eoofehking,

X>e6ne the eharm yoar bosoms own.

Why love tegaaecr playf lU feantam.
Or lake, tliat bore him on lU bteast*

Lonely to wander o'er each monntaia*
Orove, or plain, his feet have preM'd t

It is beeanae the 1

And aU aroond, a halo shed »
Acd still must ererf fond adnter

Worship the shrine, the idol fled.

Bat 'tis past; and now for ever
Fancy's rision's bliss is o'er ;

But to foiget thee, Newstead— nerer^
Though [ shall haunt thy shades no

DUELS.

Duelling in England was carried to its
greatest possible excess in the reigns of
James I. and of the two Charles's. In the
reign of the latter Charles, the seconds
always fought as well as their principals ;
and as they were chosen for their courage
and adroitness, their combats were gene-
rally the most fatal. Lord Howard, of
Cailisle, in the reign of Charles IL, gave a
grand fdte champ^tre at Spring Gardens,
near the village of Charing, the Vauxball
of that day. This fl^te was lo facilitate an
intrigue between lord Howard and the
profligate duchess of Shrewsbury : but the
gay and insinuating Sidney flirted with the
duchess, abstracted her attention from
Howard, and ridiculed the (tie. The next
day his lordship sent a challenge to Sidney,
who chose as his second a tall, furious,
adroit swordsman, named Dillon ; Howard
selected a young gentleman, named liaw-
lings, just come into possession of an
estate of 10,000/. a year. Sidney was
wounded in two or three places, whilst his
second was run through the heart, and left
dead on the field. The duke of Shrews-
bury became afterwards so irritated as to
challenge the infamous Buckingham for
intriguing with his wife. The duchess of
Shrewsbury, in the disguise of a page,
attended Buckingham to the field, and held
his horse whilst he fought and killed
her husband. The profligate king, in
spite of every remonstrance from the
queen, received the duke of BucUngham
with open arms, af\er this brutal murder.

In 172 duels fought during the last sixty
years, 69 persons were killed ; (in three of
these duels, neither of the combatants sur-
vived ;) 96 persons were wounded, 48
desperately and 48 slightly; and 188,
escaped unhurt. Thus, rather more than '
one-fifth lost their lives, and neariy one-halt

* Nottingham Rttiew

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received the bullets of their antagonists.
It appean also, that out of this aumber of
duels, eighteen trials took place; six of
the arraigned weve acquitted, seven found
guilty of manslaughter, and three of mur-
der ; two were executed, and eight impri
soned for different periods.

About thirty years ago, there was a duel*
ling society held in Charleston, South
Carolina, where each *^ g««ntleman'' took
precedence according to the numbers he
nad killed or wounded in duels. The pre-
sident and deputy had killed many. It
happened that an old weather-beaten lieu-
tenant of the English navy anived at
Charleston, to see after some property
which had devolved upon him, in right ot
a Charleston lady, whom he had married ;
and on going into a coffee-house, engaged
in conversation with a native, whose in-
sults against England were resented, and
the English fieutenant received a ehaU
leoge. As soon as the afiair was known,
some gentlemen waited upon the stranger
to inform him, that the man who had called
him out was a duellist, a ** dead shot," tlie
president of the duellist club ; they added,
that the society and all its members,
though the wealthiest people of the place,
were considered so infamous by really re-
spectable persons^ that he would not be
hekl in disesteem by not meeting the chal-
lenger. The lieutenant replied, that he was
not afraid of any duellist ; he had accepted
the challepge, and would meet his man.
They accordiqgly did meet, and at the first
fire the lieutenant mortally wounded his
antagonist. In great agony, and con-
science-stricken, he invoked the aid of
several divines, and calling the " duelli&t
society" to his bedside, lectured them
upon the atrocity of their conduct, and
begffed, as his dying request, that the club
might be broken up. The death of this
ruffian suppressed a society which the
country dia not possess sufficient morah or
gentlemanly spirit to subdue.

In Virginia, a Mr. Powell, a notorious
duellist, purposely met and insulted an
English traveller, for having said, that ** the
Virginians were of no use to the American
Union, it requiring one half of the Vir-
ginians to keep the other half in order ;*'
the newspapers took it up as a national
quarrel, and anticipated the meeting, with-
out the magistracy having decency, morals,
or public spirit sufficient to interfere. The
Englishman, therefore, got an American
duellist as his second, went into training
and practice, and met his adversary amidst
4 mob of many thousands to witness the

6ght Mr. Powell was killed on the first
shot, and the Englishman remained unhurt.

The brother of general Delancey, the late
barrack-master general, having hisrh words
with a *' gentleman" in a coffee-house it .
New York, the American immediately '
called for pistols, and insisted upon fight-
ing in the public cofiee-room, across one of
the tables. None of the ** gentlemen" pre-
sent interfered ; (hey fought across the table,
and the American dishonestly firing befoie
his time, the Englishman was shot dead ,
upon the spot. Lately, at NashvilU, a
gentleman was shot dead before his own
door, in a duel, in the principal aquart of
the city.

In 1763, the secretary of the English trea-
sury, Mr. Martin, notoriously trained hinfr-
self as a duellist, for the avowed purpose of
shooting Mr. Wilkes, whom he first insulted
in the House of Commons, and afterwarcb
wounded in the park. This gave rise to
Churchill's poem of ** The Duellist ;*' the
House of Commons ordered his majesty's
sergeant surgeon to attend Mr. Wilkes, and
Mr. Martin was considered to '* have done
the state some service."

At that period duels were frequent
among clergymen. In 1764, the Rev. Mr.
Hill was killed in a duel by cornet Gar-
dener, of the carabineer. The Reperend
Mr. Bate fought two duels, and was subse-
quently created a baronet, and preferred to
a deanery after he had fought another duel.
Th^ Reverend Mr. Allen killed a Mr. Delany
in a duel, in Hyde Park, without incurring
any ecclesiastical censure, though judge
Buller, on account of his extremely bad
conduct, strongly charged bis guilt upon the
jurv.

In 1765, occurred a celebrated duel be-
tween the fiither of the late lord Byron and
Mr. Chaworth, a famous duellist. Tkcy
quarrelled at a club-dinxier at the Star and
Uarter, Pall Mall, about game ; Chaworth
was a great game preserver, and lord Byron
had argued upon the cruelty and impolicy
of the game laws. They agreed to fight in
an adjoining room, by the light of only one
candle. Lord Byron entered first; and,
as Chaworth was shutting the door, turning
his head round, he beheld lord Byron's
sword half undrawn; he immediately
whipped his own weapon out, and making
a lunge at his lordship, ran it through his
waistcoat, conceiving that his sword had
gone through his body : lord Byron closed,
and, shortening his sword, stabbed Mr.
Chaworth in the belly. The challenge had
proceeded from Chaworth. Lord Byron
read his defence to the House of Lords

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I!

vad was found guilty of maiMtaughter ; and,
jpon the privilege of his peerage, was dis-
diarged on paying his fees.

Id 1772, a Mr. McLean was challenged
and killed by a Mr. Cameron ; and the
mother of Mr. M*Lean, on hearing of the
shocking event, instantly lost her senses,
whilst a Miss M*Leod, who was to have
been married to the deceased, was jeized
with fits, and died in three days.

In Mr. Sheridan*s duel wiih Mr. Ma-
thews, the parties cut and slashed at each
other, ^ la mode de thiMrCy until Mr.
Mathews left a part of his sword sticking
in Mr. Sheridan's ear.

In a famous duel in which Mr. Riddell
was killed, and Mr. Cunningham very
<«verely wounded, the challenge, by mis-
take, had fallen in the first instance into
(he hands of sir James Uiddell, father to
Mr. Riddell, who, on having it delivered
to him, did no more than provide surgeons
^or the event.

In 1789, colonel Lennox conceived him*
<»elf to have been insulted by the late duke
af York having told him, before all the
officers on the parade of St. James's, '' that
he desired to derive no protection from his
rank of prince." The colonel accordingly
fought his royal highness, it was said, with
cork bullets; but be that as it may, he
contrived to disturb one of the huge rows
of curls which it was then the fashion to
wear on the side of the head.

In 1790, a captain Macrae fought and
killed sir George Ramsay, for refusing to
dismiss a faithful old servant who had in-
sulted captain Macrae. Sir George urged,
that even if the servant were guilty, he had
been sufficiently punished by the cruel
beating that captain Macrae had given him.
As soon as the servant heard that his mas-
ter had been killed on his account, he fell
into strong convubions, and died in a few
hours. Captain Macrae fled, and was
outlawed.

In 1797, colonel Fitzgerald, a married
man, eloped from Windsor with his cousin,
the daughter of lord Kingston. Colonel
King, the brother, fought colonel Fitzge-
rald in Hyde Park. Thev fired six shots
each without effect ; and the powder being
exhausted, colonel King called his opponent
•* a villain," and they resolved to fight again
next day. They were, however, put under
an arrest, when colonel Fitzgcrala had the
audacity to follow lord Kingston's family
to Ireland, to obtain the object of his seduc*
*ion fiom her parents. Colonel King
oearing of this, repaired to jlhe inn where
colonel Fitzgerald put up. Colij.J F'.tA

gerald had locked himself in his room, and
refused admission to colonel King, who
broke open the door, and running to a case
of pistols, seized one, and d^vired colonel
Fitzgerald to take the other. The parties
grappled, and were fighting, when lord
Kingston entered the room ; and perceiving,
from the position of the parties, that his
son must lose his life, instantly shot Fitz-
gerald dead on the spot.

In 1803, a very singular duel took place
in Hyde Park, between a lieutenant W., of
the navy, and a captain I., of the army.
Captain I. had seduced the lieutenant's
sister. Lieutenant W. seemed impressed
with a deep sense of melancholy : he in-
sisted that the distance should be only six
paces. At this distance they fired, and the
shot of captain I. struck the guard of lieu
tenant W. s pistol, and tore off two fingers
of his right hand. The lieutenant delibe-
rately wrapped his handkerchief round the
wound, and looking solemnly to heaven,
exclaimed, '' I have a left hand, which
never failed me.'* They again took their
ground. Lieutenant W. looked steadfastly
at captain I., and casting his eyes up to
heaven, was heard to utter " forgive me."
They fired, and both fell. Captain I. re-
ceived the ball in his head, and died in-
stantly : the lieutenant was shot through
the breast. He inquired if captain I.'s
wound was mortal. Being answered in
the affirmative, he thanked heaven that ht
had lived so long, lie then took hi^
mourning ring off his finger, and said to
his second, '* Give this to my sister, and
tell her it is the happiest moment I evei
knew." He had scarcely uttered the last
word, when a quantity of blood gushed
from his wound, and he instantly expired

These are practices in a ChrUtiau country

ANSWER TO A CHALLENGE.

At a late meeting under a commission o'
bankruptcy, at Andover, between Mr
Fleet and Mr. Mann, both respectaM<
solicitors of that town, some disagreemen>
arose, which ended in the former sending
the latter a challenge, to which the follow
ing answer was returned.

To Kingston Fleet, Esq,
I am honour'd this day, air, with challenges twOk
The fint from fnend Ijangdon, the aeoond from jon ;
Aa the one la to fight, and the other to iime^
I accept hit ** cnf afement,** and jroura moat decline.
Now, in giring this preference, I trast jroa'U admit
I lyire acted with prudence, and done what was 41 .

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tfiaet «Be(mat«nn; Mm, and my WMpon a liairc.
There u Mtiie little ekanoe ofpreteniug my life ;
Whilst a bnllet from jroo, sir, mijf/U take it away,
And the aanm, jm kaow, ia to lire while yon majr.
li^ koverer, 70a aiiU ahoold enppoat I iU-creat joa,
Bf sternlj rejeetinsr tkia ckallenfe to meet joo.
Bear with me a moment, and I will addnoe
Tkree powerfnl reasons hj wajr of excuse :
la the Ant place, naleas I am frosslj deceiT'd,
I mjnelf am u conseienee the partj agf ricy'd;
And tkerefore, good Mr, if a ekaUenge wuttt be,
Prajr wait till that challenge be tendered bj me.
Again, sir, I think it bj far the more rinfol.
To stand and be shot, than to sit for a skinfnl ;
From whence jou*ll eonclade (as I'd hare 70a, indeed)
That lighting oompooes not part of my creed-i-
And my courage (which, though it was never disputed.
Is nor, I imagine, too, too deeply rooted)
Would prefer that its fruit, sir, wkate'er it may yidd.
Should appear at ** 6U tabU,** and not ia •^ tkejUld."
And, lastly, sity />/«, be it never forgot.
Possesses a value which yoiir$t sir, does not ;*
80 I mean to preserve it as long as I can.
Being jvttly entitled •* a family Ifoa,**
With three or four children, (1 eearoe know how many.)
Whilst jfou, sir, have not, or ought not, to have any.
Besides, that the contest wca^d be toa unequal,
I doubt not will plainly appear by ike sequel t
For e*ea yvu must acknowledge it would not be meet
That one small ** Mamm of war** should engago " a
whole Fket.*'

Andover, July 24, 1826.

SIGNS OF LOVE, AT OXFORD.
■Oy mn Inn^cotuolable Lover.

She's as lli^ht as the Qreyhoumd^ and fair as \\i% Angel i

Her looks than the Mitre more sanctified are ;
But sht flies like tht Boebwdh and leaves me to
range ill.
Still looking to her as my true polar Stat.
New /a»-ventioas I try, with new art to adore.
But my fate is, alas I to be voted a Boor ;
My Ooate I forsook to contemplate her charms.
And must own she is fit for our noble Kimg*a Arma.
Now Croefdt and now Joekey'd^ now sad, now elate.
The Ckeqttert appear but a map of my fate ;
I blnsh'd like a Blue-cur to send ker a PAMsaa^
But she eall'd me a Turk, and rejected my present :
So 1 moped to the Barleymowt griev'd in my mind.
That the Ark from the flood ever rescu*d mankind I

my dreams Liomt roar, and the Oreen Dragon grins
.nd fiends rise ia shape of the Seven deadly iint.
\en I ogle the BeiU, should I see her approach,
skip like a Nag and jump into the Coach.
She is erimsoa and white, like a Shoulder of Mutton^
Not the red of the O9 waa so bright, when fint out on •
wike the HoUybush prickles, she scratches my liver,
Vkile I moan, and I die like tke Swam by the nver I

^ Mr. Fleet » a batchelor.

The copiousness and the maltiplicity 0/
the writings of many authors, have shown
that too many find a pleasure in the act of
composition, which they do not communi-
cate to others. Great erudition and every-
day application is the calamity of that
▼oluminous author, who, without good
sense, and what is more rare, without that
exquisite judgment which we call good taste
is always prepared to write on any subject,
but at the same time on no one reasonably
We are astonished at the feitility and the
size of our own writers of the seventeenth
century, when the theological war of words
raged, spoiling so many pages and brains.
Tliey produced folio after folio, like alma-
nacks. The truth is, that it was then easier to
write up to a folio, than in our days to
write down to an octavo; for correction,
selection, and rejection, were arts as yet
unpractised. They went on with theii
work, sharply or bluntly, like witless mowers,
withuut stopping to whet their scythes. They
were inspired by the scribbling demon ot
that rabbin, who, in his oriental style and
mania of volume, exclaimed, that were
'' the heavens formed of paper, and were
the trees of the earth pens, and if the entire
sea run ink, these only could suffice" for
the monstrous genius he was about to dis-
charge on the world.

WILLIAM PRYNNE.

Prynne seldom dined : every three or
four hours he munched a manchet, and re*
freshed his exhausted spirits with ale
brought to him by his servant; and whep
** he was put into this road of writing," as
Anthony a Wood telleth, he fixed on *' a
long quilted cap, which came an inch over
his eyes, serving as an umbrella to defend
them from too much light;" and then,
hunger nor thirst did he experience, save
that of his voluminous pages. Prynne has
written a library, amounting, perhaps, to
neatly two hundred books. Our unlucky
author, whose life was involved in author-
ship, and his happiness, no doubt, in the
habitual exuberance of his pen, seems to
have considered the being aebarred from
pen, ink, and books, during his imprison-
ment, as an act more barbarous than the
loss of his ears. The extraordinary perse*
▼erance of Prynne in this fever of the pen
appears m the following title of one of his
extraordinary volumes, •* Comfortable Cor-
dials against discomfortable Fears of Im«
orisonment ; containing some Latin Verses

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Sentences, and Texts of Scripture, written
by Mr, Wm. Prynne on hU Chanilter IFallt,
in the Tower of London, during his Im-
prisonment there ; translated by him into
£nglith Verse, 1641." Prynne literally
verified Pope*8 description :-^

■• Is tbcre, wko, looked from ink aad pftper, Mrtwb,
Willi dwpefmteeharooAl roud hu darkoMd WftUv.**

We have also a catalogue of printed
books, written by Wm. Prynne* Esq., of
Liotoln*s lnn» in these clatses.

Beforg, -\

During, f

and ' -

Si NCR

J

Alt imjfrhoimuniy

with this motto, ** Jucundi actl labores,*
1643. The secret historv of this volami-
nOits author concludes vritb a characteristic
event : a contemporary who saw Prynne in
the pillory at Cneapside, informs us, that
white he stood there they " burnt his huge
volumes under his nose, which had altnost
suffocated him/'

FRENCH PAMPHLETEER.

One Catherinoi all his life was printing
a countless number of ^m/^« volantet in
history and on antiquities ; each consisting
of about three or four leaves in quarto :
Lenglet dn Fresnoy calls him *' Grand aii-
teur des petits livres." This gentleman
liked to live among antiouaries and histo-
rians ; but with a crooked nead-piece, stuck
with whims, and hard with knotty combi*
nations, all overloaded with prodigious
eruditioni he could not ease it at a less rata
than by an occasional dissertation of three
or four quarto pages. He appears to have
published about two hundred pieces of this
sort, much sought after by the curious for
their rarity: Brunet complains he could
never discover a complete collection. But
Catherinot may escape " the pains and

E>nalties '* of our volummous writers, fur
e Bure thinks he generously printed them
to distribute among his friends. Such end*
less writers, provided they do not print
themselves into an alms-house, may be
allowed to print themselves out ; and we
would accept the apology which Monsieur
Catherinot nas framed for himself, which
is preserved in Beyeri Memoria Lfbro*
rum Rariortun. ^ 1 must be allowed my
freedom in my studies, for I substitute my
writings for a game at the tennis-court, or a
z\nh at the tavern ; I never counted among
my honours these opuicula of mine, but

merely as harmless amusements. It is my
partridge, as with St. John the Evangelist ;
my cat, as with Pope St. Gregory; m)
little dog, as with St. Dominick ; my lamb,
as with St. Francis ; my great black mastiff,
as with Cornelius Agrippa ; and my tame
hare, as with Justus Ltpsius.** Catherinot
could never get a printer, and was rather
compelled to study economy in his two
hundred quartos of four or eight pages ;
h\^ paper was of inferior quality, and
when he could not get his dissertations into
his prescribed number of pages, he used to
promise the end at another time, which did
not always happen. But his greatest anxiety
was to publish and spread his works ; in
despair he adopted an odd expedient
Whenever Monsieur Catherinot came tc
Paris, he used to haunt the quoin where
books are sold, and while he appeared to
be looking over them, he adroitly slided
one of his own dissertations among these
old books. He began this mode of pub-
lication early, and continued it to his last
days. He died with a perfect conviction
that he had secured his immortality ; and
in this manner he disposed of more than
one edition of his unsaleable works.* .

LOVE'S PROGRESS OF A TOBAC
CONIST.

For the Table Book.

When b)an*d with Tannj*! rosj imilM^
I tlKraglit Bi jMlf in heiTMi ;

Facnj is bloontof twenty-tiro^
And I tm— eAirfy.«««fs.

8.

I thovglit kor daeVd with oreiy gtaat.

Withont OM Tiet to jar,
Freah as now camt wm hor Hmo

And swoot no Jfooaftdr.
&
BoMdet a person fidr to View

She had a thoniand ponada (
Not to be AMcaml of— I had two^

And eredit without bonads.
4.
Oar ooortnhip ofk eoariatod ia

Blight taft and geaOo AaoeU #
Aad when I gave her a email /iaeft.

She qniek retara'd a bor.
ft.
Howe'er, one momiiif, ia a ngi.

With me herself she pat.
She eaird me bUckguari, aad d«d««*a

I wae fnim theaee sAort eaC

•D'ieraelL

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6.

la Tarn I tiind the caose to amoke,
Wbon ahc h«d te'ea offenoe ;

In vain recall'd the word* I spoke.
That ehe had deem'd bad uents.

Bat toaa a mntnal friend ooatrir'd
Oar qaarrel ap to botch ;

Fanny oonfeu'd h9 temper warm—
Twas natoral— eh? was Seoteh,

We married— «iOfl]r n mjr shop

Fanny's beoome a ixtnre,
▲ad all the neiirhbonrhood declarei

We're quite a pUatmU ndxtura.

Sam Sam*s Son.

THE LORD CHANCELLOR.

The title of chancellor originated with
the Romans. It was adopted by the church,
and became a half ecclesiastic, and half lay
oflSce. The chancellor was intrusted with
all pablic in?iruments which were authen-
ticated ; and when seals came into use, the
custody of them was confided to that officer.
The mere delivery of the king's great seal,
or the taking it away, is all the ceremony
that is used in creating or unmaking a
chancellor, the officer of the greatest weight
and power subsihting in the kingdom. The
first chancellor in England was appointed
in the reign of William the Conqueror, and
with only one exception, it was enjoyed by
ecclesiastics until the time of Elizabeth,
when such officers were called keepers of
the mat seal. From the time of sir Tho-
nas More's appointment, which took place
in the reign of Henry VHL, there is only
cne instance of a clergyman having been
elevated to thi» office — namely, Dr. WiU
iiams, dean of Westminster, in the time of
James I.— The chancellor is a privy coun-
sellor by office, and speaker of the house
of lords by prescription. To him belongs
the appointment of all justices of the peace
throughout the kingdom. When the chan-
cellor was an ecclesiastic, he became keeper
of the king's conscience, and remained so.
He is also visitor of all hospitals and col-
leges of the king's foundation. He is
patron of all livings under twenty pounds
per annum in the king's book. He is the
general guardian of all infants, idioU, and
lunatics, and has the superintendence of all
charitable institutions in the kingdom. He
takes precedent of every temporal lord, ex-
cept the royal family, and of all others,
«zcept the archbishop of Canterbury. It

is declared treason by statute of Edward
III. to slay the diancellor in his place, and
doing his office. — In the year 1689, there
were commissioners appointed for execut-
ing the office of lord chancellor.

The ORBAi Lord Chawcellor.

Sir .Thomas More, when at the bar, is
said to have undertaken only such causes
as appeared just to his conscience, and
never to have accepted a fee from a widow,
orphan, or poor person; yet he acquired
by his practice tne considerable sum, in
those days, of four hundred pounds r per
annum. When he rose to the height of
his profession, his diligence was so great,
that one day being in court he called for
the next cause, on which it was answered,
that there were no more suits in chanceiy.
This made a punning bard of that time thus
express himself: —

When More eome yean had ehaacellor baea.

No mart rait* did remaia ;
The same shall never mart be sees.

Till More be there again.

Chakcert.

CancelkB are lattice-work, by which the
chancels being formerly parted from the
body of the church, they took their names
from thence. Hence, too, the court of
thaneery and the lord chancellor borrowed
their names, that court being enclosed with
open work of that kind. And, so, to cancet
a writing is to €ro$9 it out with the pen,
which naturally makes something like the
figure of a lattice.

DiLieENCB AHD DeLTGHT.

It is a common observation, that unless
a man Ukes a delight in a thing, he will
never pursue it with pleasure or assiduity
DiligentiOf diligence, is from diUgOf to
love.

Pamphlet, Palm, Palmistry.

Pamphlet. — Tliis word is ancient, see
Lilye's Euphnes, p. 5; Lambarde's Per-
ambulation of Kent, p. 188 ; Heame's Cur.
Disc. p. ISO ; Hairs Chronicle, in Edward
V. f. a ; Richard lU. f. 32 ; Skelton, p. 47;
Caxton*s Preface to his Virgil, where it is
written paunflethU ; Oldys's British Libra-
rian, p. 128 ; Nash, p. 3, 64 ; and also Kis
preface, wherein he has the phrase, <'to
pamphlet on a person *' and pampheleteff p
30.

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The French have not the word pamphlet,
and yet it seems lobe of French extraction,
and no other than palm-feuUht, a leaf to
be held m the hand, a book being a thing
of a greater weight. So the French call it
now feuille volante, retaining one part of
the compound.

Palm is the old French word for kand^
from whence we have paimUtry, the ptOm
of the hand, a palm or span, and to palm a
card, and from thence the metaphor of
palming any thing upon a person.

Cambridge Wit.

A gentleman of St. John's College, Cam-
bridge, having a clubbed foot, which occa-
sioned him to wear a shoe upon it of a
particular make, and with a high heel, one
of the college wits called him BiUad the
fhuhite.

Gradual Reform.

When lord Muskerry sailed to New-
foundland, George Kooke went with him a
volunteer: George was greatly addicted to
jymg; and my lord, being very sensible of
It asd very familiar with George, said to

him one day, «« I wonder you will not )eav«
off this abominable custom of lying
George." " I can't help it," said the other!
*• Puh !" says my lord, « it may be done by
degrees ; suppose you were to begin with
uttering one truth a day.''

Private and Public.

Charles II. spending a cheerful evening
with a few friends, one of the company,
seeing his majesty in good humour, thought
it a nt time to ask him a favour, and was
so absurd as to do so: after he bad men-
tioned his suit, Charles insUntly and veiy
acutely rtplied, « Sir, you must ask your
kitig for that."

A Hundred to One.

** There were a hundred justices," sayt
one, ••-at the monthly meeting." «< A hun-
dred," says another. " Yes," says he, « do
you count, and I will name them. There
was justice Balance, put down one; justice
Hall, put down a cipher, he is nobody;
justice House, you may put down another
cipher for him — one and two ciphen are a
hundred.'' ^

THE CHILD OF MIGHT

For the Table Book.

War was abroad, and the fleeting gale
Loud, o'er the wife's and the daughter's wail,
Brought the summoning sound of the clarion's blast-*
Age and affection looked their last
On the valour and youth that went forth to the tomb-
Young eyes were bright at the nodding plume-
Banner and spear gleam*d in the sun—
And the laugh was loud as the day were won :
But the sun shall set, and — ere 'tis night,^
IFoe to thee, Child of Pride and Might.

Tis the hour of battle, the hosts are met,
Pierc*d is the hauberk, cleft the bass'net ;
Like a torrent the legions thunder'd oo —
Lo 1 like its foam, they are vanished and gone
T%ou whom this day beauty's arms cai^t.
The hoof of the fleeing spurns thy crest--
Thy pride yet lives on thy dark brow's height.
But, where is thy power^ Child op Miosr^

J.J.K.

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THE OLD WATEB CABBIEB.

" Anj Ntw-Birer inter here. "

Tills :s another of the criers of a hundred
years ago, and, it seems, he cried ** New*
Rher^tAtT.'* The cry is scarce, thoug^h
scarcely extinct, in the environs of London.

I well remember the old prejudices of old-
fashioned people in favour of water brought
to the door, and their sympathy with the
complaints of the water-bearer. ** Fresh
and fair new River^water! none of your
pipe sludge !** vociferated the water-bearer.
** Ah dearT cried his customers, ** Ah dear!
Well, what*ll the world come tol— ithev
wo'n*t let poor people live at all by and
by — ^here they're breaking up the ground,
.ind we shall be all under water some day
•r other with their goings on — Fll stick to
the canier as long as he has a pail-full and
I've a penny, and whin we haven't we must
all go to the workhouse together.^ This
<ras the talk and the reasoning of many
Honest people within my recollection, who
preferred taxing themselves to the daily
oayment of a penny and ofttn twopence to

the water-carrier, in preference to having
'* Company's-water '' at eighteen shillings
per annum. Persons of this order of mind
were neither political economists nordo«
mestic economists : they were, for the most
part, simple and kind-hearted souls, wha
illttstratea the ancient saying, that *' the
destruction of the poor is their poverty **
•^they have perished for ** lack of know
ledge,"

Tlie governing principle of Napoleon
was, that " every thing must be done for
the people, and nothing by them:" the
ruling practice of the British people is to
do every thing for themselves ; and by the
maintenance of this good old custom they
have preserved individual freedom, and
attained to national greatness. All our
beneficial national works have originated
with ourselves— our roads, our bridges, our
canals, our water-companies, hava all beec
constructed by our own enterprise, and im
the order of our wants.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

No. xxr.

[Fi om Sir Richard Fanshaw's Transla-
tion of »< Querer For Solo Querer"— -"To
love for love's sake^— a Romantic Drama,
written in Spanish by Mendoza: 1649.]

FeiUbravo, Prince of Perda, from m
Picture sent him of the brave Amasonkm
Queen of Tartary^ Zelidaura, becoming
enammr^ eete out for that reubn ; in hie
way thither dieenehante a Queen ofAraby ;
but fret, overcome by fatigue, faOe aeleep
in thx! Enchanted Orove, where Zelidaura
hereof coming by, eteale th§ Picture from
him. The paseion of the "Romance arieee
from \ie remoree at being taken $o negli*
gent , and her diedain that he ehould ekep^
havinj^ the company of her Picture, She
here, tiaye upon him, who doee not yet know
her, i I the dieguiee of a Ruetie,

FA What B apsnkiiif Ubradorftl

ZeL Yott, th« QDkent Kaight. God jt god Borm !•

Fd. The tim« of da/ Uum dott i«««t*^T

ZtL — aadjoj—

FeC —of what?

Z0L That I diaoorer,
Bjr af.i.r« Bigii, 70a are awaka.

FeL Awake? the sign ~

Zd, Yonr being a lorer.

FeL InloTeamI?

Zet, — and Terj deep.

Fat. Deep in loTe I how is that stem ?

ZeL Perfecdj. Yon do not aleepb

FeL Rostio Kzoellence, onscreen,
Andd nover that sweet face,
)yhicl covers so moeh wit aad fraco.

ZeL Yon bat dream so : sleep agaia.
And fi iget it

FeL Why, now. Saint?

ZeL Whj, the Udy, that went !tt,f
looks IS if that she did paint

Fel What has that to do with sleeptBf?
She is -ndeed angelieat

ZW. That pictnre now's weU worth yonr heepiiv.
For w' f ? 'tis an onginaL

Fet Is this Shepherdess a Witch?
Or sv\ the sleeping treason, which
I oonr> ittkd against Loto
Erst,'* I the Enchanted Oiove ?
Mtht tthoBererseenbefiore?

Zel Seen ? aje, and know thee for a man
Thsit .ill tun hun, and sleep more
Thaa i doaea donees oaa,
Tkoo en'st little what sifhsaeas.
Fel UnveUthj Jove, that face serene.
MeL Wkat, to make thee sleep again ?

• & le affects rasticitj.

t The Enchanted Qaeen of Araby. of whom Zel»-
d^ora sjealoos. '

FeL Still in riddles ?

ZeL Now he sees:
This pnching wakes him by depraaa.

FA Art thoo a Nymph ?

ZeL Of Pamass Green.

Fa. Sleep I indeed, or am I mad f

ZeL None senrs thee bat the Enchanted Qe«A?
I think what dull conceits ye hare had
Of the bird Phoeiiz, which no eye
E'er saw ; an odoriferoos Lye :
How ofher beaaty*s spells she's told ;
That by'ker spirit thoo art haonted ;
And, -haying slept away the old.
With this new Mistress worse eaehanted.

Fel, I aflbet not, Shepherdess,
Myself in toch finft terms to express |
Boffloeth ma an humble stram 1
Too little happy to be vain^—
UnTcill

Zel. Sir Gallant not ao fast

Fel. See thee I wUL

ZA Bee me yoo shall 1
Bat tottcfa not froit you most not taste.
iShetaketqf her veil)

What says it now the leaf doth fhll ?

Fel. It says. Mis worthy to eompriaa
The kernel of so rare a wit :
Nor, that Lt grows in Paradise ;
Bat Paradise doth grow in it
The tall and slender tmnk no less diTina,
Xho* in « lowly Shepherdesses rine.

(He begin* to know her.)

This shoald be that so famoos Qneen
For onqoell'd raloor and disdain.—
In these Enchanted Woods is sseo
Nothing bat iUosicns yain.

Zel. What steras the man at ?

Fetl I oompars
▲ Eictare— I once mine did oall—
With the divine Original.

ZA, Fall'n again asleep yon are t
We poor homaa Shepherd Lasses
Nor an pictured, nor nae glasses.
Who skip their rank, themselves and betteia wroac •
To oar Dames, god blsas *em, such quaint thij^ belo«g«
Here a tiny brook alone.
Which fringed with borrow'd dowers (he has
Gold aad silver enough on his own}
la heaven's proper looking^Iasa,
Copies us t and its reflections.
Shewing natural perfections.
Free from soothing, free from error.
Are oor pencil, are our mirror

Fel. Art thou a Shepherdess ?

ZeL ~- and bare
On a mountain, called Tbkbi.

Fel. Weai'st thoo ever herstofbra
Lady's clothes ?

Zel. I Lady's geav?— .
Teo-^hat a treacherow poll Lava J4-»
In a Conatry Comedy
I oace eaacta^ a mam part**

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ditC I et?t It half by lieart :
The ftmoat Htttoiy it was
Of aa Arabiaa— let me see-
No. of a QoecB of Tartary,
Wbo all her sex did far sarpast
In beantf, wit. aod ehiralrj c
WIk> with invineible disdain
WooU fodU whea sha was ia the reia,
Prinees with all their wits aboat 'em ;
But, aa they slept; to death she'd Aont 'em.
Aad, by the mass, with soeh a mica
My Ma|esty did play the Qneea ;
Oar Carate had my Pictare aiadeb
la the same robes in w^ich I pUy*d.

To my taste this is fine, eiegani, Qijeen-
ilka nuliery ; a second part of Love's La-
bours Lost which title this extraordinary
Play has stiU better pretensions than even
Shakspeare's : for afier leading three pair
of Royal Lovers thro* endless mates of
doubts, difficulties: oppositions of dead
fiithers* wills; a labyrinth of losings and
findings; jealousies; enchantments;. con-
flicts with giants, and single-handed against
armies ; to the exact state in which all the
Lovers might with the greatest propriety
indulge their reciprocal wishes— when, the
deuce is in it, you think, but they must all
be married now — suddenly the three Ladies
turn upon their Lovers ; and, as an exem-
plification of the moral of the Play, "Lov-
ing for lovinr's sake," and a hyper-platonic,
truly Spanish proof of their affections —
demand that the Lovers shall consent to
their mistresses' taking upon them the vow
of a single life ; to which the Gallants with
becoming refinement can do less than con-
sent.—The fact is that it was a Court Play,
in which the Characters; males, giants, and
all ; were played by females, and those of
the highest order of Grandeeship. No
nobleman might be permitted amongst
them ; aod it was against the forms, that a
great Court Lady of Spain should consent
to such an unrefined motion, as that of
wedlock, though but in a play.

Appended to tl-«5 Drama, the length of
which may be judged from its having taken
nine days in the lepresentation, and me
three hours in the reading of it— hours well
wasted — is a poetical account of a fire,
which broke out in the Theatre on one of
the nights of its acting, when the whole
Dramatis Person* were nearly burnt, be-
cause the common people out of ** base
fear," and the Nobles out of " pure re*
•pect," could not think of laying hands
upon such « great Donnas ;" till the young
lung, breaking the etiquette, by snatching
up his Queen, and bearing her through the

flames upon his back, the Grandees, (dil»
lory ^neases), followed his example, and
each saved one (Anchises-fashion), till the
whole Courtly Company of Comedians
were got off in tolerable safety. — Imagine
three or four stout London Firemen on such
an occasion, standing off in mere respect !

C.L.

THE STUART PAPERS,

In P068ESSIOV OF THE King.

In tne year ibli tne public, or, more
correctly speaking, the English public at
Rome, were much excited by the report of
a very singular discovery. The largest and
the most interesting collection of papers
relating to the Stuart family, probably ex-
isting, was suddenly recovered. The cir-
cumstances connected with the discovery
are curious. Dr. W., whose residence on
the continent for many years had been
unceasingly devoted to every species of
research which could tend to throw light
on the antiquities of his country and the
history of her kings, had in the Scotch col-
lege at Paris, after much patient investiga-
tion, arrived at the knowledge of some
Gaelic MSS., and, what may be perhaps
deemed of more consequence, of seveitd
papers relating to the dethroned family.
The Gaelic MSS., it was imagined, would
throw some light on the quarrel de iana
eaprina of the Ossian '* remains," a name
which, as it has been given to the Iliad and
Odyssey, cannot be considered as an insult
to the claims of the Irish or Scottish phan-
tom which has been conjured up under the
name of Ossian: but the Journals, &c.,
though they added little to his actual infor-
mation, and communicated few facts not
hitherto before the public, had at least the
merit of placing the end of the clue in his
hand, ana hinting first the probability of a
more productive inquiry elsewhere. It
occurred to him that after the demise of
James II., as the majority of the family
habitually resided at Rome, much the
greater number of interesting documents
ought still to be discoverable in that city,
and, whatever facilities might originally
have existed, they must have been increased
considerably, and indeed enhanced by the
late extinction of the direct line in the per-
son of the cardinal de York.* His journey

* HiH Rojrftl Hisbness the Csrdinal de York, or as he
was sometimes eallcd, ** Yonr Majesty/' repones ic tfa»
Mbterraaeous ehorch of St. Peter, nader a plain ssr

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to Rome, and the results of his persever-
ance fully justified these conjectures.
Hiere was nc thing in Dr. W.'s appear-
ance or marnier, nothing in the circum-
itances of his long absence from hb coun-
try, which could offer motives of encourage-
ment ; no mau carried less before him, as
hr as externals were in question, that letter
of recommendation to which the most un-
courteous are compelled to yield. He was
in bad odour with his own government,
and consequently with every thing legiti-
mate and subservient on the continent, and
one of the worst calculated individuals that
Providence could have selected, if not for
a discovery, at least for its preservation.
Dr. W. was known to few of his coun-
trymen at Rome; and as well as I re-
collect, they were exclusively Scotch, but
his acquaintance amongst the natives was
extensive and useful. He had been en-
gaged in some cotton speculations in the
Campagna, which had altogether failed;
more, I believe, from want of funds and
public spirit, than from any error in the
project or its execution. Tlie soil was fa-
vourable, the climate favourable, and the
specimen I saw scarcely inferior to the
Asiatic. But whatever may have been the
causes, the results were salutary, and pro-
auctive at least of this advantege, that it
served to introduce him to the ** mezzo
ceto ** circles of the capital. A mercante
di Campagna is a personage in nowise
inferior to a lawyer, and Dr. W. knew
how to preserve his importance amongst
his competitors. The information which he
gained nere was a new source of encou-
ragenient. Ailer much sagacious and per-
severing inquiry, and occasional but partial
disappointments, h» at last chancea in a
happy hour on the great object of all his
labours. He was informed in rather a
circuitous manner, that a oonsiderable por-
tion of the late cardinal de York's effects

ooDha^s, which bean the same of Hen. IX. No one
will dispn'e the titU of a <«w handfale of dust, but it
11 worth obMnrtng that aonethinr Terr eimiUr reap-
peart od the moDaaieDt in St Peter's itaelf. This m
?**"?^! *■ ■ Roman : legitimacr, like the priesthood,
le mdehble, and caoaot be rubbed ont by miBforlnne or
wrong. The sketch in Forsyth is iaterestinr and deli-
cate, thoagh rather Jacobite and Scotch. I met manr
Eersons who retained recollections of him at Rome,
at none of these recollections are worth notinnr. He
seems to hare rendered himself more lemarkable br
pettT pecnlUrities, than any great quality of heart or
head. He was supposed to be the quickest driver for
% cardinal of the whole eolle^ and sometimes came in
from Fraseati, (his bishopric and habitual residence.)
a distance of about fourteen miles, in an hour and a
quarter. This was thought in the first instance mar-
vellous, and in the next indecorous. The only honours
!• retained were hU tiUes great and little, and the
ViTuege of ntountinr the Vatioaa in a sedan-chair.

lay still in the hands of the executors, but
could not at first ascertain whether they
comprehended any large masses of his pa*
pers. Enough, however, had been detected
to lead him much farther: he seized the
hint, profited by it, and in a few weeks
satisfactorily assured himself that the papen
were, as he suspected, included, and were
at tnat very moment at Rome. He lost no
time in addressing himself to the proper
quarter, but monsignor^— was out of
town, (the acting executor of the cardinal,)
and it was very doubtful whether his agent,
the abbate Lupi, was sufficiently authorized
or empowered to dispose of them in his
absence; the abbate Lupi, less scrupulous,
or more ignorant than persons in situations
of such high trust, smiled at the communi-
cation, and conducted the doctor without
delay to the premises where these cartacci,
or paper-rubbish, as he termed them, were
still lying in confiision. It was a dark and
dreary garret or gallery, at the top of the
house. The abbate pushed back a crazy
door, and showed them heaped up, in large
lots, in various parts of the chamber. The
garret was crumbling, the wind and rain
entered ad libitum through the broken tiles
the rats prowled and plundered at full dis-
cretion, like the followers of Omar, and
had now lived for many years at free quar-
ters on the spoils ; but neither decay, nor
the seasons and their ravages, nor the rats
and their incursions, nor the appearance of
daily loss, were sufficient to rouse the
habitual indolence of the administrators to
the least effort for the preservation of the
remainder. There was a sufficient quantity,
however, left to surpass the most ardent
anticipations of the doctor : he gazed in
silence and astonishment ; it was a moment
of true and unalloyed delight — an instant
which, in the estimate of the enthusiast
will outbalance the sufierings of months
and years, like the "Land! laiidT o!
Columbus, or the eureka of Pythagoras.
He hesitated, he doubted — he took up the
paper that was nearest to him ; his warmest
wishes were realized ; it was an autograph
of James IL A glance over the rest was
sufficient; it was with difficulty he could
suppress the feeling of exultation whick
sh.vered and fled over his whole frame
After an afiected question or two, the ab
bate accepted his proposal, and very neai
five hundred thousand documents, of un-
questionable authenticity and of the first
historic importance and authonty, wert
knocked down to him for not more than
three hundred Roman crowns. Dr. W
still meditated, paused, appeared reluctan;

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inquired for the letter of attorney, examined
it, and finding all in order, and powers as
he imagined sufficiently full, the arrange-
ment in a few moments was completed.
Two carts were brought to the door, the
papers were thrown into them confusedly,
and so little did the abbate value their
utility, that on two or three packets falling
into the street, they undoubtedly would
have lain there with other rubbish, had not
the doctor immediately hastened to take
them up and carried them himself to his
lodgings.

The prize was now won, and a collection
perhaps unrivalled in Europe, an £1 Dorado
of imaginary wealth and glory, was safely
lodged in the precincts of his own apart*
ment. Joy is talkative, and for once the
doctor altogether forgot his caution, and in
the dangerous moment of a first triumph,
rushed to his countrymen, and proclaimed
his veniy vidu vici to their envy and asto-
nishment. They were invited to inspect
them. Rome, the capital of a considerable
state, is still a provincial town, and events
of this kind hardly require newspapers.
In a few days the news of all the poets
and barbers was the singular good fortune
of the doctor. What it was no one knew,
except the duchess of D • Her draw-
ing-room was not only the rendezvous of
every stranger, and particularly of every
Englishman at Rome, but, what ought to
have been considered as of infinitely more
moment and indeed danger, was a sort of
antechamber to the Vatican. Her acquaint-
ance with the cardinal secretary intimately
connected her with the Papal government ;
and, during her life and his administration,
the English might almost be said to be, in
the language of the modern city, the assist-
ants of the pontifical throne. The duchess
requested a cabinet peep. The doctor ex-
postulated ; — he ouffht to have done so,
out on the contrary he was gratified by the
compliment, and a little conversazione
packet was made up with expedition for
oer next evening party. The doctor had
time to judge of his acquisition, and ouude
a judicious selection, but so unfortunately
inviting, that his noble patroness could
with difficulty confine to her own breast
the sentiments she felt of surprise and
admiration. Besides, it would be selfish
to conceal the gratification from her friends ;
the papers were of course in a few days to
start for England. Who could tell when
they were likely to be out ? Then there
was an enjoyment, not likely to be resisted
by a duchess and a protectress, of all that
vas literary at Home, in tumbling over an

original MS. — and such a MS. — and reau
ing and judging the important work, befoie
it was even dreamt of by the rest of th
world. She had been favoured, and could
not be blamed for extending, like the doc-
tor, the favour to others. She had two Ot
three very dear friends, and she could not
reflect without pain on what they might
say, and with so much justice, should tl^ey
discover, some days afterwards, that she
had been in possession of such a treasure,
though for a few hours, without kindly
paiticipating her pleasures with her ac^
quaintances.

These reasons, cogent at any time, were
altogether invincible under the circum-
stances of the case. The duchess had many
friends, but the most intimate of these
many was the cardinal secretary. The
practised eye of that statesman could not
be so easily seduced. He was one of the
chief invited of the evening, and as usual
appeared amongst the earliest of the guests.
Ine papers were on the table on his entry ;
they Defame the chief, the first, and soon
the only topic of conversation. They were
examined ; the cardinal read, folded them
up, and was silent ; but ere daylight the
next morning a guard of the pope's
carabiniers attacked Dr. W.*s apartment,
which was not the castle of an English-
man, and very important papers were irre*
coverably lost to nim, and perhaps lo the
public for ever.

The next morning, all the valets de place
in Rome knew, and took care to inform
their masters, that during the night the
abbate Lupi had been arrested, and lay
actually in prison for a gross violation of
his trust ; but it was not understood till
much later in the day, that the moment the
cardinal had lefl the apartments of the
duchess, orders had been also given to
have the papers immediately put under the
seal and wardship of the state. The doctor
was consequently awakened, as we have
seen, rather earlier than usual, in the most
unceremonious manner imaginable, and
requested, in rather a peremptory manner,
to point out the treasury room. Tortures
were not used, but threats were. The
sanctuary was easily discovered; the in-
violable seal was fixed on the door ; and a
guard put over the house^ during the r^*
mainder of the day.

The arrest of the abbate was followed up
by a measure of more rigour, and of far
greater importance. The contract itself
was annulled on the ground of incompe-
tence in the seller — the three hundred
crowns were ordered to be paid back, and

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Dr. W. permitted to appeal, and satisfy
himself with civil answers as well as he
could, and with what every jurisconsult of
the Curia Innocenziana had decided, or
would decide if called upon by the secre-
tary, to be the ancient and existing law of
Home.

The doctor made, through himself and
others, the ordinary applications, each of
which were received and answered in the
ordinary manner. This was encouraging* ;
and he vented his indignation amongst his
acquaintances; and, when the access and
struggle was over, lay like Gulliver, fatigued
on his back.

In the mean time, a yessel arrived from
England at Civit4 Vecchia, and a boat's
crew a little after from Fiumiciuo at Home.
The papers were released and embarked.
The doctor expostulated, and the cardinal
secretary received him with his usual urba«
nity. His visit was quite as satisfactory as
any of the preceding, and as conclusive as
such visits geneially are at Rome. The
cardinal heard every thing with the most
dignified composure, and simply replied,
that any application to him personally was
now unavailing, and that he could not do
better than apply to the king of England,
in whose hands the papers in question
wouk! probably be found in the course of
another month.

The doctor bowed and took the advice,-*
but, in leaving the room, it occurred to him
that he might not meet a more favourable
reception at Downing-^treet than at the
Vatican. A friend at that time resident at
Rome proposed to act as his representative
to the minister, and acquitted himself in the
sequel with a fidelity as rare amongst am-
bassadors as attorneys.

I never heard any thing decisive of the
result of this interview ; — but I have no
doubt the cardinal was in the right. No
iniquiries at all disquieting were made, or
questions asked, of the keeper of the king's
conscience, on the adjudication of the court
of Rome. The king of England, in right
of his Stuart bluod, keeps, and will leave
to his descendants, probably, the care of
publishing all the Stuart MSS.

But in the momentous interval between
the discovery of the papers, and their vojrage
to England, more eyes than those of an
English duchess and a cardinal secretary
of state contrived to glance over the trea-
sure. For a day or two they were exposed
to the inspection of the privileged few, at
the head of whom was tne late professor

Playfair, lord S , lord of session, &c. :

to one of these favoured individuals I am

indebted for most of the particulats which
follow.

On entering the chamber where they
were arranged, which was a small room, oa
the first floor, of a small apartment in a
secondary quarter of Rome, he found the
walls to a great height literally covered
with piles of paper of every size and
quality. They were packed so close, had
been so long unopened, and had so much
suffered fmm the humidity^ that each
packet was found to contain, on examina-
tion, a very much larger quantity than had
at first been expected. They were ar-
ranged in the most perfect order, and
classed according to tne age, country, or
writer. Several were autographs, and
copies, where they existed, were in the best
preservation, and generally under the ^e,
and by the order of the first authority. The
series commenced about the period of the
king's arrival in France, and were continued
down, with scarcely any interruption or
hiatus, to the demise of the last direct heir,
the cardinal de York. They embraced not
only every document connected with poli-
tical matters, but entered into the most
minute details on the domestic and personal
affairs of the illustrious individuals, to
whom they related, and threw a very sin-
gular light on transactions which have been
long concealed, or viewed under very par-
tial bearings, by the British public. Not
only the private and confidential corres-
pondence between the different members
of the royal family, but references to the
most trivial circumstances connected with
the interior of the royal household, and
various other matters of similar interest,
were everywhere observable. The reve-
nues, the expenditure, vrere regulariy noted;
a large volume or ledger, almost completely
filled with items of this kind, gave no bttd
scale of the gradation or diminution of
expense, calculated on country, time, and
situaliuu, and therefore a very fair estimate
of their means under the successive fortunes
to which they had been exposed. But by
far the most interesting documents of the
collection referred to the important political
transactions of that memorable epoch.
James II. occupies a considerable, and,
indeed, a principal portion of this interest.
His letters to his son, written and corrected
in his own hand, give a very flattering
portrait, and perhaps a very aathentic one,
of bis character in almost all his domestic
relations, without much claim, but also
without much pretension, to style— the sin
of that Qge, and not lest of the succeeding
they are not without a certain tinge of thu

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elegance of manner, which, though by no
means his apanage, had more or less been
contracted in tliose dissolute circles which
had inspired Hamilton, but there were
other qualities with which they abounded,
of much higher value and importance,
greater depth of feeling than what usually
exists in courts, paternal affection in all the
bitterness of an unrequited fondness, and
a settled and unavailing despair (he died,
indeed, of a lethargy) of the future destinies
of his house, grounded on the frail support
he could anticipate from the' depraved
habits of Lis son. The reproaches ad-
dressed to him are frequent, and fraught
with the overflowing waters of fatherly dis-
appointment ; the ^t«ottttfoit, or rough draft
of the letter, which was sometimes pre-
served, was often blotted, and the wavering
and agitation of his mind betrayed itself
very visibly in his very hand. The general
view which they give is favourable, and
presents a kindlier aspect of his character
than what we are habituated to meet with
in the generality of the Whig writers.*

THE PLANETS.

ToEia CoMPAaATivE Sizes avoPositighs.

. To assist the mind in framing a con-
ception of the magnitude and relative dis-
tances of 'the primary planets, let us have
recourse to the following method. The
dome of St. Paul's is 145 feet in diameter.
Suppose a globe of this size to represent
the Son ; then a globe of 9/9 inches will
represent Mercury; one of 17^^ inches,
Venus ; one of 18 inches, the Earth ; one
of 5 inches diameter, the Moon, (whose
distance from the earth is 240,000 miles ;)
one of 10 inches, Mars; one of 15 feet,
Jupiter; and one of 11) feet, Saturn, with
his ring four feet broad, and at the same
distance from his body all round.

In this proportion, suppose the Sun to
be at St. Paul's, then

'y Mercury might be at the Tower of
London,

9 Venus at St. James's Palace,

0 The Earth at Maiylebone,

^ Mars at Kensington,

% Jupiter at Hampton Court,

12 Saturn at Clifden ;
all moving round the cupola of St Paul's
as 0 their common centre.

Ntv MoQlblj MagaiUM,

ACCOUNT OF THE BEE-EATI R

Of Selbomef Hampshire,

By the Rev. Gilbebt White, i; 39.

We had in this village, more than I vrenty
years ago, an idiot boy, whom I w<ll re-
member, who, from a child, showed a strong
propensity to bees: they were his fo«*d, his
amusement, his sole object; and ah peo-
pie of this cast have seldom more than one
point in view, so this lad exerted all his few
faculties on this one pursuit. In the winter he
dosed away his time,within his father's house,
by the 6re-side, in a kind of torpid state,
seldom departing from the chimney-<'Orner;
but in the summer he was all alert, and in
quest? of his game in the fields and on sunny
banks. Honey-bees, humble-bees, and
wasps, were his prey, wherever he found
them: he had no apprehensions from their
stings^ but would seize them nudU manilmty
and at once disarm them of their weapons,
and suck their bodies for the sake of their
Iioney-bags. Sometimes he would fill his
Bosom between his shirt and his skin with
a number of these captives ; and sometimes
would confine them in bottles. He was a
very merope apituter, or bee^irdy and very
injurious to men that kept bees; for he
would slide into their bee-gardens, and
sitting down before the stools, woulo fa^
with his finger on the hives, and so takt
the bees as they came out. He has beeii
known to overturn hives for the sake o>
honey, of which he was passionately food
Where metheglin was making, he would
linger round the tubs and vessels, begging
a dt aught of what be called bee^wine. As
he ran about, he used to make a humming
noise with his lips, resembling the buning
of bees. This lad was lean and sallow,
and of a cadaverous complexion; and,
except in his favourite pursuit, in which be-
was wonderfully adroit, discovered no
manner of understanding. Had hb capa-
city been better, and directed to the same
object, he bad perhaps abated much of our
wonder at the teats of a more modern ei-
hibiter of bees ; and we may justly say of
him now.

Had thy presiding star prepitioas skonet
ShottU'st fTtUmoM be.**

When a tall youth, he was removed hnm
hence to a distant village, where he di'ud,
as I undeistand, before he arrived at oitn

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FOOR'S-BOX IN CAWSTON CHUECH, NORFOLK.

Before the Reformation, says Anthony
h. Wood, "in every church was a poor
man*8 box, but I never remembered the
use of it ; nay, there was one at great inns>
as I remember it was, before the wars.''

Poor-boxes are often mentioned in the
weifth century. At that period pope
Innocent IIL extended papal power to an
inordinate height ; absolved subjects from
allegiance to their sovereigns ; raised cru-
sades throughout Europe t^r the recovery
of the holy sepulchre; laid France under au
mterdict; promised paradise to all who
would slaughter the Albigenses; excommu-
nicated John, king of England ; and ordered
hollow trunks to be placed in all the
churches, to receive alms for the remission
of the sins of the donors.*

A communication to the Antiquarian So-
ciety, accompanied by drawings of the poor-
boxes on this and the opposite page, briefly
describes them f The common poor-box
in the churches appeals to have been a
shaft of oak, hoUowea out at the top, covered

• Fosbrokft's Enc]rc1o])a<lia of AntiqaitiM.

f This oommanication from J. A. Repton, E^q., ia
prlBtfld, with angraTinn from hit drawings, in th«
^▲Toh»oloctA,**li>3i

by a hinged lid of iron, with a slit in it
for the money to fall through into the cavity,
and secured by one or two iron locks.

Perhaps the roost curiously constructed
of the ancient poor-boxes now remaining,
is that in the church of Cawston, neai
Aylsham. The church was built betweec
138.5 and 1414. The poor-box was pro-
vided with three keys, two of which were
for the churchwardens, and the third was
most probably for the clergyman, as one ol
the key-holes is more ornamented than the
others. The most singular part of this box
is an inverted iron cup, for preventing the
money from beins taken out by means ol
any instrument Uirough the holes on the
top of the box.

The engravings above represent — 1. thi?
poor-box, as it stands on an octanffulai
stone basement ; 2. a perfect view of thi
lid ; 3. another of the interior, with thi
manner wherein the cup is suspended foi
the security of the money ; 4. a section ol
the box.

In places where the presumed richness
of the boxes rendered them liable to hk
plundered, they were strongly bound oi
clamped with iron plates, as shown in thr
present engravin{;s

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POOR'S-BOX IN LODDON CHURCH, NORFOLK.

The church of Loddon, in the south-
eastern angle of the county of Norfolk,
about ^we miles from BunKav, was built
about 1495, and contains a depository of
this description, with two separate boxes,
each of them secured by two padlocks:
o?er one of these is a hole in the lid for the
offerings. When a sufficient sum was col-
lected, it was taken out and placed in the
adjoining box in the presence of the two
churchwardens.

Ben Jonson, in his ** Masque of the
Metamoiph<Med Gipsies, as it was thrice
presented before king James, 1621, &c."
makes a gipsy tell Tom Ticklefoot, a rustic
musician,—

** Ob Snadayt fon rob the poor't-box witb your Ubor
The eoUeeton wooU do it, jon lAve tbem a laboar.**

Whereunto a countryman answers,
•* Ttftk, bat a Httle : thtfVL do it iwMip$ta»r**
• N9» wpiimU MtwitbttaadiDiC.

From this we gather that it was custo-
mary at that time to put money in the
parish poorVbox on Sundays, and that the
trustees of the poor were sometimes sus-
pected of misapplying it.

The neglect of this mode of public con-
tribution is noted in Hogarth s marriaee
scene of the *• Rake's Progress,'* by a cob-
web covering the poor's-box in the church.
There is an intimation to the same effect in
one of Beaumont and Fletcher's plays,
which further intimates that poor's-boxes
had posies^

The poor man*! box is tbere too : if je find any tbinf
Bendea tha povy* and that half mbb'd out too.
For fear it thoald awakra too mneh charity,
GiTO it to piooa oaea : that ia^ tpeod it.

SpaniMh Curate, 1647

The posies or mottoes on poor's-boxck
were short sentences to incite oenevolencc
—such as, *' He that gi?eth to the pool
lendeth to the Lord,'* &c.

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THE TXBL£ BOOJL

ANGEL HELP*

Tlub ran Tablet doth iaelnd*-
Povertj with Sanctitada.
Past midaigkt tkia poor Maid hath
Aad 7«t the work not half is done,
Which mast topplj from earaiDgs
A feeble bed-rid paranf s waat.
Her sleep-oharged eyes exemptioa
And Holy haads Uke ap the task;
Unseea the rock aad spindle ply.
And do her earthly dradgetj.

Sleep, saintly Poor One, sleep, sleep on.
And, waking, find thy labours done.

Perchance she knows it by her draams ;
Her eye hath eanght the golden gleansa
(Angelie Prcsenee testifying,)
That ronad her everywhere are flying ;
Ostante from whieh jhe may jiiWHia
That moch of Heavfli is in the room.
Skirting her own bright hair they raa».
Aad to the Snnny add more Soas.
Now on that aged face they fix,.
Streaming from the Cramfix ,
The flesh-dogg'd spirit disabosiait..
Death-disarming sleeps infusing,
Prelibations, foretastes high.
And eqoal thoughts to liTe or die.

Gardener bright from Sden's bower,

Tead with care that Lily Flower ;

To its leaves aad root infuse

Heaven's snnshine. Heaven's dews ;

Tis a type aad 'tis a pledge

Of a Crowning Privilege :

Careful as that Lily Flower,

This Maid must keep oer precioas dower;

Live a Saiated Maid, or die

Martyr to Virgiaity.

Virtuous Poor Ones, sleep, sleep oa.
And, waking, fiad your labours done. -

COWPEIL

C. Lamb.

New Monthly Magasne,
Jane 1, 182?.

* Suggested by a ptetnre ia the possession of Charles
Aden, Esq. Euston-square, in whieh is reprraented the
Legend of a poor female Saint, who, having spun past
midnight to maiatain a bedrid mother, has fallen
asleep from fatigae, and Angels are finishing her work.
In aaother part of the chamber, aa Angel is tending a
lily, ihit emblem of her parity.

The poet of "The Sofa," when « la
meny pin,*' trifled pleasantly. As an in-
siance of his manner, there remains the
following

LnxERTO TBE Ret. J. New roH.

Jtt/y 12, 1781.

My voxf • dear Fnend, — I am going to
send, what, when you ha?e read, you may
scratch your head, and say, I suppose
there's nobody knows, whether what 1
have got,, be verse or not; by the luue or
the time,. it ought to be rhyme ; but if it
be, did you ever see, of late or of yore, such
a:.ditty before ?

I have writ Charity, not for popularity,
But aa well as I could, in hopes to do

rd ; and if the reviewers should say " to
sure; the gentleman's muse wears Me-
thodist shoes ; you may know by her pace,
and talk aboat.gjrace, that she and her bard,
Have little regard', for the taste and fashions,
and niling passions, and hoidening play,
o£ the modem day : and though she assume
sitiorrowed plbniB,.aQdinDw and then wear
a tittering air, 'tis only her plan, to catch if
she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that
way, by a production, on a new construc-
tion ; ^e has baited her trap, in hopes to '.
snap, all that may come, with a sugar
plum.""— This opinion" in this will not be'
amiss: 'tis what I intend, my principal
end; and if I succeed, and folks should
read, till a few are brought, to a serious
thought, I should think I am paid for all I
have said, and all I have done, though I
have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as
far from hence, to the end of my sense, and
by hook or crook, write another book, if 1
live and am here, another year.

I have heard before, of a room with a
floor, laid upon springs, and snch like
things, with so much art, in every parf.
that when you went in, you was forced to
begin a minuet pace, with an air and' a
grace, swimming about, now in and now
out, with a deal of state, in a figure of
eight, without pipe or titring, or any such
thing. And now I have writ, in a rhyming
fit, what will make you dance, and as you
advance, will keep you still, though against
your will, dancing away, alert and gay, till
you come to an end of what I have penned ]
which that you may do, ere madam and
you are quite worn out, with jigging about,
I take my lead's and here you receive a

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THE TABUS BOOK.

how profound, down to the ground, from
your numble me^-

W.C.

When prevented by runs and floods fronr
fisiting the, lady who suggested ^ The
Task/' Cowper beguiled the time by wriu
ing to her tne following lines; and aiter*
waids printing them with his own hand
He sent a copy of these verses, so printed,
to his sister, accompanied by the subjoined
note written upon his typographical labours.

To wftteh th« ttoim, ud benr thft %hf
Give aU the •ImauMlet the lie ;
To ehaln with coU, and tee the plahia
In avtamn drownM with wintry rains :
' Tie thoa I spend my roQiscitts here.
And wish myedfaDnteh mynheer i .
IthenihoaldhaTenoneedofwit» '
For lumpish Hollander unfit ;
Nor should I then repine at mud.
Or meadows deluged with a flood ;
But in a hog lire welleoatent.
And find it just my element;
Should he a dod, and not a man.
Nor wish in rain for sister Anne,
With eharitable aid to drag
Ky mind out of iti proper quag ;
Should hare the genius of a boor,
And no ambitiim to hare more.

My dear Sister, — ^You see my beginning;
I do not know but in time I may proceed
to the printing of halfpenny ballads. £x*
cuse the coarseness of my paper; I wasted
so much before I could accomplish any
thing legible, that I could not afford finer.
I intend to employ an ingenious mechanic
of this town to make me a longer case, for
you may observe that my lines turn up
their tails like Dutch mastiffs ; so difficult
do I find it to make the two halves exactly
coincide with each other.

We wait with impatience for the de-
parture of this unseasonable flood. We
think of you, and talk of you ; but we can
do no more till the waters subside. I do
not think our correspondence should drop
because we are within a mile of each other;
it is but an imaginary approximation, the
flood having in reality as effectually parted
ns, as if the British Channel rolled be-
tween us.

Yours, my dear sister, with Mrs. U.'s
best love,

William Cowper.

HIGHLAND DEER AND SHEEP.

** The last Deee of Beann Doran.**

A note to a poem, with this title, by
John Hay Allan, Esq., relates, that in for-
mer times the barony of Glen Urcha was
celebrated for the number and the superior
race of its deer. When the chieftains re-
linquished their ancient character and their
ancient sports, and sheep were introduced
into the country, the want of protection,
and the antipathy of the deer to the intrud-
ing animals, gradually expelled the former
from the fhce of the country, and obliged
tliem to retire to the most remote recesses
of the mountains. Contracted in their
haunts from corrai to corrai, the deer of
Glen Urcha at length wholly confined
themselves to Beann Doran, a mountain
near the solitary wilds of Glen Lyon, and
the vast and desolate mosses which stretch
from the Black Mount to Loch Ranach. In
this retreat they continued for several years;
their dwelling was in a lonely corrai at the
back of the hill, and they were never seen
in the surrounding country, except in the
deepest severity of winter, when, forced by
hunger and the snow, a straggler ventured
down into the stralths. But the hostility
which had banbhed them from their ancient
range, did not respect their last retreat.
The sheep continually encroached upon
their bounds, and contracted their resources
of subsistence. Deprived of the protection
of the laird, those which ventured from
their haunt were cut off without men^ or
fair chase; while want of range, and the
inroads of poachers, continually diminished
their numbers, till at length the race became
extinct.

About the time of the disappearance of
the deer from these wilds, an immense stag
was one evening seen standing upon the
side of Beann Dooachan. He remained
for some time quietly gazing towards the
lake, and at length slowly descended the
hill, and was crossing the road at Stronn-
milchon, when he was discovered by some
herdsmen of the hamlet. They immediately
pursued him with their cooleys; and the
alarm being given, the whole straith, men,
women, and children, gathered out to the
pursuit. The noble animal held them a
severe chase till, as he passed ihiough the
copse on the north side of Blairacbnran,
his antlers were entangled in the boughs,
he was overtaken by the pursuers, and
barbarously slaughtered by the united on-
set, and assault of dogs, hay-foiks, and
^Sgian an Dubh.'' When divided, he

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proTed but a poor reward for the fatigue ;
br he was so old, that his flesh was scarcely
ratable. From that time the deer were
leen do more in Beann Doran ; and none
now appear in Glen Urcha, except when, in
1 hard winter, a solitary stag wanders out
of the forest of Dalness, and passes down
Glen Strae or Corrai Fhuar.

The 3ame cause which had extirpated
ihe deer from Glen Urcha has equally acted
in most part of the Highlands. Wherever
the sheep appear, their numbers begin to
decrease, and at length they become totally
extinct. The reasons of this apparently
singular consequence is, the closeness with
which the sheep feed, and which, where
they abound, so consumes the pasturage, as
not to leave sufficient for the deer: still
more is it owing to the unconquerable
antipathy which these animab have for the
former. This dislike is so great, that they
eannot endure the smell of their wool, and
never mix with them in the most remote
situations, or where there is the most ample
pasturage for both. They have no abhor-
rence of this kind to cattle, but, where large
Derds of these are kept, will feed and lie
among the stirks and steers with the great-
est familiarity.

HIGHLAND MEALS.

Among the peculiarities of highland
manners is an avowed contempt for the
luxuries of the table. A highland hunter
will eat with a keen appetite and sufficient
discrimination : but, were he to stop in any
pursuit, because it was meal time, to growl
over a bad dinner, or visibly exult over a
((ood one, the manly dignity of his character
would be considered as fallen for ever.*

TREAD MILLS.

At Lewes, each prisoner walks at the
rate of 6,600 feet in ascent per day ; at
[pswich, 7,450 ; at St. Alban's, 8,0')0 ; at
Bury, 8,650; at Cambridge, 10,176; at
Durham, 12,000; at Brixton, Guildford,
%nd Reading, the summer rate exceeds
13,000; while at Warwick, the summer
rate is about 17,000 feet in ten hours, f

• Mn. Onukt
t TlM Timw.

EXTEAOEDINAftT

ORAN-OUTANG,
The Wild Mam of the Woods.

The largest and most remarkable oran-
outang eyer seen by Europeans, was dis-
covered by an officer of the ship Mai}
Anne Sophia, in the year 1824, at a place
called Ramboon, near Touromon^ on the
west coast uf Sumatra.

When the officer alluded to first saw the
animal, he assembled his people, and fol-
lowed him to a tree in a cultivated spot, oo
which he took refuge. His walk was erect
and waddling, but not quick, and he was
obliged occasionally to accelerate his motion
with his hands ; but with a bough which
he carried, he impelled himself forward
with great rapidity. When he reached the
trees his strength was shown in a high
degree, for with one spring he gained a
very lofty branch, and bounded from it
with the ease of the smaller animals of hb
kind. Had the circumjacent land been
covered with wood, he would certainly
have escaped from his pursuers, for his
mode of travelling by bough or tree was as
rapid as the progress of a veiy fleet horse :
but at RamlK>on there are but few trees
lefl in the midst of cultivated fields, and
amongst these alone he jumped about to
avoid being taken. He was first shot on a
tree, and after having received five balls,
his exertion was relaxed, owing, no doubt,
to loss of blood ; and the ammunition hav-
ing been by that time expended, his pur-
suers were obliged to have recourse to
other measures for his destruction. One
of the first balls probably penetrated his
luncs, for immediately after the infliction
of the wound, he slung himself by his feet
from a branch with his head downwards,
and allowed the blood to flow from his
mouth. On receiving a wound, he always
put his hand over the injured part, and the
human-like agony of his expression had thf
natural effect of exciting painful feelings in
his assailants. The peasantry seemed as
amazed at the sight of him as the cre«
of the ship ; for they had never seen one
before, although living within two days'
journey from the vast and impenetrabk
forests on the island. They cut down thi
tree on which he was reclining exhausted .
but the inoment he found it falling, he
exerted his remaining strength, and gaineci
another, and then a third, until he wat
finally brought to the ^ound, and forced t'
combat his unrelenting foes, who npv^
gathered very thickly round, and discharged

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spears and other missiles against him.
1 he first spear, made of a yery strong sup-
ple wood, which would have resist^ the
strength of the strongest man, was broken
by him like a carrot ; and had he not been
in almost a dying state, it was feared that
he would have severed the heads of some of
the party with equal ease. He fell, at
length, under innumerable stabs inflicted
by the peasantry.

The animal is supposed to have travelled
som^ distance from the place where he was
kill^y as his legs were covered with mud
up to the knees. His hands and feet had
great analogy to human hands and feet,
only that the thumbs were smaller in pro-
portion, and situated nearer the wrist-ioint.
His body was well proportioned ; he had a
fine broad expanded chest and a narrow
waist; but his legs were rather short, and his
arms very long, though both possessed such
sinew and muscle as left no doubt of their
strength. His head was well proportioned
with his body, and the nose prominent;
the eyes were large, and the mouth larger
than the mouth in man. His chin was
fnnged, from the extremity of one ear to
the other, with a shaggy beard, curling
luxuriantly on each side, and forming alto-
gether an ornamental, rather than a fright-
ful appendas^e to his visage. When he
was first killed, the hair of his coat was
smooth and glossy, and his teeth and
whole appearance indicated that he was
young, and in the full possession of his

esical powers He was nearly eight
high.
The skin and fragments of this surprising
oran-outang were presented to the Asiatic
Society at Calcutta; and on the 5th
of January, 1825, Dr. Abel examined
them, and read the observations he had
made. The height already mentioned is
according to the estimate of those who
saw the animal alive, but the measure-
ment of the skin went far to determine this
question. The skin, dried and shrivelled
as it was, in a straight hne from the top of
the shoulder to the point whence the ancle
had been removed, measured five feet ten
inches; the perpendicular length of the
neck in the preparation, was three inches
and a half; the length of the face, from the
forehead to the chin, nine inches; and of
the skin attached to the foot, from the line
of iu separation from the body to the heel,
eight inches. The measurements were
made by Dr. Abel himself. Tlius we have
one foot eight inches and a half to be added
to the five feet ten inches, in order to
approximate his real stature, which would

make seven feet six inches and a half ; and
allowinj^ the six inches and a half for the
shortening that would result from the
folding of the skin over the shoulders, the
height would then be full seven feet This
is the g'reatest ascertained height of any
tail-less monkey mentioned in the several
notices which Dr. Abel collected from
different writers on man-like apes.

The skm itself was of a dark leaden
colour; the hair a brownish red, shaggy,
and long over the shoulders and flanks.

Dr. Abel remarked, that of the small
animals more particularly known in Europe,
under the designation of oran-outang, one
was an inhabitant of Africa, and the other
of the east. Several living specimens of
both have becL seen in Europe, but all
were of small stature, and very young,
never exceeding three feet in height, or as
many years of age. These animals were
long considered as varieties of the same
species, although in point of fact they are
very distinctly separated by external cha-
racter and anatomical distinctions. The
African animal being always black with
large ears, the eastern specimens as invar
riably having reddish brown hair, and very
small ears ; the former also are unprovided
with the sacs communicating with the
windpipe, which are always found in the
latter.*

Different naturalists have deemed the
oran-outang to be the connecting link be-
tween the brute and the human being.

A LITTLE LEARNING

— * aot • dMSferoas tUng.**

Mr. Thnmat CampMl having been cho*
sen lord rector of the university of Glasgow
made his inaugural speech oii the 12th of
April, 1827, wherein are the following
estimable remarks on desultory attain-
ments : —

" In comparing small leam^ acquisi-
tions with none at all, it appears to me to
be equally absurd to consider a little learn-
ing valueless, or even dangerous, as some
will have it, as to talk of a little virtue, a
little wealth, or health, or cheerfulness, or a
little of any other blessing under heaven,
being worthless or dangerous.

** To abjure any degree of information,
because we cannot grasp the whole circle
of the sciences, or sound the depths of
erudition, appears to be just about as sensi-
ble as if we were to shut up our windows

• CalcutU Go/enmoBt Gssette, Jaa. 13. 182&

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because they are too narrow, or because the
glass b<is not the magnifying power of a
telescope.

*' For the smallest quantity of knowledge
that a man can acquire, he is bound to be
contentedly thankful, provided bis hte
shuts him out from the power of acquiring
a larger portion— but whilst the possibility
of farther advancement remains, be as
proudly discontented as ye will witli a little
learning. For the value of knowledge is
like ihat of a diaoMnd, it increases accor*
ding to its magnitude, even in much more
than a geometrical ratio. — One science and
literary pursuit throws light upon another,
and there is a connection, as Cicero re-
marks, among them all —

" * Orones Artes, qu» ad liumanitatem
pertinent, habent quoddam commune vin-
culum, et quasi cognatione quadam inter
se continentur.'

^ No doubt a man ought to devote hinfr-
self, in the main, to one department of
knowledge, but still he will be all the better
for making himself acquainted with studies
which are kindred to and witkihsx pursuit.
-^The principle of the extreme division of
labour, so useful in a pin manufactory, if
introduced into learning, may produce, in-
deed, some minute and particiuar improve-
ments, but, on the whole, it tends to cramp
human intellect

** That the mmd may, and especially in
early youth, be easily distractfSd by too
many pursuits, must be readily admitted.
But I now beg leave to consider myself
addressing those among you, who are con-
scious of great ambition, and of many
Acuities; and what I say, may regard
rather the studies of your future ^an of
your present years.

**xo embrace different pursuits, diame-
trically opposite, in the wide circle of human
knowledge, must be pronounced to be al-
most universally iroiwssible for a single
mind.— But I cannot oelieve that any strong
mind weakens its strength, in any one
branch of learning, by diverging into cog-
nate studies; on the contrary, I believe
that it will return home to the main object,
bringing back illustrative treasures from all
Hs excursioDS into collateral pursuits."

FIGURES, AND NUMBERS.

Respecting the origin of the numeral
figures I, 2, 3,4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, there are
rarious opinions, but the one most generally
-poeived is, that they were brought into

Europe from Spain ; that the Spaniards le-
ceived them from the Moors, the Moors
from the Arabians, and the Arabians from
the Indians.

Bishop Huet, however, thinks it impro-
bable that the Arabians received figures
from the Indians, but, on the contrary, that
the Indians obtained them from the Ara*
bians, and the Arabians from the Grecians;
from whom, in fact, they acquired a know-
ledge of every science they possessed. The
shape of the figures they received undeiu
went a great alteration ; yet if we examine
them, divested of prejudice, we shall find
very manifest traces of the Grecian figures,
which were nothing more than letters of
their alphabet.

A small comma, or dot, was their mark
for units.

The letter fi (b) if its two extremities are
erased, produces the figure 2.

If we form the letter y (g) with more in-
clination to the left than usual, shorten the
foot, and give some rotundity to the left
horns near .the left side, we shall make the
figure 3.

The letter a (D) is the figure 4, as we
should find on. giving the left .leg a perpen-
dicular form, and lengthening it below the
base, which also should be enlarged towards
the left.

From the • (e short) is formed the 5, by
only bringing towards the right side the
demicircle which is beneath inclining to the
left.

From the figure 5 they made the 6, by
leaving out the foot, and rounding the
body.

Of the z (Z) they make the 7, by leaving
out the base.

If we turn the four comers of the h (e
long) towards the inside, we shall make the
figure 8.

The ^ (th) was the figure 9 without any
alteration.

The nought was only a point which they
added to their figures, to make them ten
times more ; it was necessai^ that this point
should be made very distinctly, to which
end they formed it like a circle, and filled
it up; this method we have neglected.

Theophanus, the Eastern chronologist,
says in express terms, that the Arabians
had retained the Grecian numbers, not
having suflBcieot characters in their own
language to mark them.

Menage says, they were first employed
in Europe in 1240, in the Alphonsian Ta-
bles, made under the direction of Alphonso,
son to king Ferdinand of Castile, by Isaac
Haian, a jew of Toledo, and Abel llagel.

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an Arabian. Dr. Wallts conceives they
were generally used in England about the
year 1130.

In the indexes of some old French books
these fig^iros are called Arabic ciphers, to
dbtinguish them from Roman numerals.

NUMBER X, 10.

It is obsenred by Huet as a remarkable
circumstance, that for calculation and nu-
merical increase the number 10 is always
used, and that decimal progression is pre-
ferred to every other. The cause of this
preference arises from the number of our
fingers, upon which men accustom them-
selves to reckon from their infancy. First,
they count the units on their fingers, and
when the units exceed that number, they
have recourse to another ten. If the nam-
ber of tens increase, they still redcon on
their fingers; and if they surpass that num-
ber, they then commence a different species
of calculation by the same agents ; as thus
^reckoning each finger for tens, then for
hundreds, thousands, &e.

From this mode of reckoning hj the
fingers then, we have been led to prefer the
number ten, thoucrh it is not so convenient
and useful a number as twelve. Ten can
only be divided by two and five, but twelve
can be divided by two, three, four, and 8ix«

The Roman numbers are adduced ia
proof of the origin of reckoning by the
•number ten, viz.— >

The units are marked by the letter I,
which represent a finger.

The number five is marked by the letter
V, which represents the first and last finger
of a hand.

Ten, by an X, which is two V's joined
U their points, and which two V's represent
the two hands.

Five tens are marked by an L ; that is
half the letter £, which is the same as C,
the mark for a hundred.

Five hundred is marked by a D, half of
the letter ^ , which is the same as M, the
mark for a thousand.

According to this, the calculation of the
Roman numbers was from five to five, that
is, from one hand to the other. Ovid makes
mention of this mode, as also of the num-
ber ten : —

** Hie nvmcris mMgao tnmn ia hoaorr (Viit

Sm qaia tot dipti per ^qm nnmerare MlMniKf

Se« qaia bis qaino femiiia meiue parit

Sen qood ad luqae deeem nnnero cresento Tcnitart

Priaeipiua spatiu immttar inde dotm.**

Vitruvius also makes the same remark ,
he says, *' £x manibus denarius digitorum
numerus.'*

We have refined, however, upon the con-
venience which nature has nimished us
with to assist us in our calculations; for
we not only use our fingers, but likewise
various figures, which we place in different
situations, and combine in certain ways, te
express our ideas.

Many unlettered nations^ as the inhabit-
ants of Guinea, Madagascar, and of the-
interior parts of America, know not how
to count farther than ten. The Brasilians.
and several others, cannot reckon beyond
five; they multiply that number to express
a greater, and in their calculations they use
their fingers and toes. The natives of Peru
use decimal progression ; the? count from
one to ten ; by tens to a hundred ; and by
hundreds to a thousand. Plutarch says,
that decimal progression was not only used
among the Grecians, but also by every un-
civiliied nation.

FOX, THE QUAKER.

This individual, many years deceased,
was a most remarkable man in his circle ;
a great natural genius, which employed
itself upon tri trial or not generally interests
ing matters. He deserved to- have teen
known better than he was. The last ye\is
of his life he resided at Bristol. He was a
great Persian scholar, and published some
translations of the poets of that nation,
which were well worthy perusal. He was
self*taught, and had patience and persever-
ance for any thing. He was somewhat
eccentric, but had the quickest reasoning
power, and consequently the greatest cooU
ness, of any man of his day, who was able
to reason. His house took fire in the
night ; it was situated near the sea ; it was
uninsured, and the fiames spread so rapidly
nothing could be saved. He saw the con-
sequences instantly, made up his mind to
them as rapidly, and ascending a hill a.
some distance in the rear of his dwelling,
watched the picture and the Tefiectlon of
the flames on the sea, admiring its beauties,
as if it were a holiday bonfire.

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DIVING-BELLS.

The first diving-bell we read of waa
nothing but a very large kettle, suspended
by ropes, with the mouth downwards, and
planks to sit on fixed in the middle of its
concavity. Two Greeks at Toledo, in 1588,
made an experiment with it before the
emperor Charles V. They descended in it,
with a lighted candle, to a considerable
depth. In 1683, William Phipps, the son
of a blacksmith, formed a project for un-
loading a rich Spanish ship sunk on the
coast of HispanioUu Charles dl. gave him
a ship with every thing necessary for his
undertaking; but being unsuccessful, he
returned in great poverty. He then en-
deavoured to procure another vessel, but
failing, he got a subscription, to which the
duke of Albemarle contributed. In 1687,
Phipps set sail in a ship of two hundred
tons, having previously engaged to divide
the profiu according to the twenty shares
of which the subscription consisted. At
first all his labours proved fruitless ; but at
last, when he seemed almost to despair, he
was fortunate enough to bring up so much
treasure, that he returned to England with
the value of 200,000/. sterling. Of this
sum he got about 20,000/., and the duke
90,000/. Phipps was knighted by the king,
and laid the foundation of the fortunes of
the present noble house of Mulgrave.
Since that time diving-bells have been often
employed. On occasion of the breaking
in of the water of the Thames during the
progress of the tunnel under the Thames,
Mr. Brunei frequently descended in one to.
the bed of the river.

GAMING.

— " Tfce nhng pftsnoo atroBf in death.**

In " Arliquiniana** avarice, and love of
gaming, are exemplified by the following
anecdote : —

A French woman, who resided on her
estate in the countcy, falling ill, sent to the
village curate, and offered to play with him.
The curate being used to ^ming, gladly
entertained the proposal, and they played
together till he lost all his money. She
then offered to play with him for the ex-
penses of her funeral, in case she should
die. They played, and the curate losing
these also, she obliged him to give her his
note of hand for so much money lent, as
her funeral expenses would amount to.
4She deliyered the note to her son, and died

within eight or ten days afterwards, and
the curate vras paid his fiees in his own
note of hand.

THE TANNER.
An Epigram.

A Btfrmoodiej taaner would ofton mgHe,

In a loDf tit&^iU with hii dame.
While trottbfl^ to town in the KeDaington stage.

Abottt giving their tUU a name.
A neighbour, thus hearing the tkia-dretier talk.

Stole oat, half an hoar after dark,
Piok*d ap in the roadvaj a fragment of ebalk,

Aad wrote on thepaUaga— ^ Hide Paikl**

FRIENDSHIP ON THE NAIL.

When Marigny contracted a fnendship
with Menage, he told him he vras " upon
his nml,^ It was a method he had oi
speaking of all his firiends ; he also used it
in his letters ; one which he wrote to Me-
nage begins thus : *< Oh 1 illustrious of mv
naiir ^

When Marigny said, *' you are upon my
nM^^ he meant two things— one, that the
person was always present, nothing being
more easy than to look at his nail; the
other was, that good and real friends were
so scarce, that even he who had the most,
might write their names on his nail.

Notice

TO THE CHANCE CUSTOMERS

OF THE

COMPANY OF FLYING STATIONERS.

Formerly there was a numerous class
who believed every thing they saw in print.
It is just possible that a few of these per-
suadable persons may survive ; I therefore
venture to remark, that my name printed
on the squibs now crying about the street£
is a forgery.

W.HONE.
Jwie 8, 1827.

•MttrMoathlfMMMtatb

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BECKENHAM CHURCH, KENT.

The pansh of Beckenham lends its
name to the hundred, which is in the
latn ot Sution-at-Hone. It is ten miles
from London, two miles north from Brom-
ley, and, according to the last census, con-
tains 1^ houses and 1180 inhabitants.
The living is a rectory valued in the king's
DooKs at 6/. 18t. 9d. The church is dedi-
cated to sc. George.

Beyond " Chaffinch's River " there

IS an enticing field-path to Beckenham, but
occasional sights of noble trees kept us
along the high road, till the ring of the
blacksmith's hammer signalled that we were
close upon the village. We wound through
it at a slow pace, vainly longing for some-
thing to realize the expectations rabed by
the prospect of it on our way.

Beckenham consists of two or three old
fat in-like looking houses, rudely encroached

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upon by a number of irregularly built
dwellings, and a couple of inns; one of
them of so much apparent consequence, as
to dignify the place. We soon came to an
edifice which, by its publicity, startles the
feelings of the passenger in this, as in
almost every other parish, and has perhaps
greater tendency to harden than reform the
rustic offender — the " cage," with its acces-
sory, the "pound." An angular turn in
the road, from these lodgings for men and
cattle when they go astray, afforded us a
sjdden and delightful view of
** The decent eliiireh that tope the neighVring hiU.**

On the right, an old, broad, high wall,
flanked with thick buttresses, and belted
with magnificent trees, climbs the steep, to
enclose the domain of I know not whom ;
on the opposite side, the branches, from a
plantation, arch beyond the footpath. At
the summit of the ascent is the village
church with its whitened spire,' crowning
and pinnacl'ing this pleasant grove, point-
ing from amidst the graves — like man s last
only hope — towards heaven.

This village spire is degradingly noticed
in " An accurate Description of Bromley
and Five Miles round, by Thomas Wilson,
1797." He says, ** An extraordinary cir-
cumstance happened here near Christmas,
1791 ; the steeple of this church was de-
stroyed by lightning, but a new one was
put up in 1796, made of copper, in the
form of an extinguisher." The old spire,
built of shingles, was fired on the morning
of the 23d of December, in the year seven-
teen hundred and ninety, in a dreadful
storm. One of the effects of it in London I
perfectly * remember : — the copper roofing
of the new" Stone Buildings" in Lincoln's
Inn was stripped off by the wind, and vio-
lently carried over the opposite range of
high buildings, the Six Clerks' offices, into
Chancery Lane, where I saw the immense
sheet of metal lying in the carriage way,
exactly as it fell, rolled up, with as much
neatness as if it had been executed by
machinery. As regards the present spire
of Beckenham church, its " form,** in rela-
tion to its place, is the most appropriate
that could have been devised — a picturesque
object, that marks the situation of the viU
lage in the forest landscape many miles
round, and indescribably graces the nearer
view.

We soon came up to the corpse-gate of
the chut ch-yard, and I left W. sketching it,*
whilst I retraced my steps into the village in

* Mr. W.*e eoffnTtat of hie sketeh ie on p. 715.

search of the churcli-keys at the parish-clerk's,
from whence I was Directed back again, to
*^ the woman who has the care of the church,**
and lives in the furthest of three neat
almshouses, built at the church-yard side,
by the private benefaction of Anthony
Rawlings, in 1694. She gladly accom-
panied us, with the keys clinking, throi^gh
the mournful yew-tree grove, and threw
open the great south doors of the church
It is an old edifice — despoiled of its ancient
font^-deprived, by former beautifyings, of
carvings and tombs that in these times
would have been remarkable. It has rem-
nants of brasses over the burial places of
deceased rectors and gentry, from whence
dates have been wantonly erased, and
monuments of more modern personages,
which a few years may eoually aeprave.

There are numerous memorials of the
late possessors of Langley, a predominttnt
estate in Beckenham. One in particular
to sir Humphry Style, records that he was of
great fame, in his day and generation, in
Beckenham t he was " Owner of Langley in
this parish, Knight and Baronet of England
and Ireland, a gentleman of the privy
chamber in ordinary to James I, one of
the cupbearers in ordinary to King Charles,
and by them boath intrusted with the
weighty affairs of this countye : Hee was
justice of peace and quorum. Deputy lief^e^
nant, ana alsoe (an hono'r not formerly
conferred upon any) made Coronell of all
the trayned band horse thereof."

The possession of Langley may be traced,
through the monuments, to its last herit-
able occupant, commemorated by an in-
scription ; " Sacred to the Memory of
Peter Burrell, Baron Gwydir, of Gwydir,
Deputy Great Chamberlain of England,
Born July 16, 1754; Died at Brighton,
June 29th, 1820, aged 66 years.'* Afler
the death of this nobleman Langley was
sold. The poor of Beckenham speak his
praise, and lament that his charities died
with him. The alienation of the estate de-
prived them of a benevolent protector, and
no one has arisen to succeea him in the
character of a kind-hearted benefactor

A tablet in this church, to " Harriet, wife
of (the present) J. G. Lambton, Esq. of
Lambton Hall, Duiham," relates that she
died " in her twenty-fifth year."

Within the church, nxed against tne
northern corner of the west end, is a plate
of copper, bearing an inscription to this
import : — Mary Wragg, of St. John's, West-
minster, bequeathed 15/. per annum for
ever to the curate of Beckenham, in trus*
for the following uses : viz. a guinea to

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himself for his trouble in talcing care that
her family vault should be ke\ti in good
repair ; a guinea to be expended in a dinner
for himself, and the clerk, and parish offi-
cers; 12/. lOt. to defray the expenses of
such repaiw; if in any year the vault
should not require repair, the money to be
laid out in eighteen pennyworth of good
beef, eighteen pennyworth of good bread,
j five shillings worth of coals, and 4«. 6d. in
! money, to be given to each of twenty of
, the poorest inhabitants of the parish ; if
I repairs should be required, the money left
to be laid out in liVe manner and quantity,
with 4«. 6d. to as many as it will extend
to ; and the remaining 8«. to be given to
the clerk. In consequence of Mary Wragg's
bequest, her vault in the church-yard is
properly maintained, and distribution made
of beef, bread, and money, every 28th of
January. On this occasion there is usually
a large attendance of spectators ; as many
as please go down into the vault, and the

EaH>chial authorities of Beckenham have a
oliday, and '* keep wassel."
There is carefully kept in this church a
small wooden hand-box, of remarkable
shape, made in king William's time, for the
receipt of contributions from the congrega-
tion when there are collections. As an
ecclesiastical utensil with which I was un-
acquainted, W. took a drawing, and has
made an engraving joi it.

This conecting-box is still used. It is
carried into the pews, and handed to the
occupants, whc drop any thing or nothing,
as they please, into the u^pcr part. When
noney is received, it passes through an

open slit \eh between the back and the top
enclosure of the lower half; which part, thai
shut up, forms a box, that conceals from
both eye and hand the money deposited.
The contrivance might be advantageously
adopted in making collections at the doors
of churches generally. It is a complete
security against the possibility of money
being withdrawn instead of given ; which,
from the practice of holding open plates,
and the ingenuity of sharpers, has some-
times happened.

In the middle of two family pews of thi^
church, which are as commodious as sitting
parlours, there are two ancient reading
desks like large music stands, with flaps
and locks for holding and securing the ser-
vice books when they are not in use. These
pieces of furniture are either obsolete in
churches, or peculiar to that of Beckenham ;
at least I never saw desks of the like in
any other church.

Not discovering any thing further to re-
mark within the edifice, except its peal of
five bells, we strolled among the tombs in
the church-yard, which ofiers no inscrip-
tions worth notice. From its solemn yew-
tree erove we passed through the ''Lich-
gate, already described. On our return
to the road by which we had approached
the church, and at a convenient spot, W.
sketched the view he so freely represents in
the engraving. The melodists of^the groves
were in full song. As the note of the
parish-clerk rises in the psalm above the
common voice of the congregation, so the
loud, confident ppte of the blackbird exceeds
the united sound of the woodland choir :
^pne of \\iene birds, on a near tree, whistled
yrith all his might, as if conscious of our
listening, and desirous of particular dis-
tinction.

Wishing to reach home by a different
route than that we had come, we desired
to be acquainted with the way we should
go, and went again to the almshouses which
are occupied bv three poor widows, of
whom our attendant to the church was one.
She was alone in her humble habitation
making tea, with the tokens of her office-
bearing, the church keys, on the table
before her. In addition to the required
information, we elicited that she was the
widow of Benjamin Wood, the late parish-
clerk. His brother, a respectable trades-
man in London, had raised an excellent
business, " Wood's eating-house,** at the
comer of Seething-lane, Tower-streei, and
at his decease was enabled to provide com-
fortably for his family. Wood, the parislh
clerk, had served Beckenham m that

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city many years till his death, which left
his widow indigent, and threw her on the
cold charity of a careless world. She
ieems to have outlived the recollection of
her husband's relatives. AAer his death
she Jtruggled her way into this alms-
house, and gained an allowance of two
shillings a week; and on this, with the
trifle allowed for her services in keeping
clean the church, at past threescore years
and ten, sne somehow or other contrives to
exijt

We led dame Wood to talk of her « do
mestic management,'' and finding she
brewed her own beer with the common
utensils and fire-place of her little room,
we asked her to describe her method : a
tin kettle is her boder, she mashes in a
common butter-firkin, runs off the liquor
in a *' crock," and tuns it in a small-beer-
barrel. She is of opinion that ** poor peo-
ple might do a great deal for themselves if
they knew how : buty* says she, *< where
there's a trtV/, tliere*s a tray.*' *

THE OLD FONT OP BBCKENHAM CflUBCH.

A font often denotes the antiquity, and
frequently determines the former import-
ance of the church, and is so essential a
part of the edifice, that it is incomplete
without one. According to the rubrick, a
church may be without a pulpit, but not
without a font; hence, almost the first
thing I look for in an old church is its old
stone font. Instead thereof, at Beckenham,
it a thick wooden baluster, with an un-
feemW circular flat lid, covering a sort ot
waih-hand-basiiiy and this the ^ gentlemen

of the parish " call a " font !*' The odd-
looking thing was ^* a present " from a
parishioner, in lieu of the ancient stone
font which, when the church was repaired
after the lightning-storm, was carried away
by Mr. churchwarden Bassett, and placed
in his yard. It was afterwards sold to
Mr. Henry Holland, the former landlord of
the •* Old Crooked Billet," on Penge Com-
mon, who used it for several years as a
cistern, and the present landlord has it now
in his garden, where it appears as repre>

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tented in the engraving. Mr. Harding
expresses an intention of making a table of
it, and placing it at the front of his house:
in the interim it is depicted here, as a hint,
to induce some regard in Beckenham
people, and save the venerable font from
an exposure, which, however intended as. a
private respect to it by the host of th«
Crooked Billet," would be a public
ihame to Beckenham parish.

For the Table Book.

GONE OR GOING.
L

Fine merrj franiontt
Wantoa oompanioaa*
M7 dftys are eVn banyiae

Witk thinking npon ye 1
Hoir Destb, tliat last striager,
Tiaie-writer, cad-briager.
Has laid Me chill finger.

Or is laying, <ni je.

S.
There's ridi Kittj Wheatley,
With footing it featly
That took me completelj.

She sleeps ia the Kiik-hoaatt
And poor Poll/ Perkia,
Whose Dad was stiU ferkzag
The jolly ale firkia—

She's goM to the Work-ko«9iit

Fine gard'aer, Bea Carter
(la tea eonnties no smarter)
Has ta*ea his departure

For Proeerpiae's orchaids s
Aad lily, postillion.
With cheeks of Termilioa,
Is one of a milBoa

That fill np the church- yards.

Aad, lusty as Dido,
Fat Clemitsoa*s widow
Flits aow a smaU shadow

By Styglaa hid ford |
Aad. good Master Clapton
Has thirty years nap't on
The ground he last hap*t on {

lBtomb*d by fair Widford |

And gallaat Tom Doewra,
Of Nature's finest crockery,
Now but thta air and mockery

Lurks by ATCnins ;
Whoee honest grasp of hand.
Still, while his life did staad.
At fiieod's «r foe's oororoaad,

AiaMst did liuni us.

(Roger de Govariy

Not aM>re good maa thaa hp^

Tat IS he equally

Push'd for Coeytaife
With euckoldy Worral,
Aad wicked old Dorrel,
Gainst whom iWa quarrel—

His death night affright as*

7.
Had he mended la right thne^
He need not in night time,
(That black hour, and fright-time,)

TiU sexton bten'd him.
Have groaa'd ia his coffin.
While demons stood sooffia|^
Yoa*d ha* thought him a coughing—

My own fathei* k«ard htm I

Could gala so importuae^
With oocasioB opportune.
That for a poor Fortune,

That should hare been ou%t
la ioul he should Tenture
To pierce the dim oenter.
When will-forgers enter.

Amid the dark Powers f—

9L

Kindly hearts I hare kaowa ;
Kindly hearts, they are fiown t
Here aad there if but ona

linger, yet uaeffaced,—
Imbecile, tottering elres.
Soon to be wreck'd on sbelves.
These scarce are half themselres.

With age and cars erased.

But this day, Faaay Button
Her last dress has put on ;
Her fine leseons fosfotten.

She died, as the dunce died s
And prim Betsey Chambers,
Decay'd in her members.
No longer remembers

Things, as she once did •

U.
And pradeat Miss Wither
Not in jest now doth wither.
And soon must go— whither

Nor I, well, nor you know t
And flauatiag Miss Waller—
That sooa must befisl her.
Which makes folks seem taller,!—

Though proud, oaoe, as Juno I

£UA.

• Who sat up with htm.
•I I hare this fact from Parental traditiM anlj.
. % Death kagthena people to the eye

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HIGHLAND SCENERY.

tiitir lives and^he punty of their tnnnheit ;
at the Reformation, when the innooenr
«»eie inyolved with the guilty in the suffer*
iBgs of the tiroes, their house was supprest,
TTie scenery and lerend of Mr. James «nd the temporalities granted to Hay, the

Hay Allan's poera, " The Bridal of Cabl- abbot of Inchaffrey, who, abjuring his for-

chairn," are derived from the vicinity of^ mer tenets of religion, embraced the cause

Cruachan, (or Cruachan-Beinn,) a moun- of the reformers.''^ Public worship was

tain 3396 feet above the level of the sea,

situated at the head of Loch Awe, a lake in

Argyleshire. The poem commences with

the following lines : the prose illustrations

are from Mr. Allan*s descriptive notes.

Qnj fipirit of tlM Lftke, who sit*st at eve

At might/ Cniiehan'f gtgaatie feet ;

And lor'st to wateli thj gentle waten heare

The •ihrtTj ripple down their glatsy sheet ;

How oft Vr% wandered hj thy margin sweet.

And stood heside the wide and silent hay.

Where the broad Ureha's stream thy breast doth meet.

And CaOlehaim's forsaken DDnjon grey

Looks from its aanow rock upon thy watery way.

Maid of '^e waters I in the days of yore

What sight yon setting sin has seen to smile

Along thy spreadiag boand, on tidr, aad shore,

Whoi in its pride the fortress reared its pile.

And stood the abbey on ** the lorely isle ;**

And Fra5oh Elan's refvge tower grey

Looked down the mighty gulfs profound defilt.

Alas I that Scottish eye should see the day.

When bower, and bield, and hall, in shattered ruin lay.

What deeds have past upon thy mountain shore ;
What sights have been reflected in thy tide ;
But dark and dim their tales hare sunk from lore :
Scarce is it now remembered on thy side
Where fought Mao Colda, or Mao Phadian died.
But lend me, for a while, thy silrer shell,
Tis long since breath has waked its echo wide ;
Then list, while once again I raise its swell.
And of thy olden day a fearful legend tell—

INISHAIL.

•• the ooBTsnt on the tow/y We.**

Inishail, the name of one of the islands
in Loch Awe, signifies in Gaelic ** the
lovely isle." It is not at present so worthy
of this appellation as the neighbouring
**• Frioch Elan," isle of heather, not having
a tree or shrub upon its whole extent. At
the period when it received its name, it
might, however, have been better clothed ;
and still it has a fair and pleasant aspect :
its extent is larger than that of any other
island in the lake, and it is covered with a
green turf, which, in spring, sends forth an
abundant growth of brackens.

There formerly existed here a convent of
Cistercian nuns ; of whom it is said, Uiat
they were " memorable for the sanctity of

performed in the chapel of the convent till
the year 1736: but a more commodious
biiilding having been erected on the south
side of the lake, it has since been entirely
forsaken ; nothing now remains of its ruin
but a small part of the shell, of which only
a few feet are standing above the founda-
tion. Of the remaining buildings of the
order there exists no trace, except in some
loose heaps of stones, and an almost ob-
literated mound, which marks the founda-
tion of the outer wall. But the veneration
that renders sacred to a Highlander the
tombs of his ancestors, has yet preserved
to the burying-ground its ancient sanctity.
It is still used as a place of interment, and
the dead are often brought from a distance
to rest there among their kindred.

In older times the isle was the principal
burying-place of many of the most con-
siderable neighbouring families: among
the tombstones are many shaped in the
ancient form, like the lid of a coffin, and
ornamented with carvings of fret-work,
running figures, flowers, and the forms of
warriors and two-handed swords. They
are universally destitute of the trace of an
inscription.

Among the chief families buried in In-
bhail were the Mac Nauchtans of Fraoch
Elan, and the Campbells of Inbherau. Mr.
Allan could not discover the spot appro*
priated to the former, nor any evidence of
the gravestones which must have covered
their tombs. The place of the Campbells,
however, is yet pointed out. It lies on the
south side of the chapel, and its site is
marked by a large flat stone, ornamented
with the arms of the family in high relief.
The shield is supported by two warriors,
and surmounted by a diadem, the significa-
tion and exact form of which it is difficult
to decide ; but the style of the carving and
the costume of the figures do not appear to
be later than the middle of the mteenth
century.

On the top of the distant hill over which
the road from Inverara descends to Cladicb
there formerly stood a stone cross, erected
on the spot where Inishail first became
visible to the traveller. These crosses were

• StMisliMl A&oonmU voL viiL p. 347.

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geoeral at such stations in monastic times,
and upon arriving at their foot the pilgrims
knelt and performed their reverence to the
saint, whose order they were approaching.
From this ceremony, the spot on the hill
bove-mentioned was 'and is yet called
the cross of bending."

FRAOCH ELAN.

•• The refuge tower gvej
Looked down the naghtj gnlfi profoand de&le.**

The little castellated isle of ** FrJUwh
Elan" lies at a short distance from Inishail,
and was the refuge hold of the Mac Nauch-
tans. It was given to the chief, Gilbert
Mac Nauchlan, by Alexander IIL in the
year 1276, and was held by the tenuie of
entertaining the king whenever he should
pass Loch Awe. The original charter of
the grant was lately in possession of Mr.
Campbell of Auchlian, and a copy is to be
found in " Sir James Balfour's Collection
of Scottish Charters." The islet of " Frioch
Elan" is in summer the most beautiful in
Scotland. On one side the rock rises al-
most perpendicular from the water. The
lower part and the shore is embowered in
tangled shrubs and old writhing trees.
Above, the broken wall and only remaining
gable of the castle looks out over the
boughs ; and on the north side a large ash-
tree grows from the foundation of what was
once the hall, and overshadows the ruin
with its branches. Some of the window-
niches are yet entire in the keep, and one
of these peeping through \he tops of the
trees, shows a view of fiiirie beauty over
the waters of the lake, and the woody
banks of tlie opposite coast. In the sum-
mer, Friioch Elan, like most of the islands
in Loch Awe, is the haunt of a variety of
gulls and wild fowl. They come from the
sea-coast, a distance of twenty-four miles,
to build and hatch their young. At this
reason, sheldrakes, grey gulls, kitaweaks,
white ducks, teal, widgeon, and divers,
abound in the Loch. Friloch Elan is chiefly
visited by the gulls, which hold the isle in
joint tenure with a water-eagle who builds
annually upon the top of the reraaining
chimney.

It is not very long since this beautiful
isle has been deliverS over to these inha-
bitanU ; for a great aunt of a neighbouring
gentleman was bom in the castle, and in
** ihe forty.five," preparations were privately
made there for entertaining the piince had
ne passed by Loch Awe.
From the name of Frikoch Elan floroii

have erroneously, and without any authority
of tradition, assigned it as the dragon's
isle,* in the ancient Gaelic legend of
•* Frioch and the daughter of Mey." There
is, in truth, no farther relation between one
and the other, than in a resemblance of
name between the island and the warrior
The island of the tale was called ^* Elan na
Bheast," the Monster's Isle, and the lake in
which it lay was named Loch Luina. This
is still remembered to have been the ancient
appellation of Loch Avich, a small lake
about two miles north of Loch Awe. There
is here a small islet yet called " Elan na
Bheast," and the tradition of the neigh-
bourhood universally afiirms, that it was
the island of the legend.

RIVAL CHIEFS.

•* Where fooght Mac Colda, and Mac Phadian died."

*' Alaistcr Mac Coll Cedach.'' Alexan-
der, the son of left-handed Coll, was a Mac
Donald, who made a considerable figure in
the gieat civil wax : he brought two thou-
sand men to the assistance of Montrose,
and received from him a commission of
lieutenancy in the royal service. He is
mentioned by contemporary writers, under
the corrupted name of Kolkitto ; but time
has now drawn such a veil over his hbtory,
that it is difficult to ascertain with any de-
gree of certainty from what family of the
Mac Donalds he came. By some it is
asserted, that he was an islesman ; but by
the most minut« and seemingly authentic
tradition, he is positively declared to have
been an Irishman, and the ion of the earl
of Antrim.

Of his father there is nothing preserved
but his name, his fate, and his animosity to
the Campbells, wiih whom, during his life,
he maintained with deadly assiduity the
feud of his clan. It was his piper who was
hanged at Dunavliig in Ceantir, and in his
last hour saved the life of his chieftain by
composing and playing the inexpressibly
pathetic pibroch, " Colda mo Roon." But
though he escaped at this juncture, Colda
was afterwards taken by the Campbells,
and hung in chains at Dunstaffnage. Hit
death was the chief ground of that insatiate
vengeance with which his son ever aftei
pursued the followers of Aigyle. Ix)n{
after the death of his father, Alaistei
chanced to pass by Dunstaffnage in retun
from a descent which he had made in th<
Campbell's country. As he sailed near thi

• Statbtical Aooonat of Beotland, voL viu. p. 846
•Ml Ptaaiat*B Tmv m footlmd, 177i» »• S13.

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castle, he saw the bones of his father still
hanging at the place where he had suffered,
and swinging in the sea-breeze. He was
so affected at the sight of the lamentable
-emains, that he solemnly vowed to revenge
.hem by a fearful retribution, and hastening
his return to Ireland gathered what force
he was able, and sailing back to Scotland
offered his services to Montrose. He was
gladly accepted ; and during the various
adventures of the marquis in the Hielands,
Alaister Mac Colda was one of the most
valuable of his adherents ; and his follow-
ers were accounted among the bravest and
best experienced in the royal army. Some
of their exploits are recorded in the " Le-
obhair Dearg/' or " Red Book of Clanra-
nald," and fully justify the fame which they
received.

Alaister was present at the battle of
Inbherlochie, and after the action he was
sent with his followers to the country of
Argyle. He entered the Campbell lands
by Glen Eitive, and wherever he came put
all who bore the name of that clan to fire
and sword. As he marched down Glen
Eitive, he crossed the bounds of the Mac
Intires in Glen O, and in passing the house
of their chieftain, a circumstance occurred,
which gives a lively picture of the extent
of the ancient respect paid by a clansman
to the ties of his olood. The Mac Intires
were originally descended from the Mac
Donalds, and lived from time immemorial
upon the border of the Campbells, between
that race and the south-east march of the
Clan Donald in Glen Coe. Upon the de-
cline of the vast power of this sept after
the fatal battle or Harlow, and upon the
subsequent increase of power to the Camp-
bells, the Mac Intires placed themselves
under the latter clan, and lived with them
as the most powerful of their followers.
When Alaister Mac Colda passed through
Glen O, he was not acquainted with the
name of the place nor the race of its inha-
bitants ; but knowing that he was within
the bounds of the Campbells, he supposed
that all whom he met were of that clan.
Glen O was deserted at his approach, and
it is probable that the men were even then
in service with Argyle. Alaister, in his
usual plan of vengeance, ordered fire to the
house of the chieftain. A coal was in-
stantly set in the roof, and the heather of
which it was made was quickly in a blaze.
Before, however, the flames had made much
progress, Alaister was told that the house
which he was burning was that of the
chieftain of Mac Intire. The man of Mac
£Vnald immediately commanded his people

to do their endeavour to extinguish the fire;
** for," said he, " it is the house of our own
blood.'** The flames were soon overcome,
and Colda passed through the glen of the
Mac Intires in peace into Glen Urcha,
where he burnt and destroyed all within
his reach. From hence be marched en-
tirely round Loch Awe, carrying devasta-
tion through the ancient and original patri-
mony of the Campbells. As he passed by
the Loch of Ballembr, the inhabitants (a
small race named Mac Chorchadell, and
dependant upon the former clan) retired
from their huts into the little castle of their
chieftain, which is situated in the midst of
the Loch. Being in no way connected with
his enemies by blood, Alaister did not con-
ceive that with them he held any feud, and
quietly marched past their deserted habita-
tions, without laying a band upon their
property. But as his men were drawing
from the lake, one of the Mac Cborchadells
fired upon their rear, and wounded a Mac
Donala. Alaister instantly turned : ** Poor
little Mac Chorchadell,** said he in Gaelic,
** 1 beg your pardon for my want of respect
in passing you without stopping to pay my
compliments ; but since you will have it so,
I will not leave you without notice.'' — He
returned, and burnt every house in Balle-
mor.

The power of the Campbells had been
so broken at Inbherlochie, that it was not
until Mac Colda had arrived near the west
coast of their country, that they were again
in a condition to meet him in a pitdied
fight. At length they encountered him on
the skirt of the moss of Crenan, at the foot
of a hill nut far from Auchandaroch. The
battle was fought with all the fury of indi-
vidual and deadly hatred, but at last the
fortune of Alaister prevailed, and the
Campbells were entirely routed, and pur-
sued with great slaughter off the field of
battle. Some time afterwards they aeain
collected what numbers they could gather,
and once more offered battle to Alaister, as
he was returning to Loch Awe. The con- I
flict was fought at the ford of Ederline, the
eastern extremity of the lake ; but here the
success of the Mac Donalds forsook them.
They were entirely beaten and scattered,
so that not six men were left together ; and
those who escaped from the field were cut
off by their enemies, as they endeavoured

* When (he chiefhttn rr taned to his house, the coal
which had lo near proved itsdestnietioB, was found ia
the roof; it was taken out bjr order of Mac !fltir«, and

Iiresrrred with ifreat eare bj his descendants till tha
ate Glen 0 was driren to Ameriea hj the misfortuact
of the Highlands and the oppression of his saptrier.

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to lurk out of their country. Of Alaister's
hie each clan and each district has a dif^
ferent story. The Argyle Campbells say
that he was killed at the ford, and a broad*
sword said to have been his, and to have
been found on the field of battle, is at this
day in the possession of Peter Mac Lellich
(smith), at the croft of Dalmallie. The
Louden Campbells, on the contrary, assert,
that Alaister escaped from the overthrow,
and wandering into Ayrshire, was slain by
them while endeavouring to find a passage
into Ireland. The Mac Donalds do not
acknowledge either of these stories to be
true, but relate that their chieftain not onl\
escaped from the battle, but (though with
mnch difficulty) effected his flight to Ire-
/and, where a reward being set upon his
head, he was at length, in an unguarded
moment, when divested of his arms, slain
by one of the republican troopers, by whom
he was sought out.

The fate of Alaister Mac Colda is said to
have been governed by that &tality, and
Dredicted by that inspiration, which were
>nce so firmly believed among the High-
landers. His foster-mother, says tradition,
was gifted with the second sight ; and, pre-
vious to his departure from Ireland, the
chieftain consulted her upon the success of
his expedition. '* You will be victorious
over all bom of woman," replied the seer,
* till you arrive at Goch-dum Gho ; but
when you come to that spot, your fortune
shall depart for ever."—" Let it be so," said
Alaister, " I shall receive my glory." He
departed and the spirit of his adventure
and the hurrv of enterprise, perhaps,
banished trom his mind the name of the
fatal place. It was indeed one so insigni-
ficant and remote, that its knowledge was
most probably confined to the circle of a
few miles, and not likely to be restored
to the notice of Mac Colda, by mention or
inquiry. It was on the eve of his last
battle, as his " bratacV was settin|r up at
the ford of Ederiine, that his attention was
caught by a mill at a little distance; for
tome accidental reason he inquired its
name :— *< Mullian Goch-dum Gho," re-
plied one of his men. The prediction was
at once remembered. The enemy were »i
hand, and Alaister knew that he should
fiUl. Convinced of the fatality of the pro-
phecy, he sought not to retreat from the
evil spot : the bourne of his fortune was
past, and he only thought of dying as be-
came him in the last of his fields. He made
oo comment upon the name of the place ;
but, concealing from his followers the coti-
oectioa which it bore with his fate, gave

directions for the proceedings of the afv
proaching morning. In the battle he be.
naved as he was wont, and in the close of
the day was seen fighting furiously with
two of the Campbells, who appeared unable
to overcome him. Nothing more was heard
of him : his body was never discovered ;
but when the slain were buried by the con-
querors, his claidh-m6r was found beneath
a heap of dead.

Mac Phadian was an Irish captain, who,
with a considerable body of his country-
men, assisted Edward I. of England in his
war to subvert the independence of Scot-
land ; but though he took a very active part
in the turbulent period in which he lived,
and possessed sufficient coura^ and talents
to raise himself from obscurity to power,
yet we have nothing left of his history but
the account of his last enormities, and tlie
overthrow and death which they finally
brought. It is probable, that we are even
indebted for this information to the cele-
brity of the man by whom he fell, and
which in preserving the victory, of the con-
queror, has also perpetuated the memory
of the vanquished.

The scene of the last actions of Mac
Phadian lay in Lorn and Ars^le ; and the
old people in the neighbourhood of Loch
Awe still retain a tradition, which marks
out the spot where he fell. Time, however,
and the decay of recitation during the last
century, have so injured all which remained
of oral record, that the legend of Mac Pha-
dian is now confined to a very few of the
elder fox-hunters and shepherds of the
country, and will soon pass into oblivion
with those by whom it is retained—

Some time in the latter end of the year
1297, or the beginning of the year 1298,
Edward made a grant to Mac Phadian of
the lordships of Arryle and- Lorn. The
first belonged to sir Niel Campbell, knight,
of Loch Awe, and chief of his clan ; the
second was the hereditary patrimony of
John, chief of Mac Dougall. Sir Niel did
his endeavour to resist the usurpation of
his lands, and though fiercely beset by thf
traitor lords, Buchan, Athol, and Mentieth
he for some time maintained his independ
ence against all their united attempts. BU
John of Lorn, who was himself in the ii>
terest and service of the English, and at
that time in London, concurred with king
Edward in the disponing of bis tenitories,
and received in remuneration a more con-
siderable lordship. Mac Phadian did not.
however^ remain in quiet possession of his

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lU-acquired domains; be was stronf^ly
apposed by Duncan of Lorn, uncle to the
lord; but joininf^ with Buchan, Athol, and
Mentieth, he at length drove out his enemy,
and compelled htm to seek shelter with sir
Niel Campbell. Upon this success the
above-mentioned allies, at the head of a
raized and disorderly force gathered from
all parts, and from all descriptions, Irish
and Scots, to the amount of fifteen thousand
men, made a barbarous inroad into Argyle,
and suddenly penetrating into the district
of Nether Loch Awe, wasted the country
wherever they came, and destroyed the in-
habitants without regard to age or sex. In
this exigency the Campbell displayed that
constancy and experience which had ren-
dered his name celebrated among his coun-
trymen. Unable to resist the intoxicated
multitude of his enemies, with Duncan of
Lorn, and three hundred of his veteran
clansmen, he retired by the head of Loch
Awe and the difficult pass of Brandir to
the inaccessible heights of Craiganuni, and
breaking down the bridge over the Awe
below, prevented the pursuit of the enemy
to his position. Nothing could be more
masterly than the plan of this retreat.

Mac Phadian, thas baffled and outma-
noeuvred, not only failed in his object of
offence, but found himself drawn into an
intricate and desolate labyrinth, where his
multitude encumbered themselves: the want
of subsistence prevented him from remain-
ing to blockade sir Niel, and his ignorance
of the clues of the place made it difficult to
extricate himself by a retreat. In this exi-
gence he was desirous of returning to
Nether Loch Awe, where there was abun-
dance of cattle and game for the support of
his men. At length he discovered a pas-
sage between the rocks and the water ; the
way was only wide enough fbr four persons
to pass abreast ; yet, as they were not in
danger of pursuit, they retired in safety,
and effected their march to the south side
of the lake.

The measures employed by Wallace to
relieve the Campbell, and to reach the
fastness wherein Mac Phadian had posted
himself, were romanric and daring

Mac Phadian's followers were completely
surprised and taken at disarray, lliey
snatched their arms, and rushed to defend
the pass with the boldest resolution. At
the first onset the Scots bore back their
enemies over five acres of ground; and
Wallace, with his iron mace, made fearful
havoc among the enemy. Encouraged,
however, by Mac Phadian, the Irish came
Hi the rescue; the battls thickened with

more stubborn fury; and for two hours
was maintained with such obstinate eager-
ness on both sides, that neither party had
any apparent advantage. At length the
cause and valour of Wallace prevailed. The
Irish gave way and fled, and the Scots of
their party threw down their arms, and
kneeled for mercy. Wallace commanded
them to be spared for their birth sake, but
urged forward the pursuit upon the Irish.
Pent in by the rocks and the water, the
latter had but little hope in flight. Many
were overtaken and slain as they endea-
voured to climb the crags, and two thou-
sand were driven into the lake and drowned.
Mac Phadian, with fifteen men, fled to a
cave, and hoped to have concealed himself
till the pursuit was over ; but Duncan of
Lorn having discovered his retreat, pursued
and slew him with his companions; and
having cut off the head of the leader,
brought it to Wallace, and set it upon a
stone high in one of the crags as a trophy
of the victory.

In one of the steeps of Cruachan, nearly
opposite the rock of Brandir, there is a
secret cave, now only known to a very few
of the old fox-hunters and shepherds : it is
still called ** Uagh Phadian/' Mac Pha-
dian's cave ; and is asserted by tradition to
be the place in which Mac Phadian died.
The remembrance of the battle is nearly
worn away, and the knowledge of the real
cave confined to so few, that the den in
which Mac Phadian was killed is generally
believed to be in the cliffii of Craiganuni :
this is merely owing to the appearance of a
black chasm in the face of that height, and
to a confusion between the action of Mac
Phadian with Wallace, and his pursuit ot
sir Niel Campbell. But the chasm in
Craiganuni, though at a distance it appears
like the mouth of a cave, is but a cleft in
the rock; and the few who retain the
memory of the genuine tradition of the
battle of the Wallace, universally agree
that the cave in the side of Cruachan was
that in which Mac Phadian was killed.

The " Bridal of Caiilchairn" is a legen
dary poem, founded upon a very slight
tradition, concerning events which are re-
lated to have occurred during the absence
of sir Colin Campbell on his expedition to
Rome and Arragon. It is said by the tale,
that the chieftain was gone ten years, and .
that his wife having received no intelligence ■
of his existence in that time, she accepted
the addresses of one of het husband's vas-
laUy Mac Nab of Barachastailan. Tha

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bridal was fixed ; but on the day when it
was to have been solemnized, the secret
was imparted to sir Colin in Spain, by a.
spirit of the nether world. When the
inight received the intelligence, he bitterly
.ameDted the distance which prevented him
from wreaking vengeance upon his pre-
sumptuous follower. The communicat-
ing spirit, either out of love for mischief,
or from a private familiarity with sir Colin,
promised to obviate this obstacle ; and on
tLe same day, before the bridal was cele-
brated, transported the chieftain in a blast
of wind from Arragon to Glen Urcha. In
what manner sir Colin proceeded, tradition
does not say ; it simply records, that the
bridal was broken, but is silent upon the
nature of the catastrophe. The legend is
now almost,entirely forgotten in the neigh-
bourhood where its events are said to have
taken place. •* As far as I know," says
Mr. Allan, ** it is confined to one old man,
named Malcolm Mac Nab, who lives upon
the hill of Barachastailan ; he is between
eighty and ninety years of age, and the last
of the race of ancient smiths, who remains
in the place of his ancestors. A few yards
from his cottage there is the foundation of
one of those ancient circular forts built by
the Celts, and so frequently to be met
in the Highlands: these structures are
usually ascribed by the vulgar to Fion and
his heroes. In a neighboiwing field, called
* Larich nam Fion/ there were formerly
two others of these buildings; their walls
of uncemented stone were not many years
since entire, to the height of eight or nine
feet J but they have since been pulled down
and carried away to repair the neighbour-
ing cottages : it is from these buildings that
the hill received its name of * Bar-a-chas-
tailan,' the ' eminence of the castles.' "

TIm tide of eenturios \m» rolled away

O'er InnUhairH solitaiy isle.

The wind of ages and the world's decay

Has swept upon the CampbeUii* fortress pil« :

And far from what thej were is changed the while

The monks* grey cloister, and the baron's keept

Tre seen the son within the dnageon smile*

And in the bridal bower the ivy ereep.

Pre stood npon the fane's fonndatioa ston«.

Heard the grass nigh npon the elobtei's heap^

And sat npon the holy crosa overthrown.

And marked within the eell where warriors deep,

Beneath the broad gny atone the timorons rabbit peep.

The legend of the dead is past away
An the dim eve amid the night doth faiL
The n«morie of the fearfnl bridal day
Is partad from the people of the vale ;
Am! none are left to tell the wearj tate.
Save on jM koa green hill by rioo's torn

Yet fives a man bowed'ddwM with iiga-ani aitt
Still taUs he of the fearfnl legend's hoar—
It was hia lather fell within the bridal bow«r*

Bat though with' man there b a weary wastes

It is not so beyond the mortal way ;

With the nnbodied spirits nought is spaced |

Bat when the aged world has won away.

They look on earth where OBoe their dwaJUag Isyi

And to their neTemdosiag eye dotk show

All that has been— a furie work of day ;

And all which hete their mortal life did show.

Yet Utos in that which never may decay ;

When thought, and lifOi and memorie bek>w

Has Bonk with all it bore of gladness or of woe.

At erentirae on green Inchail's isle

A dim grey form doth sit npon the kill :

No shadow casts it in the moonshine mils^

And in its folded aantla bowed and still

No faatars e'er it showed tiia twilight ehitt.

Bat seeau beneath its hood a void grey.

The owlet, when it eomes, cries wild and shrill i

The moon grows dim when shows it in its ray.

None saw it e'er depart ;— bat it is not at day.

By Cafllehaim at night when all u still.

And the black otter issaes from his lair,

He hears a Toioe along the water chill.

It seenu to speak amid the eloady air ;

Bat some have seen beyoad the Doigon stair

Where now the floor from the wall is gune*

A form dim standing 'mid the ether fttir,

Ko light npoft its fixed efs there shone.

And yet the blood seems wet apon ito bosom waa.

MY ARM-CHAIR.

For the Tabte Book.

In my humble opinion an arm-chair it
far superior to a sofa ; for although I bow
to Cowper's judgment, (who assigned the
superiority to the sofa,) yet we roust recol-
lect that it was in compliance with the re-
quest of a fair lady that he chose that
subject for praise : he might have eulogized
in equal terms an arm-chair, had he con-
sulted his own feelings and appreciation of
comfort. I acknowledge the ** soft recum-
bency of outstretched limbs," so peculiar
to the sofa — the opportunity afforded the
fair sex of displaying grace and elegance
of form, while reposing in easy negligence
on a Grecian couch — but then think of the
snug comfort of an easy-chair. Its veiy
name conveys a multitude of soothing
ideas: its commodious repose for your
back ; its generous and unwearied support
of your head; its outstretched arms wooing
you to its embraces: — think on these
things, and ask yourself if it be possible to
withstand its a£fectionate and disinterested
advauces*

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On entenng a room where there is an
easy-chair, you are struck by the look of
conscious self-importance which seems to
distinguish it as the monarch of all the
surrounding chairs ; there is an appearance
of regal superiority about it, blended, how-
ever, with such a charicistr condescension,
that you immediately avail yourself of its
gracious inclination to reoeive the bnrden
of your homage.

There is one kind of arm-chair for which
[ entertain a very resentful feeling, it
astvmes the title of an etujf-cbair to induce
you to believe it one of that amiable frater-
nity, whereas it only claims kindred on
account of its shape, and is in reality the
complete antipodes of ease — I mean the
horse-hair arm-chair. Its arms, like those
of its brethren, invite you to repose ; but,
if you attempt it, you are repulsed by an
ambush of sharp snooting prickles. It is
'ike a person wno has a desire to please
and obtain you for his friend, but who is of
so incorrigibly bad a temper that attach-
ment is impossible. If you try to com-
pose yourselt with one of these pretenders,
oy endeavouring to protect the back of
your head with your pocket-handkerchief
for a pillow, you either dream that you are
under the hands of a surgeon who is cup-
ping you on the cheek, or that you are
transformed into your cousin Lucy, and
struggling to avoid being kissed by old Mr.

D , who does not shave above once a

week. When you awake, you discover
that vour face has slipped off the handker-
chief and come immediately in contact
with the chevaux de frhe of bristles.

As an excellent specimen of an easy*
chair, I select the one I at present occupy.
Its ancient magnificence of red damask
silk — embossed in wavy flowers and curved
arabesques, surrounded by massive gilt
carving — is now shrouded with an unosten-
tatious covering of white dimity. This,
however, does not compromise its dignity
— it is rather a resignation of fatiguing
splendour, and the assumption of the ease
suitable to retirement in old age. Perhaps
a happy father once sat in it surrounded by
his smiling offspring: some climbing up
the arms ; others peeping over the lofty
back, aiming to cling round his neck ; his
favourite little girl insinuating herself be-
hind him, while he gazes with affectionate
9ut aniious thoughts on the countenance of
iis eldest son, standing between his knees.
Perhaps two lovers once sat in it together^
although there were plenty of other chairs
in the room. (For tear some of my fair
readers should be incredulous, I beg leave

to assure them that it is quite possible fo*
two people to sit together in an arm-chair,
if they cnoose to be accommodating ; there*
fore I would not have them dislike an easy-
chair on the plea of its being muocimL)
Perhaps it may have been the means of
concealment — in a similar way with the arm-
chair in '* Le Nozze di Figaro. Oflen have
I when a child curled myself round in it,
and listened to my old nurse's wonderful
stories, till I have fallen fast asleep. Often
have I since enjoyed many a delightful
book, while lolling indolently enclosed in
its soft, warm, cushioned sides-—

M. H.

No. XXII.

[From « Querer Por Solo Querer:*'
concluded from last Number.]

AddruM to Solitude.

SwMt SoUtvde 1 still Mirtli I tliat fear*>t no wrrac,
B«eaaM tkm dott none t Moninf all day long I
Trap's aaaetnafy I Isnoeency's spring I
InvratioM Limbeck I CoDtemiilatioo'i wing I
Peace of mj ton], which I too late punned s
That kaow'tt not the world's Tain inquietude .
Where friends, the thieres of time, let ns alone
W]u>le days, and a man's hoon are all his own

Song in praUe of the Same.

Solitude, of friends the best.

And the best companion {

Mother of truths, and brought at lea«t

Erery day to bed of one i

In this flowery mansion

I eoBtemplate how the roee

Stands upon thorns, how qniekly goes

The dismaying jessamine :

Onlj the soul, which is dirine.

No decay of beauty knows.

The World b Beauty's Mirror. Flowen,

la thrir first virgin puritj,

Flattfiers both of the noee and eye.—

To beeropt by paramours

Is their bfst6f destiny I

And thoee nice darlings of the land.

Which seem'd heaT*n*s painted bow to score.

And bloom'd the enry of the mom»

Art the gay trophy of a hand.

Unwilling to love a^HU

^eadlyldoBveinfear,
For, though I would not lair appsaiv
Aad though in truth I am Botfai»
HauatadI am like tlttee that am

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And here, Bm»ug these nuainf Ic&res,
With which the wantoa wmd mvat pU/,
iBtpired by tt, nj mue peroeiTes
Thb nowy Jasmla whispering say.
How BQch more frolic, white, and fair
In her green lattice she doth stand.
To enjoy the free and cooler air.
Than in the prison of a hand.*

Loving wHhovt hope.

I look'd if nndeneath the cope
Were one that kred, and ^d not hope i
Bat fnun his noh&sr soul remore
That aiodern k^rttjf in ld«e •
When, hearing a shrill voice, I turn,
Aadlol a sweet>tongaed NightioKale,
Tender adorer of the Morn,^
In him I found that One and AIL
For that same faithful bird and true.
Sweet and kind and constant k>Ter,
Wcnd'rons passion did disoover.
From the terrace of an evgh.
And tho* ungrateful she appear'd
UnmoTod with all she saw and heard {
Brery day, before 'twas day.
If ore and kinder things he*d say.
Courteous, and nerer to be lost,
Retnm'd not with complaints, but praise
LoTing, and all at hu own cost ;
Snlfering, and without hope of ease t
For with a sad and trembling thrank
Be breathes into her breast this note i
•* I love thee not, to make thee mine;
. But love thee, 'cause thy form's divine."

T%e True Absence in Love.

ZeUdaura, star divine.

That do'st in highest oib of beauty shine t

Paidon'd Muid'reas, by that heart

Itself, which thou doet kill, and coveted smart

Though my walk so distant liee

From the sunshine of thine eyes;

Into sullen shadows hurl'd.

To lie here buried from the world

' Tie the least reason of my moan.

That so much earth is 'twixt us thrown.

>Tis absence of another kind.

Grieves me; for where you are present too.

Love's Geometry does find,

I have ten thousand miles to you.

* Tis not ttbsenee to be far.

But to abhor is to absent ;

To those who in dbfavour are.

Sight itself is banishment^

To a Warrioreu*
Heaven, that created thee thus warUke, stole
Into tt woman's body a man's souL
But nature's Uw in vnin doet thou gninsay ,
The woman's valour lies another way.

• CUridiana, the Enchanted Queen, speaks this, and
the folhiwing speech,
t CtaridoiOk rival to Fettsbrnvo, speaw thifc

■■^

The drew, the tear, the b1u»h. th# witehmr eye.
More witching tongue, nre beauty's armoury t
To railly ; to discourse m compuiies.
Who's fine, who courtly, who a wit, who wiee \
And with the awing sweetness of n Dasoe,
As oonecions of a fAce can tigen tame,
By tasks and circumstances to discover,
Amongst the best of Princes, the best Lovnr |
(The fruit of all those flowers) who serves with mo
Self diffidence, who with the greatest boast ;
Who twists an eye of Hope in braids of Fear {
Who silent (made for nothbg but to bear
Sweet scorn and injuries of love) enviee
Unto his tongue the treasure of his eyes :
Who, without vaunting shape, hath only wit ;
Nor knows to hope reward, the' merit it :
Then, out of all, to make a choice so rare.
So lucky-wise, as if thou wert not fair.* >

M mieehiefi repairobU but a hst looe

1.
A eeoondAigo, freighted
With far and avarice.
Between the sea and skSee
Hath penetrated
To the new world, unworn
With the red fiwUtepe of the snowy mora,

8.

Thirsty of mines {

She comes rich back ; and (the eurlM rampire pact

Of watry mountains, onst

Up by the winds)

Ungratefal. shelf near home

Gives her usurped gold a silver homo.

A devout Pilgr*i*« ^^

To foreign temple bare

Good patten, fervent prayer,

Spurr'd by a pious vow ;

Meaeuring so large a space,

That earth lack'd regioLS for his planter to tr.irv

4.
Joyful returns, Iho* poor
And, just by his nbode.
Falling into a road
Which laws did ill secure,
Sees pluoder'd by a thief
(O happier man than 1 1 for 'tis) his life.

Conspicuous grows a Tree,

Which wanton did appear.

First fondling of the year.

With smiling bravery.

And in his blooming pride

The Lower House of Flowers did deride :

• Addressed to Zelidava.
t Soinsof Us«Nl.

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WhM ill tilV robM Md ffJr

(HiS ]ro«tlf> embroidery*

The cTownet of a sprtDg.

Karottnu of tb« air)

Itongh Boraao doth coafboad,

Aad with kit tvopUtt slrewii th« seotatd gsowid.

Tr«ated to ttdfom hope

So maay months the Com {

Which now begim to torn

Into a gulden crop :

Ttie ItiBty grapes, (which plvmp

Aro the last faffowell of the summer's pomp>>

Bow spacious spreads the viae I —
NnraeJ np with how mnch care.
She lives, she thrives, grows fair ;
"Boot her toved Elm doth twine :^
Comes a cold ckmd ; aad lays.
In one, the fabrie of so aifny daya. ,

A silver River small

la sweet aoceoC*

His mvsle Tenti»

(The warUing virginal.

To which the merry birds do s

Tinned with stops of gold* tlM silver string);

Ml

He steals hy a greenwood

With fugitive feet I

Oay, jolly, sweet t

Comes me a tronbled food;

Aad scarcely one sand stajra*

To be a witness of his golden days^^

IL

The Ship^s npiweigVd ;
The Pilgrim made a Saint {
Next spring re^rowns the Plant;
Winds raise the Com, was laid s
Tha Vine is praned t
The Rivnlet new taned i—
Bat in the IUl have
I*m left nlive only to dig my gnvn.

OS.

Lost Beavty, I will diet

B«t I will thee recover i

And that I die not instantly.

Shews me more perfect Lover t

For (my Soul gone before)

I Hfn lAt now to live, bat to deplom.

C. L.

^ Allnrin to Ih* TK«i» aad coUn Madfc

WELSH WEDDINGS.
Frofii a Ladif — To the Editor.

Sit, — If a brief account of the mannet
of celebrating marriage in some parts ot
Wale:! should afford entertainment to your
readers^ I shall feel gratified.

The early part of my life was spent at a
Tillage in the mountainous part of GIsp
morganshire, called Myrther Tid?cl. Since
then it has become a considerable plac^ for
the manufactory of iron, and I expect both
the manners and inhabitants are much
changed : the remembrance of its rural
and lovely situation, and of the simplicity
of its humble villagers, when I lived
amongst them, often produces in my mind
the most pleasing sensations.

Some weeks previous to a wedding taking
place, a person. wt>lUknown in the parish,
went round and invited all, without limita-
tion or distinction, to attend. As the cere-
monies were similar I shall select one, as
an illustration, in which I took part ai
bride Vmaid to a much valued servant.

On the evening previous to the marriage,
a considerable company assembled at the
bride's father's, and in a short time the
sound of music proclaimed the approach
of the bridegroom. The bride and her
company were then shut up in a room, and
the house-doors locked; great and loud
was the cry for admittance from without,
till I was directed, as brideVmaid, by an
elderly matron, to open the window, and
assist the bridegroom to enter, which being
done the doors were set open, and his party
admitted. A room was set apart for the
Toung people to dance in, which continued
for about an hour, and having partaken of
a common kind of cake and warm ale,
spiced and sweetened with sugar, the com-
pany dispersed.

At eiffnt, next morning, I repaired to the
house of the bridegroom, where there had
assembled in the course of an hour about
one hundred and fifty persons : he was a
relation to the dissenting minister, a man
highly esteemed; and he was much re-
spected on that as well as his own account.
The procession set out, preceded by a cele-
brated harper playing ^ Come, haste to the
wedding;'' the oridegroom and I came
next, and were followed by the large com-
pany. At the door of the bride^s father we
were met by the bride, led by her brother,
who took their station behind the bride-
groom and me ; her company joining, and
adding nearly as many algain to the pro-
cession : we then proceeded to the church,
tbe music playing as before. After the

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cereraony ti.e great door of the church was
opened, and the bride and her maid having
changed their partners were met at it by
the harper, wno struck up ** Joy to the

j bridegroom,** and led the way to a part of

i the church-yard never used as a burial-
ground ; there placing himself under a large
yew-tree the aancers immediately formed,
the bride and bridegroom leading off the
two first dances, — " The beginning of the
world," and "My wife shall have her
way :** these are never danced but on like
occasions, and then invariably.

I ' By this time it was twelve o'clock, and
the bride and bridegroom, followed by a
certain nnmber, went into the house, where
a long table was tastefully set out with
bread of two kinds, one plain and the other
with currants and seeds in it; plates of

: ornamented butter; cold and toasted cheese;
with ale, some warmed and sweetened.

! The bride and her maid were placed at the
head of the table, and the bridegroom and
her brother at the bottom. After the com-
pany had taken what they liked, a plate
was set down, which went round, each
person giving what they chose, from two to
five shillings ; this being done, the money
was given to the bride, and the company
resigned their places to others ; and so on
in succession till all had partaken and given
what they pleased. Dancing was kept up
till seven, and then all dii^persed. At this
wedding upwards of thirty pounds wai
collected.

In an adjoining parish it was tlie custom
for the older people to go the evening be-
fore, and teke presents of wheat, meal,
cheese, tea, sugar, &c., and the young peo-
ple attended next day, when the wedding
was conducted much in the way I hav«
described, but smaller sums of money were

) given.

This method of forwarding young people
has alwayn appeared to me a pleasing trait
in the Welsh character; but it only prevails
amongst the labouring classes.

When a fiarmer's daughter, or some
young woman, with a fortune of from one
Hundred to two hundred pounds, marries,
it is generally very privately, and she re-
turns to her fathers house for a few weeks,
where her friends and neighbours go to see
her, but none go empty-handed. When
the appointed time arrives for the young
man to take home his wife, the elderly
women are invited to attend the ttarald,
that is, the furniture which the young
woman provides; in general it is rather
considerable. It is conveyed in great
order, there being fixed rules as to the utH

rlcs !o be moved ofT first, and those which'
are to follow. I have thought this a pleas
ing sight, the company being all on horse-
back, and each matron in her appointed
station, the nearest relations going first ; all
have their allotted basket or pieco of small
furniture, a horse and car following after-
wards with the heavier articles. The next
day the young couple are attended by the
younger part of their friends, and this i»
called a tnrmantf and is frequently pre-
ceded by music. Tne derivation of Mtarald
and tumumt I never could learn, though I
have frequently made the inquiry.

I am, sir, &c. &c.

A. B.

CUMBERLAND WEDDINGS.

In Cumberiand, and some other parts of
the north of England, they have a custom
called a ** bridewain," or the public celebra--
tion of a wedding. A short time after a match
is entered into, the parties ?ive notice of it;
in consequence of which the whole neigh-
bourhood, for several miles round, assemble
at the bridegroom's house, and join in
various pastimes of the county. This
meeting resembles the wakes or revels cele-
brated in other places ; and a plate or bowl
is fixed in a convenient place, where each
of the company contributes in proportion to
his inclination and ability, and according
to the degree of respect the parties are held
in; by which lauoable custom a worthv
couple have frequently been benefited with
a supply of money, from fifty to a hundred
pounds. The following advertisements are
from Cumberland newspapers :—

Invitatiov.

Snipnid for <m« day yoor carM and jonr labonn.
And come to this weddiof, kiad friends and good atigli-
Donn.
NoTicc is hereby given, that the mar-
riage of Isaac Pearson with Frances Atkin-
son, will be solemnized in due form in the
parisit church of Lamplugh, in Cumberland,
on Tuesday next, the 30th of May inst.
(1786); immediately after which the bride
and bridegroom, with their attendants, will
proceed to Lonefoot, in the said parish,
where the nuptials will be celebratea by a
variety of rural entertainments.

Then come ono and aU

At Hjinra's soft call.
From Whiteharen, Workington, Harington, Deaa
Hail, PoDsonby, Blaing, and all place* between!
From Egremont, Coekermoath, Barton, St Bee**,
Gikt, Kinnyride, Calder, and parU mdi at 11mm i
And tb« eonntrv atlaige maj flook la if UMf pkii

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fcueh cporti the fe ttII b« %s oa^o f eldom been wcb*
lack wre«t«iiig and fencing, tad dancing betireen.
And races for priaita. for frolic and fnn,
BjT bones and asses, and d<^(s, mil be mn.
That jroQ*ll go home bappjr— «a snre as a gan.
In a word, each a wedding can ne'er fail to please i
For the sports of Oljarpns wen trifles to these.
If Ota ileB#— Yoall pleaso to obsenre that the daj
Of this grand bridal pomp is the thirtieth of May,
When 'tis hop*d that the sun, to enliren the sight,
like the flarobean of Hymen, will deign to bom bright.

Another jidvertitemewt,

Bridewaik.

There let Hymen oft appear.
In saffron nrt)e and taper dear.
And pomp and feast and rerelry.
With mask and antic pageantry ;
8ach rights as yonthfal poets dream.
On summer ores by kannted stream.

George Hay to, who married ^nne, the
daughter of Joseph and Dinah Colin, of
Crosby mill, puiposes having a Bridewain
at his house at Crosby, near Maryport, on
Thursday, the nh day of May next, (1? 89),
where he will be happy to see his friends
and well-wishers; for whose amusement
there will be a variety of races, wrestling-
matches, &c. &c. The prizes will be— a
saddle, two bridles, a pair of ganda tf amour,
gloves, which, whoever wins, is sure to be
married within the twelvemonths ; a girdle
(ceinture de Fentu) possessing qualities not
to be described ; and many other articles,
sports, and pastimes, too numerous to men-
tion, but which can never prove tedious in
the exhibition.

From fashion's laws and castoms free.

We welcome sweet rariety ;

By tvrns we langh, and dance, and sing ,

Time's for erer on the wing ;

And nymphs and swains on Cambria's plain.

Present the golden age again.

A GOOD EXCUSE.

Tn the Court of Session in Scotland, the
judges who do not attend, or give a proper
excuse for their absence, are, by law, liable
to a fine ; but it is common, on the first day
of the session, for the absentee to send an
excuse to the lord president. Lord Stone-
field having sent such an excuse, on the
president mentioning it, the late lord jus-
tice clerk Braxfield said, in his broad dia-
lect, " What excuse can a stout fallow like
him bae V " My lord," said the president,
•* he has lost his wife.*' The justice, who
was fitted with a Xanthippe, replied, •' Has
He T tnat is a gude excuse indeed ; I wish
we had a* the same."

EARLY RISING.

Bufibn rose always with the sun, and h€
iLsed often to tell by what means he bad
ficcustomed himself to get out of bed so
early. ** In my youth," said he, " I was
▼ery fond of sleep; it robbed me of a great
deal of my time ; but my poor Joseph (hi«
domestic) was of great service in enabling
me to overcome it. I promised to give
Joseph a ciown every time that he could
make me get up at six. The next morning
he did not fail to awake and torment me ,
but he received only abuse. The day after
he did the same, with no better success,
and I was obliged at noon to confess that
I had lost my time. I told him, that he
did not know how to manage his business ;
that he ought to think of my promise, and
not to mind my threats. The day follow,
ing he employed force ; I begged for in-
dulgence, I bid him begone, I stormed, but
Joseph persisted. I was therefore obliged
to comply, and he was rewarded every day
for the abuse which he suffered at )lie mo-
ment when I awoke, by thanks, accom-
panied with a crown, which he rpceived
about an hour after. Yes, I am indebted
to poor Joseph for ten or a dozen of tbi
volumes of my work. "

PUNCTUALITY
" A Quarter before."

Industry is of little avail, without a habit
of very easy acquirement — punctuality : on
this jewel the whole machinery of success-
ful industry may be said to turn.

When lord Nelson was leaving London
on his last, but glorious, expedition against
the enemy, a quantity of cabin furniture
was ordered to be sent on board his ship.
He had a farewell dinner party at his
house; and the upholsterer having waited
upon bis lordship, with an account of the
completion of the goods, he was brouf^ht into
the dining-room, in a corner of which his
lordship spoke with him. The upholsterer
stated to his noble employer, tnat every
thing was finished, and packed, and would
go in the waggon, from a certain inn, at jlr
o'clock, " And you go to the inn, Mr. A.,
and see them off.*' « I shall, my lord; I
shall be there punctually at twJ* <* A
quarter before six, Mr. A.," returned lord
Nelson ; " be there a quarter before : to
that quarter of an ktmr I owe every thing
in Ufa " ^

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READING THE NEWSPAPER.

The folio of four ptges, bappT ^o'^ ^
Which not 6Ten critics critidje.— Cotcper.

A venerable old man is, as the reader
of a newspaper, still more venerable ; for
his employment implies that nature yet
lives in him ; — that he is anxious to
learn how much better the world is on his
leaving it, than it was when he came into
it. When he reads of the meddlings of over-
legislation, he thinks of ** good old times,'*
md feels with the poet—

Bnt times arr alter'd : trade's anfeehiif traia
Usarp the laad and dispossess the swaia ;
AloBg the lawB where seatter'd hamlets ross,
Uawieldj wealth aad cnmbroas pomp repots ;
Aad ev'rj waat to laxarj allj'd.
And st*r7 paag that foil/ psjs to pride.
Thoss geatle honrs that pleaty bade to bloom.
Those calm dssirss that ask'd bat Ilttls room i
Thoss hsalthfal sports that grae'd the peaosfol seen*
UVdinsarhlook.aadbrighten'd aUthegrMni

These, far departing, seek a kinder shora,
Aad miml nurth and manners are no more.

He reads of proposals for extending the
poor-laws to one part of the United King-
dom not yet cursed with that sure and cer-
tain meant of increasing the growth of
poverty — he reads of schemes of emigration
for an alleged surplus of human beings
from all parts of the empire — he reads of
the abundance of public wealth, and of the
increase of private distress — and he remem
bers, that

A time there was, ere Kng1and*t griefs began.
Whsn eT*rjr rood of gnnind maintain'd its man t
For him light labovr spread her wholesoms stores
Jnst gars what life reqnir'd, but gare ro mora i
His best eompanions, innocence and health ;
And his best riches, ignorasce of wealth*

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Tfif old man, who thus reads and recol-
lects, has seen too much of factions to be a
partisan. His only earthly interest is the
good of his country. A change in the
administration is to him of no import, if it
b'ing not blessings to the presc .it genera-
tion that entail a debt of gratitude upon
posterity. Alterations in public affairs, if
▼iolently effected, he scarcely expects will be
lasting, and loves human nature too well
to desire them ; yet he does not despair of
private undertakings on account of their
novelty or vastness ; and therefore he was
among the earliest promoters of vaccination,
and of Winsor's plan for lighting the streets
with gas. He was a proprietor of the first
vessel navigated by steam, and would rather
fail with Brunei than succeed at court.

The old man's days are few. He has
discovered that the essential requisites of
human existence are small in number ; and
that in strength itself there is weakness.
He speculates upon ruling mankind by the
law of kindness ; and, as a specimen of the
possibility, he kindles good-will with tlie
materials of strife.

No. xxni.

From the «< Downfall of Robert, Earl of
Huntingdon," an Historical Play, by T.
Hey wood, 1601.]

Chonu ; Skelton^ the Poet.

Skdton, (to the Andieneey. The Tonth that iMdi
yon w'lTgin by the hand
As doth the San the Moniinf richljr clad.
Is oar Sari Robert— or your Robin Hood-
That in those dajs was Earl of Huntingdon.

Robin recoimU to Marian tfUpUamtres
of a forett Ufe.

Re&ta. Marian, thoa aee'st, tho* ooortly
want.
Vet ooantry sport in Sherwood is not scant :
For the sonl-raTishtng delicions ^nnd
Of iostramental masic, we have found
The winged quiristen, with direra notes
i3ent from (heir qnaint reoording pretty throat..
On erery branch that eoanpasseth oar bower,
Withoat ooDimaad contenting as each hour.
For arras hangings and rich topestry.
We have sweet Nature's best embroidery.
Fer thy steel glass, wherein fhoa wont'st to look.
Thy chrystal eves gase in a chrystal brook.
At Court a fcower or two did deck thy head (
Mew wilk whole garlands it is eireled i

Yyr what we want in wcaltl , we hare in flowen {
And what we k>9e in halls, we 6n<l in bowers.
Marian, Marian hath all, sweet Robert, having
thee;
And guesses thee ae rich in having me.

Scarlet reeounta to Scathlock the plea^
euree of an (hUlaw*e life.

Scarlet. It*s full seren yeara since we were outlaw*
first,
And wealtiiy Sherwood was our heritage.
For all those rears we reigned onoontrollM,
From Bamsdale khrog* to Nottingham's red cliflb.
At Blithe and TiekhiU were we welcome guests ;
Oood Geor^9-a-gre«n at Bradford was our frieno.
And wanton Wakefield's Pinner lored us welL
At Bamsley dwells a Potter tough and strong.
That nerer brook'd we brethren should have wrong.
The Nuns of FamsfiAll, pretty Nms they be,
OaTo napkins, shirts, and uaotiL, to him and me.
Bateman of Kendal ^ave us K«nlal green.
And Sharpe of Leeds sharp arrows for us made.
At Rotherliam dwelt our Bowyer, God htm bliss ;
Jaclcson he higbt. his bows did never oaisa

Fitzwater, banished, seeking hie daitghter
Matilda (Robins Marian) in the forest oj
Sherwood^ makes hi* complaint,

Fitx. Well did he wnte, and miclde did he know.
That said ** This world's felicity was woe.
Which greatest states can hardly undergo."
'VChibm Fitzwater in fair England's Court
Possest felicity and happy state.
And in his haU blithe Fortune kept her sport ;
Which glee one hour of woe did ruinate.
Fitswater once had castles, towns, and towers;
Fair gardens, orchards, and delightful bo wen ;
But now nor gardep, orchard, town, nor tower
Hath poor Fitswater left within his power.
Only wide walks are left me in the world.
Which these stifl[ limbs will hardly let me tread :
And when I sleep, heam's gbrious canopy
Me and my mossy couch doth overspread.

He discovers Robin Hood sleeping;
Marian strewing flowers over him.

FUg, — in good time see where my comfort stands.
And by her lies dejected Huntingdon,
look how my Flower holds flowers in her hands.
And flings those sweets upon my sleeping eon.

Feigns himself bUndy to try if she tciU
know him.

Jfcrim. What aged man art thou? or by wha«
chance
earnest thoo thus far into the wayless wood ?

FUm. Widow, or wife, or maiden, if thou be ;
Lend me thy hand: thou see'st I eai&ot see.
Blening betide thee 1 lilde feel'st thou want :
With n&e, good child, food is both hard and sraat
These smooth even veins assure me. He is kind,
Wbate'er he be, my giri, that thee doth find.

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I poor and old am reft of all eartli't gooa ;
And desperately am crept into this wood.
To seek the poor man's patron, Robia Hood.

Mariam. And thoa art welcome, weloome» aged man,
Aje ten times welcome to Maid Marian.
Here's wine to cheer thjr heart; drink, af«d man.
There's Tenison, and a knife ; here's manchet fine.—
Mj Robin stirs : I mast sin; him asleep.

A Judgment,

A Wicked Prior. Servingman,

Frior. What news with yon. Sir ?

Sen. Ev'n heary news, my Lord ; for tae light fire.
Falling in manner of a fire-drake
Upon a bam of yoars, hath bamt six bams.
And not a strike of eora reserr'd from dast.
No hand eon Id save it ; yet ten tboosaad hands
Labonr'd their best, thong h none for lore of yon *
For erery tongne with bitter cursing bann'd
Yoar Lordship, as the riper of the land.

Prior. Whai meant the rillains ?

Serv, Thus and thns they cried t
* Upon tkis ohnrl, this hoarder np of com.
This spoiler of the Earl of Hantinirdon,
This lostHlefiled, merciless, false Prior,
Hear'n raiaeth judgment down in shape of fire.**
Old wires that scarce ooald with their cratches ereep.
And little babes that newly leara'd to speak.
Men masterless that thorough want did weep.
All in one roice with a confused cry
In execrations bann'd yon bitterly.
■* Plagne follow plagoe," they cried ; •• he hath nndoaa
The good Lord Robert, Earl of HoBtingdoa.'*

f From ** Phillis of Scyros/' a Dramatic
Pastoral, Author Unknown, 1665.]

True Love irremovable hy Death*

SerpiUa. PhiUie.

SerpiUa, Thyrsis belieres thee dead, and justly may
Within his yonthful breast then entertain
New flames of k>re, and yet therein be free
From the least show of doing injury
To that rich beanty which he thinks extinct.
And happily hath monra'd for long ago :
Bnt when he shall pereeire thee here alira,
HU old lost kre will then with thee rerire.

PhiUit, That lore, Serpilla, which eaa be remorad
With the light breath of aa imagined death.
Is bnt a faint weak lore; nor care I mneh
Whether it lire within, or still lie dead.
Er'n I myself belier'd him long ago
Dead, and encloeed within aa earthea an |
And yet, abhorring any other lore,
I only lored that pale-faeed beaaty still \
Aad thcao dry boMa, dissdlrsd ialo dast i
And vadomeath their ashes kept alire
The lirely fiamea of my stiU-boroiag fira.

CeUa, being put to eleep by an ineffeetual
poison^ waking believee hertelf to beamong
the dead. The old Shepherd Narete finde

her, and re-aeeures h^ of her etUt being
aUve.

Shepherd, Celia, thoa talkest idly; call agaia
Thy waadenag seases; thoa art yet alire.
And, if thoa wilt not credit what I say,
l4«Ak ap, aad see the hearens taming roand t
The son descending down into the weat.
Which not long since thoa saw'st rise ia the east,
Obnerre. that with the motion of the air
These fading leares do fall :^
In the iaferaal xegioa of the deep
The son doth nerer rise, nor erer sot ;
Nor doth a falliag leaf there e'er adom
Those black eternal plants.
Thoa still art on the earth *mongst mortal men.
And still thoa lirest. I am Narete. These
Are the sweet fields of Scyros. Know'st thou not
The meadow where the fonntaia springs ? this wood*
FnTt)*!! irraat moantain, and Ormino's hill ;
lae hiii where thoa wert bom ?

Thyreis, upbraided by PhiUie for loving
another, while he supposed her dead, re
pliee —

Thir$i$. O do not tarn thy face another way.
Perhaps thoa thinkest, by denying thus
That lorely risage to these eyes of mine.
To punish my misdeeds ; but think not so.
Look on me stiU, aad mark me what I say,
(For, if thou know'st it not, I'll teU thee then),
A more serere rerenger of thy wrongs
Thou canst not hare than those fair eyes of thisc.
Which by those shining beams that wound my heart
Punish me more than all the world oaa do.
What greater pain eanst thou inflict oa me,
Thaa still to keep as flre before my face
That lorely beaaty, which I hare betmyM ;
That beaoty, I hare lost ?

NiOHT hreaJti off her epeeeh,

NxoBTw— But atay I for there methiaka 1 aaa tb<
Sun,
Stemal Paiater, now begin to rise,
Aad limn the hearens in rermilion dye i
And baring dipt his pencil, aptly framed.
Already ia the ooknr of the mon.
With rarious temper he doth mix ia ana
Darknaaa aad Light : aad drawiag coriooaly
Strait golden lines quite thro* the dusky aky,
A rough draught of the day he aeema to yield.
With red aad taway in aa aaara field.--
Already, by the elattenag of their bits.
Their giagliog harness, and iheU neighing souada.
I hear Eooa aad fierce Pirooa
Come panting on my back; aad therefore I
Must fly away. And yet I do not fly.
But follow on my regulated course,
Aad thoee eternal Orders I racmred
Jtom tba Tint Morer of the Uairena.

C. L.

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€f)t lOrama*

Tlie following communication from " a-
roatter*of-fact** correspondent, controvert
an old dramatist's authority on an historical
point. It should be recollected, however,
thai poets have large license, and that few
playwrights strictly adhere to facts without
injury to poetical character and feeling.
The letter is curious, and might suggest
an amusing parallel in the manner of Plu-
tarch, between the straightforward cha-
racter and the poetical one.

KING JOHN AND MATILDA.

To the Editor.

Sir, — Having been in the country during
the publication of the first parts of the
Tabig Bookf I have but now just bought
them; and on perusing them, I find in
part 1, col. 112 et infr&, Mr. C. Lamb*s
first specimen of the Ganrick Plays, called
" King John and Matilda;" wherein the
said Matilda, the daughter of the old baron
Filzwater* is supposed to be poisoned by
King John's order, in a nunnery. She is
especially entitled therein as *' immaculate*'
— " Virtue's white virgin^** — and " maid and
martyr." Now, sir, I presume it to be well
known, that in the best legends extant of
the times of Richard I. and John, this iden-
tical M'atilda, or Maud Fitzwater, is chro-
nicled as the Mre amie and companion of
the outlawed Robert Fitzooth, earl of Hunt-
ingdon, whom, as ** Robin Hood," she fol-
lowed as ** ilfatj/ Marian ;" and with whom,
on his restoration to his honours by king
Richard, (to his earldom and estates,) she
intermarried, and became countess of Hunt-
ingdon, and was in every respect a wife,
though we have no records whether she
ever became a mother ; and that when by
king John the earl was as^in outlawed,
and driven to the wilds of Sherwood forest,
lis countess also again shared his misfor*
unes, and a second time took the name of
** Maid Marian," (then rather a misnomer,)
as he did that of '* Robin Hood,**

During the^Srff outlawry of Robin Hood,
and while Marian, or more properly Ma-
tilda, was yet a maH John (then prince
John, Richard being in Palestine) made
overtures to the old baron Fitzwalter for
his daughter as a mistress, and being re-
fused, and finding she was in the society of
Robin Hood and his merry men, attacked
them, and a bloody fray ensued; during

* Thb t% ao enor of the poefv. Hit real taaat wm
ntK Wft(tcr, ut,tk§mm o/fFalUr,

which, John and Matilda (in the maU cm*
tume of foiest green) met, and fought:
John required her to yield, and she as
resolutely desired him, in a reproachfjl
taunt, to t&tfi her first ; and so stoutly did
she belabour him, as the rest of the foresters
did his party also, that he was constrained
to yield, and to withdraw from a contest in
which nothing was to be got but blows.

We hear nothing more of any attempts of
John's to molest her or her party till airei
the death of Richard, and his own accession
to the throne, when he spitefully ousted
the earl and countess from their honoun
and possessions, and confiscated all to hi*
own use; and thus this unfortunate pair
as I have above stated, were again con-
strained to quit the castle for the forest.

But it is certain, that long before John
became king, Matilda, alias Maud, alias
Marian, had ceased to be a maid ; and we
have no account of any attempts whatsoever
made by king John upon or against (he
quondam Matilda Fitzwalter, afterwards
alternately Maid Marian and countess of
Huntingdon. Indeed all the legends of
Robm Hood's life present " Maid Marian"
as having lived with him unmolested by any
such attempts durinpr the whole of his second
outlawry, and as huving survived Robin's
tragical end ; though of her subsequent fate
they are all silent, expressing themselves
indeed ignorant of what was her destiny.
Certainly she may then have retired into a
nunnery, but at all events not as Matilda
Fitzwalter ; for she had been legally mar-
ried and formally acknowledged by Rich-
ard I. as countess of Huntingdon ; and as
she spent the last part of her fellowship
with her husband in Sherwood forest under
her romantic forest appellation, it is scarcely
probable that she would resume her title
on entering into a nunnery. I would pre-
sume, therefore, that however and wher-
ever she ended her days, it must have been
under the cognomen of '* Maid Marian."
And as her husband lived for some years
in the forest after the accession of John, I
should think it scarcely likely that afier
such a great lapse of timp, and after the
change which had taken place in Matilda
both as regards lier worldly station and
age, and I should presume person, (from
such a continued exposure to the air and
weather,) John should renew any attemp*
upon her. I should therefore feel exceed-
ingly gratified if either yourself or Mr. C
Lamb could adduce any historical facts to
reconcile all these discrepancies, and to
show how the facts, as supposed in the
play of *^ King John and MatUda,*' could.

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in the natural cou»e of even ts, and in the
very teeth of the declarations made in t}ie
history of Kubin Hoc-i and his consort,
have taken place.

Mark this also;^the historians of Robin
Hood and Maid Marian (and their history
was written, if not by contemporaries, yet in

! the next genera tio'i ; nor is it likely that
mch a renowned personage should be un-
noticed in chronicles for any space of time)
all declare that they could not ascertain the
fate of Marian after the death of Robin.

I His death and burial are well known, and
the inscription to his memory is still extant ;
but she was lost sight of from the time of
his decease. Uow comes it then that
Robert Davenport, in the t7lh century,
should be so well informed, as to know that
Matilda ended her days in a nunnerv by
poison administered by order of king John,
when there is no tradition extant of the
time or manner of her decease ? We have
no other authority than this of Davenport's
tragedy on the subject ; and I should there-
fore be inclined to think that he was mis-
informed, and that the event recorded by
him never happened. As to its being ano-
ther Matilda Fitzwalter, it is highly pre-
posterous to imagine. Is it likely that at
the same time there should be two barons
of that name and title, each having a daugh-
ter named Matilda or Maud ? Davenport
calls his baron the old baron Fitzwater;
and the father of Maid Marian is described
as the old baron : both must therefore have
lived in the reign of Richard I., and also in
that > John till their death. Indeed we
have proof that the baron was alive in
John's reign, because Richard I. having
restored him at the same time that he par-
doned Fitzooth, John diepoMseuedthetn both
on his accession.

I think it therefore highly improbable
that theie should have been so remarkable
a coincidence as two baruns Fitzwalter, and
two Matildas at the same time, and both
the latter subject to the unwelcome ad-
dresses of John: consequently 1 cannot
give credence, without proofs, to the inci-
dent in Davenpoit*s play.

I am, Sir,

respectfully yours,
"The Veiled Spirit."
May 17, 1827,

P. S. — Since writing the above, my fr.end
F. C. N. suggests to me, that there was a
baron Fitzwalter in John's reign, proprietor
of Castle Baynard, whose daughter Matilda
tohn saw at a tourney, and being smitten

with her charms, proposed to her father fof
Ler dLS his mistress^ (precisely the events
connected with Maid Marian ;) and being
refused, he attacked Castle Baynaid, and
.ultimately destroyed it. However,* for the
reasons I have before stated, I am decidedly
of opinion, that if such a barun was pro-
prietor of Castle Baynard, it must have
Dcen the father of Maid Marian, as I can-
not suppose that there were two, I cannot
precisely remember, nor have I any thing
at hand to refer to, but I believe it was at a
tourney somewhere that prince John first
saw Maiui.

For the Table Book.
THE PHANTOM LIGHT

WbAt phantom light from jonder lonely tower,
Olimmen yet paler than the pale moon beaai#—

Breaking the darkaaei of the midnight hour,—
What hodet its dismal, melaacholjr fleam ?

*Ti8 not the brightnea of that gloriooi light.
That bants tn splendonr from the hoary north *

*Tis not the pharos of the daagerons night.
Mid storms and winds benignly shining forth.

Still are the waves that wash this desert shore.
No breath is there to fill the fisher*s sail;

Tet round yon isle is heard the distant roar
Of biUows writhing in a tempest's gale.

Doomed are the mariners that rashly seek
To land in safety on that dreadful shore ;

For once engnlfed m the fcrbidden creelc.
Their fate is sealed— they're never heard of more

For spirits there e«ert nnholy sway^

When faTonrad by the night's portentous gloom—
Seduce the sailor from his trackless way.

And lure thtf wretch to an untimely doom.

A demon tenant's yonder lonely tower,
A drf>adful compound of hell, earth, and ur ;

To*nighthe visits not hb favoiirite bower.
So pale the light that faintly glimmers there.

In storms he seeks that solitary haunt.
And, with their lord, a grim unearthly crew j

^ITio. while they join in wild discordant chant.
The mystic revels of their race pursue.

But when the fiends have gained their horrid Ulr,
The light then bursts forth with a blood-red glare •
And phantom forms will flit along the wave
Whose oorics long had tenanted tte grave

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THE TABLE BOOK.

A GROVE

The FoRMATioir of one with a View
TO THE Picturesque.

The prevailing character of a grove is
beauty: fine trees are lovely objects; a
grove is an assemblage of them ; in which
every individual retains much of its own
peculiar elegance ; and whatever it loses is
transferred to the superior beauty of the
whole. To a grove, therefore, which admits
of endless variety in the disposition of the
trees, differences in their shapes and their
greens are seldom very important, and
iometimes they are detrimental. Strong
contrasts scatter trees which are thinly
planted, and which have not the connection
of underwood ; they no longer form one
plantation; they are a number of single
trees. A thick grove is not indeed ex-
posed to this mischief, and certain situa-
tions may recommend different shapes and
different greens for their effects upon the
nir/ace ; but in the outline they are seldom
much regarded. The eye attracted into
the depth of the grove passes by little cir-
cumstances at the entrance ; even varieties
in the form of the line do not always en-
'^age the attention : they are not so appa-
rent as in a continued thicket, and are
scarcely seen, if they are not considerable.

But the surface and the outline are not
the only circumstances to be attended to.
Though a grove be beautiful as an object,
it is l^ides delightful as a spot to walk or
to sit in ; and the choice and the disposi-
tion of the trees for effects wIMin are tnere-
fore a principal consideration. Mere ir-
regularity alone will not please: strict
Older is there more agreeable than absolute
confusion ; and some meaning better than
none. A regular plantation has a degree
of beauty; but it gives no satisfaction,
because we know that the same number of
trees might be more beautifully arranged.
A disposition, however, in which the lines
only are broken, without varying the dis-
tances, is less natural than any ; for though
we cannot find straight lines in a forest, we
are habituated to them in the hedge-rows
of fields ; but neither in wild nor in culti-
vated nature do we ever see trees equidis-
tant from each other: that regularity belongs
to art alone. The distances therefore should
be strikingly different; the trees should
gather into groups, or stand in various ir-
regular lines, and describe several figures :
the intervals between them should be con-
trasted both in shape and in dimensions : a
large space should in some places be quite
open 2 in others the trees should be so close

together, as hardly to leave a passage be-
tween them ; and in others as far apart as
the connection will allow. In the forms
and the varieties of these groups, these
lines, and these openings, principal!^ con-
sists the interior beauty of a grove.

The consequence of variety in the dis-
position, is variety in the light and shade
of the grove ; which may be improved by
the choice of the trees. Some are impene-
trable to the fiercest sunbeam ; others let
in here and there a ray between the large
masses of their foliage ; and others, thin
both of boughs and of leaves, only checker
the ground. Every degree of light and
shade, from a glare to obscurity, may be
managed, partly by the number, and partly
by the texture of the trees. Differences
only in the manner of their growths have
also corresponding effects ; there is a close-
ness under those whuse branches descend
low and spread wide, a space and liberty
where the arch above is high, and frequent
transitions from the one to the other are
very pleasing. These still are not all the
varieties of which the interior of a grove is
capable; trees, indeed, whose branches
nearly reach the ground, being each a sort
of thicket, are inconsistent with an open
plantation; but though some of the cha-
racteristic distinctions are thereby excluded,
other varieties more minute succeed in their
place ; for the freedom of passage through-
out brings every tree in its turn near to the
eye, and subjects even differences in foliage
to observation. These, slight as they may
seem, are agreeable when they occur ; it is
true they are not regretted when wanting,
but a defect of ornament is not necessarily
a blemish.

For the Table Book.

GROVES AND HIGH PLACES.

Hie heathens considered it unlawful to
build temples, because they thought no
temple spacious enough for the sun. Hence
the saying, Munthu univereue eet temphtm
eoHey ** The whole world is a temple of
the sun.'* Thus their god Terminus, and
others, were worshipped in temples open-
roofed. Hills and mountains became the
fittest places for their idolatry ; and these
consecrated hills are the ^ high places" so
often forbidden in the sacred writings. As
the number of their gods increased, so the
number of their consecrated hills multiplied ;
and from them their gods and godaesses
took names, as Mercurius Cyllenius, Venus
Erycina, Jupiter Capitolinus. To beautify
these holy hills, the places of their idola-

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f rous worship, they beset them with trees ;
und thence arose the consecration of groves
and woods, from whence also their idols
were often named. At length certain
choice and select trees began to be conse-
crated. The French magi, termed Dryade,
woishipped the oak; the Etrurians wor-
shipped an elm-tree; and amongst the
CeltK, a tall oak was the very idol of
Jupiter.

Amongst the Israelites, idolatry began
under the judges Othniel and Ehud, and
became so common, that they had peculiar
priests, whom they termed the prophets of
the grove and idols of the grove.

Christians, in the consecration of their
churches, make special choice of peculiar
saints, by whose name they are called. The
heathens consecrated their groves to pecu-
liar idols ; whence in profane authors we
read of Diana Nemorensis, Diana Ardu-
enna, Albunea Dea, &c., all receiving their
names from the groves in which they were
worshipped. The idol itself is sometimes
called a grove— '* Josiah brought out the
grove from the house of the Ix)rd.'' It is
probable, that in this idol was portraited
the form and similitude of a grove, and
that from thence it was called a grove, as
those similitudes of Diana's temple, made
by Demetrius, were termed temples of
Diana.

These customs appear exemplified by
hiscriptions oh coins, medals, in church-
yards, and the various buildings commemo-
rated by marble, flowers^ and durable and
perishing substances. J. R- P«

\* The groves round London within a
fipw years have been nearly destroyed by
the speculating builders.

J. R. P.'s note may be an excuse for
observing, that the " grove" best known,
perhaps, t9 the inhabitants of London is
that at Camberwell— a spacious roadway
and fine walks, above half a mile in length,
between rows of stotely trees, from the
beginning of the village and ascending the
hill to its summit, from whence there is, or
rather was, the finest burst of scenery the
eye can look upon within the same dis-
Unce from London. The view is partially
obstructed by new buildings, and the cha-
racter of the "grove" itself has been gra-
dually injured by the breaking up of the
adjacent grounds and meadows into brick-
fields, and the flanking of its sides with
town-like houses. This grove has been th«
theme of frequent song. Dr. I^ttsom first
gave celebrity to it by his writings, and
pleasant residence on its eastern extremity ;

and It was further famed by Mr. Maurice
in an elegant poem, with delightful en-
gravings on wood. After the death of the
benevolent physician, and before the de-
cease of the illustrator of "Indian Anti-
quities," much of the earth, consecrated by
their iove and praise, " passed through the
fire*' in sacrifice to the Moloch of improve-
ment. In a year or two " Grove Hill* may
be properly named ** Grove Street."

Ilampstead, however, is the " place of
groves ; — how long it may remain so is a se-
cret in the bosom of speculators and builders.
Its first grove, townward, is the noble private
avenue from the Hampstead-road to Bel-
siie-house, in the valley between Primrose
hill and the hill whereon the church stands,
with Mr. Memory-Corner Thompson's re-
markable house and lodge at the corner of
the pleasant highway to the little village of
West-end. In the neighbourhood of Hamp-
stead church, and between that edifice
and the heath, there are several old groves.
Winding southwardly from the heath,
there is a charming little grove in Well
Walk, with a bench at the end ; where-
on I last saw poor Keats, the poet of
the "Pot of Basil," sitting and sobbing
his dying breath into a handkerchief,—
gleaning parting looks towards the quiet
landscape he had delighted in — musing, as
in his Ode to a Nightingale.
My heart aehet, ud a drowsy nambnest pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had dronk.
Or emptied some dall opiate to the drains

One minnte paet, and Letho'warda had snnk :
Tis not through enry of thy happy lot,
Bat being too happy in thine happini^s,—
That thott, light-winged Dryad of th« trees.
In some melodions plot
Of beechen green, and shadows nnmberless,
Singest of saromer in fnll-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage 1 that hath been
Cool*d a long age in the deep^lved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the coontry green.

Dance, and ProvenQal song, and snnbnrat mirth I
O for a beaker full of the warm south,
FnU oT the trae, the blushful Hippoorene,
With beaded babbles winking at the brim.
And pnrple^tMMd month i
That I might drmk, and leave the world nnteea,
And with thee fade away into the fereet dim :
Fade far away, diasolve, and quite forget

What then among the leaves hast never know*.
The wearbess, the fever, and the fret

Hen, where man sit and hear eaeh other groan i
Where paky shaken a fiew, tad, iMt grey hairs.
Where youth grows palcaad epeetio-thin. anddiM
Where but to think b to be full of eorfow
And lenden-eyed doipaire.
Where beauty cannot keep her luatnMa eyes.
Or new love ^ at them beyond to-monov

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THE TABLE BOOK.

WEST WICKHAM CHURCH, KENT.

— From Beckenham church we walked
about two miles along a nearly straight
road, fenced off from ttye adjoining lands,
till we reached West Wickham. It was
from a painted window in this church that
I made the tracing of St. Catherine engraved
in the Every-Day Book, where some men-
tion is made of the retired situation of this
village.

" Wickham Court," the ancient manor-
house adjacent to the church, was formerly
the residence of Gilbeit West, the transla-
tor of Pindar, and author of the •• Ohser-
Tations un the Resurrection of Christ." for
which the university of Oxford conferred
on him the degree of doctor uf laws. ** He
was very often visited by Lyttelton and
Pitt, who, when they were weary of faction
and debates, used, at Wickham, to find
books and quiet, a decent table, and lite-
rary conversation."^ It was in West's

society, at Wickham, that lord Lyttelton
was convinced of the truth of Christianity.
Under that conviction he wrote his cele-
brated '* Dissertation on the Conversion
and Apostleship of St. Paul," which, until
the appearance of Paley's " Horse Paulina,"
was an unrivalled treatise. Mr. Pitt, (the
great earl of Chatham,) during his intimacy
with West, formed a walk at Wickham
Court. In a summer-house of the grounds,
Mr. West inscribed the following lines, in
imitation of Ausonius, a Latin poet of the
fourth century, " Ad Villam :"—

Not wrmpt in smoky London's snlphnrons eloods.
And not far distant stands mj niral eot ;

Nsither obnoxious lo intradinf crowds.
Nor for the good and frisndly too remote.

And when too mach repose brings on the spleen.

Or the fay eity*s idle pleaenren eloy :
bwift as my ehanginf wish I ehanfr^ the 8eeof>,

And low the country, now thf tuwn enjcT

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The ancient mnDor of West Wickham

was Tested io sir Samuel Lennard, bart.,

from whom it passed to his daughter

I Mary, the present dowager lady Farnaby,

I who resides in the manor-house, and with

^hofi permission we were permitted a

k)uk at the hall of the mansion, which

I contains in the windows some painted re-

I aains of armorial bearings on glass, removed

, from the windows of the church. A yiew

in Hasted's ** History of Kent *' represents

the tovicrs of thi^ mansion to have been

surmounted bv seztagon cones, terminated

at the top with the fleur de lis, a bearing in

the family arms; these pinnacles have been

taken down, the roofs of the towers flat*

tened, and the walls castellated. By a

charter of free warren, in the eleventh year

of Edward II., a weekly maiket was grant*

ed to West Wickham, but it is no longer

held, and Wickham, as a town, has lost its

importance.

The manor-house and church are dis-
tant from the village about half a mile,
with an intervening valley beautifully
pleasant, in which is a road from Hayes
Common to Addington and Croydon. The
church is on a hill, with an old lich-gate,
like that at Beckenham, though not so large.
At this spot W. sat down, and made Uie
sketch here represented by his graver. Al-
tbouffh 1 had been in tlie edifice before, I
could not avoid another visit to iL At the
north-east corner, near the communion
table, are many ancient figured tiles sadly
neglected, loose in the pavement; some
displaced and lying one upon the other.
Worst of all, — and I mean offence to no one,
but surely there is blame somewhere, — the
ancient stone font, which is in all respects
pel feet, has been removed from its original
situation, and is thrown into a comer. In
lU place, at the west end, fiom a nick (not
a niche) between the seats, a little trivet-
like iron bracket swings in and out, and
upon it is a wooden hand-bowl, such as
scullions use in a kitchen sink ; and in this
haod-bowl, of about twelve inches diame-
ter, called a font, I found a common blue-
and-white Staffurdshire-ware halfpint basin.
It might be there still; but, while inveigh-
ing to my friend W. against the deprava-
tion of the fine old font, and the substitu-
tion of such a paltry modicum, in my
vehemence 1 fractured the crockery. I felt
that I was angry, and, perhaps, I sinned ;
but I made restitution beyond the extent
that would replace the baptismal sLp-
basin.

The fragments of old painted glass in
t^9 windows of this diurch are really fine.

The best are, ^t. Anne leacning the virgin
to read ; whole leneths of St. Christopher
wading, with the infant Saviour bearing
the globe in his hand ; an elderly female
saint, very good ; and a skeleton with armour
before him. Some years ago, collectors of
curiosities paid their attentions to these win-
dows, and carried off specimens: since
then wires have been put up on the out-
side. On the walls are hung pennons, with
an iron helmet, swor<J, spurs, gloves, and
other remains of a funereal pageant. A
small or^an stands on the floor : the parti-
tions of some of the pewings are ver}
ancient

GODSTOW NUNNERY,
Near Oxford.

Th« wild-flower warea, ia VomtHj blooBk

On Qodatow'a dewlated w«U t
There thin sluMle* flit through twilifht gloom.

And mnrmQred aceeats feeo^j fall.
The aged hasel nartnrei there
Its hollow fmit, to seeming fair.
And lightly throws its hamble ahadei.
Where Rosamonda*s form is laid.

The rose of earth, the sweetest flower
That ever graced a monarch's breast.

In vernal beaatj's loveliest honr.
Beneath that sod was laid to reet.

In vain the bower of love around

The Dssdaltan path was wound :

Alas I thatjealous hate should find

The elne for loye alone designed 1

The yenomed bowl,— the mandate dire,—
The menaced steel's uplifted glare,—

The tear, that quenched the blue eye's &rt^*
The humble, ineifoctual prayer ;—

All these shall live, recorded loog

In tragic and romaatie song.

And long a moral charm impart^

To melt and purify the heart.

A nation's gem, a monarch's prides

In yottdi, in byelineas, she died:

The morning sun's ascending ray

Saw none so fair, so blest, so gay t

Ere eyening came, her funeral hneil

Was tolled by Oodstow*s oeoyent bsU.

The marble tomb, the illumined shrina^
Their ineffectual splendour t,nrt :

Where slept ia earth the maid divinak
The yotiye silk was seen to wave.

To her, as to a martyred saint.
Hit v«ws the weeping pilinm pon/«d

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rkednMping tr»T6ller, sad and faint.

Knelt there, and fonnd his stnngth restored;
To tikat fair shrine, in solemn honr.

Fond youths and hlnshing maidens eame.
And gathered from its mystie power

A brighter, ^rorer, holier flame :
The lightest heart with awe eonld feel

The charm her horering spirit shed
Bat snpOTStition's impions seal

Dbtilled its yenom on the dead

The illnmined shrine has passed away $

The sculptured stone'in dust is laid .
But when the midnight breeses play

Amid the barren haiel*s shade,
. The lone enthusiast, lingering near.

The youth, whom slighted passion grieres.
Through fancy's magic spell may hear

A epirit ia the whispering leaves ;
And dimly see, while mortals sleep.

Sad forms of cloistered maidens moTO,
The transient dreams of life to weep.

The fadiiqf flowen of youth and love I

Note.

A small chapel, and a wall, endosing an
ample space, are all now remaining of the
Benedictine nunnery at Godstow. A hazel
grows near the chapel, the fruit of which is
always apparently perfect, but is invariably
found to be hollow.

This nunnery derives its chief interest
from having been the burial-place of Rosa-
mond. The principal circumstances of her
story are thus related by Stowe : " Rosa-
mond, the fair daughter of Walter lord
Clifford, concubine to Henry II., (^poisoned
by queen Eleanor, as some thought,) died
at Woodstock, (a. d. 1177,) where king
Henry had made for her a house of wonder-
ful working; so that no man or woman
might come to her, but he that was in-
structed by the king, or such as were right
secret with him touching the matter. This
house, after some, was named Labyrinthus,
or Daedalus work, which was wrought like
unto a knot in a garden, called a maze :
but it was commonly saM, that lastly the
queen came to her bv a clue of thread, or
silk, and so dealt with her, that she lived
not long after : but when she was dead, she
was buried at Godstow, in a house of nuns,
beside Oxford, with these venes upon her
tomb:

Hie jacet in tnmbA, Roea muadi, son Roea moada t
Non redolet, sed olet, qua redolere eolet**

After her death, she appears to have
been considered as a saint, from the follow-
ing inscription on a stone cross, which,
Leland says, was erected near the Bannery :

Qui meat hue, oim, signuraque salutis adoret»
UtquA sihi detuf Teuam, Rosamuada precficuc

A fanatical priest, Hugh, bishop of Lin-
coln, visiting he nunnery at Godstow, and
observing a tomb covered with silk, and
splendidly illuminated, which he found, on
inquiry, to be the tomb of Rosamond,
commanded her to be uken up, and buried
without the church, lest the Christian reli-
gion should grow into contempt. This
brutal order was instantly obeyed : but ** the
chaste sisters," says Speed, •* gathered her
bones, and put them in a perfumed bag,
enclosing them so in lead, and laid them
again in the church, under a lair large
grave-stone, about whose edges a fillet of
brass was inlaid, and thereon written her
Dame and praise : these bones were at the
suppression of the nunnery so found.'^

ST. MARY MAGDALEN, BERMOND-
SEY, SURREY.

In the parish register of this church is
the following very singular entry :

'< The forme of a solemn vowe made
betwixt a man and his wife, having been
long absent, through which occasion the
woman being married to another man, took
her again as followeth :

The Man's Speech.

" Elizabeth, my beloved wife, I am right
sorie that I have so long absented myself
from thee, whereby thou shouldst be occa-
sioned to take another man to be thy hus-
band. Therefore I do now vowe and pro-
mise, in the sight of God and this company,
to take thee again as mine owne ; and will
not onlie forgive thee, but also dwell with
thee, and do all other duties unto thee, as
I promised at our marriage."

The Woman's Speech.

** Raphe, my beloved husband, I am
righte sorie that I have in thy absence
taJcen another man to be my husband ; but
here, before God and this compauie, I do
renounce and forsake him, and do promise
to keep mysealfe only to thee duringe life,
and to performe all the duties which I first
promised to thee in our marriage."

Then follows a short occasional prayer,
and the entry concludes thus :— *

* From the ** Genius of the Thames, a Lyrieal Poeai,
with Notes, by lipomas Love Ptaoook.** 16ie.

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** The first day of August, 1604, Raphe
Gbodchilde, of the parish of Barking, in
Thames-street, and Elizabeth, his wife,
were agreed to live together, and thereupon
gave their hands one to another, making
either of tliem a solemn tow so to do in
the presence of us,

** William Stere, — Parson.
" Edward Cuker ; and
« Richard Eyers,— CiffrA."

There is also in the same register the
lol lowing entry :~^

** James Herriot, Esq. and Eliiabeth
Josey, gent, were married June 4th, 1624-
5. — N. B. This James Herriott was one of
the fortff children of his &ther, a Scotch-
man.**

Qnerjf. — ^Was this James Herriot related
to George He riot, the munificent founder
of the hospital at Edinburgh, who died at
London in January of the same year?

BROUGH, WESTMORELAND.

The church at Brouf^h is a pretty large
handsome building. The steeple is not so
old ; having been built about the year 1513,
under the direction of Thomas Blenkinsop,
of Helbeck, Esq. There are in it four ex-
cellent bells, by much the largest in the
county, except the great bell at Kirkby
Thore. Concerning these bells at Brough,
there is a tradition that they were given by
one BrutukiUy who lived upon Stanemore,
in the remotest pait of the parish, and had
a great many cattle. One time it happened
that his bull fell a bellowing, which, in the
dialect of the country, is called cruning^
(this being the Saxon word to denote that
vociferation.) Whereupon he said to one
of his neighbours, " Ilearest thou how loud
this bull crunes ? If these cattle should all
crune together, might they not be heard
from Brough hither f He answered,
"Yea.^ " Well, then,*' says BnifuAtVI,
" rU make them all crune together." And
he sold them all ; and with the price thereof
he bought the said bells, (or perhaps he
might get the old bells new cast and made
larger.) — There is a monument in the
church, in the south wall, between the
highest and second windows, under which.
It is said, the said BrunskiU was the last
that was interred.

The pulpit is of stone. There was here-
tofore a handsome reading detk, given by
sir Cuthbert Buckle, knight, vintner in
London, who was born upon Stanemore in
this parish, and was lord mayor of London
in the year 1593. His name was upon the
desk thus i^** By Cuthbert Buckle, Anno
Domini 1576." He built also a bridge
upon Stanemore, which stilt bears the name
or Buckle 9 Bridge ; and gave eight pouncfs
a year to a school UDon Stanemore.

For ike Table Book.
TO MY PSEUDaMUSE.

Hnoe, Hmto tonneiitiBf Wftfward B«nf •
For erw eowfiaf, tiifling, sprama^

Thoo Bryiiptlas of thrsH ;
For over, with tUna addled hatch,
rU ■h«a thM u aa arraat Scratch,

Uaworthj to bo tcratch'd at alL

Thf Sonaetf^staTM, aad staam rhymiai
To erory key, to crery ebiming*

St. Fan^ DoMce if eaao to Tbeo :
Thoa shalt ao more proTohe ny Quill
To deeds of laboar, or of skill,

Thoa cMoithtt wUu-rt.

Prometheaa fin— Panawna nDiltDg,
Heliooa's iiririvnoas drops befuilia;,—

Where'er thoa eom'it-'irhatarer thoa be .
The Vegnrnt Act may toke that ia ;
I'll drive thee oat as Sataa's sia

Thoa worse thaajfrr of Aidkomg.

Reaoe Jade I tormeatress of the fecliagt ;—
Thoa /rifoA •/ EU^ like rerealiafi :—

Go— hauat the braias, aot freasy past :
1*11 haste to M oaawath Street aad bay
A salt of Prose— thea joyfal ery

Ecet Shdtaa I gtvwn wise at last.

If thoa ^hoa*d*st to ny braia^oor, kaoekiaf.
Come with thy wheedliarpamby, mookiag i

111 eateh thoe oi ee emit #—thea
By HakMM Otrj^ to tho PXmw—
—fare I will rob thee of detrees,

Ami Mntkm(nmm J sidik^MPm.

If I'm aslasp-^thea thoa art waitiag,
Aafle^•lik^ with thy eoaplets baltiag.
To draf my orasy ihoaght to light :
Awake! thy float, with staasa-hook.

Is erer dippiag ia Mai-Brook—
ril brook ao asoro— if sease Is right.

•. »•

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DATIIING.

1 do not know any author who has
reckoned man among the amphibious race
of animals ; neither do I know any animal
that better deserves it. Man is lord of the
little ball on which he treads, one half of
which, at least, is water. If we do not
allow him to be amphibious, we deprive
liim of half his sovereignty. He justly
bears that name, who can live in the water.
Many of the disordeis incident to the hu-
man frame are prevented, and others cured,
both by fresh and salt bathing ; so that we
may properly remark, « He Ihet in the
water who can find life, nay, even health in
That friendly element.*'

The greatest treasure on earth is health ;
but a treasure, of all others, the least valued
by the owner. Other property is best rated
when in possession, but this can only be
rated when lost. We sometimes observe a
man, who, having lost this inestimable
jewel, seeks it with an ardour equal to its
worth ; but when every research by land is
eluded, he fortunately finds it in the water.
Liike tlie fish, he pines away upon shore,
but, like that, recovers again in the deep.

The cure of disease among the Romans,
by bathing, is supported by many authori-
ties; among others, by the number of baths
frequently discovered, in which pleasure,
in that warm climate, bore a part. But
this practice seemed to decline w.th Roman
freedom, and never after held the eminence
it deserved. Can we suppose the physician
slept Utween the disease and the bath to
hinder their junction ; or, that he lawfully
holds by prescription the tenure of sickness
nfeer

ANGLING.

Vhen genial spring: a liring wrarmfh bestoira,
Vnd o'er the year her verdant mantle throwi,
<o Mwelling tnandation hides the gronnds,
Bat crystal currenU glide within their bound* ;
The finny bro<yl their wonted haunts forsake,
Kloat in the sun, and skim along the lake.
With frequent leap they range the shallow itreama,
rkeir silver coats reflect the dazzling beama.
Now let the fisherman his toils prepare,
And arm himself with every wat'ry snare;
His hooks, his lines peruse with careful eye.
'.■crease his tackle, and his rode retie.

• W. Hutton.

Wlien floating elonds fhetr spongy fleeces drai*
Troubling the streams with swift-descending nun
And waters tumbling down the mountain's side.
Bear tbe loose soil into the swelling tide ;
Then, soon as yemal gales begin to rise.
And drive the liquid burthen thro* the ekiea.
The fisher to the neighbouring eumnt speeds,
Whose rapid surface purls, unknown to weeds ;
Upon a rising border of the brook
He sits him down, and ties the treach*rous hook i
Now ezpeeUtion cheers his eager thought.
Bis bosom glows with treasures yet uneaught s
Before his eyes a banquet seems to staud.
Where erery guest applauds his skilful hand.

Far up the stream the twisted hair be throws.
Which down the murmMng current gently fluws ,
When if or chance, or hunger's pow'rfnl bway.
Directs tn9 roving trout this fatal way,
He greedily sucks in the twining bait.
And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat :
Now, happy fisherman, now twitch the line I
How thy rod bends I behold, the prise is thine
Cast on the bank, he dies with gasping pains,
And trickling blood his silver mail Hi^fAJn*.

You must not ev'ry worm promiscuous use,
Judgment will tell thee proper bait to chocse ;
The worm that draws a long immod*rate size
The trout abhors, and the rank monel flies ;
And if too small, the naked fraud's in sight.
And fear forbids, while hunger does invite.
Those baits will best reward the fisher's pains.
Whose polish'd tails a shining yellow stains:
Cleanse them from filth, to give a tempting gloss.
Cherish the suUy'd reptile race w'lth moss;
Amid the verdant bed they twine, they toil
And from their bodies wipe their native soi

But when the sun displays his glorious b(>aiiis.
And shallow rivers flow with silver streams.
Then the deceit the scaly breed surrey.
Bask in the sun, and look into the day. -
Ton now a more delusive art must try,
iiJid tempt their hunger with the curious Ay.

To frame the little animal, provide
All the gay hues tliat wait on female pnde :
Let nature guide thee ; sometimes golden wire
The shining bellies of the fly require :
The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail.
Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail.
Each gaudy bird some slender tribute brings.
And lends the growing insect proper wings :
Silks of all colours must their aid impart.
And ev'ry fur promote the fi:fher*s art.
So the gay lady, with expensiye care.
Borrows the pnde of land, of sea, and air;
Furs, pearls, and plumes, the glittering th'ng displays
Dazsles our eyes, and easy hearu betrays.

Mark well the yanous seasons of the year.
How the succeeding insect race appear ;
In this revolving moon one colour reigr.s.
Which in the next the fickle trout disda.nt

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I Oft \a.x9 I Kta a ■kilfvl angler try
, fhe varioQH colonn of the treach'rous fly ;
j When he with frnitiesa pain hath akimm'd the brook,
' And the oojr fish rejeets the ekippiaf hook,
, He ihakea the bonghs that on the margin grovr,
Which o'er the stream a waying forest throw ;
When if an insect fall, (kis certain guide)
; He gentljr takes him from the whirling tide ;
Examines well his form with earions oyes,
Ifis gandj rest, his wings, his horns, and sise.
I Then loand his hook the chosen far he winds*
{ And on th? back a speckled feather binds ;
' So jnst the ooloars shine thro* erery part,
I That Nature seems to live again in art,
I Let not thy wary steps advance too bear,
>yhile all thy hope kaags on a single hair :
The new-form*d insect on the water moves,
'The speckled trout the curiong snare approves ;
Upon the curling surface let it glide.
With nat'ral motion from thy hand supply'd.
Against the stream now gently let it play.
Now in the rapid eddy roll away.
The scaly shoals float by, and seis'd with fear.
Behold their fellows tosu'd in thinner air (
Bat soon they leap, and catch the swimming bait.
Plunge OB the hook, and share an eqaal fate.

When a brisk gale against the current blo\r^
And all the wat*ry plain in wrinkles flows.
Then let the fisherman his art repeat.
Where bubbling eddies favour the deceit.
If an enormous salmon chance to spy
The wanton errors of the floating fly.
He lifts his silver gills above the flood.
And greedily sucks in th* unfaithful food ;
Then downward plonges with the fraudfttl prey.
And bears with joy the Uttle spoil awa>.
Soon in smart pain he feels the dire mititake.
Laches the wave, and beats the foamy lake:
With sudden rage he now aloft appears.
And in his eye oonvulxive an^ish bears ;
And now again, impatient at the wound.
He rolls and wreaths his shining body round ;
Then headlong shoots beneath the dashing tide.
The trembling fins the boiling wave divide ;
Now hope exalta the fisher's beating heart.
Now he turns pale« and fears his dubious art ;
He v't9vn ihe tumbling fish with longing eyes ;
While the line slretciies with tV unwieldy prise t
Each onotion humours with his steady hands.
And one slignt nair the mighty bulk commands :
Till tir'd at last, despoilM of aU his strength.
The game athwart the stream unfolds his length.
He now. wiin pleasure, views the gaxping prise
Gnash his kharp teeth, and roll his bkiod shot ep
Then draws him to the shore, with artful care.
And lifts hu nostrils in the sick'ning air:
Upon the burthen'd stream he floating lies.
Stretching his quivering fins, and gasping diet.

Would you preserve a num'rous finny race f
Let your fierce dogs the rav'nous otter chase ;
fh* amphibious monster ranges all the shores.
Darts through the waves, and ev'ry haunt explores •

Or let the gin his roving steps hetra/,
And save from hostile jaws the scaly prry.

I never wander where the bordering reeds
O'erlook the muddy stream, wno*: tangling weeli
Perplex the fiMher ; I, nor choose to bear
The thievish nightly net, nor barbed spear ;
Nor dram I ponds the golden carp to take.
Nor troll for pikes, dispeoplers of the lake.
Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twiaa.
No blood of living insect stain my line ;
Let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook.
With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook.
Silent along the masy margin atray.
And with the fai<>WTought fly delude tha prey.

Oitf,

GOOD-LIVING.

A Domestic Scene.

Gent. I v?ish, ray dear, you would not
keep the carnage an hour always at the
door, when we go to a party.

Lady. Surely, my dear, it could not hare
waited half so long ; and that was owing
to the unusual length of our rubber.

Gent, I feel exceedingly unwell this even-
ing, my head aches confoundedly, and my
stomach is very uneasy.

Lady, You know, my dear, Mr. Aber-
nelhy told you, that after such a severe fti
you ought to be very careful and moderate
in your living.

Gent, Mr. Abemethy is a fool. Can
any body be more moderate than I am ?
you would have roe live upon water-giuel,
I suppose. The rich pudding, indeed, that
Mrs. Belcour made me eat, might possibly
not have sat quite easy on the soup, and
the. salmon, and the chicken and ham, and
the harrico, and the turkey and sausages ;
or, it is possible, the patties I eat before
dinner might not perfectly agree with roe,
for I had by no means a good appetite
when I sat down to dinner.

Lady, And then, you know, you eat so
many cakes, and such a quantity of al-
monds and raisins, and oranges after din-
ner.

Gent, How could I have got down Bel-
cour's insufferable wine, that tasted of the
cork, like the fsg bottle at a tavern dinner,
without eating something ?

Lady, And I am sure you drank a glass
of Madeira with every mouthful almost at
dinner ; for I observed you.

Gent. Why how could one swallow such
ill-dressed things, half cold too, without
drinking? I can't conceive what makes
me feel so unwell this evening ; these flatii*

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lencies will certainly kill me. It must be
the easterly wind we have had for these
three days that affects me : indeed, most of
my acquaintance are complaining, and the
doctors say, disorders are Terv prevalent

now. What can I have P John, make

me a tumbler of brandy and water — make
it strong, and put ginger enough in it. I
have not the least appetite — what can I
have?

Ladff. There is ham, and, I believe,
some chicken—

Oant. Why, do you think I have the
stomach of a ploughman, that I can eat
such insipid things 1 Is there nothing
else.

Ladff, There is a loin of pork — perhaps
you could relish a chop, nicely done ?

Gent. fVhjft if it was nicely done, very
nicely, perhaps I could ; Til fry— but re-
member it must be done to a moment, or I
shan't be able to toiQch it — and made kot-^
and some nice gravy. Confound these
parties !— could any thing be more . stupid.
While Martin was sleeping on one side of
me, there was Bemara on the other did
nothing but bore me about his horses, and
his wines, and his pictures, till I wished
them all at old Hany — ^I think I shall have
done with parties.

Lady, 1 am sure, my dear, they are no
pleasure to me ; and, if they were, I pay
dear enough for it : for you generally come
home in an ill humour— and your health
and your pocket too suffer for it. Your
but bill came to more than ninety pounds,
besides your expenses at Cheltenham — and
the nest thing, I suppose, will be a voyage
to Madeira, or Lisbon — and then what will
beeom/t of us ?

Oent, What, do you grudge me the ne*
cessaries of life ? It is I thai am the su^

Lad»f. Not entirely so : I am sure I feel
the effects of it, and so do the servants.
Your temper is so entirely changed, that
the poor cnildren are afraid to go near you
— ^you make every body about you miser-
able, and you know Smith lost his cause
from your not being able to attend at the
last assizes, which will be nearlv the ruin
of him and his family. Two days before
you were tolerably well, but after you had
dined at 's, you were laid up.

Oent. Nay, I was as much concerned at
It as any body could be ; and I think I had
reason to be so, for I lost three hundred
pounds myself—- but who can help illness ?
is it not a visitation of Providence ? I am
sure nobody can live more temperately
than I do* -do you ever see me drunk I

A*n't I as regular as clockwork ? Indeed,
my dear, if you cannot talk more rationally
you had better go to bed. Johul why
don*t you bring the brandy and vrater I and
see if the chop is ready ; if I am not better
in the morning, I am sure I shall not be
able to attend my appointment in the
city-
There will always be a few ready to re-
ceive the hints of experience, and to them
only can this scene be useful.

DRINKING.

Lime applied to trees makes them put
forth leaves and flourish, and produce fruit
early, but then it kills them. Wine cheers
and stimulates men, and makes them thrust
forth flowers of wit ; but, then, there is no
doubt it shortens life.*

KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD
By St. Evremond.

The first thing by which we know men,
is the physiognomy, the colour, and the
lineaments of the face; the briskness, the
air, the motion of the body, the action, the
sound of the voice, the aspect, &c. : and
there is no man, but at«first sight we are
either well or ill affected towards him.
Every man makes some impressions upon
us of what he is ; but these impressions,
being sudden, are not always certain, a
little frequent conversation with him per-
fects our knowledge of him.

Hear the man with whom you keep com-
pany ; endeavour to draw him in to make
a long discourse, and then you will easily
perceive the greatness or meanness of his
wit, his civility, his inclination to vice or
virtue, and to what kind of vice or virtue
he is most inclined ; whether he be sincere
in his speech or a man of artifice ; whether
he aggravates matters, if he be a liar, or a
proud man, and to what degree he carries
bis good or bad qualities.

Study well the persons with whom yoi.
converse £auniliarly, and with least circum-
spection. Examine them when they are
sedate, in an obliging humour ; and when
they are in anger, in a disdainful and mo-
rose humour. When something vexes oi

• PerroB.

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pleases them, observe them in their sorrow
and disgrace, in their pleasures, in their
advancement, and in their humiliation. Be
attentive to their discourse in all these
several states, consider their behaviour,
their sentiments, their projects, and the
different motions which their passions,
their ranks, and their affairs, produce in
th^m.

Moreover, endeavour also to know your-
self very well; consider in all the different
states, wherem good or bad fortune has
placed you, the designs which you pursue,
and the resolutions for doing good or evil,
you aie capable of making. These several
observations upon yourself and others will
infallibly make you know mankind. And
the reason of it is this :— all men, and even
philosophers themselves, are, more or less,
subject to the same passions, and all of
them think very nearly after the same
manner.

Of the most excellent qualities, that of
knowing the world is most necessary for
our behaviour, and for our fortune: — ^for
our bekaviourj because otherwise our life is
liable to continual crosses, and is nothir<g
else but one continued series of extrava-
gancies, which will bring upon us a thou-
sand bad businesses : — for our fortune, be-
cause if we do not know men, we cannot
make use of them in that way which is
most convenient with respect to our inter-
est. It IS necessary therefore to know
them, and to behave ourselves with each of
them after such a manner as is most agree-
able to their character. A prudent man,
with respect to others, is like a master who
knows all the springs of an engine, and
makes them play as he pleases, either for
his pleasure or advantage.

It seems to me, that our first motion
should be to distrust the world in general,
and even to have a bad opinion of it. The
world, such as it should be, is full of virtue;
out as we aee it, it is full of wickedness
and malice ; and this latter world is that
we should endeavour to know well, because
we live in it, and it ooncerns us very much
to avoid its deceits.

But why should we have so bad an
opinion of the world? Why, because men
are bom with a bad disposition, and they
carry in their heart at their birth the source
of all vices, and an aversion to all virtues,
which would hinder their singclarity ; and
which they cannot acquire but by such

riins as they are not willing to take. Yet
do not say that we roust tJirTefore think
ill of all particular persons, b' it it is good
to know tnem.

THE TONGA ISLANDS.

Wild and stra^glinf m tke Aowert

Is hvnifta mature then ;
Unealtiiratad all its potren

latbatsaelndedairi
The paatiou fiery, bold, and atnnf,
lapetttOQs nrge their ooarae alouf.

Like movotaia torceat roUiof
More rapid aa the acre ooafined.
Far leaving Reason's rnJes behind.

No curb of law oontroUinf I
The speetre Svptrstiaon there

Sits tramblinf on her f loony thiwe I
Pale csild of Ignonace and Fear,

Embodjiag shapes of things naknown:
When, when shall rise the gloiions mom

Of heavraly radiance nnconfined?
When shall the mental Teil be ton.

And God be known hy all mankind ?

Fall many a raj most pierce the sonl,
Kre darkness qaits the sonthera pole t
Yet here are maidens kind and true
As ever northern pencil draw ;
And here are warrion brave and yoniy
As ever northern minstrel snng I
And see, npon the valley's side
With fairy footstep lightly glide
A train of virgins soft and fair.
With sparkling eyes and shinbg hair.
As beanteoas as the flowers they bear^
Fresh flowers of every scent and hn^
Besprinkled with the morning dew.
Which they have risen before the sna
To gather for some favoarite one.

It is a custom at Tonga for the younc
women to gather flowers in the earlier pari
of the morning, and twine them on tneii
return into various ornaments, for them-
seWes, and their relations and friends.
They gather them at sunrise while the
dew of the morning is still fresh on them ;
because, when plucked at that time, their
fragrance is of longer continuance.*

SENSIBILITY IN A RAVEN.

In 1785 there was liying at the Red
Lion inn, Hungerford, Wiltshire, a raTto,
respecting which a correspondent commu-
nicated to '*Mr. Urbau^ the following
anecdote :—

His name, I think, is '* Rafe :*' and you
must know, that going into that inn, my
chaise ran over, or bruised, the leg of m}
Newfoundland dog. While we were ex-
amining the injury done to the dog's foot.

• From the ** Ocean Cnvera, a Tato of the Tcf>r:
Uands,** 1819.

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Rafe was evidently a concerned spectator ;
for, the minute the dog was tied up under
the manger with mv horses, Raf«i not only
visited, but fetched him bones, and attended
upon him with particular and repeated
marks of kindness. The bird's notice of
the dog was so marked, that I observed it
to the hostler. John then told me, that the
raven had been bred from his pin-feather
m intimacy with a dog ; that the affection
between them was mutual; and that all
the neighbourhood had often been witnesses
of the innumerable acts of kindness thev
had conferred upon each other. Rafes
poor dog, after a while, unfortunately broke
his leg ; and during the long time he was
confined, Rafe waited upon him constantly,
carried him his provisions daily, and never
scarce kft him alone. One night, by acci-
dent, the hostler had shut the stable door,
and Rafe was deprived of the company of
his friend the whole night ; but the hostler
found in the morning the bottom of the
door so pecked away, that, had it not been
opened, Kafe would, in another hour, have
made his own entrance-port. I then in-
quired of my landlady, (a sensible woman,)
and heard what I have related oonfirmed
by her, with several other singular traits of
the kindnesses this bird showed to all dogs
in general, but particularly to maimed or
mounded ones.

DIAMONDS.

And the sparkling^ stars began to shiner
like scatter'disemB in the diamond mine.

The diamond is chiefly found in the
provinces of Golconda and Visiapour, and
also in that of Bengal. Raolconda, in
Visiapour, and Gandicotta, are famed for
their mines, as is Coulour in Gulconda.
The diamond is generally found in the nar-
row crevices of tne rocks, loose, and never
adherent to the fixed stratum. The miners,
with long iron rods, which have hooks at
the ends, pick out the contents of the fis-
sures, and wash them in tubs, in order to
extricate the diamonds. In Coulour they
dig on a lar^e plain, to the depth of ten or
fourteen feet ; forty thousand persons are
employed ; the men to dig, and the women
ana children to carry the earth to the places
where it is deposited till the search is
made.*

• ▲ teto to the ** Oeean Carern.**

STOICAL WIT.

Zeno detected his slave in a theft, and
ordered him to he /logged. The slave har*
ing in mind the dogmas of his master, and
thinking to compliment him, in order to
save himself from punishment, exclaimed —
'< It was fated that I should commit this
theft.*'— << And aUo that you should be
flogged for it," replied Zeoo.

CAMBRIDGE WIT.

When Dr. Jeggon, afterwards bishop o1
Norwich, was master of Bennet College.
Cambridge, he punished all the under gra-
duates for some general offence; and
because he disdained to convert the penalty-
money into private use, it was expended on
new whitening the hall of the college. A
scholar hung the following verses on the
screen : —

** Dr. Jeggon, Bennet Colk je muter.
Broke the »6kolwnP htads^ and gave the walU a pla§-
Urr

The doctor, perusing the paper, wrote
underneath, extempore : —

** Knew I but the wag that writ these Teriei b bra-

Pd 9ommemA him for his wtV, bot vAip him for hi

SENTENCES
Worthy to be cot by Heart.

As you cannot overtake time, the best
way is to be always a few minutes before
him.

Whatever your situation in life may be,
lay down your plan of conduct for the day.
Tlie half hours will glide smoothly on,
without crossing or jostling each other.

When you set about a good work, do
not rest till you have completed it.

In the morning, think on what ynu are
to do in the day, and at night, think on
what you have done.

Religion is the best armour, but the
worst cloak.

If you make an intentional concealment
of any thing in a court of judicature, it will
lie like lead upon your conscience all the
days of your life.

Do as you wish to be done by. Follow
this rule, and you will need no force to keep
you honest.

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ooo

THE GIMAiAL RING.

This b an ancient form of the ** tool of
J matrimony,*' from one found at Horeley-
down, and exhibited in 1800 to the Society
of Antiquaries. Mr. Robert Smith, the
possessor of this curious ring, transmitted
with it some remarks and descriptions of a
nature Teiy interesting to the lovers of
archaeology, and the " happy estate ;** and
from thence is derived the following ac-
count of this particular ring, vrith illustra-
tions of the form and use of the ^mimmiI-
ring generally. —

This ring is constructed, as the name
imports, of twin or double. hoops, which
play one within another, like the links of a
chain. Each hoop has one of its sides flat,
the other convex; each is twisted once
round, and each surmounted by a hand,
issuing from an embossed fancy-work wrist
or sleeve ; the hand rising somewhat above
the circle, and extending in the same direc-
tion. The course of the tvrist, in each
hoop, is made to correspond with that of
its counterpart, so that on bringing toge-
ther the flat surfaces of the hoops, the latter
immediately unite in one ring. On the
iower hand, or that of which the palm is
uppermost, is represented a heart ; and, as
the hoops dose, the hands slide into con-
tact, forming, with their ornamented wrists,
a liead to the whole. The device thus pre-
sents a triple emblem of love, fidelity, and
anion. Upon the flat side of the hoops are
engraven ** Va€ de Vertu,'' in Roman
capitals; and, on the inside of the lower
wnst, the figures <' 990.'' The whole is of
fine gold, and weighs two pennyweights
fbnr grains.

It is of foreign workmanship, probably
French, and appears to be of no great anti-
quity; perhaps about the reign of our
queen Elizabeth: fi>r though the time of
the introduction into Europe of the Arable
numerals be referred by some to an ssra

nearly corresponding with the figures on
the ring, the better opinion seems to be,
that the Arabian method of notation was
unknown to the Europeans until about the
middle of the 13th century. It as conjec-
ture, therefore, that the figures were meant
to express, not a date, but the artist's num-
ber; SUC& as we see still engraven on
watches. The workmanship is not incuri-
ous ; end the ring furnishes a genuine spe-
cimen of the gimmalf (a term now almost
forgotten.)

Kings, it is well known, are of great antU
onity ; and, in the early ages of the world,
aenoted authority and government. These
were communicated, symbolically, by the
deliveiy of a ring to the person on whom
they were meant to be conferred. Thus
Pharaoh, when he committed the ffovem-
ment of Egypt to Joseph, took the ring
from his finger and gave it to Joseph, as a
token of the authority with whicn he in-
vested him. So also did Ahasuerus to his
favourite Haman, and to Mordecai, who
succeeded him in his dignity.

In conformity to this ancient usage, re-
corded in the Bible, the Christian church
afterwards adopted the ceremony of the
ring in marriage, as a symbol of the autho-
rity which the husband gave the wife over
his household, and over the ** earthly goods*'
with which he endowed her.

But the gimmal ring is comparatively of
modem date. It should seem, that we are
indebted fbr the design to the ingenious
&ncies of our Gallic neighbours, whose skill
in diversifying the symbols of the tendei
passion has continued unrivalled, and ip
the language of whose country the mottoei
employed on almost all the amorous trifles
are still to be found. It must be allowed,
that the double hoop, each apparently free
yet inseparable, botli formed for uniting,
and complete only in their union, affi>rdf a

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DOt cnapt representation of the married
ffUte.

Among the numerous *• love-tokens **
which lovers have presented to their mis-
cresses, in all ages, the ring bears a con-
Siicuous part; nor is any more likely than
e gtmmal to *' steal the impression of a
mistress's fantasy/' as none so clearly ex-

Sresses its errand. In the " Midsummer,
fight's Dream" of Shakspeare, where
Ep^eus accuses Lysander, before the duke,
of having inveigled his daughter's affec-
tions, or, as the old man expresses it,
** witch*d the bosom" of his child, he ex-
claims,

■* Thoa hMt girtn k«r riiinM.
And i&t*rek«af'd lor^-tokans with my child:
Thoa hast, bj moon-lif ht, at her window snf.
With feigning votoe, rertet c(f feigning 1ot« ;
And stoI*a the impraaaion of her Imtaiiiet
With braedeU of thy hair, ringi, gawds, ooaoeitt.**

From a simple love-token, the gimmal
was at length converted into the more seri-
ous <' sponsalium annulus," or ring of affi-
ance. The lover putting his fingei through
one of the hoops, and his mistress hers
through the other, were thus, symbolically,
voked together; a yoke which neither could
be said wholly to wear, one half being
allotted to the other. In this use of the
gimmal may be seen typified, ** a commu-
nity of interests, mutual forbearance, and a
participation of authority."

The French term for it is fot, or aUi-
Qne$ ; which latter word, in the " Diction-
naire de Tr^voux,*' is defined, ^* bngue ou
lonc que VaeeonU donne 4 son accordie^ oh
il y a un fil dor, et un fil eTargent." This
definition not only shows the occasion of its
use, but supposes the two hoops to be
composed, one of gold, the other of silver ;
a distinction evidently meant to characterise
the bridegroom and bride. Thus Columella
calls those vines which produce two differ-
ent sorts of grapes, '< gemellse vites.*'

Our English ftlossaries afford but little
information on the subject. Minshew refers
the . reader from gimmal to getnow ; the
former he derives from ** gemellus," the
latter from the French << juroeau :'' and he
explains the gemow ring to signify ** double
or twinneitf because they be rings with two
or more links.^ Neither of the words is in
Junius. Skinner and Ainsworth deduce
gimmal from the same Latin origin, and
suppose it to be used only of something
consisting of correspondent parts, or dou-
ble. Dr. Johnson gives it a more extensive
signification ; he explains gimmal to mean,
^some little quaint devices, or pieces of

Mr. Archdeacon Nares instances a stage
direction in ** Lingua,*' an old play—
'* Enter Anamnestes (a page to Memory)
in a grave sattin sute, purple buskins, &c.
a gimmal ring with one link hanging." He
adds, that ghnma! rings, though originally
double, were by a furSier raftnement made

machinery," and refers to Hanmer : fiat he
inclines to think the name gradually cor-
rupted from geometry or geometrical, be-
cause, says he, ^* any thing done by occuU
mea7u is vulgarly said to be done by geo-
metry."

The word is not m Cnaucer, nor in Spen-
ser ; yet both Blount in his ** Glossography,"
and Philips in his " World of Words," have
geminate ; which they interpret twine.

Shakspeare has gimmal in two or three
places ; though none of the commentators
seem thoroughly to understand the term.

Gimmal occurs in '* King Henry the
Fifth," Act IV. Scene II., where the French j
lords are proudly scoffing at the condition
of the English army. Urandpree says,

** The horsenea sit lihe fixed eaadlestieks.

With tDreh-stares in their hands ; and their poor JaAm

Lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hipe t

The gnm dow»roping from their pale dead ejes ;

And in their pale dnU months the jftninrf hit

Lies fonl wifh ehaw*d grass, stiU and motioiiless *

We may understand the gimmal bit,
therefore, to mean either a double bit. Id
the ordinary sense of the word {dnplex,)
or, which is more appropriate, a bit com-
posed of links, playing one witliin another^
(jgemeUiie,)

In the •* First Part of King Henry the
Sixth,'* af^er the French bad been beaten
back with great loss, Charles and his lords
are concerting together the farther measures
to be pursued, and the king says,

** Let's leave this town, for Chej are hare-brain'd alavw^
And hanger will enforce them to be more eager:
Of old I know them: rather with their teeth
The walls thejr'U tear down, than Ibruke the siege."

To which Reignier subjoins,

** I think, hy some odd gimmala or deriee.
Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on ;
Else they conld ne'er hold oat so, as thej do*
By mj ooBseat we'U e'en let them alone.**

Some of the commentators have the fol-
lowing note upon this passage: " A^Mnnal
is a piece of jointed work, where one piece
moves within another; whence it is taken
at large for an engine. It is now vulgarly
called • gimcrack.' "

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triple, or even more complicated; ^et the
name remained unchanged. Uemck, in
bis *' Hesperides/' has the following verses.

J%g Jimmal Ring, or True'latfe-knoL

Thon aent'st to ne » trna-IoTa-kaot { bot I
R«tan*d a riag of jtnBala. to implj
Tkf loTO kad one knot, mine a triplt^tfe.

According to Bandle Holme, who, under
the term ** annulet," figures the gimmal
rir|;,* Morgan, in bis ** Sphere or Gen-
try," speaks of *^ three triple gtmbol rings
borne by the name of Hawberke :** which
Mr. Nares says was '' evidently because
the hawberk was formed of rings linked
into each other."

hers, which had been giTen her by her
mother at |)arting : and Alvarez unscrews
both the rings, and fits one half to the
other.

The gmmtd ring appears in common
language to have been called a Jotnf-ring.
There is a passage relating to it in Dryden s
<* Don Sebastian."

* A enrions artist wronglit '«in,
With joynts to eloM as not to be pereeivM ;
Yet are they both eaeh other's eonnterpart.
(Her part had Jmom iascriVd, and hu had Zayia.
Ton know thoee names were theirs:^ and, in the midst,
A heart divided in two halvee was plae'd.
Kow if the riTets of those rings, iaelos'd.
Fit not eaeh other, I have forged this lye t
Bnt if they join, yon most for ever part.**

According to other passages in this play
one of these rings was worn by Sebastian*i
father : the other by Almeyda's mother* as
pledges of love. Sebastian pulls off his,
which had been put on his nnger by his
dying father : Almeyda does the same with
i- <

• Aeademr of Armory, b. iii. o. 8. P. S©.
« HoM es'AMie»t Mystaries. p. Stt.

A further illustration of the gimmal ring
may be gathered from the following pas-
sage. ** It is related in Davi^t Ritet of the
Cathedra! of Durham, (8vo. 1672, p. 51,)
that over our lady of Bolton's altar there
was a marvellous, lively, and beautiful
image of the picture of our lady, called
the lady of Bolton, which picture was
made to open with gimmet (or linked fast*
enings) from the breast downward; and
within the said image wis wrought and
pictured the imase of our Saviour marvel-
louslv finely gilt*^t

I find that the brass rings within which
the seaman's compass swings, are by the
seamen called gimbaie. This is the only
instance I can discover of the term being
still used.

There is a beautiful allusion to the em-
blematical properties of the wedding ring
in the following poem :—

TO 8 D , WITH A ftlVO.

Emblem of happiness, not bought, nor sold*

Aeeept this uodeet ring of virgin gold.

Lore in the smaU, bnt perfect, eirele, trae%

And duty, in its soft, thoogh striet embraeew

Plain, praoioas, pnrc^ as bestbeoomes the wile |

Yet firm to bear the frequent rubs of life.

Connnbial love disdains a fragile toy,

Whieh nst eaa tamuh. or a tooeh destroy ;

Nor much admires what oonrta the gen'ral

The dassUng diamond's meretrieions blase.

That hides, with glare, the anguish of a hearf

By natnre hard, tho' polishM bright by art

More to thy taste the onament that shows

Oomestie bliss, and, withonf glaring, glows.

Whose gentle pressure serves to keep the mind

To all comet, to one discreetly kind.

Of simple elegaaoe th* unoonseioas charm.

The holy amulst to keep from harm ;

To guard at once and consecrate the shrine.

Take this dear pledge— It makes and iMt

€attitk 9Iap0^

No. XXIV.

[From ** Chabot, Admiral of France,*^ a
Tragedy, by G. Chapman and J. Shirley
1639.]

No Advice to fielf Advice,
— — another's knowledge.
Applied to my instruction, cannot equal
Hy own soul's knowledge how to inform acts.
The sun's rich radiance shot thro* waves moot £ur.
Is but n shadow to his beams i* th* air ;
His beams that in the air we so admire^
Is bnt a darkaeas to his flame ia fire ;
In fire his fenrour but u vapour fliea.
To what his own pare boeom rarifies :
And the Almighty Wisdom having given
Kach man within hissself an apter light
To guide hi« acts than any light without him,
(Creating nothing, not in all th^gs equal).
It seems a faalt ia aay that depend
On others* knowledge, and exile their own.

Virtue under Cahmnp,

— — as in cloudy days we see the Sua
Glide over turrets, temples, richest fields.

« OritectioB of Poems, DiUin, IdOl. 8m

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fAU torn kft dark and sUgHtad ia Us way) ;
Aad oa tha wiatehed plight of Mint poor khad
Poart all the glories of his jolden head t
Bo hearenly Yirtae oa this earied I«rd
Points all his graeet.

[From « C««ar knd Pompey," a Tragedy,
by G. Chapman, 1631. J

CiUo^M Speech at Utiea to a Senator^ who
had espreetfeare on hie account.

Awaj, SuaUns ; how long shall thj loTt
Exceed thy kaowladge of me, aad the Oods,
Whose rights thoo wnmg'st for ny right! hare aot I .
Their powers to gaard me in a eaase of theirs.
Their Jostioe and mtegritj to gvaid me
la what I staad for? he that fears the Gods.
For guard of aaj goodaess, all things fears ;
Earth, seas, aad wr; heaT*a; darioMss; broad day-
light;
Rvmoar, aad rikace, aad his vwj shade i .
Aad what aa aspea soal has saeh a ereatars 1
How daageroas to his sool is saeh a f ear 1—
la whose oold fits, is aU Heava's Jastlee shahea
To his faiat thoaghU ; aad all the goodness thexa,
Doe to all good mea by the Ooda* owa tows ;
Nay, by the firmaeae of their endlaas being ;
All whieh shall fail as soca as any oae
Good to a good maa ia them : tor his goodneai
Proeeeda from them, aad is a beam of thein.
0 aerer more^ Statilivs, may this fear
Faiat thy bdli boeom, for thyself or friend,
Mbrt thaa the Oods are fearful to defesd.

Hie thoughte of Death.

Poor SlaTsa, how temble thla Death la la them t—

M mea woald Bleep, they woald be wiath with aU

That iatermpt them ; i^ysie take, la talM

The goldaa leat it briaga ; both pay aad pray

For good aad aoandeat aapa t all friaada oonaaatiBf

la those lavoeatioas ; praying all

•Good raat the Goda Toaehaafe you.** Bat whea

Death,
SleepPa aataral brother, eomaa ; lhafs aolhiag wofae.
Bat better (beiag more rich— aad keepa the ator^*
Sleep erer fiekia, wayward atiU, aad poor) ;
O how mea gradga, aad shake, aad fear, aad fly
His stent approaehesi all their eomlbrta, takea
la faith, aad kaowledge of the bliaa aad beaatiea
nutt wateh their wakiags ia aa eadleea life,
Dnwa'd b the paina and horroia of their aanae
Baataia*d bat for aa hoar.

Hie Diecouree with Athenodorue on m
After Life.

CeU, Aa Natara waika fai all Hiiaga to aa end,
8o^ ia the appropriate honoar of that aad,
AU thiaga piaoedeat hare their aataral frame i
Aal therefore la there a pioporlloa
ftetwiat the eada of thoae thiaga and their primes t
»crebe than coald aotbe ia thaw eraatwa

Always, or for the moat pait, that firm fbfa
la their alall like exuteaoe, that we tee
la eaoh fUl eteatara^ What proportioa ties
HaA aa immortal with a mortal aubstaaee f
Aad therefore the mortality, to which
A maa ia anbjeet, rather ia a aleep
Thaa beatial death ; aiaoe sleep aad death are eallsa
The twiaa of aatare. For, if abeolate death,
Aad beatial, aeise the body of a maa,
Thea there ia no proportioa ia his parte,
(Hia aonl bebg free from death) whiidi o&arwise
Betaia diTlae proportioa. For, aa aleep
No diaproportioa holda with hnmaa aoala.
Bat aptly qaiekeaa the proportioa
Twixt them aad bodiea, makiag bodiea fltter
To gife ap forma to seals, which is their aad :
So death, twia>bora of sleep, reaolriag all
Haa'a body*a heary parts, in lighter nataro
Hakes a re-aaioa with the sprightly soal s
Whea m a secoad life their Beings girea
Bold their pnportioaa firm ia hlgheat heayea.
Aihnodonu, Hold yoa, oar bodiea shall ranv*

Oar aoala agaia to heaTca f

CeU. Paat doabt ; thoagh otkera
ThiakheaT^ a world too high for oar low reaehea
Mot knowiaf the saored sease of Him that sings.
* Joire eaa let dowa a goldea ehaia from heaTen.
Which, tied to earth, shall feteh ap earth aad teas **-
Aad whatTs that goldea ehaia bat oar paro soala
That, goTera*d with hia graoa aad drawa by hua,
Caa hoiat the earthy body ap to him ^—
The aea, the air, aad all the eLameats.
Campraat ia it ; aot while *tia thaa ooaereta^
Bat *flaed by death, aad thea giT*a heav*aly heat o •
We ahall, paat death,

Betaia thoae fonaa of kaowledge, leara'd ia life
Blaee if what hen we leara we then ahali'.ase^
Oar iauaoftality wero aot life, bat time :
Aad that onr aoala ia rcasoa aro immortal,
Thatr aataral aad proper objeeta prove ; ,
Which Immortality aail Kaowledge aro i
For to that objact erer ia referr'd
The aataro of the eoal, ia which the acta
Of her high lacaltiea aro still employ*d ;
And that true object moat her powcra obtais^
To which they aro ia aatore^s aim directed;
Siaoe *twen absard to hare her set aa olqeet
Whiohpoaaibly she aaver eaa aspire.

Hie laet worde,

^^- BOW I am safe ;
Come, Cmsar, qaiekly aow, or lose yoar taesaL
Now wiag thee, dear Soal, aad raoeire her hearea.
1W earth, the air, aad aeaa I know, aad all
The joya aad horron of their peaoe aad waia i
Aad aow will aee the God^ atate aad the atan

Oreatneee in Adnereitjf.

▼aleaa from haar^ fell, yet oa "k feet did light,
Aad atood BO laaa a God thaa at hia heigfat.

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\ftom ** Bossy ryAmbois," a Tragedy, by
O. Chapman, 1613.J

Invocation for Seereey at a Love-meeting,

Tmmgrm. Now aU th« peaoefU RcfCBtt of tte Night,
8ilfBUf«BdiBff Ezhalatiooa.
f^«^uk;«y Wtoda, tad mvrmuiar Palb of Waten.
gadariM of Hwit, aad Omiaou SararaMM,
KaebaataaaetdaadSletpas anttePrMadsofRflrt,
That tmr wroof ht apoa tha life of maa ;
Extoad 7oar atmoft strafths. and this eharm*d hoar
Fix like the ceater ; make the Twkat wheels
Of Time aad Fortaae etaad ; aad great EzistflMa.
The Maker's Traaearj* now not seem to be
Ty» all hat mjr approaehinit friend* aad mOt

At the Meeting.

HereTs aonght bat whispcriag wiHi as t like a ealm
Before a tempest, wkea tke sileat air
Lays her soft ear eloee to the earth, to hearken
For that, she feais is eominf to afliet her.

Inooeationfor a Spirit of Intelligeuee,

JTJmbns. I loag to know
How my dear Mutreas fcres, aad be iaform*d
What hand she aow holds on the troubled blood
Of her mcensed Lord. Methoaght the Spirit
When he had uttered bis perplext presage.
Threw his chaog'd coaateaaaoe headloag into clouds ;
His ibrdiead beat, as he wonld hide his faee :
He kaoek'd his ebin against his darkea'd breast.
And strvck a ehnrlisb stleaee thro* his powen.—
Terror of Darkness: O thou King of Flames,
That with tby mnsio-footrd horse dost strike
The dear li|^t oat, of ehrystal, on dark earA ;
Aad hnrl*Bt nstroetiTa lire about the world :
Wake, wake the drowsy and enchanted night.
That sleepe with dead eyes in this heary riddle, f
Or fhon. Great Prince of Shades, where nener son
Sticks his fiar^rted beama ; whoee eyes are made
To see in dnrkaees, aad see erer best
When HDse is bilindcrt : open now the heart
Of thy abashed oraele, that, for fear
Of some iU it iaeludes, would fain lie hid i
And rise Thou with it ta thy greater light4

The Friar diuuadee the Hueband of Ta-
myrafrom revenge.

7our wife*s offence serres not, were it (he worst
Yon can imagiae, without greater proofs,
I To serer your eternal bonds aad hearts;
Much leas to touch her with a bloody haadt

* IXAmbois I with whom she has an appointment.

t He wants to know the fate of Tamyra, whoee In*
^goe with him has beea ^soorered by her Husband.

% This ealiing upon Tight aad Darkn«n for informac
fma, bat, abore all, the description of the Spirit—
** Threw his changed oonntenanee headlong into donds**
—IS tfwnendoum to the curdling of the blood.— I knofir
aotbiag in Poetiy like it

Kar b it anly, mneh less hasbacdly,
Ta axpiato any frailty in your wifo
With ehurlish strokes or heastly odds of ^frm^a.—
The stony birth of donds* will touch no lasraL
Nor aay sleeper. Year wifo is yonr laurel.
And swealast deeper i do not touch her thea i
Be act more rade than the wild seed of Tapoar
T» her that ia aMTs gentls thaa it rada.

C, L

MAID MARIAN.

To the Editor.'

Sir, — A correspondent in your last Num-
berf rather hastily asserts, that there is no
other authority than Davenport's Tragedy
for the poisoning of Matilda oy King John.
It oddly enough happens, that in the same
Number X appears an Extract from a Play
of Hcyvood s, of an older date, in two
parts; in which Play, the fact of such
poisoning, as well as her identity with
Maid Marian, are equally established.
Michael Drayton also hath a Lesend, con-
firmatory (as fax as poetical authority can '
ffo) of the violent manner of her death.
But neither he, nor Davenport, confound
her with Robin's Mistress. Besides the
named authorities, old Fuller (I think)
somewhere relates, as matter of Chronicle
History, that old Fitzwalter (he is called
Fitzwater both in Heywood and in Daven-
port) being banished after his daughter*s
murder, — some years subsequently — King
John at a Tumament in France being de-
lighted with the valiant bearing of a com-
batant in the lists, and enquiring his name,
was told that it was his old faithful servant,
the banished Fitzwalter, who desired no-
thing more heartily than to be reconciled
to his Liege,— and an affecting reconcilia-
tion followed* In the common collection,
called Robin Hood's Garland (I have not
seen Ritson'sY no mention is made, if I
remember, of^the nobility of Marian. Is
she not the daughter of plain Squire Gam-
well, of old Gamwell Hall ?— Sorry that I
cannot gratify the curiosity of your ^ dis-
embodied spirit,** (who, as such, is methinks
sufficiently ** veiled " from our notice) witk
more authentic testimonies, I rest,

Yonr humble Abstracter,

C. L,

• The thnaderbolt.
t>ol.i. p.803.
t IUd.p.7M.

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RIVAL ITAUAN DRAMATISTS.

The Venetian stag^ had lon^ been in
possession of Goldoni, a dramatic poet,
who, by introdJCing bustle and show into
his pieces, and writing principally to the
level of the gondoliers, arnvea to the first
degree of popularity in Venice. He had a
rival in Pietro Chiari, whom the best critics
thought even inferior to Goldoni ; but such
an epidemic frenzy seized the Venetians in
favour of these two authors, that it quickly
spread to almost all parts of Italy, to the
detriment of better authors, and the de-
rangement of the public taste. This dra-
matic mania was arrested by Carlo Gozzi, a
younger brother of a noble family, who
attacked Goldoni and Chiari, and others
soon followed him. On this occasion the
two bards suspended their mutual ani-
mosity, and ^omed to oppose their adversa-
ries. Chiari was a great proie tenbblery as
well as a comedy-mo^iger^ so that a warm
paper war was soon commenced, which
grew hotter and hotter rapidly.

It happened one day that Gozzi met with
Goldoni in a bookseller's shop. They ex-
changed sharp wotds, and in the heat of
altercation Goldoni told Gozzi, <* that
though it was an easy task to find fault
with a play, it was verv difficult to write
one.'' Gozzi acknowleaged " that to find
fault with a play was really very easy, but
that it was still easier to write such plays as
would please so thoughtless a nation as the
Venetians;'' adding, with a tone of con-*
tempt, <' that he haul a good mind to make
all Venice run to see the tale of the Three
Oranges formed into a comedy.'' Goldoni,
with some of his partisans in the shop,
challenged Gozzi to do it; and the critic,
thus piqued, engaged to produce such a
comeay within a few weeks.

To this trifling and casual dispute Italy
owed the greatest di-amatic writer it ever
had. Gozzi quickly wrote a comedy in five
acts, entitled «• I Tre Aranci," or ** The
Three Oranges;" formed out of an old
woman's story with which the Venetian
children are entertained by their nurera.
The comedy was acted, and three beautiful
princesses, bom of three enchanted oranges,
made all Venice crowd to the theatre of St.
Angelo.

In this play Goldoni and Chiari were
not spared. Gozzi introduced in it many
of their theatrical absurdities. The Vene-
tian audiences, like the rest of the world,
do not much relish the labour of finding
out the truth ; but once point it out, and
♦»»*v will instantly seize it. This was

remarkable on the first night that the comedy
of the " Three Oranges " was acted. The
fickle Venetians, forgetting the loud aocla*
mations with which they had received Gol-
doni's and Chiari*s plays, laughed obstrepe*
rously at them and their comedies, and
bestowed frantic applause on Gozzi and
the " Three Oranges.*'

This success encouraged Gozzi to write
more; and in a little time his plays so
entirely changed the Venetian taste, that in
about two seasons Goldoni was stripped ol
his theatrical honours, and poor Chiari
annihilated. Goldoni quitted Italy, and
went to France, where Voltaire's interest
procured him the place of Italian master to
one of the princesses at Versailles; and
Chiari retired to a country house in the
neighbourhood of Brescia.

NATURAL CURIOSITIES OF
DERBYSHIRE.

Extracts from the Journal of a
Tourist.

For the Tubh Book.

Buxton^ May 27, 1827.

• • ♦ I was so fortunate as to
meet at the inn (the Shakspeare) at Buxtor.
with two very agreeable companions, with
whom I dined. The elder was a native ot
the place, and seemed well acquainted with
all tne natural curiosities at Buxton, and in
the county of Derby. The name of the

other was H , of a highly respectable

firm in London, sojourning at the Welb for
the benefit of a sprained leg. He accoir«-
panied me on the following morning to
visit an immense natural cavern, called
Pool's Hole, from a freebooter of that Lame
having once made it his place of aboda. It
is situated at the foot of a steep b*!l, the
entrance low and narrow : it is 69^ feet in
length, penetrating into the boscia of the
mountain, and varying in heiett from six
to fifty or sixty feet. Our gui(ks were two
old women, who furnished us with lights
There is in it an incessant dripping a'
water, crystallizing as it ^Is, forming a
great variety of grotesque and fanciful
figures, more resembling inverted gothic
pinnacles than any thing else I could ima-
gine : it was with great difficulty that we
could break some fragments off; they are
termed by naturalists stalactites. A scene
so novel and imposing as the interior of
this gloomy cave presented, with its huge
blocks of rocks irregularly piled upon each
other, their slc^j^ but indistinctly visible

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from the glare of the torches, was of tha*
kind as to leave an indelible impression on
my mind. It has many very large and
curious recesses within; one of which is
called Pool's chamber, another his closet,
and a third his shelt The continual falling
Df the water from the insterstices in the
roof upon the rocks beneath, causes holes
on them, which are not formed by the fric-
Uon of the water itself, but by its gradual
crystallization immediately around the spots
whereon it drips. The utmost extent that
can be reached by a human foot is called
Maty Queen of Scot's Pillar; from that
point it becomes dangerous and impassable.
After dinner we made a short eicursion
along the banks of the river Wye, called
Wye-dale ; a walk, which from' the gran-
deur of the scenery, and its novelty, (for I
bad never before seen any of the Peak
scenery,) will be long imprinted in vivid
colours on my recollection. In some parts
the nver flowed smoothly along, but in
others its motion was rapid, impetuous, and
turbulent : huge fragments of rock, dis-
united from the impending crags, divided
the stream into innumerable eddies; the
water bubbled and foamed around, forming
miniature cataracts, and bestowing life and
animation to the otherwise quiet scene.
On either side, the locks rose to a great
height in every diversity of shape; some
spiral, or like the shattered walls or decayed
iMkstions of ruined or demolished fortresses ;
others bluff, or like the towers of ciudels ;
all covered with a variety of coarse vegeta-
tion, among which the stunted yew was the
most conspicuous ; its dark foliage hanging
over the projecting eminences, gave an ex-
pressive character to surrounding objects.
A few water mills, built of rough unhewn
, limestone, presented themselves as we foU
I lowed the windings of the stream, having a
deserted and silent appearance.

It appeared to me probable, that the now
insignificant little stream was, in by-gone
distant ages, a mighty river; the great depth
of the valley, excavated through the rocks,
could scarcely have been caused but by the
irresistible force of water. The lesser vales
diverging from it in some parts, fevour the
conjecture that they had been formerly some
of its tributary streams : in one of these,
which we had' the curiosity to ascend, we
observed a small rill. After a slippery
ascent on the rough stones of which its bed
was formed, we reached a mineral spring,
jtsuing from a fissure in the rock, and de-
positing a greenish copperas-like sediment
at the bottom ; we found some beautiful
specimens of mosses and lichens.

I inquired of a passing peasant wh:it fish
the Wye could boast of. '< Wee (Wye)
fish to be sure," said he : by which I under-
stood him to mean, that there was in it only
one species of the finny race of any conse-
quence, and that trout.

It was late before we gained our inn ; we
had walked upwards of six miles in that
deep and romantic dale.

28th. This morning I enjoyed a beau-
tiful ride to Tideswell, along the banks oi
the Wye, about seven miles. The road
wound up the sides of lofty hills, in some
parts commanding views of the river flow-
ing in the vale beneath ; not so high how-
ever, but that the murmur of its waters,
meUowed by the distance, might be heard
by the traveller. Tideswell possesses a
handsome church; from the steeple arise
four gothic spires.

29th. Went forward to Castlelon, down
the hills called the Wynyats, by the Spar-
row Pit mountain ; the ride took roe over
some of the wild and barren hills which
surround Buxton on every side. The im-
mediate descent to Castleton is from a
steep mountain more than a mile in length,
and is only to be effected bv a road formed
in a ligzag direction. A fine view of the
rich vale beneath presents itself from this
road, having the appearance of a vast am-
phitheatre, for nothing is to be seen on any
side but mountains ; it is of great fertility.
The most remarkable mountain is Mam-
Tor; its height is 1301 feet. One of them
I learnt was called the ** .Shivering" Moun-
tain; the reason for which being, that after
severe frosts, or in heavy gales, large quan-
tities of earth separate from one side of it,
which is nearly perpendicular. At the foot
of Mam-Tor there is a lead mine, called
Odin ; from whence is procured the famous
fluor spar, of which so many articles of
utility and ornament are made. Castleton
is by no means a handsome town ; it hah
narrow dirty streets, and a deplorably rough
pavement. The objects worthy of notice
near it are, a celebrated cavern, called
Peak's Hole, and a venerable ruined castle,
situated on the rock immediately above it.
It was built by William Peveril, to whom
the manor of Castleton was granted by
William the Conqueror.

On the path leading to the cavern, a
streamlet is followed, which issues from
that extraordinary wonder of nature ; the
approach is grand and striking; the per-
pendicular clSfs above are solemnly majes-
tic— their height is about 250 feet. The
arch of the first and largest chamber in Ois
cavern is stupendously broad in jAm tpan.

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The top of the mountain along the edges L
fringed with a number of fine elms, wl^rein
there is perched a rookery, a kingular situa-
tion of the noisy tribe: lower down are
innumerable jacxdaws, which build in the
ledflces of the rocks.

The span of the strand arch is 180 feet;
the length of the first cave 220 feeL A
number of labourers in it are employed at
rope walks, making twine, &c. From the
roof hang immense spiral masses of petrified
water, or stalactites. The entrance to the
interior is through a small door at the fur-
ther end : the visiter is there directed to
stop and gaze at the arch of the first
cavern ; this is a most striking object ; the
very livid colour of the light admitted, with
the bluish-white reflection upon the sur-
rounding rocks, reminded me forcibly of
the descnptions of the infernal regions by
Virgil, Milton, and other poets. Torches
are here put into <your hands : the passage
is narrow and low, and you reach an im-
mense hollow above you in the roof, called
the Bell House, from its resemblance to
that form ; the same stream is then seen
which was followed on your approach ; on
it is a small shallop. I was directed to
extend myself along its bottom with the
guide, on account of the rock being in this
place but fourteen inches from the surface
of the water, which in depth is only four
feet. I was then landed in a cavern more
stupendous than the first ; the whole of it was
surrounded with a number of ruffged rocks
of limestone, which seemed to nave been
tossed and heaped together by some violent
convulsion of nature, or by the impetuosity
»f the water that swells to a great height
after heavy and continued rains. This is
called Pluto's Hall; and when a distant
gallery, formed by a ledge of rocks, was
l*2umined by the light of some dozen of
candles, the effect was the most imposing
of the kind I ever witnessed. There is a
continual dropping of water; and after
passing a ford, I reached what is called
" Roger Rains'* House, from its always
dripping there. A little further on is a
place called the Devil's Wine Cellar, from
which is a descent of 150 feet; it becomes
terrific in the extreme: immense arches
throw their gloomy and gigantic spans
above ; and the abyss on one side, which
it is impossible for the vision to penetrate
to the bottom, adds to the intensity of the
horror. This wonderful subterraneous man-
sion is 2*250 feet in length.

30th. At Bakewell, one of the plea-
santest of the small towns in England,
Ibeie is an excellent note, called the Rut

land Arms, belonging to the Rutland fiiroily,
and under its patronise. The church is
situated on a rising ground. There is a
neat stone bridge over the river Wye, and |
the silvery stream winds the adioining Tale,
The view from the church-yanl is enchant-
ing. The two rivers, the Wye and Der-
wenty form a junction at some Uttle dis-
tance, and beyond are wood-tufted hills
sloping their gentle elevations. Haddon '
Hall, one of the finest and most perfect of
the ancient baronial residences in the
kingdom, is seen embosomed in the deep
woods.

Bakewell is celebrated as a fishing sta-
tion. The fine estates of the Devonshire
and Rutland femilies join near it.

In the church-yard I copied, from the
tomb of one who bad been rather a licen-
tious personage, the following curious

Epitaph*

''Know posterity, that on the 8th of
April, 1737, the rambling remains of John
Dale were, in the 86th year of bis age, laid
upon his two wives.

** Thin thing in life niglit niae tome jfalousf.
Here all three Lie together loTingljr ;
Bat from embraeet here no pleesorc fk>wa.
Alike are here all hnmen joji and woes.
Here Sarah*a chiding John no longer hean.
And old John*! rambling, Sarah no moie fwrt ;
A period*! come to all their toilsome livca.
The good man's qniet — still are both his wiTee.**

AnotherJ"

** The Toeal powers here let vs mark
or Philip, onr late parish clerk ;
In chnrch none erer heard a lajmaa
With a dearer Toioe saj Amen :
Who now with hallelDJah*s sonnd
Like him ean make the roofs rebonnd ?
—The choir lament his choral tones
The town so soon— here lie his bones.**

E. J. li.

June, 1827.

BRIBERY.

Charles V. sent over 400,000 crowns, to
be distributed among the members of par*
liamenty in bribes and pensions, to induce
them to confirm a marriage between Mary
and his son Philip. This wai the first in-
stance in which public bribery was exei
cised in England oy a foreign po^er.

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THE RETIRED HUSBANDMAN.

TTiIt is a sketch from nature — *' a re-
pose"—an aged man enjoying the good
that nemains to him, yet ready for his last
summons: his thoughts^ at this moment,
are upon the little girl that fondles on
him — one of his grandaughters. The
annals of his life are short and simple.
** Bors t9 labour as the sparks fly upward,''
be discha/flfnl the oblii^ation of his exist-
tnce, srd hy the woik of his hands en-

dowed himself with independence. lie is
contented and grateful; and filled with
hope and desire, that, aflTer he shall be
gathered to his fathers, there may be many
long years of happiness in store for his
children and their offspring. His days
have passed in innocence and peace, and
he prays for peace to the innocent. Ilis
final inclination is (bwards the place of his
rest. •

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THE TABLS BOOK.

For the TtbU Book.

A DIALOGUE
BETWEEN VIRTUE AND DEATH,

On the Death of Scr James Pember-
TOW, KmoHT, WHO dbfarted this Lifb
THE 8th op September, 1613.

He was lord mayor of London in the
reign of James I., and was a great bene-
fHCtor to several charities.

Vwrtm, Wkmt Verta^ cballflBffetK 1> bot ber right.
JhotS, Wb:it Death lajes elaime to who can eon-

tndtet ?
Ver, Vertae. whoM power exoeedt all other might.
Dm. Wher't Vertae*a power when Death makes all

•nbmit ?
Vtr. I fare him life and therefore he is mine.
2>M. That life he held no longer than I list.
Ver, I made him more tLaa mortall, neere dinine ;
Deo. How hapt Jm coold not then Death's stroke

resist?
Vtr. Beeavse (bj natnre) all are bom to dje.
Df. Then thyne own tongne j%t]A» Death the Tie.

torj.
Vw, No, Deaa, tboa art deeeincd, thj ennionS

stroke
Hath given him life immortal 'gainst thy wiU i
i>M. What life can be, bnt raaished as smoake f
Fer. A life that aQ thj darts eaa nerer kilL
iV» Hane I not looked his bodr in my gt^oe f
r#r. That was bnt dnst, and that I pray thee ksepa.
D§a. That Is as mnch as I desire to hane.

His eomeljr shape in my eternal sleepe.
Vw, But whe/s his honorable life, renowne, and

fame?
Dta. They are bnt breath, them t resign to thee.
Vtri Them I most eonet
DUs. __..._- I ftrsfer ny clainw

His body mine.
Per. .»_^— mine his eternity.

And so th^y oeast. Death trinmphs o'er bit gfiM^
Tirtae o*er that which death oan nerer bane.**

H»*^t.
London^ June 12, 1K27.

ANCIENT DIAL.
For the Table Book.

The dial in use among the ancient, Jews
Jifiered from that in use among us. llieirs
was a kind of stairs ; the time of the day
was distinpfuished, not by /iiie«, but by
etept or degree* ; the shade of the sun every
hour rooTc^ forward to a new degree. On
tlie dial of Ahaz, the sun went back (mag-
holoth) degreee or 9iep*, no: Unee, — hoi,
xkXTiii. 8. ^.

PETER HERVE.
To the Editor.

Sir^r— Having had the happiL«ss and
honour of holding correspondence with that
most benevolent man, Mr. Peter Ilerv^ !
whose death I deeply deplore, I shall feel
myself relieved from a debt due to his me*
mory, if you will allow roe, through the ,
medium of voor valuable publication, to
express my hope that he was not, in the ,
time of need, forgotten by that society of i
which he was the honoured founder. His |
last letter told me he was ill and in dis- j
tress ; and had been advised to try the air |
of the south of France, with scarcely any
means of pursuing his journey but by the
sale of his drawings. My own inability to '
serve him made me hesitate; and I am |
shocked to say, his letter was not answered, i
I am sorry, mit repentance will not come
too late, if this hint will liave any weight
towards procuring for his amiable widow,
*Vom that admirable institution, a genteel, \
if not an ample independence : for certain '
I am, that he could not have made choice
of any one who had not a heart generous
as his own.

I am, &c.

F. S. Jun.

Stamford, JitM 24, 1827.

CSlBALISltC ERUDITION.

Nothing can etce^ ' the followers of
cabalistical mysteries, in point of fantastical
concerts. The learned Godwin recounts
some of them. ''Abraham,^' they say,
*' wept but little for Sarah, probably be-
cause she was old.'' They prove this by
producing the letter <* Caph,"- which being
a remarkably amaU letter, and being made
use of in the Hebrew word which describes
Abraham's tears, evinces, they affirm, that
his grief also was amalL

The Cabalists discovered likewise, that
in the two Hebrew words, signifying
'* man " and " woman,'' are contained two
letters, which, together, form one of the
names of *' God ; but if these letters be
taken away, there remain letters whidi
signify *• fire." " Hence," argue the Ca-
balists, ** we may find that when man and
wife agree together, and live in union, God
is with them, but when they separate them-
selves from God, fire attends their foot-
Qteps." Such are the whimsical dogmas of
the J«with Cabala.

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OFFERINGS TO WFANTS.
To the Editor,

Edgtky^ near Stockport.

Sir,~I am anzioiu to Dotioe a easton I
hftTe observed in Yorkshire, relatiTe to verr
yoanpi infants, which I think it would be
desirable to keep alive, I know that it is
partiallj practised now, in that conntT, in
the neighboarhood of Wakefield. The
custom I allude to is, the making an offer-
ing to new-born infants on the occasion of
their makiu^ their first visit abroad, bj the
person who is honoured with it, of a cake
of bread, an egg, and a small quantitj of
salt. 8f>eclal care is taken that the young
pilgrim in life makes its first visit to the
house of a near relative, or an esteemed
friend, who will in nowise omit a ceremony
so necessary to its fiituie welfare. For it
is believed if this be not done, that in its
progress through life it will be exposed to
the miseries of want; and by parity of
reason, the due observance of it will insure
a continual supply of those necessaries, of
which the offering at setting out in life pre-
sents so happy an omen. I know not
whence or where this custom originated,
nor how extensively it may be still prac-
tised ; but if its origin be utterly unknown,
we are, according to the usage of the
world in all such cases, bound the more to
observe and reverence it. There are many
ancient customs, upon which the hand of
Time has set his seal, ** more honoured in
the breach than the observance;'' but, I
think, you will agree with me, that this,
from its air of social humanity, is not of
that class. Perhaps you can give it further
elucidation. I believe it to be of the most
remote antiquity, and to have been amongst
the oldest nations.

I am, &c.

MiLO.

one part of the nocturnal ceremony consisl-
ed in the conseciation of an egg. By this,
as we are informed by Porphyry, was sig-
nified the world. It seems to have been a
£aivourite symbol, and very ancient, and we
find it adopted amon^ many nations. It
was said by the Persians of Orosmasdes,
that he formed mankind and enclosed them
in an egg. Cakes and salt were used in
religious rites by the ancients. The Jews
probably adopted their appropriation from
the Egyptians :-* * And it thou bring an
oblation of a meat-offering baken in the
oven, it shall be unleavened cakes of fine
flour,* &c. (Levit. ii, 4.) « With all thine
offerings thou shall offer salt.* " flbid. p.l 3.)
It is also customary in Northumberland
for the midwife, &c. to provide two slices,
one of bread and the other of cheese, which
are presented to the first person they meet
in the procession to church at the christen*
ing. The person who receives this homely
present must give the child in return '* three
different things, wishing it at the same time
health and beauty. A gentleman happen-
ing once to fall in the way of such a party,
and to receive the above present, was at a
loss how to make the triple return, till he
bethought himself of laymg upon the child
which was held out to him, a shilling, a
halfpenny, and a pinch of snuff*. When
they meet more than one person together,
• it is usual to single out the nearest to the
woman that carnes the child.

Cowel says, it was a good old custom
for God-fathers and God-mothers, every
time their God-children asked them bless-
ing, to give them a caLe, which was a God*s-
kichell: it is still a proverbial saying in
some countries, ** Ask me a blessing, a^ I
will give you some plum-cake."

The only immediate illustration of the
preceding custom that occurs, is Hutchin-
son*s mention of it in his History of North-
umberland ; in which county, also, infants,
when first sent abroad in the arms of the
nurse to visit a neighbour, are presented
with an eg^j salt, and bread. He observes,
that *' the e^ was a sacred emblem, and
seems a gift well adapted to infancy.** Mr.
Bryant says, ** An egg, containing in it the
elements of life, was thought no improper
emblem of the ark, in which were preserved
the rudiments is the future world : hence^
in the Dionusiaca, and in other mysteries

Among superstitions relating to children^
the following is related by Bingham, on
St. Austin : ** If when two friends are talk-
ing together, a stonf, or a dog, or a child,
happens to come between them, they tread
the stone to pieces as the divider of their
friendship ; and this is tolerable in compa-
rison of beating an innocent child tnat
comes between them. But it is more plea-
sant that sometimes the children's quarrel
is revenged by the dogs : for many timej
they are so superstitious as to dare to beat
the dog that comes between them, who,
turning again upon him that smites him
sends him from seeking a vain remedy, to
seek a real physician.*' Brand, who cites
these passages, adduces the following

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CoRtsTENiVG Customs.

Dr. Moresin was an eye-witness to the
following usages in Scotland. They take,
on their return from church, the newly-
baptised infant, and vibrate it three or four
times gentlv over a flame, saying, and re-
peating it thrice, ** Let the flame consume
thee now or never."

Martin relates, that in the Western
Islands, the same lustration, by carrying of
fire, is performed round about lying-in
women, and round about children before
they are chrietened, as an efiectual means
to preserve both the mother and infant from
the power of evil spirits. This practice is
similar to an ancient feast at Athens, kept
by private families, called Amphidromia,
on the fifth day after the birth of the child,
when it was the custom for the gossips to
run round the fire with the infont in their
arms, and then, having delivered it to the
nurse, they were entertained with feasting
and dancing.

There is a superstition that a child who
does not cry when sprinkled in baptism
will not live.

Among the ancient Irish, the mother, at
the birth of a man child, put the first meat
into her infant's mouth upon the point of
her husband's sword, with wishes that it
might die no otherwise than in war, or by
sword. Pennant says, that in the High-
lands, mid wives give new-bom babes a
<«mall spoonful of earth and whisky, as the
first food they take.

Giraldus Cambrensis relates, that '^at
the baptizing of the infants of the wild
Irish, their manner was not to dip their
right arms into the water, that so as they
thought they might give a more deep and
incurable blow." Mr. Brand deems this a
proof that the whole body of the child was
anciently commonly immersed in the bap-
tismal font.

In 1795 the minister of the parishes of
South Ronaldsay and Burray, two of the
Orkney islands, describing the manners of
the inhabitants, says : *' Within these last
seven years, the minister has been twice
interrupted in administering baptism to a
female child, before the male childy who
Was baptized immediately after. When
the service was over, he was gravely told
ne had done very wronff ; for, as the female
child was first baptized, she would, on her
coming to the years of discretion, most cer-
tainly have a strong beard, and the boy
would have none.*'

The minister of Logterait, in Perthshire,
escnomg ihe superstitious opinions and

practices in that parish, says: "Allien a
child was baptized privately, it was, not
long since, customary to put the child upon
a clean basket, having a cloth previously
spread over it, with bread and cheese put
into the cloth ; and thus to move the basket
three times successively round the iron
crook, which hangs over the fire, from the
roof of the house, for •the purpose of sup-
porting the pots when water is boiled, or
victuals are prepared. This" he imagines,
*' miffht be anciently intended to counter-
act me malignant arts which witches and
evil spirits were imagined to practise against
new-born infants."

It is a vulgar notion, that children, pre-
maturely wise, are not long-lived, and
rarely reach maturity. Shakspeare puts
this superstition into the mouth of Richard
the Third.

Bulwer mentions a tradition concerning
children bom open-handed, that they will
prove of a bountiful disposition and frank-
handed. A character in one of Dekker*B
plays says, *< I am the most wretched fel-
low : sure some left-handed priest christened
me, I am so unlucky."

The following charms for infancy are d^
rived from Herrick:

** Bring the holy cnut of bread,
Laj it underneath the head ;
*Tia A certain charm to keep
Hagi awaj while children sleep.'*

** Let the enperstitioaa wife
Keer the child's heart lay n knife i
Point be np, and haft be down,
(While she gossips in the towne ;)
This, *mongst other mystiek chams.
Keeps the sleeping child from harmes.*

BUNYAN'S HOLY WAR DRAMA
TISED.

A very beautiful manuscript was once
put into the hands of one of Dr. Aikin*s
correspondents by a provincial bookseller,
to whom it had been offered for pi.hlication
It consisted of two tragedies upon the sub-
ject of John Bunyan*s Holy War : they were
the eompoeition of a lady, who had fitted
together scraps from Shakspeare, Milton,
Young's Night Thoughts, and £rskine*s
Gospel Sennets, into the dramatic form,
with no other liberty than that of oocasion-
ally altering a name. The lady Constance,
for instance, was converted into lady Cob

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science: the whole speeches and scenes
were thus introdaced in a wholesale sort
of cento. The ghost in Hamlet also did
for a Conscience.*

GENTLEMEN OF THE PARISH.

Look up at the inscription on that vene-
rahle church defaced with plaster; what
does it record 7 ^ BeautiJUd by Samuel
Smear and Daniel Daub, churchwardens.'*
And so these honest gentlemen call dis-
guising that fine, old, stone building, with
a thick coat of lime and hair, or white-
wash, bemUififinf^ it I

What is the history of all this! Why the
plain matter-of-fact is, that erery parish
officer thinks he has a right to make a
round bill on the hamlet, during his year
of power. An apothecary in office physics
Mie poor. A glazier, first in cleaning,

breaks the church-windows, and afierwaids
brings in a long bill for mending them. A
painter repairs the commandments, puts
new coats on Moses and Aaron, ffilds the
organ pipes, and dresses the little dierubim
about the loft, as fine as ▼ermiUon, Prussian
blue, and Dutch gold can make them. The
late churchwardens chanced to be a silver-
smith and a woollen-draper; the silver-
smith new fashioned the communion plate,
and the draper new clothed the pu.pit, and
put fresh curtains to the winaows. All
this might be done with some shadow of
modesty, but to insult the good sense of
everv beholder with their bamtifled ! Shame
on them !

Dr. Bumey tells of some parish officers,
that they applied to Snetzler (a celebrated
organ-builder) to examine their organ, and
to make improvements on it — ** Gentle-
men," said tne honest Swiss, ** your organ
be wort von bondred pound, just now-—
well — I will spend von honored pound
upon it, and it shall then be wort fifty "

Fw the TMe Book.

THE ANGLER.

From the Gxrman 07 Goetbe.

Dm Wmmt TBudif , dai Waater Mhwon, &e.

There was a gentle angler who was angling in the sea.
With heart as cool as only heart untaught of love can be ;
When suddenly the water rush'd, and swell'd, and up there sprung
A humid maid of beauty's mould— and thus to him she sung :

** Why dost thou strive so artfully to lure my brood away,
And leave them then to die beneath the sun's all-scorching ray ?
Couldst thou but tell how happy are the fish that swim below,
Thou wouldst with me, and taste of joy which earth can never know.

^ Do not Sol and Diana both more lovely far appear

When they have dipp'd in Ocean's wave their golden, silvery hair?

And is there no attraction in this heaven-expanse of blue.

Nor in thine image mirror*d in this everlasting dewf

The water rushM, the water swell'd, ind touch'd his naked feet.

And fancy whisper'd to his heart it was a love-pledge sweet ;

She sung anotlier siren lay more 'witching than before,

Half pnll'd— half plunging— down he sunk, and ne'er was lieaxd of more.

R.W.D.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

CLOSING THE EYES-

For the Table Book,

A GIPSY'S FUNERAL.

Eppiho Fosbst.

It was considered a mark of the strongest

affection by the ancients, that a son, when

his father was djing, should lean OTer him

and reeeire his last grasp,

•*Md kl« Us qilrtt faito happgr VMt**

The Jews, Greeks, and Romans, esteem-
ed it a high privilege for the nearest rela-
tive to close the eyes ot the deceased body ;
as in Genesis, when Jacob's sun was setting,
^^JoHph shall pnt his hands upon thine
eyes.'^ And m another place,— '^ The
memoiy of the father is preserved in the
8on«" Again, ([contra) '*! have no son to
keep my name in remembrance. " And in
Homer, '*Let not the glory of his eyes
depart, without the tender hand to move it
silently to peace." Ovid says, "Ille meoe
oculoB comprimat, ille tuos." The per-
forming this ceremony was so valued, that
to die without friendi to the duQ observance
of this affectionate and last testimony, was
thought an irreparable affliction.

The sudden death of a man was attri-
buted to Apollo ; of a woman, to Diana.
If any relation were present, a vessel of
brass was procured, and beaten loudly in
the ears of the deceased to determine the
point. The ringing of bells by the Romans,
and others to this day is practised. The
Irish wake partakes also of this usage.
When the moon was in eclipse, she was
thought asleep, and bells were rung to wake
tier : the eclipse having past, and the moon
recovered her light, faith in this noisy cus-
tom became strengthened. Euripides says,
when Hyppolitus was dying, he called on
his father to close his eyes, cover his face
with a cloth, and put a shroud over the
corpse. Cassandra, desirous of proving: the
Trojan cause better than that of the Greeks,
eulogizes their happy condition in dying at
home, where the obsequies might be per-
formed for them by their nearest relatives
idedea tells her children she once hoped
they would have performed the duty for
her, but she must do it for them. If a
father, or the mother died a widow, the
children attended to it: if the husband
died, the wife performed it; which the
Greeks lamented could not be done if they
died at Troy. The duty devolved on the
sister if her brother died; which caused
Orestes to exclaim, when he was to suffer
death so far from his home—*' Alas 1 how
shall my aUter shroud me now f '

Last month I was gratified by observing
the funereal attentions of the gip^y tribes
to Cooper^ then lying in a state on a com-
mon, near Epping forest. The corpse lay
in a tent clothed with white linen ; candles
were lighted over the body, on which forest
flowers and blossoms of^tne season w^it
strewn and hung in posies. Cooper's wife,
dressed in black, .perceiving I dia not wish
to see the face of her husband, said in per-
fect naivety, *' Oh, sir, don*t fear to look at
him, I never saw his countenance so fUth
•ant in all my life." A wit might bate
construed this sentence otherwise; but too
much kindness emanated from this scene
of rustic association to admit of levity.
Her partner was cold, and her heart beat
the pulsations of widowhood. The picture
would have caught an artist's eye. The
gipsy-friends and relations sat mutely in
the adjoining tents; apd, like Job and
his comforters* absorbed their grief in the
silence of the summer air and their breasts.
When Cooper was put in his coffin, the
same feeling of attachment pervaded the
scene. A train of several pairs, suitably
clothed, followed their friend to the grave,
and he was buried at the neighbouring
church in quiet solemnity.

In addition to this, I transcribe a notice
from a MS. journal, kept by a member of
my family, 1 769, which confirms the custom
above alluded to. '< Here was just buried
in the church, (Tring,) the sister of the
queen of the gipsies, to whom it is designed
by her husband, to erect a monument to
her memory of 20/. price. He is going tc
be married to the queen (sister to the de-
ceased.) He offered 20/. to the dergymai
to marry him directly ; but he had not fateer
in the town a month, so could not be mat
ried till that time. Wlicn this takes placi
an entertainment will be made, and 20/. c
30/. spent. Just above esquire Gore's pari
these dettiny readere have a camp, at which
place the woman died ; immediately after
which, the survivors took all her wearing
apparel and burnt them, including silk
gowns, rich laces, silver buckles, gold ear-
rings, trinkets, &c., — for such is their cus-
tom."

June, 1827. J. R. P.

LITERARY INGENUITY.
Odo tenet nalam, mndidam mappftm tmet «»«•

The above line is said, in an old book, to
have *'cost the inventor much foolish labour,
for it is a perfect verse, and every word is
the very same both backward and forward.^

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ST. JAMES'S PARK.

Twaii Jane, mnd maaj a fonip wendi,

Child-frrighted, trod the «entnl Ifall %
I fftin'd m white unpeopled iMneli,

And (ucd vpon the long cabaL
fiends m« mkni, in moUej talk,

Bojt, nanemmids utt, m Tmrfinff nee ;
At leogth two femmlet enw»*d tke walk.

And oeenpiedtha Taeant ipaca.

In joan thej wem*d lome forty-focr.

Of dwarfish sUtare, valfar raieat
A hooaat of blaek sUk each wore.

And aaeh a fswa ofbombuiat
Aad, whila la load aad earetes toaet

Thrjr dwelt apoa their owa ooaoerai.
Era loBf I lflara*d that Ifrfc Joaes

Wat OBft* aad one waa Mxa. fiama.

Thef talk*d of little Jane and John,

And hoped they'd eome before 'twae dark t
Thea wonder'd why with pattens on

One miirbt not walk across the park s
They caird it far to Camden-tnwn,

Yet hoped to reach it by aad by ;
And thoaf ht it strange, since floar was down.

That braad shoold atill eaatiBae high.

They said last Moaday's heavy gales

Had done a flMQStfoas deal of ill t
Thea tried to ooant the iron rails

That wonad np Coastitntioa-hiU ;
This lamia sedaloas to shnn,

I don*d my gloves, to march away.
When, as I gased npon the one,

•• Good heafeaa P I eried, " tie Naaey Gray."

*Twas Nancy, whom I led aloBf

The whiten'd aad elastic floor,
Amid mirth*s merry daaciag throBg>,

Jvst two aad tweaty years before.
Thoagh sadly alter'd, I knew her,

While she. 'twas obvioas, knew me not ;
Bat mildly said. *Good ereaiag, sir,"

Aad with her eomrade left the spot.

** Is this,** I cried, ia grief profound,

« The fair with whom, eclipsing all.
I traTcrsed Raaelagh't bright roaad,

Or trad the roaara of Vanxhall i
And ia this all that Time can do ?

Has Natare aothing else in ston ;
Is this of loTely twenty-two.

All that remains at forty-foar ?

*• Goald / to sach a helpmate cUag ?

Wen each a wedded dowdy miae.
Oa yoader]amp>post wonUl I swing.

Or plange in yonder Serpentine 1**
1 left the park with eyes askaaca.

Bat, era L eater'd.Clevelaad^row,
Bade Reasoa thas.tlinw ia her laaea.

And dealt adMovv « noilal bkHT..

• Time, at whoee toQch aU awrtaii bMV

From either sex his prey seonrea.
His scythe, while wouading Nancy*s brow,

Caa scaree hare saraothly swept <^er yea t f
Bj her yon plaialy were aot known ;

Then, while yoa monra the alter'd hae
Of Naacy's face, saspeet year owa

May be a liHU alter*d too."

New JfoaO/y JAyM(a#.

ON 'CHANGE.

To the Editor.

Sir, — We know that every thing in this
world changes in the course of a few years;
but what I am about to communicate to
you is a change indeed. — '* I've been roam-
mg;" and in my city rounds I find the
present residence and profession of the
undernamed parties to be as follows :

Adam is now an orange-merchant in Lower
Thames-street ; and a oounseller in
Old-square, Lincoln's-inn.

£vE is a stove^^te manufacturer in Lud-
gate-hill ; and a sheep-salesman at
4l,We8tSmithfield.

Cain is a builder at 22, PrinceVrow, Pim-
lico; and a surgeon, 154, White-
chapel-road.

Abel is a dealer in china at 4, Crown-
street, Soho; and a glover at 153,
St. John-street-road.

Moses is a slopseller at 4, James-place,
Aldgate; and a clothes-salesman
in Sparrow-corner, MinoneSb

Aaroh is a pawnbroker in lloundsditch,
No. 129; and an oilman at Aid-
gate.

Abraham keeps a childbed-linen-ware-
honse at 53, Houndsditch ; and is a
special pleader in Pump-court, in
tne Temple.

Benjamin is a fishmonger at 5,. DukeV
place.

MouDECAf keeps a dothes^hop near
Shoreditch church.

Absalom is a tailor at No. 9, Bridge-road,
Lambeth.

Fete a is a cotton-dyer in Brick-lane.
I Hm,.&c

5AM SaM^ SoV.

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9nnnpmtana«

The Jfws-harp.

The Jews-tnimp, or, as it is more gene-
rally pronounced, the Jew-tnimp, seems to
take Its name from the nation of the Jews,
and is vulgarly believed to be one of their
instruments of music. Dr. Littleton ren-
ders Jews-trump by m/nim JudaUntm, But
there is not any such musical instrument as
thb described by the authors that treat of
the Jewish music. In short, this instrument
IS a mere boy's plaything, and incapable
of itself of being joined either with a voice
or any other instrument. The present
orthography seems to be a corruption of
the French, jeu'tmmp, a trump to play
with : and in the Belgick, or Low-Dutch,
fmm whence come many of our toys, a
tromp is a rattle for ^children. Sometimes
I they will call it a JewM-harp ; and another
etymon given of it is Jawi-harp, because
the place where it is played upon is between
the laws. It is an instrument used in St.
Kilda. (Martin, p. 73.)

Quid pro Quo.

" Give you a Rowland for an Oliver."
This is reckoned a proverb of late stand-
ing, being commonly referred to Oliver
Cromwell, as if he were the Oliver here
intended: but it is of greater antiauity
than the protector ; for it is met wi^ti in
Hall's Chronicle, in the reign of Edward
IV. In short, Holland and Oliver were
two of Charlemagne's peers. (See Ames's
Hist, of Printing, p. 47, and Ariosto.) Ro-
lando and Orlando are the same name;
Turpin calling him Roland, and Ariosto
Rolando.

Fatheu and Son

^ Happy is the son whose fatner is gone
to the deviV is an old saying. It is not
grounded on the supposition, that such a
father by his iniquitous dealings must have
accumulated wealth ; but is a satirical hint
on the times when popery prevailed here
so much, that the priests and monks had
engrossed the three professions of law,
physic, and divinity ; when, therefore, by
the procurement either of the confessor,
the physician, or the lawyer, a good part
of the father's effects were pretty sure to go
to the church; and when, if nothing of
that kind happened, these agents were cer
tain to defiime him, and adjudge that such
ft man must undoubtedly be damned

LiTIirO WELL.

** if you would live well for a week, kiE
A hog ; if you would live well for a montl^
marry ; if you would live well all your life^
tuin priest." This is an eld proverb; bul
by turning priest is not barely meant be-
coming an ecclesiastic but it alludes to the
celiba^ of the Romish clergy, and is as
much as to say, do not marry at all.

Country Dances.

The term '* country dance '* is a corrup-
tion of the French eotUre cfoiwe, by whick
they mean that which we call a oountr]|k
dance, or a dance by many persons plaos^
opposite one to another: it is not frov
eotUrie^ but eonire,

TflE Vine.

The Romans had so much concern with
the vine and its fruit, that there are more
terms belonging to it, and its parts, its
culture, producU, and other appurtenances,
than to any other tree : —

mu^ the tree; paime*^ the bianch;
pampinuij the leaf; raeemu*, a bunch of
erapes ; w<h the grape ; eapreohu, a ten-
dril; vindemia, the vintage; oimifli, wine
oetntft, the grape-stone.

Posthumous Honouk.

Joshua Barnes, the famous Greek pro-
fessor of Cambridge, was remarkable for a
very extensive memory ; but his iudgment
was not exact: and when he died, one
wrote for him this

Epitaph,

Hie jacet Joshua Barnes,
felicissimae memorise,
expectans judicium.

The King's Aems.

When Charles II. was going home one
night drunk, and leaning upon the shoul-
ders of Sedley and Rochester, one of them
asked him what he imagined his subjects
would think if they could behold him is
that pickle.-— *« Think r said the king,
^ that I am my arms, supported by two

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KESTON CROSS.
Com. Kent, 18 miles from London, 8 from Bromley. — Itinerary,

When T designed with my friend \V. a
visit to the Dulwich gallery, which we did
not effect, we did not foresee the conse-
quence of dirersion from our intent ; and •
having been put out of our way, we strolled
without considering ** the end thereof/'
Hence, our peradventure at the ** Crooked
Billet, on Penge Common ;• our loitering to
sketch the *< Bridge on the Road to Beck,
enham ;"f the same, for the same purpose, aT
" the Porch of Beckenham Church-yard ;"i
the survey of " Beckenham Church ;"§ the
view of its old Font in the public-house
garden; II and the look at the hall of
** Wickham Court,'' and West Wickham
church. T New and beautiful prospscts
opened to us from the latter village ; and
to the just enumerated six articles, and

• VoL \. p. 670.
p. 766.

t p. 709.
I p. 771.

tp.715.
5 p. 811.

their engravings, respecting that part of the
country, in the former volume of^tne TahU
Book, it is intended to add like abstracts of
our further proceedings. In short, to be
respectful and orderly, as one moiety of a
walking committee, self-constituted and
appointed, I take permission to << report
progress, and ask leave to go af?ain.''

The <* Crooked Billet'' at Penge, and
mine host of the " Swan" at West Wick-
ham, have had! visitors curious to trace the
pleasant route, and remark the particulars
previously described. While indulging the
sight, there is another sense that craves to
be satisfied ; and premising that we are now
penetrating further <* into the bowels of thf
land," it becomes a duty to acquaint fol-
lowers with head-quarters. For the pre*
sent, it is neither necessary nor expedient
to nicely mark the road to << Keston Cross*
— go which way you will it is an agreeab

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one. A Tunbridffe or Seven-Oaks coach
passes within a snort half mile, and the
Westerharo coach within the same distance.
If a delightful two hours* lounji^tng walk
from Bromley be desired, take the turning
from the Swan at Bromley to Beckenham
church ; go through the church-yard over a
stile, keep the m^ow foot-path, cross th^
Wickham road, and wander by hedge-row
elms, as your will and the country-folk
direct you, till you arrive at Hayes Com-
mon; then make for the lower -or left-hand
side of the common, and leaving the mill
on the right, get into tbe cottaged lane.
At a few bondred yards fist the sbjep-
wash, formed in a little dellby fhe Ravens-
bourne, at the'ttul of the ei|>eB «ise,«Uiids
'< Keston Cross."

Before leachin; this ftaee on ray fibift
visit to it, tbe cioumry pitfple 'tiad iadiscri-
minately -edted it "< keston CroM*' and
<* Keston mark;*' and lacking all intelli-
gible idbrmatkNH f Mtt tfaeai respecting the
reason lor its belD|;'so 'iianied, I puzzM
myself with iSMije«Uii«i, as 10 whether k
was the site of a crms of memorial, a
market cross, a picfchiog cross, or what
other kind of cross. It was somewhat of
disappointment to me, when, in an aagie
of a cross-road, ikisfeead of some ancient
vestige, there apfMSHied « commodioat, re-
spectable, and conllbrtable-leokii^ house
of accommodation for man and hmse ; Had,,
swinging high in air, its sign, the red cross,
herald ically, a cross guie» ; its form being,
on reference to old Handle Holme, ^ a cross
mohfn€f invertant ;*' to describe which, on
the same authority, it may be said, that
** this cross much resembles the molyne, or
pomette ; saving in this, the cut, or sawed
ends, so turn themselves inward that they
appear to be escrowles rolled up. Some term
It molyiM, the ends -rolled up '^* So much
for the sign, which I take to be a ibigotten
memorial of some old boundary stww, or
land-mark, in the form of a cross, long
since removed fromihe spot, and perhaps
after it had become a *' stump-cross ;"
which crosses were of so ancient date, that
the Christians, ighoramly supposing them
to have been d^icated to idofiatrousr pur-
poses, religiously destroyed them, and their
ancient names were soon foi^tten : ** this
may be the reason why so many broken
crosses ^wereciaied «turop-cro8ses.''f The
observation Is scarcely « digression; for
the boose and sign, Tcommonly called
•Kesion Cross,'*or •« KeSton mark/' tund

V Academy of Armory.

♦ roskHAe^a Emj; of AAtiqiBtiMb

on 8 site, which, for reasot s that will ap-
pear jy and by, the antiquary deems sacred.
The annexed representaiion shows the
direction of tbe-eoadsi'and the star * in the
corner the amguilar situation of the house,
cut out of 'Hdwood, the ettate of the late
Mr. Pitt, which is bootided by the Fan.-
borough aad^UVMeilHun roads, and com-
mandsfrom the grounds of the enclosure the
finest view towards the iRr^d of Kent in
this part of the oounty«

F«MteivMiT<MhM

WiokkamaadCfvyila*

« Keston -GsMr* I call <* htad-aoarters,"
baaaMiri)n4bis house-you will findyourselt
■** ttlRnne.'* You may sparkle forth to many
remarkable spots in the vicinage, and then
return and take your ^ corporal refection,*'
-and go in and out at will ; or you may sit
at your ease, and do nothing but contem-
plate in quiet; or, in short, you may do
just as you like. Of course this is said to
*' gentle" readers; and I presume the !
TMe Book has no others: certain it. is,
that ungentle persons are unwelcome visi-
tors, and not likely to visit again at *' Kes-
ton Cross." Its occupant, Mr. S. Young —
his name is beneath his sign — will not be
regarded by any one, who does himself the
pleasure to call at his house, as a common
landlord. If you see him seated beside the
door, you estimate him at least of that
order one of whom, on his travels, the
chamberlain at the inn at Rochester de-
scribes to Gadshill as worthy bis particular
notice—*' a franklin in the weald of Kent,
that hath three hundred marks with him in
gold — one that bath abundance of charge
too."* You take Mr. Young for a country
gentleman ; and, if you company with him,
may perhaps hear him tell, as many a

• UoiTy IV Mt h. w. L

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cottiitrj gentlemaD would— bating obflolete
phrase and versificdtiou— r

I UrutA n«Ttr ihelorike Mrtaia ;
ThtBf thttt I iptke it mote be bare and plain t
I riept sever oa the aionait of PeraatOh -
Ne lenie4 llareaa TViUiu deem.
Cblfton aa kaour I bob, viUumtcB dreda,
fist awiehe eoloan at ffowen ia tbe aede.
Or ellea nrteba at am dia adtlii ar peiat i
CelM^ of rjiatarika bea to laa queiata ;
My spirit leleth not of «wieba aMiere t
Bat if 70a laat my taia tkH ye hare.*

In brief, if you " put up *' at the " Red
Cro<;s," and invite Air. Young's society, you
will find him

- a fiaakKa fkiia and free.

Tbat eatertaiaas witb caaaalf ooorteope glae.f

'the house itself is not one of your bold
looking inns, that if you enter you assure
yourself of paying toU at, in regard of its
roystering appearance, in addition to every
item in your bill; but one in which yoa
have no objection to be *^ at charges, in
virtue of its cheerful, promising air. You
will find these more reasonable perhaps
than you expect, and you will uot nnd any
article presented to you of an inferior
quality. In respect therefore of its self*
commendations and locality, the '* Cross "
at Keston is suggested as a point ff^poui
to any who essay from town for a few
hours of fresh air and comfort, and with a
desire of leisurely observing scenery alto-
gether new to most London residents. .

The classic^ ancients had inns and pub*
lio-houses. Nothing is a stronger proof of
the size and popufoosness of the city of
Hereulaneunit which was destroyed by an
eruption of Mount Vesuvius on the 24th
of August, A. n. 79v than its nine hundred
public-houses. A placard or inscription,
dtsooveredon the wall of a house in tJiat
ruined city, was a bill for letting one of its
publ icehouses on lease ; and hence, it ap-
pears that they bad galleries at the top,
and balconies, or green arbours, and baths.
The dining-rooms were in the upper story.
Although it was Jtlie custom of the Romans
to recline at their meals, yet when they
refreshed themselves at these places they
sat. The landlord had a particular .dress,
and landladies wore a weeinet^ or tucked
«p dress, and bsougfat the wine in vases for

* Tbe 7«aateleM'ji pvpl^ ask €)iMeen

the visitors to taste. They had common
drinking vessels as with us, and sometimes
the flaggons were chained to posts. In the
inns on the roads there were both hot and
cold meats. Until the time of Nero, inns
provided every kind of delicacy : that em-
peror restricted them to boiled v^etables.
Tiberius prohibited their selling any baker's
goods.

The company frequenting the ancient

{mblic-bonses were usually artificers, sai*
ors, drunken galli, thieves, &c. Chess
was played, and the abacus, or chess-board,,
was made oblong. Hence came the com-
mon painted post still at the doors of our
own public-houses, the sign of the cheqyer
or chequers.* Sir William Hamilton pre-
sented to the Antiquarian Society a view of
a street in Pompeii, another Italian city
destroyed by Vesuvius, which contains the
sign of the chequers, from whence there
can be 00 doubt that it was a common one
ad^ong the Romans,

Our Saxon ancestors had publio^hooses
where they drank very hard out of vessels
of earthenware, as the country people do
stilt.

The Anglo-Saxons had the eaia-hu, ale-
bouse, tfin-Aicf , wme-house, and eumen^hut,
or inn. Inns, however, were by no pteans
common houses for travellers. In the time
of Edward I. lord Berkeley's fiirm-houses
were used for that purpose. Travellers
were accustomed to inquire for hospitable
persons, and even go to the king*s palace^
Tor refreshment. John Rons, an old tra-
veller, who mentions a celebrated inn oh
the Warwick road, was yet obliged to go
Another way for want of accomm<xiation.f

Mr. Brand supposes, that the ohequers,
at this time a common sign of a public-
house, was originally intended for a kind
of draught-board, called *' tables," and that
it showed that there that game might, be
played. From their colour, which was red,
andf the similarity to a lattice,. it was cor-
ruptly called the red lettuce, a word fre-
quently used by ancient writers to signify
an ttielioose. He observes, that this de-
signation of an alehouse is nbt altogether
lost, tbousb the original meaning of the
word is, the sign being converted into a
frem lettuee ; of which an instsnee ocetiit
m Brownlo^-street, Holbor^

; gsar****^-*'

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In " A Fine Companion," one of Shack-
eriy Mannion'a plays, we read of *' A
waterman's widow ai the sign of the Red
Laitic9 in Southwark." Ajj^ain, in ** Arden
of Farenham/' 1592, we have

— •« Us fifa palled down, ud has fattiM bon away.'

Again, in ^ The Miseries of Inforc'd
Marriage," 1607 :

— ** 'tis trtawB to tkt Rtd LatUct, eaamj to the nga*

POTt,"

It were needless to multiply examples of
this sign beyond one in Shakspeare. Fal-
staffs page, speaking of Baraolph, says,
** He call^ me even now, my lora, through
a red latticf, and I could see no part of his
fiice from the window/'

A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine
for June 1793, says, ** It has been related
to me by a Ter^ noble personage, that in
the reign of Philip and Mary the then earl
of Arundel had a grant to license public-
houses, and part of the armorial bearings
of that noble family is a cheqwred board s
wherefore the publican, to show that he
had a license, put out that mark as part of
his sign.** On this, Mr. Brand inquires
why the publicans take but a part of the
Arundel arms, and why this part rather
than any other I Another writer in the
Gentleman's Magazine for September 1794,
says, ** I think it was the great earl War*
renne, if not, some descendant or heir near
him, not beyond the time of Uufus, had an
exclusive power of granting licenses to sell
beer : that his agent might collect the tax
more readily, the door-posts were painted
in chequers ; the arms of Warren then, and
to this day." We may, however, reasonably
refer all these ** tMderu instances " to an-
cient times ; and derive the publican's sign
of the chequers from the great authors of
many of our present usages, the old Ro-

Mons. Jorevin, a French traveller, who
journeyed through England in the reign of
Charles II., stopped at the Stag inn, at
Worcester, in the High-street, and he de-
scribes the entertainment of himself and a
friend with whom he sopped, so as to ac-
quaint tts somewhat with tne entertainments
in inns at that time. ** During supper he
(his friend) sent for a band of music, con-
sisting of all sorts of instruments : among
these the harp is the most esteemed by the
English. According to the custom of the
country the landladies sup with the stran-
gers and passengers, and ifthey have duugh-

ters they are also of the company, to
entertain the guests at table with pleasant
conceits, where they drink as mucn as the
men. But what is to me the most disgust-
ing in all this is, that when one drinks the
health of any person in company, the cus-
tom of the country does not permit you to
drink more than half the cop, which is
filled up, and presented to him or her
whose health you have drank. Moreover,
the supper being finished, they set on the
table half a dozen pipes and a packet of
tobacco for smoking, which is a genera,
custom, as well among women as men, who
think that without tobacco one cannot live
in England, because, say they, it dissipates
the evil humours of the brain." It appears
from a '* Character of England," printed in
1659, '' that the ladies of greatest quality
suffered themselves to be treated in these
taverns, and that they drank their crowned
eupM roundly, danced after the fiddle, and
exceeded the bounds of propriety in their

If a description of Scottish manners,
printed about fifty years ago, may be relied
on, it was then a fashion with females at
Edinburgh to frequent a sort of public-
house in that city. The writer says : ** Ja-
nuary 15, 1775. — ^A few evenings ago I
had the pleasure of being asked to one of
these entertainments by a lady. At that
time I was not acquainted with this scene
of * high life below stairs ;' and therefore,
when she mentioned the word ' oyster-cel-
lar/ I imagined I must have mistaken the
place of invitation : she repeated it, how-
ever, and I found it vras not my business to
make objections; so agreed immediately.
I waited with great impatience till the hour
arrived, and when the clock struck away I
went, and inquired if the lady was there.
— ' O yes,' cried the woman, she has been
here an hour, or more.' The door opened,
and I had the pleasure of being ushered in,
not to one lady, as I expected, but to a
large and brilliant company of both sexes,
most of whom 1 had the honour of being
acquainted with. The large table, round
which they were seated, was covered with
dishes full of oysters and pots of porter.
For a long time I could not suppose that
this was the only entertainment we were to
have, and I sat waiting in expectation of a
repast that was never to make its appear-
ance. The table was cleared, and glasses
introduced. The ladies were now asked
whether they would choose brandy or run
punch? I thought this question an odd
one, but I was soon informed by the gen*

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!leinan who sat next me, that no wine was
sold here, but that punch was quite * the
things;' and a large bowl was immediately
introduced. The con versatioa hitherto had
oeen insipid, and at intervals : it now be-
came general and lively. The women, who,
.o do them justice, are much more enter-
taining than their neighbours in England,
discovered a great deal of vivacity and
fondness for repartee. A thou5and things
were hazarded, and met with applause ; to
which the oddity of the scene gave pro-
priety, and which could have been produced
in no other place. The general ease with
which they conducted themselves, the inno-
cent freedom of their manners, and their
unaffected good-nature, all conspired to
make us forget that we were regalmg in a
cellar, and was a convincing proof that, let
local customs operate as they may, a truly
polite woman is every where the same,
when the company were tired of conversa-
tion they began to dance reels, their &-
vourite dance, which they performed with
great agility and perseverance. One of the
gentlemen, however, fell down in the most
active part of it, and lamed himself; so the
dance was at an end for that evening. On
looking at their watches, the ladies now
found it time to retire ; the coaches were
therefore called, and away they went, and
with them all our mirth. The com-
pany were now reduced to a party of
gentlemen ; pipes and politics were intro-
duced: I took my hat and wished them
good night. The bill for entertaining half
a dozen very fashionable women, amounted
only to two shillings apiece. If you will
not allow the entertainment an elegamt one,
you must at least confess that it was
cheap.*'*

It may be arousing to wander for a
moment to another place of public enter-
tainment, for the sake of a character of it
*wo centuries ago, by bishop Earle.

Tbe Taverw, 1628,

Is a degree, or (if you will) a pair of
stairs above an ale-house, where men are
crunk with more credit and apology. If
ihe vintner's nose be at the door, it is a
tign sufficient, but the absence of this is
supplied by the ivy-bush : the rooms are
ill breathed like the drinkers that have been
washed well over night, and are smelt-to
fasting next morning. It is a broacher of

• I^tten from Edinlmrg^ writttn xt ihm ytan 1774
iiiA 177&

more news than hogsneads, and mott jests
than news, which are sucked up here by
some spungy brain, and from thence squeez-
ed into a comedy. Men come here to make
merry, but indeed make a noise; and
this musick above is answered with the
clinking below. The drawers are the
civilest people in it, men of good bringing
lip; and howsoever we esteem of them,
none can boast more justly of their higl
calling. Tis the best theater of natures
where they are truly acted, not played ; and
tbe business, as in the rest of the world, up
and down, to wit, from the bottom of the
cellar to the great chamber. A melancholy
man would find here matter to work upon,
to see heads as brittle as glasses, and often
broken ; men come hither to quarrel, and
come hither to be made friends: and if
Plutarch will lend me his simile, it is even
Telephus*s sword that makes wounds and
cures them. It is the common consump-
tion of the afternoon, and the murderer or
raaker-away of a rainy day. It is the tor-
rid zone that scorches the face, and tobacco
the gunpowder that blows it up. Much
harm would be done, if the charitable vint-
ner had not water ready for these flames.
A house of sin you may call it, but not a
nouse of darkness, for the candles are never
out ; and it is like those countries far in
the north, where it is as clear at mid-night
as at mid-day. To give you the total reck-
oning of it ; it is the busy man's recreation,
the idle man*s business, the melancholy
man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome,
the inns-of-court man's entertainment, the
scholar's kindness, and the citizen's courtesy.
It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup
of canary their book, whence we leave
them.

Bishop Ear.e, in his character of a *< Poor
Fiddler,^ describes him as 'Mn league with
the tapsters for the worshipful of the inn,
whom he torments next morning with his
art, and has their names more perfect thav
their men.'' Sir John Hawkins, who citei
this in his History of Music, also abstracti
a curious view of the customs at inns, from
Fyne Moryson's " Itinerary," rather later
in the same age :—

** As soone as a passenger comes to an
inne, the seruants run to him, and one takes
his horse and walkes him till he be cold,
then rubs him, and giues him meate, yet I
must say that they are not much to be
trusted in this last point, without the eye
of the master or his seruant to ouersee them.
Another seruant giues the passenger hi*

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priuate chamber, and kindles his fier, ?.he
third puis of his bootes, and makes them
cleane. Then the host or hosAesse visits
him, and if he will etxe with the host, or at
a common table with others, his meale will
cost him sixepence, or in some places but
foure pence, (yet this course is lesse honour-
able, and not vsed by gentlemen) : but if
he will eate in his chambet, he commands
what meate he will according to his appe-
tite, and as much as he thinkes fit for nim
and his company, yea, the kitchen is open
to him, to command the meat to be dressed
as he best likes ; and when he siu at table,
the host or hostesse will accompany him, or
if they haue .many guests, will at least visit
him, uking it ibr curtesie to be bid sit
downe : while he eates, if he haue company
especially, he shall be oflred musicke,
which he may freely take or refuse, and if
he be solitary, the musitians will giue him
the good day with musicke in the morning.
It is the custome, and no way disgracefull,
to set vp part of supper for his breakefast :
in the euening or in the morning after
breakefast, (for the common sort Tse not to
dine, but ride from breakefast to supper
time, yet comming early to the inne for
better resting of their horses) he shall haue
a reckoning in writing, and if it seeme rn-
reasonable, the host will satis6e him, either
tor the due price, or by abating part, espe-
cially if the seruant deceiue him any way*
which one of experience will soone find. I
will now onely adde, that a gentleman and
his man shall spend as much, as if he were
accompanied with another gentleman and
his man ; and if gentlemen will in such sort
ioyne together, to eate at one table, the ez-
pences will be much deminished. Lastly,
a man cannot more freely command at
home in his owne house, than hee may doe
in his inne ; and at patting, if he giue some
few pence to the chaml^rlin and ostler,
they wish him a happy ioumey.''

kingdom. A friend, who sojourned there
at the undermentioned date, bands me
a printed document, which he reeeiTed
from his landlord, Mr. John Weeks; it is
so great a curiosity, as bespeaking the opu-
lence of that ancient city, and the spirit of
its great innkeeper, that I cannot refhiili
from recording it.

BUSH TAVERN.
Bill of Farb for Christitas, 180ft

Through a most diligent collector of
archeolot^ical authorities, we find in the
time of Elizabeth only eight-pence paid at
an inn for a physician all night ; ana in the
time of Chailes IL only two-pence for a
man and horse at Bristol.*

Bristol has now attained to so great
wealth and proepertty, as to provide inns e€
fanportanee equal perhaps to any in the

1 Boatard

Red fame

Black grnma

1 TarUe, ISOXb.

1 Land tortoiM

7^ PoU turtle, different

pnoet
Vennicelli Mmp
Britiah turtle
Giblet tovp
Pe&se eoop
Omvj aoap
SoapSsnttf
Soap and bmiUd
MatlOB broth
Btirlej bvolli
tTaitiMa
dCoas
SBriUi
SPtpeit
ISDoriea

11 Veal bam

1 RcMttting pig

OTstera, stew'd k ooUop'd

Egfe

Hogi' pnddhigi

Ragoo*d feet aod ean

ScotchM oollope

Veal eaUeta

Rarriooad mattrta

>£aiatMum cbopa

Ftorkebopa

Uiittoa ebopa

Raiap fteaka

Johitataakv <

14R«iklab

iSCac^

UPanb

dSakaoa

UPluoa

17 Herriaga

ISSEela
Saltfiak
TSRoaoh
SSOadgaoM
1 Dried

Trip«b w
. kaotllBfa
iHoaaalamba
Fm^-^ Lege ft Mai
SBcMBtaftrfwa.

deia
SHaade
Bt^ ftRaapa
3 Strloina
SRonnds
SFiaeaeofSnb

each
TPiaboaea
DuCflkftHambro'Ibe*
/fattaa 9 Haaaeket
SLege
SNeeka

reaiwa,— 1 Haaaek ha.
tfor
6 Haaaebee doa
5N«6ka
lOBreasti
lOSboaldMs

41 Ham

17 Pbeakkatt

41 PartHdgCl

87WHdd4eb»

I7WlMg«toa

87Teal

81 Widgeon

a6 Bald ooota

S Sea pheaeaata

SMewi

HI
€S*ddlef
eCbiaea
5SbooIdon
PM*-«Legs

dLoias

dCbiaee

Bpaiibe

HalfaporiiM

IBannbad
SHama
4Tongaee
eCbickaa

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4M<iorhcM
S Water drabs

7 Carlews
2 Bitterns

81 WoodooeVs
)49 Snipes

17 Wild Tarkies

18 Golda ploTets
] Swu

5 Qniate
SLnndnuU
13 0alenu
4 Peahens
1 Peacock

I Cnckoo
116 Pigeons
iJl Larks
ISeamagpye
1S7 Stares

SOS SmaU birds
44 Tarkies

8 Capons
19Daeka
10Oees«
SOwls

61 Chickens
4 Ducklings

II RabbiU

8 Pork grukbs

MBwMlaP7«MeirCelr
eheslertfyaCMi

Milted ft TenbT ofstem^
4 Pkw^tpplM

Could our ancestors tak•^•f••f^irom tbcir
mves at this bill of fiir% wfriwigf «»cei?«
what would be their mtawsfcrniiit at so
great a Tariely and abiindMfifr of ^^n.
don for travellers at a.s«i^ wo of Mr
times ; in earlier days^ mmjmtn were, in
many places, compelled to seek acoommo^
dation from hospitable houaekeepwas nd
knights were lodged io barns.

A history of inna would be owgrtw^ ^
IS not out of the way to observe, tiiifr^y»
old inns of the metropolis are dMf'iUMlii
ffoinff alterations that will soon destroy
Uieir original character. «« Courts with
bedchambers, below and around the old
inns, occur in the middle age, and are pro-
bably of Roman fashion ; for they resemble
the barracks at TItoU."* There are speci-
mens of this inn-architecture still remaining
to be obecrred at the Bell Savage, I^ff^^e.
hill; the SaraoenV Hes«l, Snow4iiU; the
George, and the Itoro, in Smithfield ; the
Butt and Moutft; ih» Swan and two
neck4 ;t tfee G*ecn Dragon, Bishopsgate-
street, and a fcw» oAen ; not forgeUwig tht

Talbot inu, in the Borough, from whence
Chaucer's pilgriros set out to the shrink
of St. Thomas k fiecket, at Canterbury ; o;
which there is a modem painting placed in
front of one of its galleries dicing the street
entrance. Stow, in his time, calls it, under
the name of the ''Tabard/*'" the most an-
cieot" of the inns on the Surrey side of Lon«
don. In Southwark, he says, ** bee many
f^ire innes for receit of travellers — ^amongst
the which, the most ancient is the Tabardj
so called of the signe, which as wee now
t«rme it, ia of a jacket, or sleevelesse coate,
whole before, open on both sides, with a
a^are collar, winged at the shoulders ; a
stately garment, of old time commonly
wome of noblemen and others, both at
home and abroad in the wars ; but then (to
wit, in the warres,) their armes embroider-
ed, or otherwise depict upon them, that
every man by his coat of armes might bee
knowoe from others: but now these tabards
are oeely wome bf> the heralds, and bee
called their coats of armes in service.^
Stowe then oQOtea. Chaucer in commenda-
tion of the- '^ Injq# of the Tabard i**-^

It beMk ia.dMl season, on a any
U dmtkwwllvAt the Tabard as I lay
BMdy ta WHd on mj pilgrimage
*S9 Cnte^bD^y with devont oonrage ;
ThatnghtWM eonte into that hoetelria
mUuaoaad twentj m a eompagnie
OConadir Wke, hf artrntan yfalla
In letovesfetp. and pilgrimes were they aUa,
Thar toward Canterbury wolden tide .
The ihsirtsn end stables verea wide, ke.

Chaucer whpm it pleases to Stowe to
fpill <«the ^watfinaous poet of England,''

m ■■ shortly m a elante
Th* estat, th* araie, the sombre, and eke theeanso,
Why that assembled was this eompagnie
In Sonthwerk, at this gentU hoetelrie.
That bight the roftor^ fiMts by the BeU.

In course of time the original name of
the sign seems to have been lost, and us
meaning forgotten. The " Ta*«rd" is cor-
rupted or perverted into the •^Talbot " mn j
and as already, through Siow«, Ihave shown
the meaning of the Tabard* some readers
perhaps may excuse me foraddmg, thattm
Talbot, which is now only a term for an
annofial bearing, ia figuned iti heraldry ai
a dog, a blood-hound, or hunting bound.'

t B2rSSilvaliia,«C thia iga i»th»Ba«3r^%

^ Academy of ArMcy, kn.a*ti

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WILLIAM BLAKE. OSTLER AT KESTON CROSS.

After thus beating up inns and public-
Houses generally, we will return for a mo-
ment to *' Keston Cross." To this pleasant
house there is attached a delightful little
flower and fruit-garden, with paddocks,
poultry-yard, outhouses, and every requisite
for private or public use ; all well-stocked,
and, by the order wherein all are kept, be-
speaking the well-ordered economy of the
occupant's mind. The stabling for his own
and visitors' horses is under the manage-
ment of an ostler of long service : and

it must not be forgotten, that the rooms in
the house are n;arked by its owner's at-
tachment to horses and field-sports. In
the common parlour, opposite the door, is
a coloured print of the burial of a hunts-
man— ^the attendants in '* full cry'* over the
grave — with verses descriptive of the cere-
mony. A parlour for the accommodation
of private parties has an oil painting of the
old duke of Bolton, capitally mounted, in
the yard of his own mansion, goingout,
attended by his huntsman and dogs. Then

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are other pictures in the same taste, par-
ticularly a portrait of one of Mr. Young's
horses.

The ostler at " Keston Cross *' is the
most remarkable of its obliging, humble
servants. The poor fellow has lost an eve,
and is like the " high-mettled racer " in his
decline->except that he is well used. While
looking about me I missed W., and found
he had deemed bim a picturesque subject,
and that he was in the act of sketching
him from behind the door of the stable-
yard, while he leaned against the stable-
door with his corn-sieve in his hand. I
know not why the portrait should not come
into a new edition of Bromley's Catalogue,
or an appendix to Granger : sure I am that
many &r less estimable persons figure in
the Biographical History of England. As
an honest man, (and if he were not he
would not be in Mr. Young's service,) I
craved my friend W. to engrave him on a
wood-block; 1 have no other excuse to
offer for presenting an impression of it,
than the intrinsic worth of the industrious
original, and the merit of the likeness ; and
that apology it is hoped Tery few will
decline.

Dr. Johnson derives " ostler* from the
French woid ** hoslelier," but " hostelier "
in French, now spelt <• hotelier," signifies
an innkeeper, or host, not an ostler; to
express the meaning of which term the
French word is wholly diflferent in spelling
and pronunciation. It seems to me that
*• ostler" is derived from the word " hostel,"
which was formerly obtained from the
French, and was in common use here to
signify an inn ; and the innkeeper was from
thence called the « hosteller.*' This was at
' a period when the innkeeper or " hosteller"
I would be required by his guests to take
and tend their horses, which, before the
' use of carriages, and when most goods
! were conveyed over the country on the
backs of horses, would be a chief part of
nis employment ; and hence, the " hostel-
ler " actually became the ** hostler," or
* ostler," that is, the horse-keeper.

We will just glean, for two or three
minutes, from as many living writers who
have gone pleasantly into inns, and so con-
clude.

Washington Irving, travelling under the
Dame of " Geoffrey Crayon, gent." and re*
posing himself within a comfortable hostel

at Shakspeare s birth-place, says :*~'^ To k
homeless man, who has :.o spot on thli
wide world which be can truly call his own,
there is a momentary feeling of something
like independence and territorial conse-
quence, when, after a weary day's thivel,
he kicks ofi* his boots, thrusts his feet into
slippers, and stretches himself before an inn
fire. Let the world without go as it may ;
let kingdoms rise or fall, so long as he has
the wherewithal to pay his bill, he is, for
the time being, the very monarch of all he
surveys. The arm chair is his throne, the
poker his sceptre, and the little parlour, of
some twelve feet square, his undisputed
empire. It is a morsel of certainty, snatch-
ed from the midst of the uncertainties of
?ife ; it is a sunny moment gleaming out
kindly on a cloudy day ; and he who has
advanced some way on the pilgrimage of
existence, knows the importance of hus-
banding^ even morsels ana moments of en-
joyment. * Shall I not take mine ease in
mine inn ?' thought I, as I gave the fire a
stir, lolled back in my elbow chair, and
cast a complacent look about the little par-
lour of the Red Horse, at Stratford- on-
Avon."

ELiA,to illustrate the '' astonishing com-
posure" of some of the society of " friends,"
tells a pleasant anecdote, which regards
a custom at certain inns, and is there-
fore almost as fairly relatable in this place,
as it is delightfully related in his volume of
" Essays :" — ** I was travelling," says Elia,
'' in a stage-coach with three male quakers,
buttoned up in the straitest non-conformity
of their sect. We stopped to bait at An-
dover, where a meal, partly tea apparatus,
partly supper, was set before us. My
friends confined themselves to the tea-table.
I in my way took supper. When the land-
lady brought in the bill, the eldest of my
companions discovered that she had charged
for both meals. This was resisted. Mine
hostess was very clamorous and positive.
Seme mild arguments were used on the
part of the quakers, for which the heated
mind of the good lady seemed by no means
a fit recipient. The guard came in with
his usual peremptory notice. The quakers

Sullcd out their money, and formally ten-
ered it — so much for tea — I, in humble
imitation, tendering mine— for the supper
which I had taken. She would not relax
in her demand. So they all three ouietly
put up their silver, as did myself, and
marched out of the room, the eldest and
gravest going first, w:ih myself closing no

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die rear, ^hc thought / could not do better
tlan follow the example of such grave and
warrantable personages. We got in. The
•teps went up. Tlie coach drove off. The
murmurs of mine hostess^ not very mdis-
tinctly or ambiguously pronounced, became
after a time inaudible — and now my con-
science, which the whimsical scene had for
A while suspended, beginning to give some
twitches, I waited, in the hope that some
•ustiiication would be offered by these
erious persons for the seeming injustice of
their conducv. To my great surprise, not a
syllable was dropped on the subject. Thej
sate as myte as at a meeting. At length
the eldest of them broke silence, by in-
qiiiring of his next neighbour, ' Hast thee
heard how indigos go at the India House V
and the question operated as a soporific on
my moral feeling as far as Exeter.^

Finatly, from the ''Indicator** we team,
that to Mr. Leigh Hunt ** a tavern and
coffee-house is a pleasant sight,, from its
sociality; not to mention the illustrious
club memories of the times of Shakspeare
and the Tatlers. The ntral transparencies,
however, which they have in their windows,
with all our liking of the subject, would
perhaps be better in any others ; for tavern
sociality is a town-thing, and should be
content with town ideas. A landscape in
the window makes us long to change it at
once for a rural inn ; to have a rosy-^uaed
damsel attending us, instead of a sharp and
serious waiter ; and to catch, in the inter-
vals of chat, the. sound of a rookery insteiHi
of cookery. We confess that the common-
est public-house in town is not such an
eyesore to us as it is with some. It may
not be very genteel, but neither is every
thing that is rich. There may be a little
too much drinking and roaring going on in
the middle of the week ; but what, in the
mean time, are pride and avarice, and all
the unsocial vices about ? Before we object
to public-houses, and above all to their
Saturday evening recreations, we must alter
the systems that make them a necessary
comfort to the poor and laborious. Till
then, in spite of the vulgar part of the
polite, we shall have an esteem for the
Devil and the Bag o* Nails; and like to
hear, as we go along on Saturday night,
the applauding- knocks on the table that
follow the song of • Lovely Nan,* or * Brave
Captain Death,' or * Tobacco is an Indian
Weed,' or • Why. Soldiers, why,' or * Sayi
Plato why should man be vain,' or that

jodidous and unanswerable ditty»
mencing

Now wbat oma nra mora denrt
Nor sittiiif by a MB*coaI fin ;
Aad OB his karcs, Sec."

4^arnt& ^a^

No. XXV.

[From ^ Edward the Third,'' an Historical
Play, Author Unknown, 1597.]

The King^ having relieved the Cattle of
Hie heroic Countee» of Salisbury^ besieged
by the Seote, and beiug entertained by her,
hvee her.

FimmHt (•ofat.) SkobgiDWBiMM faker fwMMo
IeaflMlutlia>t
Her voioe aiora nlrer tvtrj wofd thaa otkor,
Hor wit mot* flaeat. What a straago <U«coane
Uafoldtd sba of DaTid, aad bU Soots I
Even thaa, qaoth she, be spake, aad then spake bioad
With opitlets andt-aooeato of thaSeot;
Bat sonearhat belter t&aa the Soot eoald speak »
Aad thos, qaoth she, aad aaMrar'd then heiaelf {
For who ooaki apeak like her * bai she heneif
Bitethea from the wall aa aagel aota ftooi hesvaa
or sweet deiaaee to hor barbaiaos foea.—
When she woald talk of peace, metblaks her toagat
Commaaded war to prisoa : whea of war.
It waksa*d Caaar from his Romaa (raTe,
To hear war beaotified by her disooarse.
Wisdom is foolishaess, bat is her loagoe %
Beaatj a slander, bat b her Uat (hee ;
There is ao sammer, bat ia her eheaifdl looto i
Vor frosty wiater, bat ia her disdiita.
I eaaaot bUme the Scots that dfd besi<^ her.
For she is aU the treasare of oar laad :
Bat call them cowards, that ttey raa awayl
HariBf so rieh aad fur • eaaas' to stayi

T%e Cottfiteu tepeUe the I&tg'e. wilsiff.
/hi euit,

Cmmten, Sorry I am to see aj liege so sad t
What may thy sabjtat do to driTe tnm dieo
This gloomy etasort^ eollooM MetaacMy f

JTMjk AhLadfl I am bloat* and eaaaot sISM^
The fiowers of solace ia a groaad of shame.
Since I eame hither, Cooatess, I aa wroag'd.

Coaa. Now Ood forbid that aa j ia mj hoasa
Shoald thiak my soYereiga witmg I thrleo<gcatli kiag
▲cqaaiat mr with jtmr eaaas of dlsemffvat.

Xh^. Bow Mar thee shall 1 Uft^tmsttf-f

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CowM. Am ■ear, By l!«g«, «a iH mj wobmi*^ power,
Oaa i>*w» itMir to bey thy ramedy.

Kia§. U thoo spMk*et trwo, thei U?e I my rodMM.
EmgtLg^ tky power (o redeei* ny Joye*
A^d I Mn joyful, CovateM; elee i die.

Coca. I will, ny liege.

jTiflf. Sweftr, Coimte«, that thorn wilt.

O0«l. By kesTea I will.

jTtiy. llien Uke thyielf a little way asidi^
Aad toU tkraeU; a kiaff dotk dote OB thee.
Say that withla thy powvr it doth lia
rp make kim happy, aad tkat thoa kaet iwora
To fire kin all the joy withia (hy power.
Do this i aad tcU him, wkea I ehall be happy.

Coaa. All this ie doae. a^ thriee-dread Mvereifa.
That power of lore, that I hare power to gire,
Tkoa haat, with all deroet obedicaee.
Employ me how thoa wilt ia proof thereof.

King. Thoa hear'st me uiy that I do dote oa thee.

Coaa. If OB my beaaty, take it if thoa caa^st ;
Though little, I do prixe it tea tioiei less :
If OB my Tirtne, take it if thou eaa'st ;
For Tirtue*s store by giving doth augmeat
Be it oa what it wiU. that I eaa gire,
Aad thou eaa'st Uke away, laherit it^

Xi»g. It is thy beaaty that I would eajoy.

Ceaa. O were it paiated, I would wipe it of;
Aad dispeesese myself to gire it thee ;
But, sorereiga, it is louldet'd to my life i
Take oae, aad both t for, Uke aa kumble shadow.
It hauato the saaiihiae of my suauaei^t life.

King. But thou may'st lead it me to sport witiML

Coaa. Aa easy may my latelleetual aenl
Be leat away, aad yet my body lire.
As lead my body (palaoe to my aool)
Away ftow her, aad yet retaia my soul. ,
My body is her bower, her eoartf her abbey,
Aad she aa aagel pure, diviae, uospottedi
If I should lead her house, my Lord, to thee,
I kill my poor soul, aad my poor soul me.

Kiag. Didst tkoa aot swear to give me wkal I
would?

Cent. I did, my liege, eo what you would, I oould.

JTiv I ^^^ w> Boi* ^ '^^ ^^'^ ^^ mMftZ gire :
Nor beg I do aot, but I rather buy ;
That U thy love; aad for that bre of thiao
la rich exehaage, I taader to thee mlae.

Com. But tkat your Ups were eaered, my Lord,
You would pro&ae the holy aame of love.
Thai lore, you offer me, yon caaaot gire ;
ror Cmsar owes that tribute to his Queea.
rhatloTU, you b^ of mo, 1 eaaaot girut
ror 8am owes that duty to her Lord.
Hok that doth eilp or eouateHkit your etamp,
SkalldiN my Lords aad shaU your aaorad self
Commit kigk treaeoB *gatasft tka Kiag of HeaVea,
To stamp kis ini^;u ia fisrbtddea metal,
roigettiaf your aUegiataeo aad your oatk?
Ia Ytolatiag.marfiago' aaoiud Uw,
You biuak a gtuaier Uoaoar iLsm yonndL
To *« « iCJfl^ i> el a Touager kocfo
Thaa !'• be marrM t your progeaitor.
Sele-rmgaiag Adam ea Ike aaitorse,
Bf Oed wae haaoar'dfDr a mairiod Mm

But aot by kim aaoiated for a Kttg.
It is a poaalty to break your stainteo,
Tho* aot eaaeted with your HighaeseT hand ;
How much Bion to iafriuge Ike holy act.
Made by the mouth of Ood, saaTd withki^haai
I kaow my Sovereiga, ia my Husbaad's lore.
Doth but to try tke Wife of Salisbury,
Whether she will hear a wautoa^ tale or M t
Lest being gailty tbefeia by my stay,
Yrom that, aot from my li^ge, I tnra away.

King. Whether Is her beauty by her words diriai
Or are her words sweet ckaplaias to her beaaty *
Like as the wind doth beautify a sail,
Aad as a sail beooaiee the unseea wiad,
80 do her words her beautMs, beaaty wordi.

CIsaa. He hath swora aio by the aame of Ooii
To break a tow made ia the aaaw ef Ood.
What if I swear by tUs right hMid efmlao
To cut this right kaad off I tke bettor way
Were to profeae tke idol, tkaa ooafoaad it.

FUaterff.

— O Oou World, great aurw of lattery,
Wky doet thou tip men's toaguee with goldee words
And pobe their deede with weight of hcary lead.
That fair performaaoe eaaaot fellow pnadae?
O that a man might hold the heart's eloee book
Aad choke the laviik tongu^ whea it doth utter
tke bfuatk of falsehood, aot ehai«et«r»d there I

Sin, wom in High Pkie*

Am koaounble grate is more estef ned,
Thaa (he poUuted ekieet ef a kiag ;
Tke greater man. tke greater Is the thing.
Be it good or bad, tkat he ehaU uadertaka.
Aa uarapnted mote, dying ia the saa,
Preeeats a greatar enfaetaaoe tkaa it is;
Tkr frsskest ■ummei's day dotk sooaest taiat
Tke kMtbed earrion, tkat it eeems ta kiee {
Dseip are tke blown made witk a mighty ase 1
Tkat em doee tea timee aggrarato itaeU,
Tkat ie committed ia a ko^ plaeet
An oril deed doae by authority
Is eia, aad suboraatioa i deck aa ape
la tiseue, aad tke beauty of the rpbo
Adda but the greater eoorn unto the benet |
The poieon shews worst ia a folden eup ; ^
Dark night seems darker by tke lighi'aiiy dusk ;
Lilies tkat fester, smell far worse thaa weeda •
Aad every Olory, that iacliaes to Sia,
The akame ia treble b| the oppeetta.

G.L.

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For the Table Book.

SONNET TO MISS KELI f,

On her excellent performance of
Blindness^ in the revived Opera
OF Arthur and Eiimeline.

Rare artist, wlio with half thy tools, or none,
Caut axecate with ease thy euriooa art.
And press th j powarfaI*st meaniags oa Ae heart
Uaaided by the eje, expressioD*s throne I
While each bliad sane, intellifential grown
Beyond its sphere, performs the elTect of Mf ht.
Those orbe alone, wantinfr their proper mifht.
All motionless and silent seem to moan
The mseemly neglifenee of natare*s hand.
That left them so forlorn. What praise is thine,
O nustrese of tha passions I— artist fine I^
Who doet oar sools afainst oar sense eonmand ;
Plnckinf the honor from a sightless face,
Leadiaf to blank deformity a graoa-

C. Lamb.

VOLUNTEER REMINISCENCES.

To the Editor,

Sham-Fights and Invasion.

Dear Sir, — Some agreeable recollections
induce me to pen a few circumstances for
the Table Book, which may kindle associa-
tions in the many who were formerly en-
gaged in representing the '< raw recruit,"
and who are now playing the '* old soldier"
in the conflict of years. I do not travel
out of the road to take the ** Eleven city
regiments" into my battalion, nor do I call
for the aid of the " Gray's-inn sharpshoot-
ers/' (as lawyers are,) and other gents of
the '' sword and sash/' who then emulated
their brethren in '* scarlet and blue.*'— ^
Erecting my canteen at Moorgate, I hint
to other quilld rivers to extend their forces
when and where their memories serve.
Inkshed, not bloodshed, is my only danger
—my greatest failing is a propensity (I fear)
io digress and enlarge, till I may not bring
the numbers of my muster-roll within pro-
per discipline. Being on my guard, how-
ever, I take the succeeding specimens from
a spot filled with chapels of several persua-
sions, the '* London Institution," and well-
built houses, with a pleasant relief of ver-
xiure in the centre for nursery maids and
loinping children*

Moorfieldf, alas ! has no fields I Where
the " BethUem hospital" raised its magnifi-
cent but gloomy front, with old Cibber^s
statues of ** Raving and Melancholy Mad-
ness*' siding the centre entrance, no vestiges
remain, except the church and parts of
London Wall, leading from Broker-row to
the Albion chapel, commonly called the
Plum-cake. Who that knew the crossing
from Finsbury-square to Broad-street re-
members not the open-barred window at
which ** Mad Molly " daily appeared, sing-
ing, and talking inconsistencies of love,
confinement, and starvation? Who that
stood before the massive building heard not
the tones of agony, and felt not deep pity
for the poor reasonless creatures ?

-— - In Moorfields, when Buonaparte
threatened this country with invasion, the
beat of drum and the shrillings of the fife
brought corps of gentlemen volunteers into
rank and file, to show how much a *' nation
of shopkeepers " could do. Ladies in clus-
ters assembled here to witness the feats of
their soldier-like heroes — sanctioning with
their presence, and applauding with theii
smiles, the defenders of their domiciles.

The '* Bank gentlemen," distinguished
by their long gaiters, and therefore called
black-legs, went farther off and exercised
before bank-hours, in the Tenter-ground
beyond the Vinegar-yard.

The East India Company's three regi-
ments (the best soldiers next to the foot-
guards) drilled in a field which lay in the
way on the one side to the Rosemary
Branch, (noted for a water-party or fives'
match,) and the White Lead Mills, whose
windsails are removed by the steam Quix-
otes of the day. On the other side, skirted
the once pleasant path, leading from the
Shepherd and Shepherdess across the mea-
dow either to Queen's Head-lane, the Bri-
tannia, or the Almshouses, near the Barley
Mow, Islington. The East India field is
now divided into gardens and snug ar-
boui-s, let to the admirers of flowers and
retreats.

Lackington*s «* Temple of Fame " was a
temple of knowledge. This splendid place
and its winding shelves of books caught
the passinff eye with astonishment at the
success and skill of the once humble own-
er of a bookstall in Chiswell-street. Here
Fii^sbury-s *• child of lore and catalogue-
maker" wrote a " book," abounding with
quotations from authors, and refuted his
own words in after-life by publishing hif
" Confessions." Lackington was, how-
ever, a man of deep judgment in his busi-
ness, and do evervAlav observer of thf

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manneiB and variations of \u contempora^
ries.

Then, the " Artillery Company'* attracted
well-dressed people on Wedneklay even-
ingSy and from Finsbury-side to BunhilU
row there was a promenade of fashionables
from Duke*s-place and Bevis Marks* listen-
ing to a band of music and the roar of
cannon till dusk.

Moorfields gathered more regiments than
any other spot excepting the Fuk, in which
reviews and sham-lights concentrated the
coqporate forces on field-days. Wimbledon
Common became also an occasional scene
of busy parade and preparation ; baggage
long drawn out, multitudes of friends,
sweethei^its and wives, and nondescripts.
In the roads were collected the living beings
of half of the metropolis. It seemed astir
in earnest of great achievements. Many a
white handkerchief dried the parting tear.
There were the adieu and the farewell;
salutes given behind the counter, or snatch-
ed in the passage, affected the sensibilities
like last meetings. Sir W. Curtis and other
colonels reminded the ** gentlemen " they
had ** the honour " to command, that they
were in '' good quarters.'' Sermons were
preached in and out of the establishment to
'^soldiers." Representations were given
at the theatres to ** soldiers." The shop-
windows presented tokens of courage and
love to ** soldiers.'' Not a concert was
held, not a ** free and easy " passed, with-
out songs and melodies to ** soldiers." It
was a fine time for publicans and poets.
Abraham Newland*s promises kept army-
clothiers, gun-makers, Hounslow powder-
mills, and Mr. Pitf s affairs in action. No
man might creditably present himself if he
were void of the ton of military distinc-
tion ; and Charles Dibdin and Grimaldi —
** wicked wRgs !'' — ^satirized the fashion of
^ playing at soldiers."

In process of time, Maidstone, Colches-
ter, and Rochester were select places for
trying the shopkeeping volunteers: they
were on duty for weeks, and returned with
the honours of the barracks. Thines taking
a more peaceful aspect, or rather the alarm
of invasion having subsided, the regimen-
tals were put by, and scarcely a relic is
now seen to remind the rising generation
of the deeds of their fathers.

I could tnvel further, and tell more of
these and similar doings, but I refrain, lest
I tire your patience and your readeis' cour-
tesy.

Dear sir.

Truly yours,
/wie, 182T. A City VoLUHTtEa.

Mitohttiti

or THB

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. I.

It has been ascertained bv the researches
of a curious investigator,* that many cel^
brated philosophers of recent times have,
for the most part, taken what they advanca
from the works of the ancients. These
modem acquisitions are numerous and ira*
portant ; and as it is presumed that many
may be instructed, and more be surprised
by their enumeration, a succinct account of
them is proposed.

It appears as unjust to praise and admire
nothing but what savours of antiquity, as
to despise whatever comes from thence,
and to approve of nothing but what is
recent. The modems certainly have much
merit, and have laboured not a little in the
advancement of science ; but the ancients
paved the way, wherein at present is made
so rapid a progress : and we may in that
respect join Quintilian, who declared, seven-
teen hundred years ago, ** that antiquity
had so instructed us by its example, and
the doctrines of its great masters, that we
could not have been bom in a more happ^
age, than that which had been so illumi-
nated by their care." While it would be
ingratitude to deny such masters the enco-
miums due to them, envy alone would
refuse the modems the praise they so
amply deserve. Justice ought to be ren-
dered to both. In comparing the merits of
the modems and ancients, a distinction
ought to be made between the arts and
sciences, which require long experience
and practice to bring them to perfection,
and those which depend solely on talent
and genius. Without doubt the former, in
so long a series of ages, have been extended
more and more ; and, with the assistance
of printing and other discoveries, have been
brought to a very high degree of per-
fection by the moderns. Our astronomers
understand much better the nature of the
stars, and the whole planetary system, than
Hipparchus, Ptolemy, and others of the
ancients ; but it may be doubted, whether
they had gone so far, unaided by telescopes.
The modems have nearly perfected the art
of navigation, and discovered new worlds ;

• Tbe Ker. L. Dntens, in his ** Isottirr ixto tiM On
gio of th« DiaooT«ri« attribttt«d to Um Modonw.**

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f et withonl Ihe compass, America had pro-
babljf remained iinknown. Likewise,. by
long observation, and experiments often
repeated, we have brought botany, anatomy,
and chirurgery, to their present excellence.
Many secrets of nature, which one age was
insufficient to penetrate, have been laid
open in a succession of many. Philosophy
has assumed a new air; and the trifling
and vain cavils of the schools, have at
lenitth been put to flight by the reiterated
dTorts of Ramus, Bacon, Gassendi, ' Des*
eartes, Newton, GraTeaand, Leibnitz, and
Wolf. While, therefore, willingly coa-
oedinf to the modems •very advantage
they are fairly entitled to, the shace which
the ancients had in beating out ibr us th«
pathways to knowledge it an interesting
subject of inquiry.

For two thousand years the andeiit phi.
losof^hers we^ so ful4y in possessidQ of the
general esteem, that they often led men
blind fold. They were listened to as ova*
eles, and Uidr very obseurities regarded as
too Sacred to be pri^ into by common
eyes. An ipae duck of Pythagoras, Aris-
totle, or any other ancient sage, was enough
to decide the most difficult case: the
learned bowed in a body, and expressed
their satisfaction, while they eurrende^ed
their judgment. These habits of submission
were ill adapted to advance knowledge. A
few noble spirits, who, in recc/mpense of
their labours, have been honoured with the
riorlous title of restorers of learning, quickly
felt the hardship of the bondage, and threw
off the yoke of Aristotle. But instead of
following the example of those grckt men,
whose incessant studies, and profound re-
seardies, had so enriched the sciences, some
of their successors were content to make
them the basis of their own slight works ;
and a victory, which might have tended to
the perfecting of the human mind, dwindled
into a petty triumph. Bruno, Cardan,
Bacon, Galileo, Descartes, Newton, and
Leibniti, the heroes of the literary com-
monwealth, bad too much merit, not to own
that of the ancients. They did them justice,
and avowed themselves their discipl<;s; but
the ha^^leamed and feeble, whose Ihtle
stock and strength were insufficient to raise
to themselves a name, rail at those from
whom they stole the riches with which they
are bedecked, and nngratefull^ conceal their
obligations to their benefactors.
. Tile method made use of by the modems,
in the new philosophy, recommends itself
by its own excellence; for the spirit of
analysis and geometrf that pervades their

manner of treating subjects, has contributed
so much to the advancement of science,
that it were to be wished they had never
swerved from it. It is not, however, to be
denied, that the noblest parts of that system
of philosophy, received with so much ap-
plause in the tfiree last centuries, were
Known and inculcated bv Pythagoras, Plato^
Aristotle, and Plutarch. Of these great
men, it may be believed that they well knew
how to demonstrate what t^iey commuoi*
cated; although the arguments, upon
which some portions of their demonstra-
tions were founded, have not come down
to us. Yet, if in those works which have
escaped destmction from the fanaticism of
ignorance, and the injuries of time, we
meet with numberless instances of penetra-
tion and exact reasoning in their manner
of relating their discoveries, it is reasonable
to presume that they exerted the same care
ana logical accuracy in support of these
truths, which are but barely mentioned in
the writings preserved to us. Among the
titles of their lost books are many respect-
ing subjects mentioned only in general in
their other writings. We may conclude,
therefore, that we should have met with
the prpo& we now want, had they not
thought it unuecessary to repeat them, after
having published them in so many other
works, to which they often refer, and of
which the titles are handed down to us by
Diogenes Laertius, Suidas, and other an-
cients, with exactness sufficient to give us
an idea of the greatness of our loss. From
nuroei-ous examples of this kind, which
might be quotea, one may be selected re-
specting Democritus. That great man was
tne author of two books, from the titles of
which it evidently appears, that he was
one of the principal inventors of the ele-
mentary doctrine which treats of those
lines and solids that are termed irrational,
and of the contact of circles and spheres.

It is remarkable, that the illustrious
ancients, by the mere force of their own
natural talents, attained to all those acquis
sitions of knowledge which our pjc^ri-
ments, aided by instruments thrown in our
way by chance, serve only to confirm.
Wiihout the assistance of a telescope De-
mocritus knew and taught, that the milky
way was an assemblage of innumerable
stars that escape our sight, and whose united
splendour produces in the heavens the
whiteness, which we denominate by that
name; and tie ascribed the spots in the
moon to the exceeding height of its moun-
tains and denth of its Tallies. True it is,
that the mouerns have gone fiurther, and

I

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found means to measure the ;eight of those
same mountains* yet Democritus*s re-
searches were those of a great genius;
whereas the operations of the moderns are
merely organical and mechanic. Besides
which, we have this advaatage,— that w9
work upon thmr canvass.

Finally, it may be repeated, that there is
scarcely any discovery ascribed to the roo-
j dernsy but what was not only known to the
I ancients, bat supported by them with the
! most solid arguments. The demonstration
I of this position will at least have this good
effect ; it will abate our fMsejudices against
the ancients^ ooeasioned ifjr a blind admira-
tion of some moderns, <who had never shone
at all but for the 4ight they borrowed of
their masters. Their opinions fairly stated
from tbetr own works, and often in their
words, must render the decision easy ; and
the result may restore to the early philoso-
phers some part at least of their disputed

gionr.

Far th^TabU Book.
TUB GOSSIP AND STAEE.

■ A creataf* of to fzif htAil mica,

. ▲■ t» be hated tt66dt Inl to b« Mtik

It is feminine; a lower animal of , the
tribe Iw^tUMitoria ; and with all others of
its speaes indescribably restless. It is
commonly found with the bosom slatternly
arrayed, leaning with folded arms out pf a
'* two-pair front,*' looking cunningly and
maliciously over the side of a, gardeorpot—
like a starling through the water-hole of its
cage over the water-pot-'-with its head
always on the bob, like that of the Chinese
) figure in grocers' shops. Its features are
lean and 2aacp as the bows of a Folkstone
cutter, or the uce of a Port K4>yal pig ; its
nose, like a racoon's, is continually on the
twist; the ears are ever pricking up for
vague rumours and calumnious reports, and
the eyes roll from side to side, like those of
the image in the wooden clock at Kal ten-
baches in the Borouah ; the tongue is shake-
like, is perpetually in motion-— pretty yet
pert^and venomous. Its habit is bilious.
Its temper splenetic It is a sure extractor
of all secrets, a thorough heart-wormejr, a
living diving-Wll, a walking corkscrew^ It
generalW ** appears as well as Us neigh-
bours,** but it is fastidioos, and loves to be
different. Upon its legs, which are o( the
sparrow order, it looks a merry, lighu
hearted, artless, and good-natured lUtle

thing; but it is the green-bag-beartr ot
the parish, and its food is scandal. Hear
it talk on a first meeting with a regular
listenerl Its voice is at first soft as the
low piping of the nightingale, but gradually
becomes like the loud hissing of an adder,
and ends hoarse, and ominous of evil as
that of the rav«n. It is an untiring spreader
of idle ajid ialse reports, to the injury of
many a good character. It is only innox-
ious to seasonable beings, for they never
listen to it, or when obliged to do so, are
no more amused by its sayings than by the
singing of a tea-kettle; but these being
few in number, compared with the lovers
of 4mall talk, to whom its company is
always a0oepiable» it is a dangerous animal,
*— notter of dooolt lad Iim.

Look at it sitting in its habitation !— every
sound from the street draws it to the light-
hole*— every thing from a^bonnet to a pat-
ten furnishes it with matter for gossip—
every opening of a neighbour's door brings
its long neck into the street. Every mis-
fortune that assails others is to it a pleasure
—every death a new life to itself— and
the failings of the departed are eternal
themes for its envenomed slander. It is at
the heels of every thing that stirs, and the
sooner it is trodden upon the better. Bu*
people tolerate and like it, because it is
** 90 amusing," and ^ so clever ;** and yet
each of its listeners is traduced in turn.
There is no dealing with it, but by givine
it rope enough; it will then hang itself,
whicn, by the by, will be such an end as
the creature merits.

S. R. J.

NAVAL MANNERS.

When the old duke of York (brother to
George IIL) went on board lord Howe's
ship, as a midshipman, the different cap-
tains in the fleet attended, to pay htm their
respects, on the quarter-deck. He seemed
not to know what it was to be subordinate,
nor to feel the necessity of moderation in
the display of superionty resulting from
his high rank, and be received the officers
with some hauteur. This a sailor on the
forecastle observed ; and after expressing
astonishment at the d\ike*s keeping his hat
on, he told one of his messmates, that " the
thing was not in its sphere ;" adding, *< it
is no wonder he does not know manners,
as he was never at sea before."

• .Wi9tf»w.

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LEGAL RECREATION.

It is alleged in a znemotr of the Life of
Lord EldoQy that, when plain John Scott,
his xeal for knowledge of the law was so
great, that he abandoned the pursuit of
almost e?ery other species of information^
and nefer sacrificed a moment from his
legal studies, bevond what was a1)solutely
necessary to bis health. His brother Wil-
liam, (afterwards lord Stowell,) with a view
of engaging him to meet Dr. Johnson and
other men of distinguished literary talent,
would sometimes lay, *' Where do you dine
to-day ?" To this question John's nniform
answer was, ^ I dine on Coke to-day."
William would then demur, ¥rith a '^ Nay,
but come to my chambem — youHl see the
doctor;" whereupon John argued, concern-
ing the doctor, '* He can't draw a bill ;"
and so the friendly suit concluded.

It is further amimed, on the best autho-
rity, that it was an amusement in the early
legal life of John Scott, to turn pieces of
poetrr into the form of legal instruments ;
and that he actually converted the ballad
of '< Chevy Chace" into the shape and style
of a bill in chancery.

A professional gentleman, who, during
his pupilage, was recommended by a dis-
tingttisned barrister to commit the follow-
ing veises to memory, duly availed himself
of that advantage, and obligingly commu-
nicates them

For the Table Book.

CANONS OF DESCENT.

Br AN Apprehtice of the Law.

Caaan I.
Eitatn fo to tlie iniit (item)
Of him last leisad m iii/fjitfKa f
Lik«oow-taila, dotmward, stnifht th«y tend,
.•at aerer, ImaaUj, aacend t

Coarall.
Thia givaa tbaC preferenea toB«ka»
At wlueh a ladj joatly raila.

Camm III.
Of two nalas, ia tbe tame Aegna,
Tba eldest, onlj, heir shall be :
Witk females we this order break,
Aad let them aU together toke.

Cmom it.

Whoa eae his worldly strife hath
ThvwwhoanliaeaUj

Tnm Ub, as to his elatma ad Atum,
ShAUstaad, prtidael/. ia his breeeiOT.

rmwaT.

Whea liaeal dosoeBdaats fail.
Collaterals the laad maj aail;
So that thej bo (aad that a bore is)
Jh magmUn progemtmru.

C«aoa VI.
The heir eoUateral, d'ye sea,
Knt kiasmaa of whole blood most bo t

I VII.

Aad, of ooUaterals, the mak
Btooka. ai«|irafofr*d to thofomalof
Calesa the laad oome fn» a womaa,
Aad thea hor heirs shall peU to ao ma

FRENCH JUDICIAL AUTHORITY.

In the « Thuana" we read of a whimsical,
passionate, old judge, who was sent into
Oascony with power to examine into the
abuses which had crept into the administra-
tion of justice in that part of France. Ar-
riving late at Port St. Mary, he asked « bow
near he was to the city of Agen ?" He was
answered. '• <iro leagues." He then de-
cided to proceed that evening, although he
was informed that the leagues were long,
and the roads very bad. In consequence
of his obstinacy the judge was bemired,
benighted, and almost shaken to pieces.
He reached Agen, however, by midnight,
with tired horses and harassed spirits, and
went to bed in an ill humour. The next
mom he summoned the court of justice to
meet, and after having opened his commis-
sion in due form, his first decree was,
" That for the future the distance from
Agen to Port St. Mary should be reckoned
#i> leagues." Tliis decree he oidered to be
registered in the records of tbe province,
before he would proceed to any other busi-
ness.

A LONG MINUET.

Hogarth, in his " Analysis of Beauty,"
mentions the circumsUnce of a dancing,
master's observing, that though the ••mi-
nuet" had been the study of his whole life,
be could only say with Socrates, that he
•« knew nothing." Hogarth added of him-
self, that be was happy in being a painter,
because some bounds might l^e set to the
Study of his art.

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THE BISHOFS \l\rELL, BROMLEY, KENT.

There is a way from Bromley market- iostead of a still more ancient palace

place across meadow gromids to the founded by the prelate Gnndalpb, an emi-

palace of the Bishop of Rochester. This nent architect, bishop of Rochester in the

edifice, about a quarter of a mile firom the reign of William the Conqueror. At a few

town, is a plain, homely mansion, erected hundred yards eastward of the palace is the

in 1783 by bishop Thomas, on the site of '< Bishop's Well ; " which, while I minutely

the ancient palace built there by bi>hop examined ir, Mr. Williams sketched; and

GOdert Glanyille, lord chief justice of En^- he has since engrared it, as the reader sees.

land, after he succeeded to the see in 1185, The water of the *' Bishop's Well " is a

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chalybeate, honoured by local reputation
with surprising pro])erties; but, in realitjr»
it is of the same nature as the mineral water
of Tunbridge Weils. It rises so slowly, as
to yield scarcely a gallon in a quarter of an
lionr, and is retained in a small well about
sixteen inches in diameter. To the stone
work of this little well a wooden cover is
attached by a chain. When the fluid attains
d certain heig^ht, its surplus trickles through
an orifice at the side to increase the water
of a moat, or small lake, which borders the
grounds of the palace, and is overhung on
each side with the branches of luxuriant
shrubs and trees. Above the well there is
a roof of thatch, supported by six pillars,
ia the manner of a rustic temple, heighten-
ing the picturesque appearance of the
scene, so as to justify its representation by
the pencil. On visiting it, with Mr. W.,
this pleasant seclusion, consecrated by for-
mer episcopal care, and the fond recollec-
tions of ancient adjacent residents, was
passing to ruin : we disturbed some boys
in their work of pulling reeds from the
thatched roof. A recent vacancy of the see
seemed to have extended to the superin-
tendence of the well ; the seeds of neglect
had germinated, and were springing up. I
have revisited the spot, and seen

• tk« wUd-brUr,

Th« tkon, tad the tkistk. grown broader and UglMr.

The " Bishop's Well " is said to have
oeeo confounded with a spring of more
ancient note, called St. Blase's Well. Of
this latter well topographers* say, « It an-
ciently had an oratory annexed to it, dedi-
cated to St. Blasius, which vras much fre-
quented at WhiUuntide, because Lucas,
who was legate for Sixtus the Fourth, here
m England, granted an indulgent remission
of forty days; enjoined penance to all
those who should visit this chapel, and offer
up their orisons there in the three holidays
ot Pentecost. This oratory falling to ruin
at the Reformation, the well too became
disused, and the site of both in pro-
cess of time was forgotten, and con-
tinued so till the well was discovered again
!n the vear 1754, by means of a yellow
ocorey sediment remaining in the tract of
a small current leading from the spring to
the corner of the moat, with the waters of
which it used to mix. In digging round
the well there were found the rem^^ins of
the old steps leading down to it, made of
oaK plank, which appeared to have lain
under ground many years. The water of

• PlllipoUaadHaeterT

this spring is chalybeate, and nses at t>4
foot of a declivity, at a small distance east'
ward from the bishop's palace. The sol
through which it passes is gravel, and i.
issues immediately from a bed of pur
white sand. The course of the spring
seems to be about noTth-north-east and
south-south-west from its aperture; its
opening is towards the latter; and as
Snooter's Hill bears about north-north-east
from its aperture, it probably comes from
thence. The vrziet being thus found to be
a frood chalybeate, was, by the bishop's
orders, immediately secured from the inter-
mixture of other waters, and enclosed.''

Wilson, a recent writer, affirms, that ** the
old well, dedicated to St. Blase, is about
two hundred yards north-west of the mi-
neral spring, in a field near the road, with
eight oaks in a cluster, on an elevated spot
of ground adjoining." This, however,
seems wholly conjectural, and wholly nugap
tory ; for, if ** the old steps made of oak-
plank, which appeared to have lain under
ground many years,'* led to the ^ Bishop's
Well," it may reasonably be presumed that
they were the '* old steps " to St. Blase's
Well, and that the water of the ancient
oratory kiow flows within the humble edifice
represented by the engraving.

MISS KELLY.

TotheEMtor,

Dear Sir, — Somebody has fairiy p1ay*d a
hpax on you (I suspect that pleasant ro^rue
if-~x — n*) in sending you the Sonnet in my
name, inserted in your last Number. True
it is, that I must own to the Verses being
mine, but not written on the occasion there
pretended, for I have not yet had the plea-
sure of seeing the Lady in the part of Em-
meline; and I have understood, that the
force of her acting in it is rather in the
expression of new-bom sight, than of the
previous want of it. — The lines were
really written upon her performance in the
" Blind Boy," and appeared in the Morning
Chronicle some years back. I suppose, our
facetious friend thought that they would
serve again, like an old coat new turned.

Yours (and his nevertheless)

C. Lamb.

• It wae.— £a.

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6amrii 9Iaps(^

No. XXVI.

From « Doctor Dodypol," a Comedy,
Author unknowD, 1600.]

Earl Lauenburgh^ om a Painter, painttug
hiM MUtreu al grotesco.

Lott. WeloooM brifht Morn, Uiatwith tlijgolilm
raya
RereaPst the radUnt eoloan of the world ;
Look here, and we if thoa ean'tt find dieper»*d
rhe f lorioDs parts of &ir Laeilia I
fake them, and join them ia the hearealj spheres ;
And fix them there as an eternal light.
For loTeis to adore and wonder at.

Iau, Ton paint joar datteriag words. Lord Lassen-
bnrgh,
ilaking a enrions pencil of yonr ton^e ;
And that foir artiflcial hand of jronrs
Wen fitter to hare painted Hearen's fine story.
Than here to work on antics, and on me t
fhna for mj take yoii of a noble Karl
Are flad to be a nwreenary Painter.

Ir4i«t. A Painter, fair Locilia: why, the world
With all her beantj was by rAZimvo made.
Look on the hearens, eolonr'd with golden stars,
rhe firmamental part of it all bine.
Look on the ur, where with aa hundred ehaagck
rhe watery rainbow doth «mbraoe the earth.
Look on the snmmer fields, adom'd with fiowers.
How mveh is Nature's painting hoaonr'd there.
Look in the mines, and on the eastern shore.
Where all oar metals and dear gems are drawn ;
Thoegh fair themaelTes, made better by their foils.
Look on that littln world, the Two>fold Man,
Whoee fairer parcel is the weaker stiH ;
And see what asnre Teins in stream'Uke fonn
Diride the roey beanty of the skb.
I speak not of the sundry shapes of beastst
rhe sereral eoloan of the elements.
Whose miztnn shapes the world's Tariety,
In making all things by their eolonn known.
And, to eondlude— Nature herself divbe
(n all things Khe has made is a men Painter.

Ime. Now by this kiss, the admirer of thy skilU
rhou art well worth/ th* honour thon hast giTen
With thy so sweet words to thy eye-rarishing Art ;
Of which my beauties can deserre no part.

Lmu. From these base antics, when my hand hath
'spersed
rhy sereral parts, if I, uniting all.
Had figured then the trua Lncilia.
rhen might thon Justly wonder at my art t
And doTont people would from far repair.
Like pilgrims, with iheir duteous sacrifiee,
Adorning thee aa Regent of their knrea.

Hen in the eenter of this Marigold
I like a bright diamond I enekased thine eya.

Hen ■aderanath this litHa rosy bush
j thy erimson cheeks peer forth, mon fair thaait*
I Han Cn^d hanging down his wi«gs doth sit»

Comparing cherries to thy rosy lipe.
Hen it thj brow, thy hair, thy neck, thy aanJU
Of purpoM in all sereral shrouds dispersed t
I«st raruh'd I should dote on mine own woilv
Or enry-buming eyes should maUee it

Jt Cameo degcribeom

— - see this Agate, that eontaips
The image of the Goddess and her See
Whom ancients held the Sorereigns of Um,
See naturally wrought out of the stone.
Besides the perfect shape of erery limb,
Besidee the wondrous life of her bright hair,
A waring mantle of celestial blue.
Embroidering itself with fiaming sUn ;
Mo:it exeellent 1 and see besides,—
How Cupid's wings do spring out of tae atona
As if they needed not the help of Art.

Earl JjOMfetUmrgh, for «<hm dutatie
jleei Locilia, who follow him.

Last. Wilt thou not eeaae then to pursue me still 7
Should I entreat thee to attend me thus.
Then thou wonld'st pant and rest ; then your soft fe«t
Would be reining at these niggard stones :
Now I forbid thee, thon pursues! like wind ;
Ne tedious space of time, nor storm can tin thee.
But 1 will seek out some high slippery close.
Where erery step shall readi the gate of death,
That fear may make thee cease to follow me.

Lme, There will I bodiless be, when you an then ;
For lore despiseth death, and soorneth fear.

Las$» 1*11 wander when some denperate rirer parti
ne solid ooatioeat, and swim from thoe.

Xml And then I'll follow, though I drown for thesb

Xoss. O weary of the way, and of my life.
Whan shall I rest my sornw'd, tind Umbo ?

X«e. Rest in my bosom, rest you hen, my Lord
A plaoe securer yon can no way find—

Lmtt. Nor mon unfit for my nnpleased mind.
A henry slumber calls me to the earth ;
Hen will I sleep, if sleep will harbour hen.

Xml Unhealthful is the melancholy earth ;
O let my Lora rest on Luoilia's lap.
rU help to shield yon from the searehbg idr.
And keep the cold damps from your gentle blood.

Lata, Pray thee away ; for, whilst thou art so near.
No sleep will seise on my suspicious eyes.

Lme. Sleep then ; and I am pleased far off to fit,'
like to a poor and forlorn eentinel.
Watching the unthankful sleep, that seren me
From my due part of rest, dear Lore, with thee.

An Enchanter, who t« enamoured oj
LuciUa, chamu the Earl to a dead e^ep,
and Lucilia to aforgetfulneee of her pai
lave.

BaehoBUfito Letttubwrgh.') Lb then; and lose
the memory of her.
Who likewise hath forgot the lora of thee
By my enchantments:— come sit dcwn, fa^r Nympa,
And taste tha twaataesa of these hear'aly tates.

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Whilst from tlie Kolknr eravBiet of this rock
Music shall sooad to recre Bte my Lore.
Hot tell me, had yoa erer Lerer yet »

Lmeilia. I had a Lover, I thiak ; bat who it wa%
)r wh«To» or how long tinee, aye me ! I know not i
/et beat my timerou thonghto on such a thing.
I feel a passionate heat, yet tod no flame ;
i UhinV what I know not, nor know what I think.

Ench, Hast thon forgot me then ? I am thy Love,—
;niom sweetly thon wert wont to entertain
ATith looks, with tows of love, with amorous kisses.
Look'st thou so strange \ dost thon not know me yet f
Lve. Sure I should know yon.
Endk^ Why, Lore, donbt yoa that ?
Twas I that led you* thro* the painted meads,
Vhere the light fames danced npon the flowers,
Canging 00 every leaf an orient paarl, ^
Yhieh, straek tether with the silken wind
)f their loose mantles, made a silver chime.
Twas I that, winding my shrill basle horn.
Made a gilt palace break oat of the hill,
Pill'd suddenly with tioops of knighU and dames.
Who danced and revel'd; whilst we sweetly vlept
Upon a bed of roses, wrapt all in gold.
Dost thon not know me vow?
£«e. Yes, now I know thee.
fiacA. Come then, confirm this knowledge with a

kiss.
Luc. Kay, stay; yon are not he: how strange is

this I
Eneh, Thou art grown passing svtange, my Love,
I'o hin. that made tliee so long sinee his Bride.

Lac. O was it yoa ? come then. O stay awhile.
I know not where I am, nor what I am ;
Nor yoa, nor these I know, aor any thi^g.

C. L.

ILtCe of an ^^VLXtu

HUGH AUDLEY.

There are memoirs of this remarkable
man in a rare quarto tract, entitled '' The
Way to be Rich, according to the practice of
the great Audley, who began with two
hundred pounds in the year 1605, and died
worth four h indred thousand." He died
on the 1 5th of November, 1 662, the year
wherein the tract was printed.

Hugh Audley was a lawyer, and a great
practical philosopher, who concentrated his
rigorous nculties in the science of the rela-
tive value of money. He flourished through
the reigns of James I., Charles I., and held
a lucrative office in the " court of wards,"
till that singular court was abolishfd at the
time of the restoration. In his own times
he was odled *' The great Audley,** an ept
thet so often abused, and here applied to

* IneharoMdTisiaa.

the creation of enormous wealth. But
there are minds of great capacity, concealed
by the nature of their pursuits ; and the
wealth of Audley may be considered as the
cloudy medium through which a bright
genius shone, of which, had it been throwc
into a nobler sphere of action, the '* grea^*
ness ^ would have been less ambiguous.

Audley, as mentioned in the title of bii
memoir, began with two hundred i>ounds^
and lived to view his mortgages, bis sta-
tutes, and his judgments so numerous, that
it was observed, his papers would hav^
made a good map of England. A con-
temporary dramatist, who copied from life,
has opened the chamber of such an usurer,
—perhaps of our Audley—

"* Here lay

A manor bonad Tast in a skin of parehment.
The wax oontinning hard, the acres meltings
Here a snra deed of gift for a market-town.
If not redeem'd this day, which is not in
The nnthrift's power ; there being scarce one shire
In Wales or England, where my monies are not
Lent out at nsory, the certain hook
To draw in more.—

Mau\ngcr*i City Madam.

This genius of thirty per cent, first had
proved the decided vigour of his mind, by
his enthusiastic devotion to his law-studies
deprived of the leisure for study througli
his busy day, he stole the hours from his
late nights and his early mornings; and
without the means to procure a law-librarr,
he invented a method to possess one with-
out the cost; as fast as he learned, he
taught; and by publishing some useful
tracts on temporal occasions, he was ena-
bled to purchase a library. He appears
never to have read a book without its fur-
nishing him with some new practical de-
sign, and he probably studied too mudi for
his own particular advantage. Such devoted
studies was the way to become a lord-
chancellor; but the science of the law was
here subordinate to that of a money-trader.

When yet but a clerk to the clerk in the
Counter, frequent opportunities occurred
which Audley knew now to improve. He
became a money-trader as he had become
a law-writer, and the fears and follies ot'
mankind were to furnish him with a trad-
ing-capital. The fertility of his genius ap-
pearea in expedients aad in quick con-
trivances. He was sure to be the friend of
all men falling out. He took a deep con-
cern in the affairs of his master's clients,
and often much more than they were aware
of. No man so ready at procuring bail or
compounding debts This was a consider-

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able traffic then, as now. They hired
themselves out for bail, swore what was
required, and contrived to give false ad-
dresses. It seems they dressed themselves
out for the occasion: a great seal-ring
flamed on the finger, which, howerer, was
I pure copper gilt, and they often assumed
, the name of some person of good credit.
Savings, and small presents for gratuitous
opinions, often afterwards discovered to be
very fallacious ones, enabled him to pur-
chase annuities of easy landholders, with
their treble amount secured on their estates.
, fhe improvident owners, or the careless
heirs, were soon entangled in the usurer's
, neu i wady after the receipt of a few years,
I the annuity, by some latent quibble, or
some irregularity in the payments, usually
' ended in Audley's obtainmg the treble for-
' feiture. He could at all times out-knave a
I knave. One of these incidents has been
preserved. A draper, of no honest repota-
I tion, being arrested by a merchant for a
debt of 200/. Audley bought the debt at
401., for which the draper immediately
ofiered him 60/. But Audley would not
consent, unless the draper indulged a sud-
den whim of his own : this was a formal
contract, that the draper should pay within
twenty vears, upon twenty certam days, a
penny doubled. A knave, in haste to sign,
u no calculator; and, as tlie contemporary
dramatist describes one of the arts of
those citizens, one part of whose business
was

* To 0w«ar snd brMk->fhe/ aU ffrow rich by breaks

the draper eagerly compounded. He after-
wards •* grew rich. Audley, silently
watching his victim, within two years,
claims his doubled pennies, every month
during twenty months. The pennies had
now grown up to pounds. The knave per-
ceived the trick, and preferred paying the
forfeiture of his bond tor 500l, rather than
to receive the visitation of all the little gene-
ration of compound interest in the last de-
scendant of 2000/., which would have closed
with the draper's shop. The inventive
genius of Audley might have illustrated
that popxar tract of his own times. Peach*
am's ** Worth of a Penny ; " a gentleman
who, having scarcely one left, consoled
himself by detailing the numerous com-
foru of life it might procure in the days of
Charles II.

Such petty enterprises at length assumed
a. deeper cast of interest He formed tem-
porary partnerships with the stewards of
coontry gentlemen. They underlet estates

which they had to manage; and, antici-
pating the owner's necessities, the estates
w due time became cheap purchases fo
Audley and the stewards. He usually
contrived to make the wood pay for the i
land, which he called ** making the feathers
pay for the goose.'' He had, however,
such a tenderness of conscience for his
victim, that, having plucked the livefea*
thers before he sent the unfledged goose on
the common* he would bestow a gratuitous
lecture in his own science— teaching the
art of making them grow again, by showing
how to raise the remaining rents. Audley
thus made the tenant ftimish at once the
means to satisfy his own rapacity, and his
employer's necessities. His avarice was
not working by a blind, but on an enlight-
ened principle ; for he was only enabling
the landlora to obtain what the tenant, with
due industry, could afibrd to ^ive. Adam
Smith might have delivered himself in the
language of old Audley, so just was his
standan) of the value of rents. *' Under an
easy landlord,*' said Audl^, ^'a tenant
seldom thrives ; contenting himself to make
the just measure of his rents, and not la-
bouring for any surplusage of estate. Under
a hard one, the tenant revenges himself
upon the land, and runs away with the
rent. I would raise my rents to the present
price of all commodities : for if we should
let our lands, as other men have done before
us, now other wares daily go on in price,
we should fall backward in our estates.'^
These axioms of political economy were
discoveries in his day.

Audley knew mankind practically, and
struck into their humours with the versa-
tility of genius : oracularly deep with the
grave, he only stung the lighter mind.
When a lord, borrowing money, complain-
ed to Audley of his exactions, his lordship
exclaimed, ** What, do vou not intend to
use a conscience ?" " Yes, I intend here-
after to use it. We monied people must
balance accounts : if you do not pay me,
you cheat me ; but, if you do, then 1 cheat
your lordship.'' Audfey's monied con-
science balanced the risk of his lordship's
honour, against the probability of his own
rapacious profits. When he resided in the
Temple among those ** nullets without fea-
thers," as an old writer describes the brood,
the good man would pule out paternal
homilies on improvident youth, grieving
that they, under pretence of *' learning the
law, only learnt to be lawless;" and "never
knew by their own studies the process of an
execution, till it vras served on themselves."
Nor ooold he foil in his prophecy ; for at

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the moment that the stoic was enduring
their ridicule, his agents were supplying
them with the certain means of verifying
&t ; for, as it is quaintly said, he had his
decoying as well as his decaying gentlemen.

Audley was a philosophical usurer : he
never pressed hard for his debts ; like the
Ibwler, he never shook his nets lest he
might startle, satisfied to have them, with-
out appearing to hold them. With great
fondness he compared his ''bonds to in-
fants, which battle best by sleeping.'* To
battle is to be nourished, a term still re-
tained at the university of Oxford. His
familiar companions were all subordinate
actors in the great piece he was perform-
ing; he too had his part in the scene.
When not taken by surprise, on his table
usually lay opened a great Bible, with
bishop Andrews's folio sermons, which
often gave him an opportunity of railing at
the covetousness of the clergy 1 declaring
their religion was '' a mere preach ;" and
that *^ the time would never be well till we
had queen Elizabeth's Protestants again in
iashion." He was aware of all the evils
arising out of a population beyond the
means of subsistence. He dreaded an in-
undation of men, and considered marriage,
with a modem political economist, as very
dangerous; bitterly censuring the clergy,
whose children, he said, never thrived, and
whose widows were left destitute. An
apostolical life, according to Audley, re-
quired only books, meat, and drink, to be
had for fifty pounds a yearl Celibacy,
voluntary poverty, and all the mortifica-
tions of a primitive Christian, were the vir-
tues practised by this puritan among his
mon^ bags.

Yet Audley*s was that worldly wisdom
which derives all its strength from the
weaknesses of mankind. Every thing was
to be obtained by stratagem, and it was
hiS' maxim, that to grasp our object the
faster, we must go a little round about it.
His life is said to have been one of intri-
cacies and mysteries, using indirect means
in all things ; but if he walked in a laby-
rinth, it was to bewilder others; for the
clue was still in his own hand; all he
sought was that his designs should not be
discovered by his actions. His word, we
are told, was his bopd ; his hour was punc-
tual ; and his opinions were compressed
Slid weighty : but if he was true to his
bond-word, it was only a part of the system
to give facility to the carrying on of his
trade, for he was not strict to his honour ;
the pride of victory, as well as the passion
'''^T acquisition, combin«*d in the character

of Audley, as in more tremendous con-
querors. His partners dreaded the effects
of his law-library, and usually relinquished
a claim rather Uian stand a suit against s
latent quibble. When one menaced him
by showing some money-bags, which he
had resolved to empty in law against him,
Audley, then in office in the court of wards,
with a sarcastic grin, asked, ^ Whether the
bags had any bottom?" ''AyT' replied
the exulting possessor, striking them. '* In .
that case I care not," retorted the cynical
officer of the court of wards ; ** for in this
court I have a constant spring ; aud I can-
not spend in other courts more than I gain
in this." He had at once the meanness
which would evade the law, and the spirit
which could resist it.

The genius of Audley had cre)>t out of
the purlieus of Guildhall, and entered the
Temple; and having often sauntered at
** Powles'*down the great promenade which
was reserved for ** Duke Humphrey and
his guests," he would turn into that part
called *' The Usurer's Alley ,** to talk with
'* Thirty in the hundred,*' and at length was
enabled to purchase his office at that ie»
markable institution, the court of wards.
The entire fortunes of those whom we now
call wards in chancery were in the hands,
and often submitted to the arts or the tyranny
of the officers of this court.

When Audley was asked the value of
this new office, he replied, that '* It might
be worth some thousands of pounds to him
who after his death would instantly go to
heaven ; twice as much to him who would
go to purgatory ; and nobody knows what
to him who would adventure to go to hell."
Such was the pious casuistry of a witty
usurer. Whether he undertook this last
adventure, for his four hundred thousand
pounds, how can a sceptical biographer de-
cide! Audley seems ever to have been
weak, when temptation was strong.

Some saving qualities, however, were
mixed with the vicious ones he liked best
Another passion divided dominion with th^
sovereign one : Audley's strongest impres-
sions of character were cast in the old law«
library of his youth, and the pride of legal
reputation was not inferior in strength to
the rage for money. If in the ** court of
wards'' he pounced on incumbrances which
lay on estates, and prowled about to dis-
cover the craving wanfs of their owners, il
appears that he also received liberal fees
from the relatives of young heirs, to pro>
tect them from the rapacity of some great
persons, but who couM not certainly exceed
And ley in subtilty. He was an admif^bW

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lawyer, for he was not satisfied with hear^
iM^, hut ejcamining his clients; which he
called " pinching the cause where he per-
ceived it was foundered." He made two
observations on clients and lawyers, which
have not lost their poignancy. «* Many
dients, in telling their case, rather plead
than relate it, so that the advocate heareth
not the true slate of it, till opened by the
adverse party. Some lawyers seem to keep
an assurance-office in their chambers, and
will warrant any cause brought unto then)|
knowing that if they iail, they lose nothing
but what was lost long since, their credit."

The career of Audley's ambition closed
with the extinction of the " court of wards,*
by which he incurred the loss of above
100,00bil On that occasion he observed «
that <' his ordinary losses were as the shav-
ings of his .beard, which only grew the faster
by them ; but the loss of this place was
like the cutting off of a member, which was
irrecoverable." The hoary usurer pined at
the decline of his genius, discoursed on the
vanity of the world, and hinted at retreat.
A facetious friend told him a story of an
old rat, who having acquainted the young
rats that he would at length retire to his
bole, desiring none to come near him : their
curiosity, a^er some days, led them to
venture to look into the hole ; and there
they discovered the old rat sitting in the
midst of a rich parmesan cheese. It is
probable that the loss of the last 100,000/.
disturbed his digestion, for he did not long
survive his court of wards.

Such was this man, converting wisdom
into cunning, invention into trickery, and
wit into cynicism. Engaged in no honour-
able cause, he however showed a mind re-
solved, making plain the crooked and in-
volved path he trod. Suatine et aUtinef to
bear and to forbear, was the great principle
of Epictetus, and our monied stoic bore all
the contempt and hatred of the living smiU
ingly, while he forbore all the consolations
of our common nature to obtain his end.
He died in unblest celibacy. — And thus he
received the curses of the living for his
rapine, while the stranger who grasped the
million he had raked together, owed him
DO gratitude at his death. — D'IsraeU.

AVARICE,

There are two sorts of avarice. One
consists in a solicitude to acquire wealth for
the sake of those advantages which wealth
bestows, and the dread of poverty and its
j Attendant evils; the other, tn an anxiety
ht wealth ci :ts own account oniy, and

which sacrifices to the attainment cf it
every advantage that wealth can give. The
first is the exaggeiation of a quality, which
when not carried to excess is praiseworlhy,
aud is called economy. The other, wheti
indulged in the extreme, produces the effect
of a species of prodigality. Where is tht
great difference between the man whc
reduces himself to the want of the commor.
Dcoessaries of life, by completing a coUeo
tion of books, pictures, or medab, and the
man who brings himself in effect to the
same situation, for the sole end of leaving
a precise sum of money to his executors ?
What signifies whether I starve myself and
my family, because I will possess a copper
firthiDg of Otho, or will not part with a
goiden guinea of king George ?

But if ♦here is more folly in one, the
other w more likely to be productive ot
vice. A man who considers wealth as the
object cf his passion, will hardly refrain
from acts of dishonesty when strongly tempt-
ed ; and yet some of these jackdaw hoarders
av'e men of inviotsble integrity.

There «re remarkable instances of im-
provident expenditure by misers on parti-
CLlar o.xasions. The money-loving Elwes,
at his iifit election for Berkshire, besides
opening houses, giving ribbons, and in-
curring ever^r expense common on those
occasions, dispersed guineas and half-
guineas among the populace, with a pro-
fusion as useless as unprecedented.

Perhaps there is no character so seldom
to be met with, as that of a man who is
strictly reasonable in the value he sets on
property — ^who can be liberal without pro-
lusion, and economical without avarice.

ECONOMY.

A rich and parsimonious person, re-
markable for having by his will preferred
public charities to his relations, was fond of
going to the theatre, and taking his great
coat with him. But where should he leave
this useful appendage during the perform-
ance? The box-keepers would expect at
least sixpence ; and, should he leave it at a
coffee-house, he must spend threepence to
obtain house-room for it. His invention
supplied him with a method cheaper and
equally secure. He pledged his garment
every evening that he attended the play, at
a pawnbrokers, near ihe door, for a shilling.
This sum he carried back at the close oi
the play, added one penny to it for interest,
and received his great coat again safe and
sound, as it had litenflly been laid up in
lavender

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MRS. GILPIN BIDING TO EDMONTON.

Then Mrs. Gilpin sweetly said

Unto her children three,
" ni clamber o'or this style so high,

And yoQ climb after me."

But having climb'd unto the top,
She could no farther go,
t But sate, to every passer by

A spectacle and show.

Who said, " Your spouse and you this day

Both show your horseman ship,
And if you stay till he comes back,

Your horse will need no whip.

The sketch, here engraved, (probably the late Mrs. Unwin. It b to be reprrettad

from the poet's friend Romney,) was found that no more wis found of thb little JSjptf-

with the above three stanzas in the hand- iodSf as it evidently was intended to be, to

writing of Cowper, among the papers of t!ie " Diverting History of Johnny Gilphu''

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It ij to oe luppoied that Mrt. Gilpin, in
the interval between dinner and tea, hnding
the time to hang upon her hands, daring
her husband's involuntary excursion, ram-
bled out with the children into the fields at
the back of the Bell, (as what could be
more natural ?) and at one of those high
aukward styles, for which Edmonton is so
proverbially famed, the embarrassment re-

£ resented, so mortifying to a substantial '
lity Madam, might have happened; a
predicament, which leaves her m a state,
which is the very Antipodes to that of Iter
too loco-motive husband ; in fiict she rides
a restive horse. — ^Now I talk of Edmonton
styles, I must speak a little about those of
Enfield, its next neighbour, which are so
ingeniously contrived-^every rising bar to
the top becoming more protuberant than
the one under it — that it is impossible for
any Christiai) climber to get over, without
bruising his (or her) shins as many times
as there are bars. These inhospitable invi-
tations to a flayed skin, are planted so
thickly too, and are so troublesomely im-
portunate at every little paddock here, that
this, with more propriety than Thebes of
old, might be entitled Uecatompolis : the
Town of the Hundred Gates, or tiylei.

A SorouRKEa at Enfield.

JK/y 16,1827.

For the Table Book.

SAWSTON CROSS,

In the summer of the year 1815, 1 ful-
filled my longstanding promise of spending
a day with an old schoolfellow at Sawston,
a pleasant little village, delightfully situated
in a fertile valley about seven miles south
of Cambridge, the north of which is en-
compassed by the Gogmagog hills, which
appear Apennines in miniature ; the south,
east, and west, are beautifully diversified
with trees and foliage, truly picturesque
and romantic. After paruking of the good
things at the hospitable board of mv friend,
we set out for a ramble among the quiet
rural scenery, and suddenly found our*
selves in *Jie midst of a group of P^l«9
near the road leading to the church. They
were holding a conversation on a grass-
plot ; from the centre of which rose a crou^
enclosed in a small covered building, like
am amphitheatre, that added not a little to
the romantic appearance of the village;
towards the bottom of the soothem slope

of the gras^plot, propped with nncommca
care, and guarded by a holy zeal from the
ravages of time, stood an ancient sycamore*
tree ; and on the east side, to the terror of
evil-doers, stood the stocks. Alasl un-
sparing Ignorance has, since then, destroyed
this fine tree ; <' the place that knew it
knows it no more,** and the stocks are
fallen never to rise again.

My friend, taking me aside, informed me
the persons assembled were residents of
the place, and that the meeting was con-
vened to sell the cross. ** Th'n cross,^
continued my friend, " is the ornament of
the village. It escaped the phrenetic rage
of the puritans in the civil wars, and is of
such antiquity, that when it was built b
not to be traced with certainty in the re>
coids of history. It may be supposed,
however, to have been erected oy the
Knights Templars, as the living belonged
to them ; for, I believe, it was usual for
them to erect crosses on their property.
Upon the abolition of the Templars, the
living came into the hands of the Knights
Hospitallers of St. John, afterwards called
the Knights of Rhodes, and lastly, of
Malta. So early as the thirteenth century
public officers sat on this cross to adminis-
ter justice ; at other times, the bishop's
house, near the Campion-field, was used
for that purpose: this house is now in
ruins, but the cross," continued my friend,
** we possessed as an inheritance from our
fore&thers, and at this moment the cupidity
and folly of the covetous and ignorant are
conspiring to destroy the venerable relic."

Wishing to preserve a memoranda of the
old cross, I took a hasty sketch of it, (too
hastily perhaps to be sufficiently accurate
for an engraving,) and having reached my
home, recorded the adventures of the day
in my pocket-book, from whence the above
extract is taken. Passing through the vil-
lage in the following autumn, I found that
the inhabitants had sacrilegiously levelled
the cross and sold the remnants.

The Jewi of old, ai wePvc beca told<«

And Soriptnret pvo ^■rloot
With hsrdenM hemrti drew loty for puis

Of our Smlvrntw^t Oothee.

The Bodera Jew*— the SmwttoniteiH-
Ai hftrdeD*d at the laraelitee—

I A tfnoraae^ tdll Biore gi oeiH-
ThiekiBg thcj coold no longer thriTt
By ChrUtUn menne, did menni eofttriTe—

Prewlo(e,aBd told tke emit I

CanMtfgf.

T.N

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Stetobtrto

OF THB

ANCIENTS AND MODEaNS.

No. 11.

Fue Mbthod aud Logic of DESCAftTia

▲KO LOCXB JEBIVEO FROM THB All*
CIEIIT8.

Within the last two centuries some no-
tions were advanced in logic and metaphy-
sics, which were taken to be new; and
Descartesy Leibnits, Mallebranche, and
I/>cke, were regarded as innovators, al-
though nothing be put forth m their works,
but what is clearly laid down iu those of the
ancients.

Descartes sets forth, ai* a first principle,
that whoever searUuss for truth, ought onre
in his lifetime at least t^ doubt of every
thing. He then lays down the four follow*
ing rules, wherein consist the whole cf his
logic. — 1. Never to admit any thing as true,
but what we evidently discern to be so ;
that is, we should carefu'ily avoid rashness
and prejudice^ and assent to nothing, till it
present itself so clearly to the mind, that
there be no occasion to hesitate about it.—
2. To reduce every difficulty into as many
separate parts, as may be necessary to come
at its solution. — ^3. So to arrange our
thoughts, that we may gradually arise from
the more simple and obvious, to the more
complex and remote, adhering to the order
wherein they naturally precede one ano-
ther.—-4. To take so extensive a view of
our subject, and be so exact in the enume-
ration of its parts, that nothing may escape
our observation.

The first of these principles of doubt
and circumspection, so boasted of in Des-
cartes, is clearly laid down by Aristotle,
and forcibly recommended by the very
arguments that Descartes assumes. '* Who-
ever seeks after instruction,'* says Aristotle,
" ought first of all to learn to doubt ; for
that simplicity of mind, which accompanies
hesitation, contributes to the discovery of
truth :** and, '' whoever searches for truth,
without beginning his investigation by
doubting of every thing, is like one who
wanders he knows not whither, and having
no fixed scope, cannot determine where he
is ; whilst, on the contrary, he who hath
learned to doubt, so as to inquire, will
find, in the end, the place where he ought
to rest.*' So, also, speaking of the method

to be observed in our investigations, Ansto*
tie bids us begin always with what is most
evident and best known; and carefully
trace to its first elements and principles
whatever is obscure, by properly serering
and defining them.

Descartes imagined he had been the first
discoverer of one of the most proper engines
for sapping and demolishing the great bul-
wark of scepticism, when he reared even
npon doubt itself a basis for truth ; for he
looked upon himself as the original advancer
of the Enthymem,* "I doubt (or think)
therefore 1 am." To Descartes has been
assigned the whole honour of this argument,
though in reality it is to be found in St.
Augustine. " I do not see,*' says that great
man, •* what mighty force there is in the
scepticism of the academics. For my part,
L look upon it as a very ^ust observation of
Lheirs, that we may deceive ourselves. But
•f I deceive myself, may I not thence con-
clude that I am ? For he who has no exist-
ence, cannot deceive himself; wherefore,
by that very circumstance, that I deceive
myself, I find that I am.*'

Locke, in his ** Essay on the Human
Understanding," merely advances the fruits
of an exact attention to the principles of
Aristotle, who taught that all our ideas
originally spring from the senses, insomuch
that a blind man can never conceive the
idea of colours, nor a deaf man of sounds ;
and who makes the senses to convey truth,
so far as the imagination can discern it ;
and the undei-standing, so far as truth re-
gards the conduct of life and morals. It
was Aristotle who laid the foundation of
that principle, so celebrated among the
Peripatetics, that ** there is nothing in the
understanding but what came into it by
the senses." This principle diffuses itself
through his works in a thousand places,
and Locke was singularly indebted for the
very foundation of his system to the Stoics.
The basis of his work is, that our sensations
are the materials which reflection makes
use of to come at mental notions ; and that
our sensations are simple ideas. It is true,
that he has thrown great light upon our
manner of acquiring and associating ideas ;
but the Stoics reasoned in the very same
manner; and if all that they advanced
on this subject, in those works of which we
have nothing now remaining but the titles,
had reached our times, we had not needed

• EiUhsfmem: ma mrgvineBt cofDsiytini: oolj of iiii aft*
teeedeat mad eoaseqaeatial proposiitioa ; a sjliogiKn,
where the major p/opositioa is sappressed, and oalj
tke minor aad ooatfeqaeace prodaoed in word*.

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(he labours of a Locke. There is a most re-
markable passage to this point in Plutarch.
He says, ** The foundation of the doctrine of
Zeno and his school, as to logic, was, that
all our ideas come from sensation. The
mind of man at his birth, say they, is like
white paper, adapted to receive whatever
may be written on it« The first impressions
that it receives come to it from the senses :
if the objects are at a distance, memory
retains those types of them ; and the repe*
tition of these impressions constitutes ex-
perience. Ideas or notions are of two kinds,
natural and artifkJal. The natural have
their source in send^tion, or are derived
from the senses; whence they also gave
them the name of anticipations : the artifi-
cial are produced by reflection, in beings
endowed with reason." This passage, and
others in Origen, Sextus Empiricus, Dio-
genes Laertius, and St. Augustine, may
serve to trace the true origin of the princi-
ple, *' That there is nothing in the under-
standing, but what entered into it by the
senses. It may be observed, that this
axiom, so clearly expressed by the ancient
Stoics and Epicureans, and by Locke among
the modems, nas been erroneously attributed
by several learned men, especially Gas-
sendi and Harvey, to Aristotle.

MECHANICAL POWER.

Mr. Robert Owen calculates that two
hundred arms, with machicv, now manu»
fecture as much cotton as twenty millions
of arms were able to manUacture without
machines forty years ago; and that the
cotton now manudaurtured in the course of
one year, in Great Britain, would require,
without machines, sixteen millions of work-
men with simple wheels. He calculates
further, that the quantity of manufactures
of all sorts produced by British workmen
with the aid of ipachines is so great, that it
would require, without the assistance of
machinery, the labour of four hundred mil-
lions of workmen.

In the wool manufacture, machines pos-
sess au eminent advanuge over common
wheels. The yam on thirty or thirty-six
spindles b all equally twisted and drawn to
the same degree of finenesr^ The most
dexterous spinners cannot twi&v so eqaally
und so gently twenty slips of yarn from
wool of the same ooality, as a machine can
do twenty thousand.

A« nne of the cotton mills in Manches-

ter yam nas been spun so fine, as to ieqiiir«
350 hanks to weigh one pound avoirdu-
pois. The perimeter of the comrtico reel
being one yard and a half, 80 threads or
revolutions would measure 120 yards; and
one hank seven times as much, or 840
yards, which multiplied by 350, gives
294,000 yards, or 167 miles and a frac-
tion.

A steam-engine of the ordinary pressure
and construction, with a cylinder of thirty
inches in diameter, will penorm thb work of
forty horses ; and, as it may be made to act
without intemiission, while horses will not
work more tK«(n eight hours in thi day, it
will do the work of one hundred and twenty
horses ; and as the work of a horse is equa.
to that of five men, it will perform as much
as six hundred men can ; while its whole
expense is only equal to about half the
number of horses for which it is substi-
tuted.

The only purpose to which steam-engines
were first applied was the raising of water
from coal-pits, mines, &c.; but they are
now used for many different purposes in
which great power is required. Mr. Bolton
applied the steam-engine to his apparatus
for coining ; and, by Uie help of four boys
only, it was capable of striking thirty thoiw
sand pieces of money in an hour; ;he
machine itself was made to keep an accu-
rate account of the number struck ofi*.

MANUFACTURING CELERITY.

iii 1 81 1 a gentleman made a bet of one
riiousand guineas, that he would have ^
coat made in the course of a single day
from the first process of shearing the sheep
till its completion by the tailor. The wager
was deetQ«sd at Newbury, on the 25th of
June tn that >€ar, by Mr. John Coxeter, o'
GresEiham Mills, near that town. At five
o*cltK:V that morning, sir John Throckmci
ton, ba» L presented two Southdown weddei
sheep to Mr. Coxeter, and the sheep were
shorn, the wosl spun, the yam spooled
warped, loomed, and wove ; and the oloti
burred, milled, rowed, dried, sheared, and
pressed, and put into the hands of the
tailors by four o'clock that afternoon : an**
at twenty minutes past six the coat, entirely
finished, was presented by Mr. Coxete* \c
sir John Throckmorton, who appeared witl
it beibre upwards of five thotzsand iipec^
tcfs, who rent the air with locfiucatirnf ti
this remarfcsMd inst^ocie of despatch.

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Far the TMe Book.
BAU.AD

dCOOESTBD OV ECADIVO TRB KofV£L OF

^ Castlb BkjMum.^

• Aad mtut tho« fo» and nut tkw |«i

So Twy, rtrj looa ?
Th«ra IS not tioM to Mjr farawoU

Befort tho Borraw*t aooo.**

• O Ut BM Um svmj tlMM teat*
Tkat dim thiae eyea of Una,

!%• kiat*s bekeat maat bt cbe jed.
And I nast ai«h, adtoa."

«*Tet 8te7 1 ok atajr I mj Baatace, tUyt

A littla, little white I
I faar ne that ia Oallia'a eoart

Thoa'lt woo aaotkei't uaila.**

• NajT, aaf . Matilda, aay aot aa,
Tby kmglit wiU aye be trne,

Traa to kit owa betrothed maid,
80 BOW, awaat lore, adieu.**

• Tat tarry— eaaat tboa Urry aot
Oae other, other day ?

Thea guard this pledge of pUghted faith
Whea tboa art far away."

•• This praeioas gift, this iazea lock.

How foadly ihaU I riew.
And ohariah next my heart—bat bow,

Oae last, last kiss, adiaa.**

• « •

July 3, 1827.

HELL BRIDGE.

There b a narrow pass between the
mountains in the neighbourhood of fien-
dearg, in the Highlands of Scotland, which,
at a little distance, ha^ the appearance of
an immense artificial bridge thrown over a
tremendoos chasm : but on nearer approach
it is seen to be a wall of nature's own ma-
soniT, formed of vast and nigged bodies of
solid rock, piled on each oSier as if in
giant sport of architecture. Its sides are
m some places covered with trees of a con-
sideiable size ; and the passenger who has
a head steady enough to look down, may
see the eyrie of birds of prey beneath his
feet. The path across is so narrow, that it
cannot admit of persons passing, and in-
deed none but natives attempt the danger-
ous route, though it saves a circuit of three
miles ; yet it sometimes happens that two
travellers meet, owing to the curve formed
by the pass preventing a view over it from

«thtr side, and, in that case, one peraot
lies down while the other creeos over hif
body. One day, a highlander walking along
the pass, when be bad gained the highest
part of the arch, observ^ another coming
leisurely up, and being himself one of the
patnciaii order, called to him to lie down ;
the person addressed disregarded the com-
mand, and the highland eis met on the sum-
mit. They were Cairn and Bendearg, of
two fitmiiies in enmity to each other. ^ I
was first at the top," said Bendeasg, '* and
called out first; lie down, that I may pass
over in peace.*' *' When the Grant pros-
trates himself before the M'Pherson,** an-
swered the other, ^ it must be with a sword
through his body." "Turn back then,"
said Bendearg, *< and repass as you came."
*' Go back yourself, if you like it," replied
Grant ; " I will not be the first of my name
to turn before the M'Phersons." They then
threw their bonneU over the precipice, and
advanced with a slow and cautious pace
closer to each other— both were unarmed
Preparing for a desperate struggle, thev
planted their feet firmly on the ground,
compressed their lips, knit their brows,
and fixing fierce and watchful eyes 00 each
other, stfxxi prepared for an onset. They
both grappled at the same moment ; but,
being of equal strength, were unable to
shift each other's position, and stood fixed
on tlie rock with suppressed breath, and
muscles strained to the " top of their bent,"
like sUtues carved out of the solid stone.
At length M'Pherson, suddenly removing
bis right foot so as to give him greater pur-
chase, stooped his lx>dy, and bent his
enemy down with him by main strength,
till they both leaned over the precipice,
looking into the terrible abyss. The con-
test was doubtful, for Grant had placed his
foot firmly on an elevation at the brink,
and had equal command of bis enemy, but
at this moment M'Pherson sunk slowly and
firmly on his knee, and, while Grant sud-
denly started back, stooping to take the
supposed advantage, whirled him over his
head into the gulf. M'Pherson himself fell
backwards, his body partly hanging ovei
the rock, a fragment gave way beneath
him, and he sunk further, till, catching with
a desperate effort at the solid stone above,
be regained his footing. There was a pause
of death-like stillness, and the bold heart
of M'Pherson felt sick and faint. At
length, as if compelled by some mysterious
feeUng, be looked down over the prec*pice.
Grant had caught with a death-like ffrire
by the rugged point of a rock — his enem^
was almost within his reach, .His face w:>t

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tamed upward* and there was in it horror
and despair— but he uttered no word or
cry. The next moment he loosed his hold,
his brains were dashed out before the eyes
of his herediury foe: the mangled body
disappeared among the trees, and his last
heavy and hollow sound arose from the
bottom. M'Pherson returned home an
altered man. He purchased a commission
in the army, and fell fighting in the wars of
the Peninsula. The Gaelic name of the
place where this tragedy was acted signifies
** Hell Bridge."

AT BIRMINGHAM.

The whole British empire may be justly
considered as one grand alliance, united
for public and private interest; and this vast
body of people is subdivided into an infi-
nity of smaller firatemities, for individual
benefit.

Perhaps there are hundreds of these
societies in Birmingham, under the name of
^ clubs ;" some of them boast the antiouity
^of a century, and by prudent direction have
' acquired a capital, at accumulating interest.
Thousands of the inhabitants are connected ;
jnay, to be otherwise is rather unfoshion-
' able, and some are people of sentiment and
property.

Among a variety of purposes intended
by these laudable institutions, the princi*
pal one is that of supporting the sick.
£ach society is governed oy a code of laws
of its own making, which have at least the
honour of resembling those of the legisla*
ture ; for words without sense are found in
both, and we sometimes stumble upon con-
tradiction.

Tlie poor-rates, enormous as they appear,

are softened by these brotheriy aids ; they

tend also to keep the mind at rest, for a

man will enjoy the day of health, with

double relish, when he considers he has a

treasure laid up for that of sickness. If a

member only of a poor family be sick, the

head still remains to procure necessaries ;

Dut if that head be disordered, the whole

source of supply is dried up.

! The general custom is to meet at a public

house every fortnight, spend a trifle, and

each contribute sixpence, or any stated

I sum, to the common stock. The landlord

I is always treasurer, or father, and is assist-

I ed by two stewards, annually or iLonthly

choseiu

1'.

As honour and low life are not alway*
found together, we sometimes see a mau«
who is idle, wish the society may suppose
him sick, that he may rob them with more
security ; or, if a member hang long ** upon
the box,** his brethren seek a pretence to
expel him. On the other hand, we fre>
quently observe a man silently retreat from
the club, if another falls upon the box, and
fondly suppose himself no longer a mem*
ber ; or if the box be loaded with sickness,
the whole club has been known to dissolve,
that the members might rid themselves of
the burden. The- Court of Requests finds
an easy remedy for these evils, at a trifling
expense.

The charity of the club is often extended
beyond the grave, and terminates with a
present to the widow.

Philosophers tell us, ** There is no food
without its kindred evil." This amiable
body of men, marshalled to relieve disease,
has one small alloy, and perhaps but one.
As liquor and labour are inseparable, the
imprudent member is apt to forget to quit
the dub-room when he has spent his neces-
sary two-pence, but continues there, to the
injury of his family.

One of these institutions is the <' Rent
Club^ where, from the weekly sums depo-
sited by the members, a sop is regularly
served up twice a year, to prevent the
growlings of a landlord.

In the '' Breeeket Club " every member
ballots for a pair, value a guinea^promitfiirf
of more value by the msdcer. This club
dissolves when all the members are served.
The intentions of the ** Book CM ** are
well known to catch the productions of the
press as they rise.

The ** fyaieh Clnb *' has generally a
watchmaker for its president, is composed
of young men, and is always temporary.

If a tailor be short of employment, he
has only to consult a landlora over a bot^
tie, and by their joint powers, they give
birth to a '* Clothe9 Cluby* where every
member is supplied with a suit to his taste,
of a stipulatea price. These are chiefly
composed of bachelors, who wish to shine
in the eyes of the fair.

A bricklayer stands at the head of the
** Building Chtb,** where every member
perhaps subscribes two guineas per month,
and each house, value about one hundred
pounds, is balloted for as soon as erected.
As a house is a weighty concern, every
member is oblif^ to produce two bonds-
men for the performance of covenants.

1 will venture to pronounce another, the
**C(qfital ClubT for when the contribution!

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amcrant to fifty pounds, the members ballot
for this capital, to bring into business . here
Also securities are necessary. It is easy to
conceive the two last clubs are extremely
beneficial to building and to commerce.

The last I shall enumerate is the '< Clock
Club ** When the weekly deposits of the
members amount to about four pounds, ther
cast lots who shall be first servea with aclocK
of that value, and continue the same method
till the whole dub is supplied ; after which,
the clock-maker and landlord cast about
for another set, who are chiefly young
housekeepers. Hence the beginner oma-
Qients his premises with fiimiture, the
artist finds employment with profit, and the
publican empties his barrel.*

HYPOCHONDRIA.

A person at Taunton often kept at home
for several weeks, under an idea of danger
in going abroad. Sometimes he imagined
that he was a cat, and seated himself on his
hind quarters; at other times he would
fancy himself a tea-pot, and stand with one
arm a-kimbo like the handle, and the other
stretched out like the spout. At last he
conceived himself to hare died, and would
not move or be moved till the coffin came.
His wife, in serious alarm, sent for a sur-
geon, who addressed him with the usual
salutation, <' How do you do this morning ?"

" Do 1" replied he in a low voice, ** a
pretty question to a dead man T'

<' Dead, sir 1 what do you mean V

^ Yes, I died last Wednesday ; the coffin
will be here presently, and I shall be burled
to-morrow."

The surseoo, a man of sense and skill, im-
med lately felt the patient's pulse, and shaking
his head, said, ** I find it ts indeed too true ;
you are certainly defunct; the blood is in a
state of stagnation, putrefaction is about to
take place, and the sooner you are buried
the better."

The coffin arrived, he was carefully placed
in it, and carried towards the church. The
surgeon had previously given instructions
to several neighbours how to proceed. The
procession had scarcely moved a dozen
yards, when a person stopped to inquire
who they were carrying to the grave?
** Mr. — , our late worthy overseer."

« What! is the old rogue gone at last?
a good release, for a greater villain never
lived.*'

The imaginary deceased no sooner heard
this attack on his character, than he jumped

* Httttoa*! HutBTj of BinniiigbAm*

up, and in a threatening posture said, ^ Yoi.
lying scoundrel, if I was not dead Td make
you suffer for what you say ; but as it is, 1
am forced to submit." He then quietly laid
down again ; but ere they had proceeded
half way to church, another party stopped
the procession with tlie same inquiry, and
added invective and abuse. This was more
than the supposed corpse could bear ; and
jumping from the coffin, was in the act of
following his defamers, when the whole
party burst into an immoderate fit of laugh-
ter, the public exposure awakened him to a
sense of his folly, and he fought against the
weakness, and, in the end, conquered it.

ANCIENT AND MODERN.

The prisons of the classical ancients
consistea of ^ souterains," or, sometimes,
of only simple vestibules, where the pri-
soners saw their friends, &c. : it was in
this latter kind of confinement that Socrates
was placed. Their ** latomift " and << lapi-
dicine" were caves or vast quarries, guard-
ed at the entrance : in the ^ latomite "
prisoners could move about; but in the
" lapidicine " they were chained and fet-
tered. The famous ** latomiae*' at Syracuse
made a capital prison. The prisoners
bribed the lictor or executioner to introduce
food, and allow them to visit friends, &c.
Some prisoners had merely chains upon the
legs, others were set fast in stocks. There
were also free prisons ; as committal to the
house of a magistrate, or custody of the
accused in his own house.* (elix, at
Cesarea, commanded a centurion to keep
Paul, and to let him have liberty, and that
he should forbid none of his acquaintance
to minister or come to him. At Rome,
Paul was suffered to dwell by himself with
a soldier that kept him ; and while in that
custodv the chief of the Jews came and
heard him expound. He spoke to them of
being *< bound with this chain." He dwelt
two whole years in his own hired house
preaching and teaching with all confidence,
no man forbidding him.f

In the middle age there were prisons
provided with collars, handcuffs, and other
tetters, without doors or windows, and de-
scended into only by ladders. Othar prisons
were made like a cage, with portcullised
doors, as now ; and there was a kind of
prison, called ** pediculus," because in it

• Fodbiokc^Sner. orAntinoitica.
t Aets zzviU. 16^ :20, S3, aOp SL

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tne feet were bound with chains, and pri-
sons were made dark on purpose.

Anglo-Saxon prisons were annexed to
palaces, with a work-place in them; the
prisoners were chained and had guards. In
castles there were dungeons, consisting of
four dark apartments, three below, and one
above, up a long staircase, all well secured ;
m the uppermost, a ring to which criminals
were chained. Prisons were sometimes
guarded by dogs, and prisoners bound in
chains, brought in carts, and discharged
upon a new reign.*

AN ENGLISH PRISON A. D. 1827.

In the Thble Bookf which notes the man*
vers and customs, and sketches the features
of ancient and modern times, whenever
they are conveniently presented, it seems
appropriate to notice a petition printed by
order of the House of Commons, on the
12th of February, 1827, respecting

HORSHAM GAOL, SUSSEX.

The petition alluded to is from debtors
:n the above prison, and the Votes of the
House state tne following particulars, as
set forth in the petition :—

The said gaol is ill constructed, confined,
and inconvenient, havmg only twenty cells
on the debtors' side, half of which are ap-
propriated to the debtors, and the other
halt chiefly to smugglers and others for
notorious offences against the revenue laws,
and to deserters from the army.

The said cells for debtors are constructed
of the same dimensions, and in the same
manner, as the cells for the felons, having
no glazed sash-windows, but merely iron-
gratings, with the addition at night of an
' ill-constructed wooden shutter, having a
small square bole in the same of about six
inches diameter, in some instances glazed
and in others not, and by no means calcu-
lated to keep out the rain or cold during the
inclement season.

The cells are small, being only twelve
feet by eight feet, and having no nre-placc
or other means of being warmed.

The said cells are merely brick arches
lime-whitened, with rough stone pavement,
and so exceedingly damp at times that the
water condenses on the walls, and runs
down the sides thereof, and on to the floor,
and from thence into the common passage,
which is so narrow, that when any of the
doocs of the cells are open there is not

FosbrolM.

room for one person safely to walk, par-
ticularly as the passage is dark.

When the weather is wet, or otherwise
inconvenient, the shutters of the cells must
neces5arily be put up to exclude the same,
thereby rendering the cells so dark that the
prisoneis cannot conveniently see either to
read or write; and, therefore, when the
prisoners wish to retire to read or write
they cannot do so, and are compelled to sit
in the common kitchen, which is small, and
consequently crowded, and is the only place
for the cooking for all the prisoners and at
the same time to accommodate them for a
sleeping ward and other purposes.

Ine fire-place is small and inconvenient,
and very scantily supplied with fuel, and
when the prison is crowded, as it has lately
been, it ia totally impossible for all the
prisoners to have access to the fire, for the
required purposes of cooking or otherwise
particularly when most required, as in wet
and inclement weather.

It sometimes happens that thirteen or
more prisoners are obliged to sleep in
the said kitchen, and three in each bed in
many of the cells.

To each cell is affixed an iron-grating
door, and also a door made of timber ; and
the debtors are »ocked up within their re-
spective cells at nine o'clock in the evening,
having no access to them till seven o'clock
the next morning, so that any one- being
taken ill in the night might lav and perish
before his situation could be discovered or
made known, or any assistance rendered.

The prisoners are unlocked at seren
o'clock in the morning, and are allowed to
go into the yard of the prison till eight,
when they are called in by means of a
whistle until nine o'clock, and allowed to
remain in the yard again until twelve
o'clock at noon, again locked into the
wards till one o'clock, and again in the
same manner at five o'clock in the after-
noon for the night.

Respectable females are confined in the
same ward with the smugglers and others,
and no female is appointed or employed to
attend on them in any case.

The state of the prison is in general
filthy.

There is no sink or watei^course, nor any
water laid on to either of the wards, not
sny means of obtaining water after five
o'clock in the evening.

If any part or the whole of the priscn is
at any time cleaned, it is done by some of
the debtors.

There is no proper place for the reception
of the dirty water or filth from the waids»

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but the same is indiscriminately thrown oat
at the iron-grating doon» at the end of the
passage to each ward, thereby occasioning
a great stench highly disagreeable and un»
wholesome to the prisoners*

Tlie prisoners are not allowed to see
their respective friends or solicitors within
the walls of the prison, but are compelled
to come into a room in the gaoler's house,
and there meet their friends or solicitors,
subject to the continual interruption or
presence of the gaoler, his wife, or others,
to the great annoyance of the prisoners and
their friends, and on the sabbath-day even
this privilege is not allowed.

No debtor is allowed to have any trunk,
portmanteau, dressing-case, or even a
clothes-bag, with lock and key, within the
prison, so that the prisoners are obliged,
whensoever they require any change of
clothing, to obtain leave to come into the
room in the gaoler's house before mention-
ed, and there take them from their port-
manteau, or otherwise; no respectable
prisoner can therefore have any article of
convenience or value with him, without
being obliged either to carry it about his
person, or leave it exposed in his cell, or in
an ill-constructed small cupboard, where
he is also obliged to keep his provisions,
&c. ; and so great is the injustice in the

!>ri8on, that smugglers not only receive
burpence-halfpenny per day, but are also
allowed a quart of strong beer or ale each
man, while the debtors are not permitted
to have strong beer or ale even by paying
for it.

When a debtor is removed by a writ of
habeas corpus to London, a distance of
thirty-six miles, and for which one shilling
per mile is allowed by law to the gaoler,
the sum of two pounds five shillings has
been demanded and taken by the gaoler.

A marked inattention to the complaints
or remonstrances repeatedly made by vari-
ous prisoners, together with the general
bad state of the prison, and the excessive
and unnecessary narshness of the regula-
tions, rendered it imperative on the petition-
ers to attempt to lay their grievances before
the house, m the fervent hope that the
house would be pleased to cause inquiry to
be made into the truth of the several alle-
frations contained in the petition, which
the petitioners pledge themselves to prove,
if permitted, by affidavit or otherwise, as
the house should direct.

Tlie petitioners humbly prayed, that a
speedy remedy might be applied to their
.'Tompfaints as to the house in its wisdom
should seem meet.

ODE

To A Spaeeow aliohtivo bcporb Tni
JvDocs* Cbaicbers IB Sebjeabt*8 Ibb,

Fl£ET-8TB£ET.

fFriiten Im half m^ JUmr, wkiie miteUkng
a Smmmtma.

Art tlum toUeitor for aU tkjr trite,

That thw I DOW tehold ttee ?-him tUt ooa«
Down Hud teil-abora, an nadai^aeriH

To tve for emmte ?— >
Awaj I 'tb vaia to of le louad tht tqaaTe,—
I foar tboa katt bo tead^
To tkiak to g«t thj Iwcad

Wherolawymarel

Saj— baat thov imll'd wamt tfiarnm o*er tte ooak

Aad iittod hen a tannaoat to ladite F
I oolj tept BO c«n*d judicial kite

Haa 8tr«ek tteo off the rolU I
I Maroo ahoold doem tteo of tte law^aad fat

Tkiaa cja is ktea aad qaiok aaoafh^aad atill
Thoa bear'st thjwlf with perk aad tiaj frat:^

Bat ttea kow desperately short thy HU I
How qaleklj might'st thoa te of that tereft f
A BiHth • tas*d off "—how little woold be loft

Art thoa oa sanmoas eoaM, or order teat ?

Tell iDO— ibr I am siek at heart to kaow I
Sajr,— 4b the sky is thers ** distress for reat,**

That ttea hast flitted to tte eoarU below?
If thoa wnUtt teal some sparrow o*er tte oosK

Aod wnUtt his spirit hamper aad perplei^
do to Joha Body— ke*s aTailable—

Siga-sweat^-aad get a bill of Middksoc
Retaraable (miad,. bailaUet)
Oa Wedaesday after th* morrow of All Seals.

Or doet thoa oome a saffsrsr? I se»—

I see thee ** east thy tei/'fal eyes aroaad ;**
Ob, eaU Barnes Wbite, aad h^ wiU set thee frse^
He aad Joba Baiaes will speedily te boaad,—
la doable tte sam
That tteo wilt eone
Aad meet ths plaiatiff Bird oa legal gtoaad
Bat sUad, oh, staad aside.— for look.

Judge Best, oa.BO faatastie toe,
Tbroagb diagy arcSr-l>y J»»*y aook^—
Aeroes tte yard lato biff fpom ooib go ^-
Aad wisely tbete doCb rsad
SamoBoas for tiaM to plead.^
Aad frame
Order for same.

Tboa twittenag, legal, foolish, featbet'd tbmg^

A tiay tey, with salt for latitet.
Is saeakiag, bailiff«Iike, to toacb thy wiag^»

Caast tboa not see the tnek he woold te at ?
Away I away I aad let him aot prevail.

I do rejoiee tboa*rt off! aad yet I groaa

To read ia ttet tey*s silly fate my ewa *
lamatfaalt!

For foam my aMie thoagb I Vroagbt my aaH^
Pfa foiTd to pet a Uttle oa tby Aifo I

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ANCIENT DOOB OF BROMLEY CHURCH;

On oor Tisit to Bromley church, m soon
•s the modem outer gates of the porch were
unlockedy we were stmck by the yenerable
appemnnee of the old inner o«k door ; and,
instead of taking a view of the church, of
which there are several prints, Mr Williams
made a drawing of the decayed portal, from
whence he executed the present engraving.
On the hinge-side of the engraving, there
is a representation of the outer edge of the
door.

This door formerly hung on the western
stone Jamb ; but, for warmth, and greater
convenience, the churchwardens, under
whose management the edifice was last
repaired, put up a pair of folding-doors
covered with crimson cloth; yet, with a
respectful regard, worthy of imitation in
other places, they preserved this vesiage of
antiquity* and were even careful to display
its time worn front. For this purpose the
door has been attached to the eastern Jaml^

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so that if it were shut its ornamented side
would be hidden; instead whereof, it is
kept open by a slight fastening against the
eastern form, or settle, within the porch.

It may be remembered by readers of the
itvery Day Book,* that, on St. Mark's eve,
our ancestors '^ watched the chnrch-porch,**
as they do to the present day in some parts
of Yorkshire and the north ot England, from
eleven o'clock at night till one in the morn-
ing. This done thrice, on the third year
they were supposed to have seen the ghosts
of those who were to die the next year pass
by into the church. When any one sickens
that is thought to have been seen in this
manner, it is presently whispered about
that he will not recover, for that such or
fuch an one, who watched on St. Mark's
eve, says so. This idle superstition is in
such force, that if th£ patients themselves
hear of it, they almost despair of recovery :
many are said to have actually died by
their imaginary fears. The like irrational
belief and fond practice prevail on Sl
John's eve. " I am sure," says a writer in
the <' Connoisseur,'* '* that my own sister
Hetty, who died just before Christmas,
stood in the church-porch last Midsummer
eve, to see all that were to die that year ia
our parish ; and she saw her own appari-
tion." It is told of a company of these
^ watchers," that one of them fell into a
sound sleep, so that he could not be waked,
and while in this state his ghost or spirit
was seen by the rest of his companions
knocking at the church^door.

In relation to this chuicb-watchiiig on
St. Mark's and St. John's eve, there is a
narrative in the " Athenian Oracle," pub-
lished by John Dunton :— ^ Nine others
besides myself went iBto a church-porch,
with an expectation of seeing those who
should die that year; but about eleven
o'clock I was so afraid that I left them, and
all the nine did positively affirm to me, that
about an hour after, the church-doors flying
open, the minister, (who it sterns was very
much troubled that night in his sleep,) with
such as should die that year, did appear in
order: which persons they namea to me,
and they appeared then all very healthful ;
but six of them died in six weeks after, in
the very same order that they appeared."t

It might have been more orderly to hav
noticed the " church-yarrf-porch." There
is one at Bromley, though more modem
than the fine *Mich-gate" at Beckenham
already engraved and described.* Sir John
Sinclair records of some parishioners in the
county of Argyll, that " though by no
means superstitious, (an observation which
IB the sequel seems very odd,) they still
retain some opinions hanaed down by their
tncestors, perhaps (com the time of the
Druids. It is believed by them, that the
spirit of the last person that was buried
watches round the church-yard till another
ia buried, to whom he delivers his charge.'*
Further on, in the same work,t » related,
that *' in one division of this county, where
it was believed that the ghost of the person
last buried kept the^a/eofthe church-yard
till relieved by the next victim of death,
A singular scene occurred, when two burials
were to take place in one church-yard on
the same day. Both parties staggered for-
ward as fast as possible to consign their
respective friend in the first place to the
dust: if they met at the gate, the dead
were thrown down till the living decided,
by blows, whose ghost should be condemn-
ed to porter it."

Before mention of the ** chorch-porch,"
• 8m tlif Setiy La^ JfooA, m 8t Jola'avvt^ te,

t r — ^

Bromley chuich-door is a vestige; ibr on
examination it will be found not perfect.
It is seven feet four inches in heigbt, and
in width four feet eight inches : the width
of the door -way, between the stone jambs,
is two inches more ; the width of the door
itself, therefore, has been reduced these two
inches ; and hence the centre of the orna-
ments in relief is not in the centre of the
door in its present state. It is a good spe-
cimen of the fast'decayinff, and often pre-
maturely removed, fine doors of our old
churches. The lock, probably of like age
with the door, and also of wood, is a mas*
sive effectual contrivance, two feet six
inches long, seven inches and a half deep,
and five inches thick ; with a bolt an inch
in height, and an inch and a half in thick-
ness, that shoots out two inches on the appli-
cation of the rude heavy key, which as to form
and size is exactly depictured in the follow-
ing page. It seemed good to introduce the
engraving, both in respect to the antiquitjr
of the original, and to the information it
conveys or the devices of our ancestors
for locking-up.

— • ' ■■■-II I \ t im

•■ In vol. i. p. 715.

t Statifttiol AcoMBt ofBooUaaa.

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ANCIENT KEY OP BROMLEY CHURCH.

Keyi Taried in their fonn according to
the age wherein they were made, and the
purpofes for which they were used. An-
ciently, the figure of the key of the west
door of the church was put in the register.
This was mostly done on the delivery of
the church keys to the " osliarii," who were
officers, creited with much ceremony, to
whom the keys were intnisted : the bishops
themselves delivered the Aqft, and the dea^
cons the dowrt of the respective churches.*

purpose, and in some church-yards trundled
from grave to grave, wherein the minister
and clerk stand, like the ordinary of New-
fi:ate and a dying malefactor at the new
drop in the Old Bailey. An unseemly
thing of this description is used at St.
George's in llie Borough.

While W. drew the door of Bromley
church I had ample opportunity to make
measurements ana look about ; and I par-
ticularly noticed a capital large umbrella of
old construction, which I brought out and
set up in the church-yard : with its wooden
handle, fixed into a movable shaft, shod
with an iron point at the bottom, and struck
into the ground, it stood seven feet high •
the awning is of a green oiled-canvass, such
as common umbrellas were made of forty
years ago, and is stretched on ribs of cane.
It opens to a diameter of five feet, and
forms a decent and capacious covering for
the minister while engaged in the burial-
service at the grave. It is in every respect
a more fitting exhibition than the watch-
box sort of vehicle devised for the same

• Fwbroke't Eaej* of ABtiqoitiflt.

Th'» church of Bromley, an ancient
spacious edifice with a square tower, has
been much modernised, yet to the credit of
the inhabitants it retains its old Norman
font. It is remarkable, that it is uncertain
to what saint it was dedicated : some as-
cribe it to St. Peter and St. Paul ; others
to St. Blaise ; but it is certain that Browne
Willis, with all his industry and erudite re-
search, was unable to determine the point.
This I affirm from a BAS. memorandum
before me in his hand-writing. It abounds
with monuments, though none are of very
old standing. There was formerly a tomb
to Water de Henche, ^ pevsone de Brom-
leghe, 1360."* Among the mural ta-
blets are the names of Elizabeth, wife to
'* the great moralist " Dr. Johnson ; Dr.
Hawkesworth, a resident in Bromley, po«
pular by his " Adventurer;" and Dr.
Zachary Pearce. The latter was succes»<
ively rector of St. Bartholomew's by tht

• WMrer

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kloyal Exchange, vicar of St. Martin's in
the Fields, dean ot Winchester, bishop of
Bangor, dean of Westminster, and bishop
of Rochester. His principal literary la-
bours were editorial — ** Longinus de Sabli-
mitate/* *' Cicero de Officiis," and ** Cicero
de Oratore." He wrote in the " Specta-
tor," No. 572, upon " Quacks," and No.
633 upon " Eloquence;*' and No. 121 in
the ♦« Guardian,^' signed " Ned Mum."
The chief of this prelate's other works were
Sermons. There is a cenotaph to him in
Westminster Abbey ; a distinction he was
entitled to by his learning and virtues.

Dr. Zachary Pearce is remarkable for
having desired to resign his deanery and
bishopric. In 1763,. being then seventy-
three years old, he told his majesty in his
closet that he found the business of his
stations too much for hira; that he was
afraid it would grow more so as he ad-
vanced in years, and desired to retire, that
he might spend more time in his devotions
and studies. Afterwards, one of the law
lords doubted the practicability of resign-
ing a bishopric, but on further oonsidera^
tion the difficulty disappeared. The kinff
then gave his consent, and the bishop kissed
hands upon it ; but lord Bath requesting
the bishopric and deanery of the king for
Dr. Newton, then bishop of Bristol, the
ministry thouffht that no church dignities
should pass Kom the crown but through
their hands, and opposed the resi^ation^
as the shortest way of keeping the bishopric
from being disposed of otnerwise than they
liked. On this occasion the law lord, earl
Mansfield, who had been doubtful, and
who soon 4fter had seen clear, doubted
again, and Dr. Pearce was told hj the king
be must think no more about resigning the
bishopric. In 1768 he resigned thedeaneiy,
of Westminster, and wrote

THE WISH

From all Dtflaaal earat at lait let ftf,

(O eovld that frMdom itUl mors perfect be)

itf •«!*• ainidiaa kovr. Ion; past aad gone i

iHm aigbt, anflt for work, eomM kast^iagoa

la lifers lata av'ninff, tkro* a leagtk of day,

I ftad mo feaUj tendiag to dooaj !

How shall I tkea mj faiod oxit make f

How kest ioevre my great eteraal stake ?

This my prime wisk, to see tkj gbrioos face,

0 graeioos Ood, In some more kappjr place ;

Till tkea to spend my short remains oT time

in thonghts, which raise the sonl tu wraths sobLmeg

To Uto with innocence, wiUi peace aad love^

As do those samU who dwell in bliss aboTO .

By prayers, the wings which faith to reason Inida,

0 m>m mj sonl to Heav*n's high throne aseoadsi

While here on earth, tkns on mj bended neeL
O Power divine. I supplicate to thee ;
May I meet Death, when his apfiroach ts mads^
Not fond of life, nor of hu dart afraid ;
Feel that my gain, which I esteem'd a loss i
HeaT^ is tLe gold refin'd, earth but the dnst.

Bishop Pearce lived and laboured tiU
Juue 29, 1774, when he died in the eighty*
fourth year of his age.

There is a neat monumcQt by Nollekens
over the north gallery of the church, witk
a remarkable inscription :*-^' Sacred to the
memory of Thomas Chase, Esq. formerly
of this parish, bom in the city of Lisbon
the 1st of November, 1729; and buried
under the ruins of the same house where
he first saw the light in the ever-memorable
and terrible earthquake which befiell that
city the 1st of November, 1755: when
after a most wonderful escape, be by de-
grees recovered from a very deplorable
condition, and lived till the 20th of Not
1788, aged 59 years.''

On the outside of the church a mona-
mental stone, fixed in the wall, recoids a
memorable and affecting instance of grati
tude in noble terms : —

Near this Plaoe lies the Body of

KLIZABETH MONK,

Who departed this Life

On the 87th Day of Angvst, 1753,

Aged 101 1

She was the Widow of Johv Mom, late of this

Parish, Blaeksmitk,

Her second Hnsband,

To wkom she had been a wife near fifty Team,

By whom she kad no Children i

Aadofthe Issneeftke first Mamage none liTsd

to tke eeeood {

Bat VIRTUE

Wonld not soffer ker to be Cklldless t

Am laiMit, to wkom, aad to wkoee Fatker aad

Mother she kad beea Norse

(Sack Is tke Dacertaiaty of temporal Prosperity)

Bacame d^peadeat npoa Stnmgera

for tke Necessaries of life i

To kim ska afibrded tke Protaetiai of a Mothar.

This pareatal Charity

Was Totaraed with filial Affeetioai

Aad she was snpported, fai tke Feebleaese of Aga,

by kim wkom ske kad ekerisked ta

tke Helolcesaess of lafaacy

LET IT BE REMEMBERED,

Tkat tken b no Stadon la wkick ladnstiy wlQ

•ot dbtala Power to be libera].
Kor any Ckaraetar oa wkick Libeiality vUl aol

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BU had bMA iMg prepared, hj a r'aplo and

naaffiNtod Piat^,

For tkat awlal moKeat. whiek, tewover ddajad,

Ii aniTtiaaUx mrt.

How ftw are allowed ea e^alTuae of.Probatios I

How aiaay. bj tkoir Uret,

appear to pfesamo apoa aiort I

To

the

__ ^ ^ of tUs peraeai aad jfl

BOfa, to perpotaato Um leeeoa of her lil< tkU atoM
wa* oreeted bj volnatarx ooatribatioa.

Ad intelligent inhabitant of Bromley, in
the year 1747» mentions a discovery, with
some accompanying remarks, appropriate
to the present notice :^

^ In the year 1733, the present clerk of
the parish church of Bromley in Kent, l^
hb digging a grave in that church-yard,
close to the. east end of the chancel wall,
dug up a funeral crown, or garland,
which is most artificially wrought in filla-
gree work with gold and silver wire, in
resemblance of myrtle, (with which plant
the funebrial garlands of the ancienU were
compoHKl,*) whose leaves are fastened to
hoops of larger wire of iron, now something
conoded with rust, but both the gold and
silver remain to this time verv little differ-
ent from their original splendour. It was
also lined with cloth of silver, a piece of
which, together with part of this curious
garland, I keep as a choice relic of anti*
quity.

«* Besides these crowns, (which were
buried with deceased virgins,) the ancients
bad also their depository garlands, the use of
which was continued even till of late years
(and perhaps are still retained in many
parts of this nation, for my own knowledge
of these matters extends not above twenty
or thirty miles round London,) which gar-
lands, at the funerals of the deceased, were
carried solemnly before the corpse by two
maids, and afterwards hung up in some
conspicuous place within tne church, in
memorial of the departed person, and were
(at least all that I have seen) made after
the following manner, viz. the lower rim or
circlet was a broad hoop of wood, where-
nnto was fixed, at the sides thereof, part of
two other hoops crossing each other at the
top, at right angles, which formed the upper
part, being about one-third longer than the
width; these hoops were wholW covered
with artificial flowers of paper, dyed horn,
or silk, and more or less beauteous, accord-
ing to the skill or ingenuity of the per-
fi>rmer. In the vacancy of the inside, from

• Sir TkoMMs Browa't MiM. Traets, p. fl9

the top, bung white paper, cut in form ol
gloves, whereon was wrote the deceased's
name, age, &c. together with long slips ol
Tarious coloured paper or ribbons. These
were many times intermixed with gilded or
painted empty shells of blown eggs, as
rarther ornaments ; or, it may be, as em-
blems of the bubbles or bitterness of this
life ; whilst other garlands bad only a soli-
tary hour-glass hanging therein, as a more
significant symbol of mortality.

*' About forty years ago these garlands
grew much out of repute, and were thought
by many as very unbecoming decorations
for so sacred a place as the church ; and at
the reparation or new beautifying several
churches where I have been concerned, I
was obliged, by order of the minister and
churchwardens, to take the garlands down,
and the inhabitants were strictly forbidden
to hang up any more for the future. Yet
notwithstanding, several people, unwilling
to forsake their ancient and delightful cus-
tom, continued still the makins of them,
and they were carried at the funerals, as
before, to the grave, and put therein upon
the coffin over the face of the dead ; this I
have seen done in many places.***

No. XXVIL

[From the ** Gentleman of Venice,'' a
Tragi-Comedy by James Shirley, 1655.]

Giovanni, of noble oxtraetlony bni
brought up a Gardener^ and ignorant of
awff greater birtk^ lovee BeHaura, a Prior'
eeee $ and ia beloved again,

Bellaura. OiouannL

BM. How BOW. Oloraaai ;
iHiat, with a sword 1 Yon were aot ased to appear
Thas ana'd. Yoar weapoa ia a spade, I take it.

<No. It did become my Ht»proletsioa,Madaia;
Bat I am clmBfed—

BM. Not to a soldier?

Olo. It IS a title. Madam, wiU mach fraoe mo;
Aad witk tke bnt olleetioa of mj tboofhts
I Imve ambitioa to tiie wars.

BM, Yoabare?

Oio, O *tis a brare professioa aad rewards
AH kes we meet, witb doable weight ia glory |
A ealliag, Priaces still are proad to owa ;
Aad some do wiUiag Ij forget their erowas,
To be eommaaded. *Tis the spriag of all
We here eatitle lame to i Emperors,

• Oeatlemaa'a Magaiiaa.

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Aad an Itgnm of Iraaoan, owaf all

Umit BUBM tD this raploTiMBt; ta hm Tibt

▲bA tfifcnlar ambraMB WIdiaf Kiap,

Aad amkiag tkaai ; aad yat to kiad at aot

Ta axelaie aaek priTata thiaga aa I, vho mmj

Laara aad oamaMaae ia har f raaC a«ti.^M 7 lift

Hath baaa too aaalaas to b^ welt aad aooatij |

'TIa tiae I aboald onpk»y il, to daaenra

▲ aaiaa witbia Uiair ngiatrj, that briaf

Tba wealth, iba barToat, hoaiaaf areU-bougbt baaoar.

BeU. Yet I eaa wa
Tbroafb all that ieTol,ntioa, Otoraaai,
Tu •omethiai; else haa wroaght ij^ia Tioleat ebaaga.
Praj let me ba of ooiuuel with jroar tbouf bta,
Ajid kaow the larioat aiotiva ; aone, ba dear.
( aia BO eaemj, aad oaa aaast
Where I allow the caoM.

Oio. Yoo maj be aagry,
Ma^aoi, aad chide It as a eaaey prfia
Ib me to aame or look at boaoar ; Bor
Caa I bat kaow what small additioB
Is mj BBskilftl arm to aid a ecAacrf.

Bdi. I Majr tbarelbre Jostty 8as|Mwt ihei^ It
Soaietbiar of otber fforee, that moim 70a to
The wkra. Balaita mj kaowladga wHh fha aaeraL

Gio. At thtt eamauud I opai my baait. Mhdam,
I ataat coafass than is aaothar eaase.
Which I dare Bot la my obeditaoa
Obeeare, siaea yoa will call it forlbs aad vat
I kaow JOB will laofh at Bie—

StU* It would ill
Baoomo mj breadiaf , GioTBDBi—

Oio. ThcB,
Kaow. M adaoi, I am ia lore.

B4IL la loTO with whom ?

Oio. With oae I dan Bot aama* ska b so maeh
Above my birth aad fortoaes.

Yoariifbt Bat does she kaow i^ I

Oio, Idarstaeter
Appear with so maeh bdUacas to 4iatoT«r
Mj heart's so gtaat ambttioa : it Is hare still
A fttraafe and bos j (vest.

BelL And job think abasBoa
May ears this woasd^—

Oio. Or death—

Boll, I may presame
Yott thiak «be's fair^

Oio. I dare as sooa qaestioa yoar baaafty. IftladaB*
The oaly oraameat and star of Venice*
Pardon the bold eomparisoa ; yet there is
Something ia yoa, resembles my great Mlstraaa.
She blashee— (anVIe;.
Sach Tery beams disperseth her bright eys^
Powerful to restore decrepit aatare;
But when she frowns, aad ekaoges from her swael
Aspect, (as in my fears 1 see you now.
Offended at my boldaess), she does Uast
Poor Oiorsaai thus, aed thus I wither
At heart, aad wash myself a thiag hist ia
My own torgottea daat.

JAMES THOMSON.

A ▼olume, entitled the ^ Engirsh Gentle-
nan's Library Manual/' contains the fol-
lowing^ remarkable anecdotes respecting the
author of *' The Seasons.'^

Memoranda commuhicated bt James
RoBERTsov, Esq. op RicaMOvOy in
Surrey, late Surgeon to the House-
hold AT Kkw, October 17, 1791» to
Thomas Parke, Esq. the Poet, and bt
HIM to the Earl or Buchaik

Parhe. Hrtb you any objection, sir, to
my taking down memorandums to a con-
versation 7

Robertion. Not in the least, I trill pro*
cure you pen, ink, and paper immediately

I understand, sir, you knew Thothson
long ?

I I became acquainted with him in Ae
year 1726, when he published his po«^ of j
Winter. He lived opposite to me, in Lan-
caster-court, in the Strand. I went to the
East Indies soon after, which camsed a
chasm in our acquaintance; but, on my
return, our intimacy was strengthened, and
continued to the hour of his death. I do
not know any man, living or dead, I ever
esteemed more highly, and he was attached
to me. I had once a complaint of a con-
sumptive nature, which confined me much
at home, and he was so good as lo come
often from Kew-lane to sit with me.

Did you know Amanda?

Know her ? Yes, sir, I married her sister.
Amanda was a Miss Young, daughter to
captain Gilbert Young, of the Gulyhill Hl-
mily, in Dumfriesshire, and was married
afterwards to admiral Campbell. She vras
a fine sensible woman, and poor Thomson
was desperately in love with her. Mr.
Gilbert Young, her nephew, left my house
this very morning. Thomson, indeed, tras
never wealthy enough to marry.

Mr. Collins, the brewer, has told me,
that he was so heedless in his money con-
cerns, that in paying him a bill for beer, he
l^ave him two bank notes rolled together
instead of one. Collins did not perceive
the mistake till he got home, and when he
returned the note Thomson appeared per-
fectly indifferent about the matter, and
■aid he had enough to go on without it f
llr. Robertson smiled at this anecdote, and
ftid it was like him.

He was not, I believe, one of the weep*
ins philosophers. He was no Heraclitus f

No, he was not, indeed. I remember his
being stopped once between London and
Richinona. and robbed of his watch^ aa^

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when I expressed ray regret for his loss,
** Pshaw, dama it/' said he, ^ I am glad
they took it from me, *twas never good for
any thing."

Was he national in his affections T

He had no prejudices whatever ; he ytM
ihe most liberal of men in all his senti-
ments.

I have been told that he used to associate
with parson Cromer, and some other con-
ti vials, at the Old Orange Tree, in Kew-
Aoe?

Relaxation of any kind was to him fre-
quently desirable, and he could conform to
any company. He was benevolent and
' social, both in his writings and in his life ;
as his friend. Dr. Armstrong, said on ano-
ther occasion, he practised what he preach-
ed. Lord L.'s character of him as an
author was perfectly just, that in bis last
moments he had no cause to wish any thing
blotted he had ever written.

1 hear he kept very late hours?

No, sir, very early ; he was always up at
sunrise, but then he had never been in
bed.

Did you ever correspond with him ?

Very seldom. We were so much to-
gether there was little opportunity or occa-
sion for it.

You do not happen to have any reliques
of his hand-writing?

I don*t think I have ; but when I get my
breath a little better I will look among my
papers to try if I can find any.

The kind old gentleman was warmed
with the subject, and even set forward to
his escritoire in the pursuit, but returned
only with a lettier from the late Dr. Arm-
strong, which he flattered himself contained
something relative to Thomson. In this he
was mistaken. It was a rhapsody of thanks
in return for being presented with a large
bottle of spirits ; but it was well worth an
luring. This, said Mr. R., will show you
the intimate terms I was npon with Johnny
Armstrong, who wrote that beautiful poem,
the " Art of Preserving the Health.'* He
was a very ingenious and excellent man.

Did you know Dr. Patrick Murdoch,
who wrote Thomson's Life ?

Ay, very well, and esteemed him. Pat-
tie, as I always called him, had a good
heart.

Pope, as I have heard, used often to visit
Thomson ?

Y^s, frequently. Pope has sometimes
said, Thomson, 1*11 walk to the end of your
garden, and then set off to the bottom of
Kew-ioot.lane and back. Pope, sir, courted
Thomson, and Thomson was always ad-

mitted to Pope whether he had company or
not ; but Pope "had a jealousy of every
eminent writer; he was a viper that gnaw*
ed the file.

Was Pope a great talker?

Pope, when he liked his company, was
a very agreeable man. He was fond of
adulation, and when he had any dislike
was a most bitter satirist.

Thomson, I think, was very intimate
with David Mallet, the editor of BoUng-
broke?

Sir, that person's name was properly
** Malloch ;" but I used to call him '« Mo-
loch" in our festive moments, and Thomson
enjoyed the jest. Sir, he had not Thom-
son's heart ; he was not sound at the core ;
he made a cat's-paw of Thomson, and I
did not like the man qq that account.

Thomson had two cousins or nephews,
who were gardeners, did they live with
him?

No, they did not live with him, they lived
upon him. He was so generous a man, that
if he had but two eggs he would have given
them both away.

Were you acquainted with Mr. Gray,
who lived at Richmond Hill ?

Yes, I knew a John Gray, who was a
victualler. He purchased Thomson's col-
lection of prints and drawings after hi*
decease, but I believe purely out of osten-
tation.

You must have hud great Influence over
him, sir, from several circumstances yoa
have mentioned, but wish to be suppresMd !

Without ostentation or vanity, sir, I really
very often have wondered how I came to
have so much, and the rest of his ftiends
wondered too; for I do say it moet sincerely,
that I never co\|Id find out what made
Thomson and many of these geniuses so
partial to me as they appeared.

Then, sir, I suspect you are the only on*
who could not make the discovery ?

Sir, I was not fishing for a compliment,
I do assure you.

If you had, sir, I should not have snatch-
ed so eagerly at your bait.

I suppose you attended Thomson in 9
medical as well as in a social capadity ?

Yes, Armstrong and myselt were with
him till his last moments. I was in the
room with him when he died. A putrid
fever carried him off in ^css than a wedc.
He seemed to me to be desirous not to
live, and I had reason to think that my
sister-in-law was the oocasion of this. He
could not bear the thoughts of her beiiig
married to another.

Pray did you i ttend his fimeialf

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Indeed I did, and a real funeral it wm
to me, as Quia said when he spoke the pro-
logue to '* Coriolanus" — "1 was in truth
no actor there/*

Did you hear Quia speak that prologue,
sir?

Yes, I could not have been absent.

Were jou the only intimate friend who
paid the last tribute of respect to Thomsou*s
'emains ?

No, sir, Qutn attended, and Mallet, and
another friend, whose name I do not recol-
lect. He was interred in the north-west
corner of Richmond church, just where the
christening pew now stands. I pointed out
the place to the sexton*s widow, that she
might show it to strangers.

Did you know Andrew Millar, the book-
seller ?

I knew him well. He took a box near
Thomson's, in Kew-lane, to keep in with
him as an author who might be profitable
to him. Andrew was a good-natured man,
and not an unpleasant companion, but he
was a littl's contracted in mind by his busi-
ness, and had the dross of a bookseller about
him

Did you know Paterson ?

Yes. Paterson had been clerk to a
counting-house in the city, went for some
time abroad, and on his return was ama-
nuensis to Thomson, was his deputy as
surreyor-general to the Leeward Islands,
and succeeded him in that office, but be did
not live long to enjoy it, I belicTe not more
than two years.

Collins, the poet, and Hammond, author
of the ** Love Elegies," visited Thomson 7

Yes. Ah ! poor Collins, he had much
genius, but half mad. Hammond was a
gentleman, and a very pleasant man. Yet
Thomson, I remember, one day called him
a burnished butterfly. Quin, the comedian,
was a sincere friend of Thomson ; he was
naturally a most humane and friendly man,
and only put on the brute when he thought
it was expected from him by those who gave
him credit for the character.

Was the anecdote of Quin and Thomson
true?

Yes, I believe it was.

Boswell surmised that Thomson was a
much coarser man than is commonly al-
lowed?

Sir, Thomson was neither a petlt-mattre
nor a boor; he had simplicity without rude-
ness, and a cultivated manner without being
courtly. He had a great aversion to letter-
writing, and did not attempt much of prose
composition of any kind. His time for
compositioo was generally at the di>ad of

night, and was much in his summer-hovst.
which, together with cTery memorial o?
his residence, is carefully preserved by thj <
honourable Mrs. Boscawen.

Did you know, sir, of any other attach- I
ments of Thomson's, eioept that to his
Amanda T I

No, I believe he was more truly attached
to my little wife and her sister than to any
one else, next to Amanda. Mr. H., of
Bangor, said he was once asked to dinner
by Thomson, but could not attend. One
of his friends, who was there, told him that
there was a general stipulation agreed on
by the whole company, that there should
be no hard drinking. Thomson acquiesced,
only requiring that each man should drink
his bottle. The terms were accepted un- 1
conditionally, and when the cloth was re- •
moved, a three-quart bottle was set before
each of his guests. Thomson had much of
this kind of agreeable humour. Mr. Aik-
man, the painter, and Dr. De la Cour, k
physician and ingenious writer, were intw
male and belov^ friends of Thomson.
Mr. Aikman was a gentleman of competent
estate^ and was always friendly to Thom [
•on.

Sir, I cordially thank vou for this kind*
ness, in suffering yourself to be teased with
interrogations; and when lord Buchan's
tablet on the grave of the poet shall be im*
posed in Richmond church, I shall hope te
see you tripping across the green to take a
peep at it.

Sir, if I can crawl across for such a grati-
fication, I shall certainly do it.

We then twice shook hands and parted.
Intelligent old gentleman! Little was I
aware that his lengthened eve of life was
so very near its close ! He was taken seri*
ously ill a few hours after I left him, Mon-
day, October 24, and on the Friday follow^
ing he died, and was buried on Saturdayf
the 4th of November, by the south side of
Richmond church.

Mora oltimft Um* rtnm «tt

(Signed) T.P.

QUIPOES.

The Peruvians had a method of expresSi
ing their meaning by narrow knotted ri«
bands of various colours, which they called
*< Quipoes :" a certain number of knots <k
one colour, divided by so many of another
expressed particular meanings ; and served
these simple and innocent people in plad
of the art of writing. P

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SPANISH MYSTERIES.

Of all the dramatic works of Lope de
Vega, the Lives of the Saints are in every
respect the most irregular. Allegorical
characters, buffoons, saints, peasants, stu-
denu, kings, Ood, the infant Jesus, the
devil, and the most heterogeneous beings
that the wildest imagination could bring
together, are introduced. Music seems
always to have been an indispensable ac.
cessary. Lope de Vega*s spiritual comedy,
entitled the Life of Saint Nicolas de Tolen-
tino,* commences with a conversation
maintained by a party of students, who
make a dbplay of their wit and scholastic
learning. Among them is the future saint,
whose piety shines with the brighter lustre
when contrasted with the disorderly gaiety
of those by whom he is surrounded. The
devil disguised by a mask joins the party.
A skeleton appears in the air; the sky
opens, and the Almighty b discovered sit-
ting in judgment, attended by Justice and
Mercy, who alternately influence his deci-
sions. Next succeeds a love intrigue be-
tween a lady named Rosalia, and a gentle-
man named Feniso. The future saint then
reenters attired in canonicals, and delivers
a sermon in redondillas. The parents of
the saint congratulate themselves on pos*
sessing such a son ; and this scene forms
the conclusion of the first act. At the
opening of the second a party of soldiers
are discovered ; the saint enters accom|>a-
nied Jt>y several monks, and offers up a
prayer in the form of a sonnet. Brother
reregrino relates the romantic history of
his conversion. Subtle theological quiddities
ensue, and numerous anecdotes of the lives
of the saints are related. St. Nicolas prays
again through the medium of a sonnet. He
then rises in the air, either by the power of
faith, or the help of the theatrical machi-
nery ; and the Holy Virgin and St. Augus-
tin descend from heaven to meet him. The
I sonnet by which St. Nicolas performs this
miracle is the most beautiful in this sacred
fiu^oe. In the third act ttie scene u trans-
fiened to Rome, where two cardinals exhibit
the holy sere-cloth to the people by torch-
light. Music performed on clarinets adds
to the solemnity of this ceremony, during
which pious discourses are delrvered. St.
Nicolas is next discovered embroidering the
habit of his order ; and the pious observa-
tions which he makes, while engaged in
this occupation, are accompanied by the
chanting of invisible angeb. The music

4 81 NioolM 6» ToiiBriao tt « saiat of modtm

attracts the devil, who endeavours to tempt
St. Nicolas. The next scene exhibits souls
in the tonnenu of purgatory. The devil
again appears attended by a retinue of
lions, serpents, and other hideous animals;
but in a scene, which is intended for bur-
lesque, (graeiommenU,) a monk armed with
a |(reat broom drives off the devil and his
suite. At the conclusion of the piece the
Miint, whose beatification is now complete,
descends from heaven in a garment be-
spangled with stars. As soon as he touches
the earth, the souls of his fiither and mother
are released from purgatory, and rise
through a rock; the saint then returns
hand-in-hand with his parents to heaven,
music playing as they ascend.*

PORTUGUESE MYSTERIES.

One of the spiritual dramas of Gil Vi-
cente, performed at Lisbon, commences
with shepherds, who discourse and enter a
chapel, which is decorated with all the
apparatus neoessaiy for the celebration of
the festival of Christmas. The shepheids
cannot sufficiently express their rustic ad-
miration of the pomp exhibited in the
chapel. Faith (La Fi) enters as an alle-
goncal character. She speaks Portuguese,
and after announcing herself to the shep-
herds as True Faith, she explains to them the
nature of faith, and enters into an historical
relation of the mysteries of the incarnation.
This is the whole subject of the piece.

Another of these dramas, wherein the
poet's hncy has Uken a wider range, pre-
senu scenes of a more varied nature. Mer-
cury enters as an allegorical character, and
as the representative of the planet which
bean his name. He explains the theory of
the planetary system and the lodiac, and
cites astronomical facts from Regiomonta-
nus, in a long series of stanzas in the old
national style. A seraph then appears,
who is sent down from heaven by God, in
oompliance with the prayers of Time. The
seraph, in the quality of a heiald, proclaims
a large yearly fair in honour of the Holy
Virgin, and invites customen to it. A devil
next makes his appearance with a little
stall which he carries before him. He gets
into a dispute with Time and the seraph,
and asserts, that among men such as they
are, he shall be sure to find purchasers for
his wares. He therefore leaves to every
customer his free choice. Mercury then
summons eternal Rome as tlie represcBt»i

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tire of the church. She appears, and offers
for sale Peace of Mind, as the most precious
of her merchandise. The defil remon-
•tratesy and Rome retires. Two Porta-
ipiese peasants now appear in the market :
one is veir anxious to sell bis wife, and
observes, that if he cannot sell her, he will
give her away for nothing, as she is a wicked
apendthrifL Amidst this kind of conversa^
tion a party of peasant women enter, one
of whom, with considerable eomic warmth,
vents bitter complaints against her hus-
band. She tells, with a humorous simplicity,
that her ungrateful husband has robbed her
garden of its fruits before they were ripe ;
that he never does any thing, but leads a
sottish life, eating and drinking all day, &c.
The man who has already been inveighing
against his wife immediately recognises
her, and says, — "That is my slippery help-
mate." During this succession of comic
scenes the action does not advance. The devil
at last opens hb little stall and displays his
stock of goods to the female peasants ; bat
one of them, who is the most pious of the
party, seems to suspect that all is not quite
right with regard to the merchandise, and
•he exclaims — " Jesus 1 Jesus! true God
and man 1" The devil immediately takes
to flight, and does not reappear ; but the
seraph again comes forward and mingles
with the rustic groups. The throng con-
tinues to increase; other countrywomen
with baskets on their heads arrive; and
the market is stored with vegetables, poul-
try, and other articles of rural produce.
The seraph offers Virtues for sale ; but they
find no purchasers. The peasant girls ol>-
serve, that in their village money is more
sought after than virtue, when a young man
wants a wife. One of the party, however,
says, that she wished to come to the market
because it happened to fall on the festival
of the mother of God ; and because the
Virgin does not sell her gifts of grace, bat
distributes them gratis. This observation
crowns the theological morality of the piece,
which terminates with a hymn of praise, in
the popular style, iu honour of the Holy
Virgin.*

POACHING.

A poor itinerant player, caught perform.
tag the part of a poacher, and being taken
before the magistrates assembled at a c|uar*
ler teuions for examination, one of them

' BMlMwvk.

asked him what right he had to knl a haret
when he replied in the following ludicrous
parody on Brutus*s speech to the Romans,
in defence of the death of Caesar : —

** Britons, hungry-men, and epicures!
hear me for my cause ; and be silent — that
you may hear ; believe me for mine honour,
and have respect to mine honour, that you
mav believe : censure me in your wisdom ;
and awake' your senses that you may the
better judge. If there be any in this as-
sembly, any dear friend of this hare, to him
I say, that a player's love for hare is no
less than his. If, then, that friend demand
why a player rose against a hare, this is
my answer, — not that I loved hare less, but
that I loved eating more. Had you rather
this hare were living, and I had died starv-
inp^ — than that this hare were dead, that I
might live a jolly fellow ? As this hare was

retty, I weep mr him ; as he was nimble,
rejoice at it; as he was plump, I honour
him ; but, as he vras eatable, I slew him.
There are tears, for his beauty ; joy, for his
condition ; honour, for his speed ; and
death, for his toothsomeness. who is here
so cruel, would see a starved man? If any,
speak, for him have I offended. Who is
here so silly, that would not take a tit bit?
If anpr, speak, for him have I offended.
Who IS here so sleek, that does not love his
belly ? If any, speak, for him have I of-
fended."

*• You have offended justice, sirrah,"
cried one of the magistrates, out of all
patience at this long and strange harangue.

** Then,'' cried the culprit, guessing at
the hungry feelings of the bench, ** since
justice is dissatisfied, it must needs have
something to devour — Heaven forbid I
should keep any gentleman from his dinner
-»so, if you please, I'll wish your vrorshipt
a good day, and a good appetite.**

HAPPY UNION.

Qoin used to say, that of all tfie bans
of marriage he ever heard, none gave him
such pleasure as the union of delicate Awn
Chooy vrith good John Dorf, This senti-
ment was worthy of such a disciple oi
Apiciits.

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LETTH HILL, NIBAR DORKING.

Sstraeted/^om a Utter frotn Mr. Dsaiiis
to Mb. S£R.'£amt, near Mevent^ yean
ago.

In a late joomcy which I took into thtf
wild of Sussex, I passed orer a hill, which
showed me more traosportifig sights than
ever I had seen before, either in £ngland
or Italy. The prospecu which in Italy
pleased me most were the Valdamo from
the Apennines of Rome, and the Mediter-
ranean from the mountain of Viterbo ; of
Rome at forty, and the Mediterranean at
fifty miles distant from it; and that of
the ikmous Campagna of Rome from Tivoli
and Frescati, to the very foot of the moun*
tain VkerbOy without any ttogto intercept
your sight.

But from an hill which I passed in my
late journey into Sussex, I had a prospect
more extensive than any of these^ and
which surpassed them al once in rural
charms, in pomp, and magnificence. The
hill which I speak of is called Leith-hill,
and is about five miles southward from
Dorking, about six miles frotn Box-hill, and
near twelve from Epsom. It juts itself out
about two mito beyond that range of hills,
which terminate the north downs to the
south. After conquering the hill itself the
sight is endiantingty beautifill. Beneath
lie open to our view all the wilds of
Surrey and Sussex, and a great part of that
of Kent, admirably diTersiled in every part
of them with woods, and fields of com and
pasture, and everywhere adorned vrith
sutely rows of trees. This beautiful vale
is thirty miles in breadth, and sixty in
length, terminating on the south by the
majestic range of hills and the seau About
noon on a serenfe day you may, at thirty
miles distance, see the vraters of the sea
through a chasm of the moontains. And
that which, above all, makes it a noble and
wonderful prospect is, that at the same time
you behold this noble sieht, by a little turn
of your head towards the north, you look
full over Box-hill, and see the country be-
yond it, between that and London, and St.
PauPs, at twenty-five miles distance, with
Highgate and Hampstead beyond k all. It
may perhaps appear incredible to some,
iiat a place whicn affords so great and so
turprismg a prospect should have remained
so k>ng in oMurity, and that it is unknown
to the very visitors of Epsom and Box-hill.
But, alas 1 we live in a country more fertile

of great things, than of men to admire
them.

Whoever talked of CooperVhill, till sit
John Denham made it illustrious?— How
long did Milton remain in obscurity, while
twenty paltry authors, little and vile odm*
pared to him, were talked of and admired ?
But in England, nineteen in twenty like bj
other people's opinions, and not by theii
own.

PARSIMONY.

Augustine Pehtheny, ^. who died on
Ae 23d of November, 1810, in the eisfhty-
third year of his age, at an obscure lodging
in Lmon-street, Dublin, was a miser of
the most perfect drawing that nature ever
gave to the worid. He vras bom in the
village of Longwood, county of Meath,
and became a jouraeyman-cooper. Veiy
early in life he was encouraged to make a
voyage to the West Indies, to follow his
trade, under the patronage of bis maternal
uncle, another adventurer of the name of
Oaynor, better known among bis neigh-
bours by the name of ^ Peter Big Brogues,**
from the enormous shoes he was mounted
in on the day he set out on his traveb.
Peter acquired an immense fortune, and
lived to see his only child married to sir 6.
Colebrooky chairman to the East India
Company, and a banker in London, to
whom Peter gav« with his daughter two
hundred thousand pounds. His nephew,
Anthony, acquired the enormous sum of
three hundred thousand pounds in tba
islands of Antigua and Santa Crux.

Anthony Petheny saw mankind only
through one medium — money. His vital
powers were so diverted from generous or
social objects by the prevailing passion of
gold, that he could discover no trait in any
character, however venerable or respecta-
ble, that was not seconded by riches; in
fiict, any one that was not rich he considered
as an inferior animal, neither worthy of
notice, nor safe to be admitted into society.
This feeling he extended to female society,
and, if possible, with a greater degree of
disgust. A woman he considered only as
an incumbrance on a man of property, and
therefore he could never be prevailed upon
to admit one into his confidence. Wedlock
he utterly and uniformly rejected. His
wife was the public funds, and his children
dividends ; and no parent or husband evei
paid more deference or care to the objects
of his affection. He was never known tu
diminish his immense hoard, by rewarding

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A generons action ; or to alleviate distreas, or
accidental rabfortune, by the application of
a single shilling. It could scarcely he ex-
pectml that a man would give gifu or be-
Kow gratuities, who was a niggard of conn
forts 40 himself. The evening before he
lied, some busy friend aem a respecuble
physician to him. The old miser evinced
no dislike, until he recollected the doctor
might expect a fee ; this alarmed him, and
immediately raising himself in the bed, he
addressed his *' medical friend ** in the fol-
lowing words: ** Doctor, I am a strong
man, and know my disorder,* and could
cure myself, but m Mr. Nangle has sent
you to my assistance, I shall not exchange
you for any other person, if we can come
to an understanding; in fict, I wish to
know what vou will charge for your attend-
ance until 1 am lecovered." The doctor
answered ** eight guineas." ** Ah ! sir,''
said the old man, *' if you knew my disor-
der you would not be exorbitant ; but to
put an end to this discussion, I will give
you six guineas and a half." The doctor
assented, and the patient held out his arm
with the fee, to have his pulse considered,
and laid himself down again.

Old Fentheny*s relations were numerous,
but, in his opinion, wholly unqualified, by
want of experience in the management of
money, to tourse his wealth, and therefore
he bequeathed the entire of it to a rich fa-
mily in the West Indies, with the generous
exception of four pounds annually to a
faithful servant, who had lived with him
twenty-four years. In his will he expresses
great kindness for ^ poor John," and says
he bequeaths the four pounds for his kind
services, that his latter days might be spent
in comfortable independence ! He appoint-
ed WallerNangle, Esq. and major 0*Farrell,
his executors, and the right hon. David La
Touche and lord Fingal, trustees. Like
Thellusson, he would not allow his fortune
to pass to his heirs immediately, as he
directed that the entire should be funded
for fourteen years, and then, ** in its im-
proved sute," be at the disposal of the
heirs he had chosen

ON A LADY,

\ GbEAT CAXDPLATEa, WUO MAEBIBD A
GAaDEMES.

TrmHfi ever niled tli« chanBinf msid,
8 are mil the world nut pardon her,

Tho DndniM tam'tf wp a ygrff
»ko aamod JohB tho gaidnor.

Slswobtrtet

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. IIL

Trb IvvATt Ideas ov Descartes ajtd
Leibhitz, derived vbom Plato, Heba-

CLITUS, PtTHAGOEAS, AMD THE ChaL-
DEAMS— THB StSTEM OF MaLLEBBAVCBB
FBOM THE SAME SoUBCE, AXD St. AV-
GUSTIME.

The innate perception of first tniths,
maintained by Descartes and Leibnits,
which raised such warm and subtle dis-
putes amon|^ metaphysicians, is a doctrine
derived from Plato. Tha great philoso-
pher, who acquired the surname or divine,
by having written best on the subject ot
Deity, entertained a very peculiar senti*
ment respecting the origin of the souL He
calls it ^ an emanation of the divine es-
sence, from whom it imbibed all its ideas ;
but that having sinned, it was degraded
from its fiist estate, and condemned to a
union with booy, wherein it is confined as
in a prison; that its forgetfiilness of its
fonner ideas was the necessary conse-
quence of this penalty." Ue adds, that
** the benefit of philosophy consisu in re-
pairing this loss, by gradually leading back
the soul to its first conceptions, accustom-
ing it by degrees to recognise its own ideas,
and by a full recollection of them to com-
prehend its own essence, and the true
nature of things." From that Platonic
principle of the soul's ^ divine emanation,"
It naturally followed, that, having formerly
had within itself the knowledge of every
thing, it still retained the faculty of recall-
ing to mind its immortal origin and prime-
val ideas, Descartes and Leibnitz reasoned
in the very same manner, in admitting
eternal and first truths to be imprinted on
the soul :— they substitute indeed the crea-
tion and preexistence of souls, in place of
the*< divine emanation ** of them taught l^
Plato; but they defend their system by the
same sort of arguments.

Mallebranche entered the lists in defence
of Descartes*s principles, and took upon
him to support an opinion respecting the
nature of ideas, which causea universal
astonishment by its apparent singularity
and was treated as almost extravagant ; al-
though he advanced nothing but what might
be defended by the authority of the finesi
geniuses of antiquity. After having defined

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ideas to be ''the immediate, or nearest
objects of the mind when it perceives any
ihiog. '' Mallebranche demonstrates the
reality of their existence, by display inj^
' their qualities, which never can belong to
' nothing, that have no properties. He
then distinguishes between sentiments and
ideas; considers the five different ways,
whereby the mind comes at the view of ex-
terqal objects ; shows the fallacy of four of
them, and establishes the preeminence of
the fifth, as being that alone which is con-
formable to reason, bv saying, that it is
absolutely necessary God should have in
himself the ideas of all essences, otherwise
he never could have given them existence.
He undertakes to prove, that God, by his
presence, is nearly united to our souls ; in-
somuch, that he may be called the place of
spirits, as space is of bodies ; and thence
he concludes, that the soul may discern in
God whatever is representaiive of created
things, if it be the will of God to communi-
cate himself in that manner to it. He re-
marks, that God, or the universal intelli-
gence, contains in himself those ideas which
illuminate us ; and that his works having
been formed on the model of his ideas, we
cannot better employ ourselves than in
contemplating them, in order to discover the
nature and properties of created things.

Mallebranche was treated as a visionary
(or having advanced these sentiments, al-
though he accompanied them with the most
solid and judicious proofs that metaphysics
could afford; but ne was never charged
with plagiarism, though his system and
manner of proof exist literally in ancient
authors. After reciting passages from the
'* Oracula Chaldeorum, which he reveres
as a divine oracle, he says, '* The gods here
declare where the existence of ideas is to
be found, even in God himself, who is their
only source ; they being the model accord-
ing to which the world was formed, and the
spring from which every thing arose.
Others, by applying immediately to the
divine ideas themselves, are enabled to dis-
cover sublime truths; but as for our part,
we are content to be satisfied with what
the gods themselves have declared in
favour of Plato, in assigning the name of
ideas to causes purely intellectual; and
affirming, that they are the archetypes of
the world, and the thoughts of the supreme
fiither: that, in effect, they reside m the
paternal intellect, and emanate from him
to concur in the formation of the world.''

Pythagoras and his disciples understood
almost the same thing by their ^umbers,
thU Plato did by his ideas. The Pythago-

rists expressed themselves with regard to
numbers in the same terms as Plato uses^
calling them ** ri hrmt iW«, real existences,
the only things truly endowed with essence,
eternally invariable." They give them also
the appellation of incorpored entiiies, by
means of which all otlier beings participate
of existence.

Heraclitus adopted those first principles
of the Pythagoreans, and expounded them
in a very clear and systematic manner.
** Nature,'* says he, ** being in a perpetual
flow, there must belong lo it some perma-
nent entities, on the knowledge or which
all science is founded, and which may serve
as the rule of our judgment in fleeting and
•ensible objects/'

Democritus also taught, that the images
of obiects are emanations of the Deity, and
are themselves divine ; and that our very
mental ideas are so too. Whether the
doctrine be true or erroneous is not here a
subject of inquiry: the present purpose
being merely to show the analogy between
the principles of Mallebranche and those of
the ancients.

Plato, who, of all the ancient philoso-
phers, deservedly ranks the highest, for
the clearness and accuracy wherewith he
hath explained and laid open this system,
gives the appellation of ** ideas ** to those
eternal intellectual substances, which were,
with regard to God, the exemplary forms
or types of all that he creaiecl; and are,
with regard to men, the object of all science,
and' of their contemplation when they
would attain to the knowledge of sensible
things. /' The world," according to Plato,
** always existed in God*s ideas ; and when
at length he determined to produce it into
being, such as it is at present, he created it
accoiding to those eternal models, forming
the sensible into the likeness of the intel-
lectual worlds Admitting, with Heracli-
tus, the perpetual fluctuation of all sensible
things, Plato perceived that there could be
no foundation for science, unless there were
things real and permanent to build it upon,
which might be the fixed object of know-
ledge, to which the mind might have re-
course, whenever it wanted to inform itself
of sensible things. We clearly see that this
was Plato's apprehension of things; and
we need only look at the passages quoted
from him to be convincea, that whatevef
Mallebranche said on the subject, he de
rived from Plato.

Mallebranche would not have beea
railed against as impious, had bis antagd
nists known to whom he was indebted fo'
his opinions and xeasonings; and thatSt«

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Augwtioe himself had said, ** Ideas are
eternal and immutable ; the exemplars, or
aixibetypes of all created things; and, in
shorty exist in God." In this respect be
differs somewhat from Plato, who separated
them from the divine essence : but we may
easily discern a perfect conformity between
the father of the church and the modem
philosopher.

Leibnita was in some measure of the
opinion of fiuher Mallebranche ; and it was
natural that he should be, for he derived
his principles from the same ancient
sources. Uis ^ monads " were ** entities
truly existing; simple substances; the
eternal images of universal nature."

In this inquiry, concerning the diseoveriet
and thoughts of the ancients attributed to
the modems, it has appeared advisable that
their views bf the mind, or intellectual
system, should precede their consideration
of sensible qualities, and the system of the
universe. To persons unaccustomed to
such investigations, the succeeding papers
will be more interesting.

noble fortune in acts of benerolence, fel
into poverty in his old age, and was vefiised
admittance into an hospital which, in his
better days, be had himself paid £br build-
ing.

In Spain, the great Cervantes died oi
hunger ; and Camoens, equally celebrated
in Portugal, ended his days in an hospitaL

In France, Vaugelas was surnaraed ** the
Owl," from having been obliged to keep
within all day, and only venturing out by
night, through fear of his creditors. In
his last will, he bequeathed every thing
towards the discharge of his debts, and de-
sired his body to be sold, to that end.

Cassander was one of the greatest ge*
niuses of his time, but barely id>le to pro-
cure his livelihood.

In £ngland, the last days of Spoiser,
Otway, Butler, and Drydea are our na,tional
reproach.

S.&S.

ON CHANGE.

No. II.
For the Table Book.

DISTRESSES OF MEN OF GENIUS. Noah is now a tailor, No. 63, Pall-mall.

Pope Urban VI 1 1. erected an hospital
for the benefit of decayed authors, and
called it *< The Retreat of the Incurables,'*
intimating that it was equally impossible
to reclaim the patients from poverty or
poetry.

Homer is the first poet and beggar of
note aroontf the ancients: he was blind,
sung his ballads about the streets, and his
mouth was oftener filled with verses than
with bread.

f lautus, the comic poet, was better off;
for he had two trades : he was a poet for
his diversion, and helped to turn a mill io
order to gain a living.

Terence was a slave, and Boethius died
in a jail.

Among the Italians, Paulo Burghese,
almost as good a poet as Tasso, knew four-
teen different trades, and yet died because
he could get no employment in either of
them.

Tasso was oAen obliged to borrow a
crown from a fiiend, to pay for a month*s
subsistence. He has left us a pretty sonnet
to his cat, in which he begs the light of her
eyes to write by, being too poor to buy a
candle.

Bentivoglio, whose comediM will last
with the Italian langu^e^ dissipated a

Haic, a watchmaker. No. 47, Skinner-street,
Snow-hill.

Isaac, a fishmonger. No. 8» Cullum-street.

Jacob, an umbrella and parasol maker. No.
42, Burlington Arcade.

IsEABL is a surgeon in Keppell-street, Rus-
sel-square.

Joseph is a pencil msinufacturer, No 7,
Oxford-street.

Joshua, a grocer. No. 1 55, Regent-street.

Simon, a ship broker. No. 123, Fenchurch-
street.

JoBL^ an auctioneer, No. 44, Cliflon-street,
Finsbury.

Paul, a manufacturer of mineral waters,
No. 5, Bow-street, Covent-garden.

Matthew, a brush maker. No. 106, Upper
Thames-street.

Mark, a malt factor, No. 74, 3farJk-lane.

LuKB, a boot maker. No. 142, Cheapside;
and

John, a solicitor. No. 6^ Palsgrave-plac^
Temple-bar.
July, 1827 Say Sam's Sow.

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THE GRETNA GREEN PARSONS, made no secret of his profession, but openly

walked the street when called upon to

The first person that twined the bands officiate, dressed in his canonicals, with the

of Hymen this way is supposed to have dignity of a bishop I He was long an ob-

been a man named Scott, who resided at 'ect of curiosity to travellers. He was tall,

the Rigg> a few miles from the village of and had been well proportioned, but at his

Gretna, about 1750 or 1760. He was ac- death he was literally an overgrown mass

counted a shrewd, crafty fellow, and little of fat, weighing tweniy-five stone. He

wore is known of him. was grossly ignorant, and insufferably coarse

George Gordon, an old soldier, started in his manners, and possessed a constitu-

up as his successor. He always appeared tion almost proof against the ravages of

on marriage occasions in an antiquated full
military costume, wearing a large cocked
hat, red coat, jack boots, and a ponderous
sword dangling at his side. If at any time
he was interrogated " by what authority he
joined persons in wedlock?'* he boldly an-
swered, •* I have a special license from
government, for which I pay fifty pounds
per annum."* He was never closely ex-
amined on the subject, and a delusion pre
vailed during his life, that a privilege ot the
kind really existed.

Several persons afterwards attempted to
establish themselves in the same line, but
none were so successful as Joseph Paisley,

spirituous liquors ; for thou^ an habitual
drinker, he was rarely ever seen drunk : for
the last forty years of his life he daily dis-
cussed a Scotch pint, equal to two English
quarts, of brandy. On one occasion, a
bottle companion, named ** Ned the turn-
er,'' sat down with him on a Monday
morning to an anker of strong cogniac, and
before the evening of the succeeding Satur-
day they kicked the empty cask out at the
door ; neither of them were at any of the
time drunk, nor had they had the assistance
of any one in drinking.

After the decease of Paisley, the field
lay more open for competition in the

who secured by far the greatest run of trade, and the different candidates resorted

business, in defiance of every opposition, to different means to acquire the best share.

It was this person who obtained the appel- Ultimately the post-boys were Uken into

lation of the ** Old blacksmith,'* probably partnership, who had the power of driving

on account of the mythological conceit of to whichever house they pleased : each

Vulcan being employed in rivetting the mock-parson had his stated rendezvous;

hymeneal chains. Paisley was first a smug-
gler, then a tobacconist, but never, at any
time, a blacksmith He commenced his
mock pontifical career about 1789. For
many years he was careful not to be pub-
licly seen on such occasions, but stole
through bypaths to the house where he
was called to officiate, and he there gave a
certificate miserably written, and the ortho-
graphy almost unintelligible, with a feigned present, one of whom was originally a
) signature. An important trial arose out of chaise-driver; the other, David Laing, an

and so strone did this description of oppo-
sition run, that at last the post-boys ob-
tained one entire half of the fees, and the
business altogether got worse. The rates
were lowered to a trifle, and the occupation
may now be said, in common with others,
to have shared the effects of bad times and
starvation prices.

There are two principal practitioners at

one of his marriages ; and on being sum*
moned to London in consequence, to un-
dergo an examination, he was so much
alarmed that he was induced to consult a
gentleman of the Scotch bar on the occa-
sion. His legal adviser stated as his opi-
nion, that using a feigned name was de-
cidedly a misdemeanour, and recommended
the mock parson to effect, if possible, the
destruction of the original certificate, and
substitute another in which he should ap-
pear by his own name, and merely as a
witness to the parties' declaration that they
were marned persons. Afterwards, he in-
variably adopted the plan of merely sub-
scribing his own name as a witness in
future ; and this has been the usual course
of his successors. From that period he

old soldier, who figured as a witness on the
trial of the Wakefields. At home they
exhibit no parade of office; they may b«
teen in shabby clothes at the kitchen fire-
sides of the pot-houses of the village, the
companions of the sots of the country, and
disrespected by every class.

A BLACK DREAM.

A number of years bygone, a black man,
named Peter Cooper, happened to marry one
of the fair towns- women of Greenock, who
did not U8« him with that tenderness tna^

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he conceited himMlf entitled to. Ilaving
tned all other arts to retrieve her lost affec-
tions ID rain, Peter at last resolved to work
upon her fears of punishment in another

; world for her conduct in this. Pretending,
therefore, to awake one morning extrava^
gantljr alarmed, his helpmate was full of
anxiety to know what was the matter; and
having sufficiently, as he thought, whetted
her curiodity, by mysteriously hinting that
*« be could a Ule unfold," at length Peter
proceeded as follows : — ** H— U ob a dream

I last night. I dream I go to Hebben and
rap at de doa, and a gent*man com to de
doa wid black coat and powda hair. Whoa
dere ?^PeeU Coopa.-- Whoa Peeta Coopa ?
Am not know you.— Not knowa Peeta
Coopa 1 Look de book, sa.— He take de
Dook, and he look de book, and he could'na
find PeeU Coopa — Den I say. Oh I lad,
oh 1 look again, finda Peeta Coopa in a
corna.— He take de book, an he look de
book, an at last he finda Peeta Coopa in
lilly, lilly (little) coma.—' Peeta Coopa, —
cook ob de Rojifal Charlotte ob Greenock.'
Walk in, sa.— Den I walk in, and dere was
every ting — all kind of vittal^<»llyflower
too— an feat, an 1 drink, an I dant, an I
ting, an I neva be done; segar too, by
Gum. — Den I say, Oh 1 lad, oh ! lo<^ for
Peeta Coopa wife. He take de book, an
he look all oba de book, many, many, many
a time, coma an all ; an he could na finda
Peeta Coopa wife. Den I say. Oh 1 lad,
ob ! look de black book ; be take de black
book, an he look de black bo<A, and he
finda Peeta Cooopa wife fust pase,— ' Peeta-
Coopa- wife, buckra- woman, bad-to-her-hus-
band.' "•

A MUCH-INJURED MAN.

George Talkington, once a celebrated
horse-dealer at Uttoxeter, who died on the
8th of April, 1826, at Cheadle, Cheshire,
in his eighty.third year, met with- more
accidents than probably ever befell any
other human being. Up to the year 1793
they were as follows: — Right shoulder
kioken ; skull firactured, and trepanned ;
eft arm broken in two places ; three ribs
on the left side broken ; a cut on the fore-
head; lancet case, flue case, and knife
forced into the thigh ; three ribs broken oo

the right side; and the right shoulder,
elbow, and wrist dislocated ; back seriously
injured ; cap of the right knee kicked off;
left ancle dislocated; cut for a fistula;
right ancle dislocated and hip knocked
down ; seven ribs broken on the right and
left sides ; kicked in the lace, and the left
eye nearly knocked out; the back again
seriously injured ; two ribs and breast-bone
broken ; got down and kicked by a horse,
until he had five holes in his left leg ; the
sinew just below the right knee cut through,
and two holes in that leg, also two shedd-
ing cuts above the knee; taken apparently
dead seven times out of different nvers.

Since 1793, (when a reference to these
accidents was given to Mr. Madely, sur-
geon, of Uttoxeter,) right shoulder dislo-
cated and collar4x>ne broken; seven ribs
broken ; breast-bone laid open, and right
shoulder dislocated ; lef. shoulder disloca-
ted, and left arm broken ; two ribs broken;
and right thigh much braised near the
pope's eye. In 1819, then in bis seventy-
sixth year, a lacerated wound in the calf of
the leg, which extended to the foot, mortifi-
cation of the wonnd took place, which ex-
posed all the flexor tendons of the foot, also
the capsular ligaments of the ancle joint ;
became delirious, and so continued upwards
of three weeks: his wonderfiil recovery
from this accident was attributed chiefly to
the circumstance of a friend having sup-
plied him with a quantity of old Madeira,
a glass of which he took every two hours
for eight weeks, and afterwards occasion-
ally. Since then, in 1833, in his eightieth
year he had a mortification of the second
toe of the right foot, with exfoliation of the
bone, from which he recovered, and at last
died from nadually declining old age. He
was the ftither of eighteen children, by one
wife, in fifteen years, all of whom he sur-
vived, and married again at the age of
aeventy.four.*

GRAMMATICAL CONSTRUCTION.

A ftinner's son, just returned from a
boarding school, was asked ** if he knen
^roMMor^^— **Oh yes, Either I" said the
pupil, " I know her very well ;— Oroaiaur
sits in the chair fast asleep.''

P.

• Oxfonl ud Univenltr Henld, Apnl S9, 1«M
M, JvJy 7* 1897f fio« GvMBoek Aarmnmr, Commuieat«l by J. J. A. r.

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A SKETCH.

Man loTM knowledge, and the beami of Trnth
More welcome tonch his nndentandlng't ey.
Than all the blandiahmente of aonnd his ear,
Than all of taste his tongue. AktnHde

A LOVER OP ART TO HIS SON.

Mr DEAX AxrBED,

Could you see my heart yon would know
my anxious feelings for your progress in

study. If I could express myself in word*
of (ire I would bum in lessons upon your
mindy that would inflame it to ardent de-
sire, and thorough conviction, of attuning
success*

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Our talented friend, viho permits you
the use of his coUection of models and
casts, and does vou the honour to instruct
you hy his judgment, assures me that your
outlines evnice an exc«*llent concept iuu of
form. To be able to make a true outline
of a natural form, is to achieve the Arst
great step in drawing.

You lemember my dissatisfaction to-
wards some engravings of hand* and feet
that were given you by the person who
would have continue<l to instruct you, if I
had not been dissatisfied. The hands in
these prints were beautifully finished, but
their form was incorrect; tl»e feet were not
representations of any thing in nature ; and
yet these deformities were placed before
you to begin with. If I had not taught
you from your infancy the value and use
of sincerity, and the folly and mischief
of falsehood, you might have been at this
time a liar, and become a depraved and
vicious character; instead of beuig, as you
are, an upright and honest youth, and be-
coming, as I hope you will, a virtuous and
honourable man. Had you continued the
copying of engraved /i'm of the limbs, your
drawings would have been misrepresenta-
tions of the human figure. You will dis-
cover my meaning if you consider an old
precept, ** Never begin any thing without
considering the end thereof."

Your affectiooate father,

^amrit $Ia^«

No. XXVIII.

[From the « DeviFs Law Case," a Tragi-
comedy, by John Webster, 16*23.]

CUrgy-eomfort.

I mait talk to 700, like a Divine, of patiene«.—>

I kare keard aome talk of it rery mnch, and many
Timce to tkeir and i ton* impatience ; bnt 1 praj.
What practiee do thej make 0D*t in their lirce ?
They are too f^ll of choler with liTiag koaeet,^
And M>me of them not only impatient
Uf their own tlif htent injariea, bnt stark aad
\t one another's preferment.

Sepulture.

Two Bellmen^ a Capuchin ; Romelioy and
ktkere.

Cup. Tor pitv*e sake, yon that have tears to shed,
3«frb a soft reqoiem, and let fall a bead.

For two nnfortnnafe NoMen.* wko«e sad fate
LeaTeii ihpm both de»d and exrcMnmbnioate.
No churehman'ii pray'r to eotnfort their laek froast
No Macrrd need of earth to hide th-^ir bones ;
But an their fury wronght thrm out of breath.
The Canon speaks ihem gnilty of their owa death.

Rawu Denied Christian bnrial! 1 pray, what doet
Ch)tt ?
Or the dead lasy march in the fnneral ?
Or the flattery in the epitaph? — which shows
More rlutti^h far than all ibe»pider» webk.
Shall ever f row apon it : what do these
Add to oar well-brinf after death ?

Cap. Not a scruple.

Rom. Very well then—
I have a certain meditation,
(If I can think of.) somewhat to this pnrpoae^—
rU My it to you, while my moiher there
Numbers her beads. —

** Yon that dwell near these graves and vaalti,
Wkich oft do hide phjrsicians* faalts.
Note what a Hmitll room does uniBce
To expresn men's foods: their vanities
Woald till more volnme in small hand.
Than all the evidence of Chnrrh Land.
Funerals hide men in civil wenrinf.
And are to the Drapers a good hearings
Make th* Heralds langh in their black raymcst
And all die Worthies, die with payment
To th* Altar offerings: tho* their fama.
And all the charity of their name,
'Tween heav'n and this, yield no more light
Than rotten trees, which shine in th* nighL

0 look The last Act be best in tk* Play.
And then rest gentle bones 1 yet pray.
That when by the Precise you*re viow*d,
A supersedeas be not sned ;

To remove yon to a place more airy.

That in your stead they may keep chaiy

Stoekfish, or seacoal , for the abuses

Of sacrilege have tnra'd graves to vildet anMl

How then can any monument say.

Here rest these bones to the Last Day;

When Time, swift both of foot and featker.

May baar them the Sexton knows not wkatharf-*

What care I then, tho* ny last iloap

Be in the desnrt, or in the deep ;

No lamp, nor taper, day and night.

To give my chareel chargeable light ?

1 have there like quantity of ground \
And at the last day I shall be fonnd.**f

Immature Death,
CoatariB0*s dead.
O that he should die so soon !
Why, I pray, tell me:
Is not the shortest fever best 7 and art uC
Bad plays the wor>e for their Irngth ?

e Slnin in a duel.

t \\ ebrtter was parinh-clerk at St. Andrew's, Hwl-
bom. The anxiouM rwnrrrnre to cl.nrcs-matter* .
sacrilege; tombniones; with ibr fret|neBt iairudurtio'
e/ dirges s in this Nnd hia oitirr irigvdir*. ma/ W
traced to hi« prufeMionsl kynDf^lhiak

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OnUtp preferment.

Faliing out

r bare a plot, shall brced«
IV advancement of our hoaw—

To draw the Fictare of Unkindnetfi tnlf
I Im to exprens two that have dearlj loved
Aad fala at variance.

Oh take hi^

A fravc is a lotten foundHlioa.

TFrnm tItA « U-'.A^ »» » n««».i^.. U.. "TU

Aluchie^f

• are like the riaita of Kraneisean frian.

They never rome to pre/ upon os kingle.

Last Love strongest,

— at we love our yoanjcest children best.
So the last fruit of our affection,
Whrrevf r we bestow it, is inovt stroaf,
Mo»t viulmr, most irmistible:
Since *tu indeed oor latest harvest home,
Last merry .uent 'fore winter; and we Widows,
As men report of oarbe::t ptcture-maken.
We love the Piece we are in hand with better,
fhaa all the eacellent work we have done befoie

Mothers auger,

Leowra. Ha, my Son t
1*11 be a fury to him ; like-aa Amaton lady,
rd cut off this right pap that gave him suck.
To shoot him dead. I'll no more tender him.
Than had a wolf stol'n to my teat in th' night.
Aad robb'd me of my milk.

Distraction from guiit.

Leomora {tola). Ha, ha I What say you ?
I do talk to eomewhat methinks ; it may be.
My Evil Genins.— Do not the bells ring ?
i*ve a strange noise in my head. Oh, fly ia
Come, age, and wither me into I he malice
Of those that have been happy; let me have
Oae property for more than the devil of hell ;
Let me envy the pleasure of youth heartily ;
Let me in this life fear no kind of ill.
That have no good to hope for. Let me sink.
Where neither maa nor mexory may find me. (fallM
to th0 ground),

Co^fcMMor (jnUrimg). Yon are well employed, I
hope ; the best pillow ia th* world
For this your contemplation is the earth
And the best object. Heaven.

Loomn. I am whispering
To a dead friend—

OMaeles.

j&t those, that would oppose thu union,
bmw neVr so »nbtle, aad enUngle themielvefl
■ their own work, Uke spiders; while we two
Haste 10 our noble wishes; and preaume.
The aiadraarc of it wiU breed more deliybt^^
An black coparUmaala shews gold more bright.

Nabbi. 16-iO.J

Antiquities,
Horten,a Collector, HisfrieiuL

Friend. You are learned in Antiquities?

Horten. A little. Sir.
I should affect them more, were not tradition
One of the best asaurances to show
They are the thiaxs we think them. What mor«

proofs.
Except perhnpi a little cireumstance.
Have we for this or that to be a piece
Of Delphotf' miuK ? or the marbln sUtnes,
Mads Atheas glorious whea she was suppoved
To aave more images of mea thaa men ?
A weather beatea stoae, with an inscription
That i« not legible bui thro* an optic.
Tells ns its age ; that ia lome Sibyl's cave
Three thousand years ago it was an altar,
Tis satisfaction to our curiosity.
But ought not to necessitate belief.—
For Antiquity,

I do not store up any under Greeinn ;
Your Roman antiques are but modem toys
Compared to them. Besides they are so oonaterfeit
With mouldings, tis learce possible to find
Any but copies.

Friend. Vet you are confident
Of yours, that are of more doubt.

Horten, Others from their easiness
May credit what they please. My trial's suca
Of any thing 1 doubt, all the impostors.
That ever made Antiquity ridiculous.
Cannot deceive me. If 1 light upon
Ought that's above my skill, 1 have recourse
To those, whose judgment at the second view
(If not the tint) will tell me what Philosopher's
That eye*less; nose-less, month-less Statue is,
Aad who the workman was ; tho* saaee his death
Thousands of years have been revolved.

Accidents to frustrate Purprse

How various are the evenu that may depend

Upon one faction, yet the end proi)0!»ed

Not follow the intention 1 accidents

Will ittterpOftC themselves ; like thoee rash men.

That thrusl into a throng, oeea>ioued

By some tumultuous diilcrrnoe, where porhaps

THeir busy enrUMity begeU

Kew qoaiicls with new fssusa..

&£.

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NATURAL CURIOSITIES OF DERBY-
SHIRE.

Further Extracts froic the Journal
OF A Tourist.*

For the Table Book.

Juue I, \B27.

Visited Chatsworth, the princely resi-
dence of the duke of Devonshire^ three
miies to the north-east of Bakewell. As
soon as the sammit of the neighbouring
hili is attained, the house and park lie im-
mediately in front in a beautiful TaHey,
watered by the Derwent. An addition is
making to the main building, which is
large, but not rery hjndsome in its archi-
tectural design ; on approaching it, I
passed over an elegant stone bridge, close
to which is an island whereon a fictitious
fortress is built. The views on all sides
are strikingly fine, and of great varietv;
hills and dales, mountains and woods,
water and verdant pasture lands. It re-
quires " a poet*s lip, or a painter*s eye," to
adequately depict the beauties of this en-
chanting place. Perhaps no estate in the
kingdom furnishes' choicer objects for the
pencil. I do not think, however, that the
grounds in the immediate vicinity of the
mansion are so well disposed, or the scenery
30 rich, nor does the interior offer such
magnificent works of art, as at Blenheim,
There is much sculpture, of various degrees
of merit, distributea about the apartments ;
but the collection is in its infancy, and a
splendid gallery is in progress for its recep-
tion. The finest production of the chisel
is Canova*s statue of Napoleon*s mother ;
its natural grace and ease, with the fine
Sowings of the drapery, and the grave
placidity of the countenance, are solemnly
majestic—she looke the mother of Napo-
leon. Among the other great attractions
nere, are a bust of Petrarch*s Laura, ano-
ther of his present majesty, by Chantrey ;
and a portrait of his majesty by sir Thomas
LAwrence.

The next day I continued my route to-
wards Matlock Bath — as beautiful a ride
as I ever took. Tlie road follows the Wye
for six miles in a vale, past the aged towers
of H addon Hall, and tne scenery presents
everv interesting feature that can be coveted
by the most enthusiastic lover of nature ;—
rugged and beetling crags, gently sloping
hills, extensive woods, rich meadows and
fertile vallies, form the composition of

•See p. IS.

the views. Handsome villas, farm-hou ;es,
and neat cottages — living pictures ol
scarcely minor interest— embellish and
diversify the natural beauties of the delight*
ful scene.

At the end of the six miles, the road
turns over a bridge across the Wye, leading
thiough the dale (Matlock) to the Baih.
Tne river here rolls darkly along, its pro-
gress swifter and its depth greater; the
same rocky barrier that encloses all the
dales in this county uplifting its huge masses
of rocks on either side. The margin of the
river is thickly studded with large trees,
close copse-woods clothe the slopes at the
bottom, and ascend part of the cliffi»' sides
•—wild shrubs branch from the clefts above
whence innumerable jackdaws whirl their
flights, and make incessant monotonous
noise. About a mile before reaching^Matlock
Bath is a mountain called the High-Tor
its bare and jagged head rising far above
the adjoining rocks. I was informed that I
contains a fine natural grotto, but the rivet
was too deep to wade, and I missed the
sight.

On rounding a point, the shining white
buildings of the Baih appear along the foof
and some distance up the side of a steep
lofly hill, called the *' Heights of Abraham.^
Tlie greater part of the village is situated in
the valley, but a second may be said to be
beneath it, through which the river flows ;
its banks are thickly planted with groves of
trees, and winding paths have been made
throughout these delightful haunts, for the
pleasure of the visitors. The clifis rise
opposite majestically perpendicular, and as
finely picturesque as any I saw in Derby-
shire. The " Heighu of Abraham ** are at
least a quarter of a mile above the highest
of the houses. A zigzag road through a
shrubbeiy leads to the celebrated natural
cavern near the summit — an immense re-
cess, as grand as Peak*s Hole, but far more
beautiful ; for its sides are formed of a
variety of spars of surprising brilliancy.
To mineralogists it is the most interesting
resort in England ; and here collectors, pro-
secuting their discoveries, think themselves
happy, although deprived of the light of
heaven for whole days together. The whole
of this immense mountain is one sparkling
mass of various spars and ores.

Ascending this steep road on horseback
I found the views, through the shrubs, ot
the village and valley beneath, the river,
and the surrounding mountains, incon-
ceivably grand. High-Tor was on the
lef^ and Wild-Cat-Tor on the right-^be-
\ond which the Wye, gleaming m Sie sl'qV

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ra3r9, woand sinaously along the verdant
vale, till it was so diminished by the dis-
tance as to seem like a bent iwire of shining
silver, and was lost to sight by the inter-
fentioo of a far-off mountain.

Of all places this seems to present the
^atest inducements to the temporary
visitant ; and to anglers it is the ne pint
ultra of piscatorial recreation.

After a day's enjoyment of this cHarm-
in^ spot, I went forward, but the threat-
ening appearance of the weather induced
me to sojourn at a small public-house
in one of the smaller dales. Heavy clouds
arose, and the rain obscured the distant
hills; running alon^ their summits, having
the appearance of thick fog. . The weather
clearing, I walked out, and surveyed the
curious old limestone built ** hostel," with
the sign of <' A Trout," scarcely decipher-
able from age. Some anelers, whom the
heavy shower had driven for shelter under
the clifis, again appeared, and threw their
artificial temptations on the surface of a
stream Bowing from the mountain at the
back of the little inn. Its water turned
singularly constructed machinery for crush-
ing the lead ore, washed down from a
neighbouring large mine. Immense frag-
ments of rock, by falling betwixt two iron
wheels, with teeth fitted closely together,
are pounded to atoms. A number of men,
women, and children, were busy shovelling
it into sieves set in motion by the machine,
and it separated itself by its own weight
from the stone or spar that contained it.

Determined by my curiosity to descend
nto the mine, I procured a miner to accom-
pany me ; and following the stream for a
short distance, reached a small hut near
the entrance, where I clothed myself com-
pletely in miner's apparel, consisting of a
stout woollen cap, under a large, slouched,
coarse beaver hat, thick trowsers, and a
fustian jacket, with "clods," or miner's
)hoes. At the mouth of the mine we seated
ourselves opposite to each other in a narrow
Alining cait, shaped from the bottom like
a wedge, attached to a train of others of
similar make, used for conveying the ore
from the interior. Having been first fur-
nished with a light each, we proceeded,
drawn by two horses, at a rapid pace, along
a very narrow passage or level, cut through
the limestone rock, keeping our arms with*
in the sledge, to prevent their being jammed
against the sides, which in many places
struck the cars very forcibly. In this man-
ner, with frequent alarming jolts, we ar-
rived ut a shan, or descent, into the mine.
'«Ve got out of our vehicles and descended

by means of ladders, of five fathoms ;c
length, having Ending | laces at the bottom
of each. The vein of the lead ore was
two hunilred fathoms deep. We therefore
descended forty ladders, till we found our-
selves at the commencement of another
passage simil«)Lr to the first. All the way
down there was a tremendous and deafen-
ing noise of the rushing of water through
pipes close to the ear, caused by the action
of a large steam-engine. The ladders and
sides of the rock were covered with a dark
slimy mud. We walked the whole length,
several hundred yards, along the second
level, knee deep in water, till we reached
the spot, or vem, that the workmen were
engaged on. They were labouring in a
very deep pit ; their lights discovered them
to us at the bottom. Into this chasm I was
lowered by a wheel, with a rope round my
bodv; and having broken off a piece of
lead ore with a pickaxe, I was withdrawn
by the same means. Another set of labour-
ers were procuring ore by the process of
blasting the rock with gunpowder — I fired
one of the fusees, and retiring to a distant
shelter, awaited the explosion in anxious
alarm ; its reverberating shock was awfully
grand and loud. My ascent was dreadfully
fatiguing from the confined atmosphere;
and I was not a little rejoiced when I could
inhale the refreshing air, and hail the
cheering light of day.

E. J. II.

THE FRUIT MARKETS OF LONDON
AND PARIS IN THIS MONTH.

A gentleman, one of a deputation for
inquiring into the state of foreign horticul-
ture, visited the Paris fruit and vegetable
market in the month of August, 1821, and
having seen Covent Garden market nearly
a fortcight earlier, under peculiar circum-
stances, was enabled to form an estimate of
their comparative excellencies.

The coronation of George IV. on the
19th of July had caused a glut of fruit in
the London market, such as had never been
remembered, and large quantities of the
fruit, which had not met with the expected
demand, remained on hand.

In regard to Pine-4ippieSj Mr. Isaac An-
drews of Lambeth alone cut sixty ripe fruit
on the occasion, and many hundreds, re-
markable for size and flavntir. came front

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distant parts ot the country. One from
lord Cawdor*j weighed 10 lbs.; and, after
being exhibited at a meeting of the London
Horticultural Society, was sent to the Royal
Banquet. Pine-apples are not to be got at
Paris. When they are wanted at grand
entertainments, they are generally procured
from Covent Garden market by means of
the government messengers who are con-
stantly passing between the two capitals.
From our possessing coals, and from our
gardeners being well versed in the modes
of raising fruit under glass, it is probable
that we shall always mamtain a superiority
in the production of this delicious article
for the dessert.

The quantity of ripe Grapes exhibited
for sale in Covent Garden market from the
middle to the end of July, in the year
alluded to, would, if told, ifurpass the be-
lief of Parisian cultivators ; more especi-
ally when it is added, that the kinds were
chiefly the Black Hamburgh, the white
muscat of Alexandria, and the Frontignacs.
Aiidrews also took the lead in the giape
department ; insomuch that while very
good Black Hamburgh grapes, from differ-
ent parts of the country, were selling,
during the crowded state of the capital, at
4«. per lb., his bunches currently obtained
6«. 6d. per lb. Their excellence consisted
chiefly in the berries having been well
thinned and thoroughly ripened. On the
29th of July great quantities of grapes,
remarkable for size and excellence, still re-
mained in the market, and were selling at
3«. and 3«. 6d. a pound. At Paris ripe
grapes are not to be procured, at this sea.
son of the year, for any sum. On the 14th
of August, pilnce Leopold, then on his way
to Italy, dined with the English ambassa-
dor, when a splendid denser: was desinible;
but ripe grapes coul not be found at Paris.
A price equal to r2«. sterling per lb. nas
pa.d for some unripe bunches, merely to
make a show, fur they were whully unfit fur
table use. On the 21st of the same month
the duke of Wellington being expected to
arrive to dinner, another search for ripe
grapes was instituted throui^houi Pat is, but
in vain, [n short, the Knulish market is
well supplied with fine grapes fnim the
middle of June till the middle of Noveni-
ter; but, fiom being raised under elass,
they are necessarily high priced ; while the
Parts market offers a copious supply of the
table Chasselas, from the middle of Sep
tember to the middle of March, at veiy
cheap rates, — from 12 to 20 sous, or 6</. to
M. per pound ; the coarse vineyard grapes
being only lif. a pound.

The Bigarreau ot graffion Cherry wa5
still very abundant in Covent Garden mar-
ket, and also the black or Dutch guigne :
at Paris, however, even the late cher-
ries had almost ceased to appear in the
market.

In the London market the only good
Pear was the large £ngU»h Jargonelle (ex
^pargne.) The Windsor pear was on the
stalls, but not ripe. The Green chisel,
(h&tiveau,) and the skinless, (poire sans
peau,) were almost the only others I could
see. The Paris market excelled, being
well supplied with fine summer pears. The
Ognolet or summer archduke, was pretty
common : it is named ognolet ^ from grow-
ing in clusters on the tree like bunches
of onions. The large Blanquet, and the
long-stalked blanquet, (the latter a very
small fruit,) were aUo common, llie
Epargne, or Grosse cuisse Madame, was
plentiful. A fruit resembling it, called
Poire des deux t^tes, was likewise abun-
dant : it was large, sweet, and juicy, quite
ripe, but without much flavour. The
Epine-rose, (Caillot or Cayeoui,) a very
flat pear ; the Musk-oranfl:e, which is of a
yellow colour only ; the Red orange, which
has the true orange hue; and the Uobine,
or Uoyal d*€te, were all plen.ifuL The
small early Rousselet was exceedingly
common and cheap, being produced abun-
dantly on old standards in all country-
places. Towards the end of August, the
Cassolette, a small pear of good flavour,
and the Rousselet de Rheims, made their
appearance; and the Poire d*Angleterre {k
beurr^) began to be called through the
streets in every quarter of the city.

ApoleM were more plentiful at London
than at Paris. Th«» Dutch Codliii and the
Carlisle Codlin were abundant ; and the
Jenneting, the Summer Pearmain, ard the
Ilawthorndean, were not wanting. At
Paris very few apples appeared. The Sum-
mer Calville, a small conical dark-red fruit,
and the Pigeonnet, were the only kinds I
remember to have seen.

Plums were more plentiful and in greater
variety at the March^ des Innocens than at
Covent Garden. At Paris, the Keine
Claude, of excellent quality and quite ripe,
was sold at the rate of two sous, or one
penny, a dozen ; while the same plum
(vreen-gage) cost a penny each in London,
though in an unripe state. The next in
excellence at Paris was the Prune royale,
of good size, and covered with the richest
bloom. Ttie Jaune-hAttve, the drap d*or,
the Mirabelle, the Musk-damson or Malta
plum, were common ; likewise the Prccoct

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de Toursy remarkable for its |)ecu]iar dark
bae; and a deep violet-coloured plum,
called Prune noire de Montreuil. The Biue
Perdrigon was jusl coming in. At Coveiit
Garden the Pnmordian, or jaune-h&tive,
and the morocco or early damask, were the
ouly ripp plums to be seen.

}§pr\eoUt were much more plentiful at
the Innocens than at Covent Garden. The
common apricot, the Portugal and the
Angoumois, which much resemble each
other, were frequent ; these were small, of
brisk flavour. The Abricot-p^che, how-
ever, not only excelled the others in size,
but in quality, holding that superiority
among the Parisian apricots which the
Moorpark does among the English ; and it
appeared in considerable' abundance. At
London only the Roman and Moorpark
were to be found, and the latter was not
yet ripe.

In Peaches the French market most de-
cidedly surpassed the English. The quan-
tity of this fruit presented for sale toward
the middle of August appeared surprisingly
' great. It was chiefly from Montreuil, and
in general in the must perfect slate. Al-
though ripe, scarcely a single fruit had
* suffered the slightest injury from the attacks
of insects. This fact affords satiafaciory
proof that the plastered walls, being smooth
and easily cleaned, are unfavourable to the
breeding and lod^'ing of such insec'.s as
often infest our rouuher fiuit-wai!s. The
fine state of the fruit also shows the un-
common care v.'hich must ha bf stowed by
the industrious inhabitunls of Montreuil to
prevent its receiving bruises in the (father-
ing or carriage. The principal kinds in
the market wee the small Miunonne ; the
larue Mignonne, with some of the excellent
subvariety called Belle Uauce ; the yellow
Alberge; the Beilegarde or Gallunde; the
Malta or Italian peach; the red Madeleine
or De Courson ; and the Karly Purple.
I MeioM appeared in great profusion at
Paris. In the March^ des Innocens and
Marchd St. Hunore the kinds were rather
select, chiefly different varieties of Cante-
loup. These were not sold at so cheap a
rate as might have been expt^cted ; ripe
and well-flavoured canteloups costing 2, 3,
, or 4 francs each. But in almost every
street the marchands de melons presented
I Ihemselves ; some occupying stalls, some
; moving about with brouettes or long wheel-
j barrows, and others with hampers on their
I oacks, supported on crochets. In general
those sold in the streets were much cheaper,
(perhaps not more than half the price ot
uie others*) b'tt of coarse quality, such as

would scarcely be thought fit for use in
England. The fruit is frequently long
kept ; and in the heats of August the odour
exhaled from the melon-stalls was sickening
and offensive. The kinds were chiefly the
following: the Maraicher, a large netted
melon, so called from being cultivated in
the marais or sale-gardens ; the Melon de
llonfleur, of great size, often weighing from
20 to 30 lbs. ; and the Coulombier, a coarse
fruit, raised chiefly at the village of that
name. These were alm(»st the only sorts
of melon sold in Paris, till our countryman
Blaikie, about forty-five years ago, intro-
duced the Rock Canteloup and Early Ro«
mana« It may be noticed, that melons of
all kinds, even the best canteloups, are here
raised in the open ground, with the aid of
hand-glasses only, to protect the young
plants in the early part of the season. In
Covent Garden market a great many small
mt'ions, chiefly of the green-fleshed and
white-fleshed varieties, appeared ; but they
were uniformly high-priceJ, though not
proportionally deaier than the Parisian
canteloups, consid<»:ing that they had all
been raised on hot-beds under glass-frames.

Mutberr'^s were much more plentiful a;
Paris th<ta at London.

Ac Paris, fresh or recent Figs were, at
this time, very common and very cheap ; it
was indeed the height of the fig-season,
and they daily arrived in great quantities
from Argenteuil. The round white fig
seems to be the only kind cultivated; at
least it was the only kind that came to
market. No fresh figs can be expected in
Covent Garden till the end of August, and
then only small parcels. To make amends
the London market was supplied with fine
GooM^'berries in profusion, while not one oi
good qfialiiy was to be seen at Pans. The
SHine tiling may be said o( Raitpberries ^nd
Cnrraittn^ which are in a great measure
neglected in 1- ranee, or used only by con-
fectioners. The Parisians have never seen
the>e fruits in perfection ; and it is therefore
no wonder that, in the midst ol a piofuse
supply of peaches, reine claudet, figs, and
pears, (hey should be overlooked. There
exists a strong prejudice against the goose-
berry, which prevents the Parisians from
giving the improved kinds a fair trial : they
have no idea that it is possible that gooMS
berries should form an excellent articl- ot
the dessert ; they think of them only as fit
for making tarts, or sauce for mackerel 1*

• Mr. Pftt. NbUl. S«c. C«l. Hort. Soe.ia Hortie«lt«-
ralTour.

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Cfee lee ^enni).

Belonging to Sir Charles Lockuart,

OF LCE AND CaKNWORTH, LaNARKSHIUE.

This curious piece of antiquity is a stone
of a dark red colour and triang:ular sha|>e,
in size about half an inch each side, set in
a piece of silver coin ; which, though much
defaced, by some letters still remaining, is
supposed to be a shilling of Edwaid I., tht
cross being very plain, as it is on his shil-
lings. It is affirmed, by tradition, to have
been in the Lee family since the year 1 320
odd ; that is, a little after the death of king
Robert Bruce, who having ordered his heart
to be carried to the Holy Land for burial,
one of the noble family of Douglass was
sent with it, and b said to have got the
crowned heart in his arms from that cir-
cumstance. On the other hand, it is alleged
that the person who carried the heart was
Simon Locard, of Lee, who about that time
borrowed a large sum of money from sir
William de Lendsay, prior of Air, for which
he granted a bond of annuity of ten pounds
of silver, during the life of the said sir WiU
Ham de Lendsay, out of his lands of Lee
and Cartland. The original bond, dated
13i3, and witnessed by the principal nobi-
lity of the country, is among the (amily
papers. The sum, which was a gremt one
m those days,' is thought to have been bor-
rowed for that expedition ; and, on the au-
thority of the story, of his being the person
who carried the royal heart, it is affirmed,
that he changed his name to '< Lockheart ;**
or, as it is sometimes spelled, '* Lockhart,"
and obtained a heart within a lock for part
of his arms, with the motto, ** corda serata
pando."

It is said that this Simon Lockhart having
taken a Saracen prince, or chief, prisoner, his
wife came to ransom him ; and, on counting
out the money or jewels, the stone in question
fell out of her purse, and she liastily snatch-
ed it up, which Simon Lockhart observing,
fisuted on having it, or retaining bis pri-

soner. Ijpon this the Saracen lady gave ii
him, and told him of its many virtues,
namely, that it cured all diseases in cattle,
and the bite of a mad dog boUi in man and
beasL

To effect these wonders the stone is
dipped in water, which is given to diseased
cjt.ule to drink, and to a person who has been
bitten ; and the wound, or part infected, '»
washed with the water. There are nc
words used in the dipping of the stone, nor
any money taken by the servants without
incurring the owner s displeasure. People
come from all parts of Scotland, and even
from Yorkshire, to get the water in which
the stone is dipped, to give their cattle,
especially when ill of the murrain and
black-leg.

Many years ago, a complaint was made
to the ecclesiastical courts against the laird
of Lee, then sir James Lockhart, for using
witchcraft : a copy of their act is hereto
annexed. There is no date ; but from the
orthography* and James being the name of
the laird of Lee, it must at least have been
in the seventeenth century.

Copt op 4V Act of the Symud and
Assembly.
" j4pud Gloigowy the 15 Octobr,
*< Synod. Se$s. ^.

** Q'lhilk dye, amongest the referriet of
the brethren of the ministrie of Laneik, it
was propondit to the Synode, that Gawen
Hammiltonne of Ilaplocke had preferit
an complaint before them against Sir
James Lockart of De, anent the super-
stitious vsinsr of an stene set in selver foi
the curing of diseased cattell, qlk, the said
Gawen affirmit, coud not be lawfully vsed,
and that thev had differit to give ony deci-
sionne therein, till the advice of the Assem-
blie might be had concerning the same.
The Assemblie having inquirit of the maner
of vsing thereof, and particularlie vnder-
stoode, by examinationne of the said Laird
of Lie, and otherwise, that the custome is
onlie to cast the stene in sume water, and
give the diseasit caitil thereof to drink, and
qt the sam is dene wtout vsing onie words,
such as charmers and sorcerers vae in their
unlawfuU practisess ; and considering that
in nature they are roony thinges seen to
work strange eflTects, qfof no humane witt
can give a reason, it having pleasit God to
ffive vnto stones and herbes special virtues
for the healing of mony infirmities in man
and beast,— iS vises the brethren to surcease
thir proces, as a*rin they perceive no ground
of offence ; and admonisnes the said Laird
of Lie in the vsing of the said stone, to I'Ji

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need that it be v^it heiraAer nvt the least
icandai that possiblie maye bie.

" Extract out of the books of the Assem-
Vlie helden at Glasgow, and sabscribed be
ihair clerk, at thair comand.

" M. Robert Youko,
" Clerk to the AttemblU at GUugow!*

When the plague was last at Newcastle,
the inhabitants are said to have sent for the
Lee Penny, and given a bond for a large
sam in trust for the^ loan ; and that they
thought it did so mnch good, that they
offered to pay the money, and keep the
Lee Penny, but the owner would not part
with it. A copy of this bond is alleged to
have been among the family papers, but
supposed to have been spoiled, with many
more, by rain getting into e charter-room,
during a long minority, and no family re-
siding at Lee.

A remarka le cure is alleged to have been
oerfo rmed about a century ago, on a lady

aird, of Sauchtonhall, near Edinburgh,
** who, having been bit by a mad dog, was
come the length of a hydrophobia ; upon
which, having sent to fcieg the Lee Penny
might be sent to her house, she used it for
some weeks, drinking and bathing in the
water it was dipped in, and was quite re-
covered."*

Good reasons are assigned for rejecting
the stonr of Locard having been the bearer
of the heart of Robert Bruce; and there
are some ludicrous instances of wonderful
cures performed in the north of England on
credulous people, by virtue of water wherein
the Lee Penny was reputed to have been
dipped, and yet neither the water nor the
Lee Penny had crossed the Tweed.

For the Table Book.
THE DEVIL'S PUNCIl-BOWLf

You, — Mr. Editor, — Have journeyed
from London to Portsmouth, and must
recollect Hindhead— you will, therefore,
sympathize with me : — the luxury of riding
round the rim of the DeviPs Punch-Bcwl
IS over 1 Some few years back the road,
on one side, was totally undefended against
casualties of any descriptions-overturning
the coach into the bowl (some three or four

* 0«iitieaiaa*s Macuinc, Dee. I787« from wheno*
%mB ptirticiiljini, and the enfrarinjf of the Lee Penny,
ire derived. Farther aooooats of it from correepood
•tttii will be aoeepuble.

t A deep rnll«7 in Snrrej, eo callrd from ite cireolar
hxwk. It b aboi«t fortjr-oiM ^lUee from London.

hundred yards deep) — the bolting of a
horse — or any other delightful mishap
which could hurl you to the bottom — all is
over I They— ^the improvers of roads, but
destroyers of an awful yet pleasing picture,)
— have cut a new road about fifty or sixty
feet below the former, and raised a bank,
four feet high, round the edge, so that an
accident is almost impossible, and no such
chance as a roll to the bottom will again
occur 1 The new nmd is somewhat shorter
than the old— the effect completely spoiled
— the stone to perpetuate the murder of the
sailor unheeded*— the gibbet unseen— ano
nothing left to balance the loss of these
pteanng memorials, but less labour to the
horses, and a few minutes of time saved in
the distance I Eighteen years since, the
usual stoppage, and " Now, gentlemen, it
you'll have the goodness to alight, and
walk up, you'll oblige," took place. At
the present time you are ealloped round,
and have scarcely time to admire the much*
spoken-of spot.

The last time I passed the place, on the
Indefendentf when conversing on the sub-
ject, our coachee, Robert (or Bob, as he
delights to be called) Nicholas, related an
anecdote of an occurrence to himself, and
which tells much of the fear in which pass-
ing the Devirs Punch. Bowl was once held.
You shall have it, as nearly as I can recol-
lect it:—

An elderly ladv, with two or three
younger ones, and servants, engaged the
coach to London, but with a special agree-
ment, that the paity should traft round the
said bowl,—** As we understand, it is next
to a miracle to go along that horrid place
in safety/' On the journey, each change of
horses was accompanied by an inquiry,
how hf was the dreaded place ? a satisfac-
tory answer was, of course, generally given.
When, at length, the coach arrived at the
stone-memorial, one-third round the place,
the coachman alighted, and pretended to
be making some trifling alterations to the
harness: his lady-passenr^i, looking com-
placently into the vast deli beneath her,
inquired its name. «< Higgin-bottom,
ma'am."—'* What a delightful but singular
looking spot I" was the rejoinder. The
coach then drove on. On its arrival at the
next stage, Road-lane, the anxious inquiry,
** How j^r off, sir f was again repeated.
« We're passed, ma'am."—" Passed it !—
in safety I — bless me ! — where was It V —
'* Where I stopped, and you asked tht

* The old stone wmt destrojed at the alteration oi
the road ; but a new on* kaa Terr recebUr be«i
erectol on tte aev nrnd.

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name ot that deep dell— that was the
DeviPs Punch- Bowl— 11 iggin-bottom 's the
right name.'' The delighted passenger re-
garded the coachman for his innocent de*
ception, and promised always, on that road,
to travel under his guardianship.

■ I have spoken of a stone erected

on the Bowl, and if» in this '* airy nothing,"
I do not occupy too much space that, un-
doubtedly, could be better filled, a brief
recoUectiou of the fact may close this notice
of the DeviPs Punch-Bowl :—

An unfortunate sailor, with a trifle in his
pocket, on the way to Portsmouth, fell in,
at Esher, with three others, then strangers,
and, with characteristic generosity, treated
them on their mutual way. The party were
seen at the Red Lion, Road-lane, together,
which they left, and journeyed forward.
On Hindhead they mardered their com-
panion— -stripped the body, and rolled it
down the Devil's Punch-Bowl. Two men,
who had observed the party at the Red
Lion, and who were returning home, not
long after, on arriving at the spot, observed
something' which appeared like a dead
sheep; one descended, and was shocked
to find a murdered man, and recognbed
the sailor: conjecturing who were his de-
stroyers, they followed in haste. On ar-
riving at Sheet, the villains were overtaken,
when in the »rt of disposing of their vic-
tim's apparel. Tliey were apprehended,
and shortly afterwards hung and gibbeted
near the spot. When at the place of exe-
cution one of them observed, be only wished
to commit one murder more, and that
should be on Faulkner, the constable, who
apprehended him !— The following is (or
was) the inscription on the stone; and
many a kind " Poor fellow !" has been
breathed as the melancholy tale has ended.
Thii Stoni
Wm ereetod in detcMtation of a torbuou

Committed near this Spot
On nn

UVKNOWN SaILOB,

Bj Edward Ix>DogBa, Michael '7i|fj, aai

James MaKhall,

September £4, 1788.

Gen. iz. 6.

• WkoM theddeth raan*e blood, by man dMll kis

blood be ehed."

R. N. P.

P. S — Since writing as above, a mntlla-
tiou of the Sailor's stone is roticinl iii a
Poruroouth paper by the following adver-
tisciRnut :-*

Tek Guineas Reward.

Whereas some evil-disposed person or
persons did, in the night of Tuesday, the
17ih insunty maliciously break, deface,
and iKJURE the stone lately put up at
Hindhead, by the Trustees of (he Lower
District of the Sheetbridge Turnpike Road,
to perpetuate the memory of a murder
committed there, in the place of one re-
moved by John Hawkins, Esq.

Whoever will ^ive information of the
offender or offeuders shall on his, her, or
their conviction receive a Reward of Tek
GuiVEAS, which will be paid by Mr. James
Howard, the Surveyor of the said Road.

fntky,26th July, ^327.

NOTE.

** You, Mr. Editor,** says my pleasan
correspondent R. N. P., **you, Mr. Editor, '
have journeyed from Loridon to Ports-
mouth, and must recollect Hindhead — the
luxury of riding round the rinc of the
Devifs Punch-Bowl —the stone to perpetu- |
ate the memory of the sailor — the firibbet, '
&c." Ah mel I travel little beyond books
and imagination ; my personal journeys
are only gyraiion-like portions of a circle,
scarcely of larger circumference than that
allowed to a tethered dumb animal. If
now and then, in either of the four seasons, j
I exceed this boundary, it is only for a few j
miles into one of the four counties — to a '
woodland height, a green dell, or beside a
still flowing water— -to enjoy the features of
nature in loneliness and quiet — the sight of
•• every green thing'* in a glorious noontide,
the twilight, and the coming and going of
the stars :^-on a sunless day, the vapours of
the sky dissolving into thin air, ihc flitting
and saiiin)( of the clouds, the ingatherings
of night, and theihick darkness.

No, Mr. K. N. P., no sir, 1 am very Jiitle
of a traveller, 1 have not seen any of the
things you pleasure me by telling of in
your vividly written Ittter. I know no
gibbet of ihe muiderer of a sailor, except
one of the •* men in chains ** below Green-
wich—whom 1 saw last Whitsuntide two-
years through the pensioners' telescopes
from the Observatory* — was a slayer of nis
messmate; nor though I have heard and
read of the Devil*s PunchBowl, have I
been much nearer its " rim " than the ;
gibbet of Jerry Abershaw at Wimbledon
Common.

Abershaw was the last of the great high-
waymen who, when people carried money

* Told of in the Ever^Ha^ hytu^^

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fabout them, robbed every night, and some-
times in the open day, on Bagshot, Wim-
oledon, Finchley, and other commoD!i, and
high roa^ds, in the neighbourhood of Lon-
don. Some of these highwaymen of the
'* old school*' lived in the wretched purlieus
of Saffion-hill, and would mount and **take
the road '' in ihe afternoon from the end of
Field-lane, at Holborn -bridge, as openly as
travellers setting out from an inn. On the
order in council, in 1797, which prohibited
the Bank from paying in specie, gold
went out, and bank-notes came in ; and as
these were easily concealed, and when
stolen were difficult to pass, the business of
** the highway " fell off, and highwaymen
gradually became extinct. Jerry Abershaw
was the most noted, because he was the
most desperate, and most feared of these
marauders, lie was a reckless desperado
who, pistol in hand, would literally have
.** your money, or your life ;" and perhaps
both. He was as famous in his day as
Sixteen-st ring-Jack, or the Flying Highway-
man, lie shot several persons; his trial
excited as much interest as Thurtell's ; and
the concourse of people at his execution
was innumerable. It was in the height of
summer ; and the following Sunday being
fine, London seemed a deserted city ; for
hundreds of thousands went to see Aber-
shaw hanging m chains. His fame will
outlast his gibbet, which I suppose has
been down years ago. The papers tell us,
that the duke of Clarence, as Lord High
Admiral, ordered down the pirates* gibbets
from the river-side. These were the last
'* men in chains " in the vicinage of the
metropolis.

•
July, 1827.

JERRY ABERSHAW

THE MEN IN CHAINS.

Townsend, the Bow-street officei's inter-
esting examination before the police com-
mittee of the House of Cummons in June,
1816, contains some curious particulars
respecting Abershaw, the pirates, " the dan-
gers of the road,** and " hanging matters,"
toward the close of the last century.

Q. The activity of the officers of Bow-
street has infinitely increased of late years?

A, No dottbi about it ; and there is one

thing which appears to me most extraordi*
nary, when I remember, in very likely a
week, there should be from ten to fifteen
highway robberies. We have not had a
man committed for a highway robbery
lately ; I speak of persons on horseback.
Formerly there were two, three, or four
highwaymen, some on Hounslow Heath,
some on Wimbledon Common, some on
Finchley Common, some on the Romford
Road. I have actually come to Bow-street
in the morning, and while I have been
leaning over the desk, had three or four
people come in and say, * I was robbed by
two highwaymen in such a place ;* ' I was
robbed by a single highwayman in such a
place.' People travel nuw safely, by means
of the horse-patrol that sir Richard Ford
planned. Where are there highway rob-
beries now? As I was observing to the
chancellor, as I was up at his house on the
Corn Bill: he said, *Townsend, I knew
you very well so many years ago.' 1 said,

* Yes, my lord ; 1 remember your coming
first to the bar, first in your plain gown,
and then as king's counsel, and now chan-
cellor. Now your lordship sits as chan-
cellor, and directs the executions on the
lecorder's repot t; but where are the high-
way robberies now T and his lordship said,

* Yes, I am astonished.' There are no
footpad robberies or road robberies now
but merely jostling you in the streets. They
used to be ready to pop at a man as soon
as he let down his glass.

Q. You remember the case of Mershawf
A. Yes ; I had him tucked up where he
was ; it was throuvrh me. I never left a
court of justice without having discharged
my own feeling as much in favour of the
unhappy criminal as I did on the part of
the prosecution ; and I once applied to
Mr. Justice HuUer to save two men out of
three who were convicted ; and on my ap-

rlication we argued a eood deal alK>ut it.
said, ' My lord, I have no motive but my
duty; the jury have pronounced them
guilty. I have heard your lotdship pro-
nounce sentence of death, and I have now
informed you of the different dispositions
of the three men. If you choose to execute
them all I have nothing to say about it ;
but was I you, in the room of beinf^ the
officer, and you were to tell me what
Townsend has told yuu, I should think
it would be a justification of you to re-
spite those two unhappy men, and hang
that on*; who has been convicted tliiee
times before.* The other men never liaii
been convicted before, and the other hdd
been three times convicted ; and he \etv

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properly did. And how aire juuges or jus-
iice^ to know how many times a man has
been convicted but by the information of
the ofiictsr in whose duty and department
It is to keep a register of old offender}.
The magistrate sits up there, he knows no-
thing of it- till the party is brought before
bim; he cannot.

Q. Do you think any advantages arise
from a man being put on a gibbet after his
execution ?

A^ YeSy I was always of that opinion ;
and I recommended sir William Scott to
hang the two men that are hanging down
the jiver. I will state my reason. We
will take for granted, that those men were
hanged as this morning, for the murder of
those revenue officers — they are by law dis*
sected ; the sentence is, that afterwards, the
body is to go to the surgeons for dissection ;
there is an end of it— it dies. But look at
this : there are a couple of men now hang-
ing near the Thames, where all the sailors
must come up ; and one says to the other,
' Pray what are those two poor fellows there
for r— * Why,' says another, * 1 will go and
ask.' They ask. * Why, those two men
are hung and gibbeted for murdering his
majesty's revenue officers.' And so the
thinf( is kept alive. If it was not for this,
people would die, and nobody would know
auy thing of it. In Abershaw's case I said
to the sheiiff, ' The only difficulty in hang-
ing thi^ fellow, upon this place, is its being
so near lord Spencer's house.* But we went
down, and pointed out a particular place ;
he was hung at the particular pitch of the
hill where he used to do the work. If there
was a person ever went to see that man
hanging, I am sure there was a hundred
thousand. I received information that they
meant to cut him down. I said to sir
Richard Ford, 'I will counteract this ; in
order to have it done right, I will go and
<tt up all night, and Have eight or ten
officers at a distance, for I shall nail these
fellows ;* for I talked cant language to him.
However, we had the officers there, but
nobody ever came, or else, being so close
to Kent-street, they would have come down
and sawed the gibbet, and taken it all
away, for Kent- street was a very desperate
place, though it is not so now. Lora chief
justice Eyre once went the Home Circuit ;
he began at Hertfoid, and finished at
Kingston. Crimes were so desperate, that
in his charge to the grand jury at Hertford,
he finished — * Now, gentlemen of the jury,
jou have heard my opinion as to the enor-
mity of the offences committed ; be careful
wl at bills you find, for whatever bills you

find, if the parties are coiivicted before me,
if they are convicted for capital offences, 1
have made up my mind, as I go through
the circuit, to execute every one.' lie did
so — ^be never saved roan or woman^— and a
singular circumstance occurred, that stands
upon record fresh in my mind. There were
seven people convicted for a robbery in
Kent-street; for calling in a pedlar, and
afler robbing the man, he jumped out of
window. There were four men and three
women concerned ; they were all convicted,
and all hanged in Kent-street, opposite tlie
door; and, I think, on kennington Common
eight more, making fifteen : — all that were
convicted were hung.

Q. Do you think, from your long obser
vation, that the morals and manners of the
lower people in the metropolis are better or
worse than formerly ?

j4. I am decidedly of opinion, that, with
respect to the present time, and the early
part of my time, such as 1781, 2, 3, 4, 5,
6, and 7, where there is one person con-
victed now — I may say, I am positively
convinced^there were five then. We nevei
had an execution wherein we did not grace
that unfortunate gibbet (at the Old Bailey)
with ten, twelve, to thirteen, sixteen, and
twenty ; and forty I once saw, at twice ; ]
have them all down at home. I remembei
in 1 783, when sergeant Adair was recorder,
there were forty hung at two executions
The unfortunate people themselves laugh at
it now ; they call it * a bagatelle.' I wa;
conversing with an old offender some year>
ago, who nas now quite changed his life .
and he said, * Why, sir, where there is cnt
hung now, there were five when I wa
young ;' and I said, ' Yes, you are right ii
your calculation, and you are very luck}
that you were spared so long, and havi
lived to be a better man.' 1 agree witi
George Barrington — ^whom I brought fron
Newcastle — and however great lord chie'
baron Eyre's speech was to him, after h<
had answered him, it came to this climax
* Now,' says he, * Townsend, you hearc
what the chief baron said to roe; a fin<
flowery speech, was it not ?' * Yes :' • Bu
he did not answer the question I put to him.
Now how could he? After all that th<
chief baron said to him after he was ac
quitted — giving him advice — this word wa;
every thing : says he, * My lord, I hav«
paid great attention to what you have beei
stating to roe, after my acquittal : I returt
my sincere thanks to the jury for tLei
goodness: but vour lordship says, yoi
lament very much that a man of my abili
ties should not turn my abilities to a bet^e*

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use. Now, my lord, I hare only this reply
to make: I am ready to go into any service,
to work for my labour, if your lordship will
but find me a master.* Why, what was the
reply to that ? < Gaoler, Uke the prisoner
away.' Why who would employ him?
It is really ftircical. I have heard magi*
itrates say, * Young man, really I am
very sorry for you; you are much to be
pitied ; you should turn Your talents to a
better account ; and you should really leave
off this bad course of life.* Yes, that is
better said than done ; for where u there any
body to take these wretches t They have said
to me ; * Sir, we do not thieve from disposi*
lion ; but we thieve because we cannot get
employment : our character is damned, and
nobody will have us :' and so it is; there
IS no question about it

REMARKABLE EPITAPHS.

At Pemryk.

Hera liet Williui Smith: and wbat U aoneirhiit

nrith.
He waa bora, brad, and basg'd in thU hen pariah.

At Stayerton.

Hara liath the bodj of Batty Bowdea,
Who woold lira looker but aha aoadaa {
Sorraw and frief anada her decay.
Till her bad lag ean'd har away.

At Loch Rauba.

Mera lies Donald and hia wife,
Janet Mao Fee :
Aged 40 bee.
And 30 »hea.

Ok Mr. Bywater.

Hara lia fhe ramaiaa of hia relatire'a pride,
B]rwater he Hred, and by water ha died ;
Thoogh by water he felU yet by water he*ll rise.
By water baptiaaMl atCaiainf the akiaa.

On a Miser.

Kara lias oaa who for med*eiae wonld not gira
A little gold, and so hU life ha loat :

1 Umej now he*d wish again to live,
Goald ha bat gnaaa Sow maeh hb foa'ral coat.

S.S.S.

. KING HENRY IL

Described by Giraldus Cambrehsis,

fFho accompanied kirn (at he afterwards
did King John) into Irdand, A. D. 1172.

Henry 11., king of England, was of a
very good colour, but somewhat red ; has
head great and round, bis e^es were fiery,
red, and grim, and his face rery high
coloured ; his voice or speech was shaking,
quivering, or trembling; his neck short,
his breast broad and big ; strong armed ;
his body was gross, and his belly somewhat
big, which came to him rather by nature
than by any gross feeding or surfeiting;
for his diet was very temperate, and to say
the truth, thought to be more spare than
comely, or for the state of a pnnce ; and
yet to abate his grossness, and to remedy
this fault of nature, he did, as it were,
punish his body with continual exercise,
and keep a continual war with himself.
For in the times of his wars, which were
for the most part continual to him, he had
little or no rest at all; and in times of
peace he would not grant un»o himself any
peace at all, nor take any rest : for then
aid he give himself wholly unto hunting ;
and to follow the same, he would v^ry
early every morning be on horseback, and
then go into the woods, sometimes into the
forests, and sometimes into the hills and
fields, and so would he spend the whole
day until night. In the evening when he
came home, he would never, or very sel-
dom, sit either before or after supper ; for
though he were never so weary, yet still
would he be walking and going. And,
ferasmuch as it is very profitable for every
man in his lifetime that lie do not take too
much of any one thing, for medicine itself,
which is appointed for roan*s help and
remedy, is not absolutely perfect ana good
to be always used, even so it befell and hap-
pened to this prince; for, partly by his
excessive travels, and partly by divers
bruises in his body, his legs and feet were
swollen and sore. And, though he had no
disease at all, yet age itself was a breaking
sufficient unto him. He was of a reason-
able stature, which happened to none of
his sons; for his two eldest soni weii>
somewhat higher, and his two young«
were somewhat lower and less than he was.
If he were in a good mood, and not angry,
then would he be very pleasant and elo-
quent : he was also (whicn was a thing ver^
rare in those days) very well learned ; he
was also very affable, gentle, and court-
eous ; and besides, so pitiful, that when ht

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had overcome his enemy, yet woufd he be
overcome with pity towards him. In war
he was moat valiant, and in peace he was
as provident and circumspect. And in the
wars, mistrusting^ and doubling: of the end
and event tliereof, he would (as Terence
writcth) try all the ways and means he
could devise, rather than wage the btUtle.
If he lost any of his men in the ti^ht, he
would marvellously lament his death, and
seem to pity him more being dead, than he
did regard or account of him being alive;
moie bewailing the dead, than favouring
the living.

In times of distress no man was more
courteous ; and when all things were safe,
no man more cruel. Against the stubborn
anu unruly, no man more sharp, yet to the
humble no man more gentle ; hard to-
wards his own men and household, but
liberal to strangers ; bountiful abroad, but
sparing at home ; whom he once hated, he
would never or very hardly love; and
whom he once loved, he would not lightly
be out with him, or forsake him. He had
great pleasure and delight in hawking and
hunting : — would to God he had been as
well bent and disposed unto good devo-
tion !•

It was said, that after the displeasure
grown between the king and his sons, by
the means and through the enticing of the
queen their mother, he never was account,
ed to keep his word and promise, but,
without any regard or care, was a common
breaker thereof. And true it is, that, of a
certain natural disposition, he was light
and inconstant of his word ; and if the
matter were brought to a narrow strait or
pinch, he would not stick rather to cover
his word, than to deny his deed. And for
this cause, in all his doings, he was very
provident and circumspect, and a very
upright and severe minister of justice, al-
though he did therein grieve and make his
friends to smart. His answers, for the
most part, were perverse and froward.
And, albeit, for profit and lucre all things
are set to sale, and do bring great gains, as
well to the clergy as the laity, yet they are
no better to a man's heirs and executors,
than were the riches of Gehasi, whose
greedy doinsrs turned himself to utter ruin
and destruction.

He was a gieat peace-maker, and careful
keeper thereof himself; a liberal alms-
giver, and a special benefactor to the Holy
Land; he loved humility, abhorred pride.

• nir«]d<n kwe lUodei to his toMml with Thomas
hBtokcu

and much oppressed his nobility. Th^
hungry he refreshed, the rich he regarded
not. The humble he would exalt, but tht
mighty he disdained. He usurped much
upon the holy church; and of a certain
kind of zeal, but not according to know.
l(*dge, he did intermingle and conjoin pro
fane with holy things; for why ? jfja tcould
be all iu all kimwlf. He was the child ot
the holy mother church, and by her ad-
vancer! to the sceptre of his kingdom ; and
yet he either dissembled or utterly forgot
the same; for he was slack always in com-
ing to the church unto the divine service,
and at the time thereof he would be busied
and occupied lather with councils and in
conference about the aflUirs of his common-
wealth, than in devotion and prayer. The
livelihoods belonging to any spiritual pro*
motion, he would, in time of their vacation,
confiscate to his own treasuiy, and assume
that to himself which waK due unto Christ.
When any new troubles or wars did grow,
or come upon him, then would he lavish
and pour out all that ever he had in store
or treasury, and liberally bestow that upon
a soldier, which ought to have been given
unto the priest. He had a very prudent
and forecasting wit, and thereby foreseeing
what things might or were like to ensue,
he would accordingly order or dispose
either for the performance or for the pre-
vention thereof; notwithstanding which,
many times the event happened to the con-
trary, and he was disappointed of bis ex-
pectation : and commonly there happened
no ill unto him, but he would foretell there-
of to his friends and familiars.

He was a marvellous natural father to
his children, and loved them tenderly in
their childhood and young years ; but the)
being grown to some age and ripeness, he
was as a father-in-law, and could scarcely
brook any of them. And, notwithstanding
they were very handsome, comely, and
noble gentlemen, yet, whether it were that
he would not have them prosper too fast,
or whether they had evil deserved of him,
he hated them ; and it was full much
against his will that they should be his
successors, or heirs to any part of his in-
heritance. And such is the prosperity of
man, that as it cannot be perpetual, no
more can it be perfect and a^tsured t for
why ? — such was the secret malice of for-
tune against this king, that where he should
have received much comfort, there had he
most sorrow; where quietness and safety
— there nnquietness and peril ; where peace
— there enmity ; where courtesy— there in-
gratitude; wh«>re rest — there trouble. And

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fvhether this happened by the means of
their marriaees, or for the punishment of
the father*s sins, certain it is, there was no
good agreement, neither between the father
and the sons, nor yet among the sons them-
selves.

But at length, when all his enemies and
the disturbers of tlie common peace were
suppressed, and his brethren, his sons, and
all othen his adversaries, as well at home
as abroad, were reconciled ; then all things
happened and befell unto him (though it
were long first) after and according to his
own will and mind. And would Vo God
be had likewise reconciled himself unto
God, and by amendment of his life, had in
the end also procured his favour and
mercy ! Besides this, which I had almost
forgotten, he was of such a memory, that
if he had seen and known a man, he would
not forget him : neither yet whatsoever he
had heard, would be be unmindful thereof.
And hereof was it, that he had so ready a
memory of histories which he had read,
and a knowledge and a manner of experi-
ence in all things. To conclude, if he had
been chosen of God, and been obsequious
and careful to live in his fear and after his
laws, he had excelled all the princes of the
world ; for in the gifts of nature, no od«
man was to be compared unto him.*

AMSTERDAM — WITHOUT WATEK.

An amusing and lively account of this
capital, its public institutions, society,
painters, &c. may be found in a small
volume, entitled ** Voyage par la Hol-
) lande,** published by a French visitant in
1806. This is probably the most recent
sketch of Amsterdam. With the exception
of the conversion of the stadt-house into a
king*s palace, and the establishment of cer-
tain societies, its general aspect and cha-
racter have undergone little change for a
century past ; insomuch that " J-c Guide
d'Amsterdam,'* published by Paul Blad in
1720, may be regarded as formmg a correct
and useful pocket-companion at the pre-
sent day. Tl)e descriptions given of the
Dutch towns by Mr. Ray in 1663, Dr.
B:own in 1668, Mr. Misson in 1687, and

Dr. Northleigh in 1702, are appUcaole ic
almost every particular to the same towns
at the present day; so comparatively sta-
tionary has Holland been, or so averse are
the people to chane^cs.

That fuel should lie scarce and dear in
Amsterdam, the capital of a country desti-
tute of coal-mines, and growing very little
wood, might he expected ; but, surrounded
and intersected by canals as the city is, it
is surprising that another of the necessaries
of life, pure water, should be a still scarcer
commodity : yet such is the case. There
is no water fit for culinary purposes in
Amsterdam but what is brought by boats
from the Vecht,. a distance of fifteen miles ;
and limpid water is brought from Utrecht,
more than twice that distance, and sold in
the streets by gallon measures, for table
use, and for making of tea and eoflee.*

Fw the Table Book.

REASON,
If vot Ruyme.

Dmne PrvdeDe* wliiapen marrf not
*Tin yoti hare pmee eaongli to paj

For chattel*, and to keep a cot.
And learo a mite for qnarteHlajr*

Betide ehair. table, and a bed,
ThoRe need, who cannot lire on aii.

Two plates, a basket Tor the bread.
And knives and forks at least two pair.

When winter rattles in the sky
Drear is the bed that waaU a raf ,

And hapless he whoee purse is drj
When siokness calls for pill sad draff.

So, Bess, we*11 e*en pnt off the day

For parsoa C to tie as fast--

Who knows bnt lack, so long away.

May come and bide with as at last f

Hope shall be onrs the tedions while ;

We*ll mingle hearts, our lips shall Join
ril only claim thy sweetest smile.

Only thy softest trees be mine.

VfBITf.

« Kxtracted (from lord Moiintirorris's History of " '
the lri«h Parliai»enf. roL L page 33. et iafra) by
•Taa Veiled Shrit.'*

• Hortienltanl Tmj>0

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For the TahU Booh.
SONG.

iMtlATCD FROM THE G£RMA|I OF HoLTY.
Wer voUte lick mit Orillen plafea, te.

Who— wbo mmld tbiak of ■uimwluy
Ib honn of ]roat1i aod bloominjc tprinf,
WlwB brif kt oeruleaa ikics are o*er u.
And sm-lit paths before as—
Who— wbo would nflbr shade to steal

Orer the forehead's Teraal light.

Whilst yooBf Hope in her hear'a-ward flight
Oft taras her faee roaad to rereal

Her bright eye to the nptnr'd sight—
Whilst J07, with maa/ smiles aad beeks.
Bids af porsae the road he takes.

Still, as erst, the fovataia plajat

The arbouf's greea aad eooU
Aad the fair qaeea of aight doth gase

On earth, ae ehasteljr beaotifol
As whea she op*d her woad*ring eyes
First— on the flowers of Paradise.

Still doth, as erst, the grape-jviee bnghtea
The heart in fortone's wajward hoar-*

Aad stall do kindred hearto delight ia
AffwtioB*B kiss ia ereaing-bower.

Still Philoaiela*s paaeioaato strain

Bids kmg-fled feelings come again.

The world, to aw, if wond'rons fair-
So fair, that shoald I cease to hold
* Cmamanion with its scenes so dear.
I'd think my days were nearly told.

R. W. D.

SWEETHEART SEEING.

St. Marr*8 Eve. — Isr Chancery, Ah-
^ust 2, 1827. In a cause, *^ Barkery. Ray,*'
a deponent &wore, that a woman, named
Ann Johnson, and also called '* Nanny
Nunks,** went to the deponent, and said to
tier, " ni tell you what I did to know if I
:ould have Mr. Barker. On St. Mark's
night I ran round a haystack nine times,
with a ring in my hand, calling out, ' Here's
the sheath, bat where's the knife?' and,
when I was running round the ninth time,
[ thought I saw Mr. Barker coming home;
but he did not come home that night, but
was brought from the Blue Bell, at Bever-
ley, the next day."

THINGS WORTH REMEMBERING.

COHTROVEKST.

A man who u fond of disputing, wil^
in time, have few friends to dispute with.

Speech.

Truth is clothed in white. But a he
comes foxth with all the colours of the
rainbow.

Adversity, a good Teacher.

Those bear disappointments the beit,
who have been the most used to them.

Example

When a misfortune happens to a friena
look forward and endeavour to prevent the
same thing from happening to yourself.

Standard of Value.

The worth of every thing is determined
by the demand for it. In the deserts of
Arabia, a pitcher of cold water is of more
value than a mountain of gold.

Luck and Labour.

A guinea found in the street, will not Bo
a poor man so much good as half a guinea
earned by industry.

Earning the best getting.

Give a man work, and he will find
money.

Early Hours.

Since the introduction of candles, luxurv
has increased. Our forefathers rose with
the lark, and went to bed with the sun.

Indications of the State-pulse.

A jolly farmer returning home in his
own waggon, after delivering a load of
com, is a more certain sign of national
prosperity, than a nobleman riding in his
chariot to the opera or the playhouse.

OVEKWISE AND OTHERWISE.

A man of bright parts has generally more
indiscretions to answer for than a block*

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- tome monitor a seen.

Calls for tlie long.— the call sliall be obey a ;
For 'tia that lilent monitor, I ween.

Which led m j Tonth, to manj a green-wood shade ;

Show*d me the spring, in thonsand blooms array'd.
And bade me look towards Heaven's immensity.

This is a power that schoolmen never made^
That comes all unsolicited and ftnee.
To flxe the youthful baxd-4o I this is Poesy f

TA4 Song ^th« Patriot

ROBERT MILLHOUSE

—The ttlented aathor of the poem
ftom whence the motto is extracted is

scarcely known to fiime, and not at aO
to fortvne. His unostentatious little

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▼o1ame« entitled *' The Song of the Patriot,
Sonnets, and Songs," was thrown accident-
filly in my way ; and its perusal occasions
me to acquaint the readers of the Table
Book with its uncommon merit. I do not
know any thing concerning the poet
beyond what I have derived from printed
particulars, which I now endeavour to dif-
iuse. That he is highly esteemed by a
discriminating brother bard in his native
county, is apparent by the following beau-
tiful address to him in the Nottingham
Mercury :^

Stakas.

Hj (lionglits M« of a tolitarj pUoe,

W1i«r« twUi|bt dwells, where •nnbaMM nrely fall;
And th«re • wild-itwe huifa \m peuire ^mot,

RallMted Id a fomitain el^ar sad •mall ;

AboTe them rite dark shadowy trees aad taU,
Whilst roaad them fiow nmk ai^rt^hadee la th*
gloom,

Whieh seem with noxioes iaflaeaee to pall
The foantain's lif ht» aad taint the flower's perfaait |
As faialy they wonld mar what the/ mifht aot oc^

These, mind me, Millhovse I of thy wplrit^ liftn

That twiligr^t makes in life so dark as thiae I
Aad tboQf h I do aot fear the roee may blight,

Or that the foantmn's flow may sooa deeliae ;

Hope, is there none, the honghe whieh frown malign*
High OTer>head, shoald let in hearen't sweet face;

Yet shall not these their life unknown reeign.
For aatare*s TOtaries, waadering in each place.
Shall flod their seexat shade, and. marrel at their
graoe.

It appears from a small volume, pub-
lished in 1823, entitled *< Blossoms— by
Robert Mil I house — being a Selection of
Sonnets from his various Manuscripts,**
that the Rev. Luke Booker, LL.D. vicar
of Dudley, deemed its author *' a man
whose genius and character seemed to merit
the patronage of his country, while his
pressing wants, in an equal degree, claimed
Its compassion.'' The doctor " presumed
to advocate his case and his cause " before
the " Literary Fund," and a donation
honourable to the society afforded the poet
temporary relief. This, says Millhouse,
was " at a time when darkness surrounded
me on every side." In a letter to Dr.
Booker, lamenting the failure of a subscrip-
tion to indemnify him for publishing his
pderu, when sickness had reduced a wife
and infant child to the bordets of the grave,
he says, ** I am now labouring under in-
disposition both of body and mind ; which,
with the united evils of poverty and a bad
trad$, have brought on me a species of

melancholy that requires the utmost exer
tions of my philosophy to encounter.^
About this period he wrote the following ^—

To A Leafless Hawthorw.

Hail, mitie tree 1 for, tkoagh Norember's wiad

Has throwa thy Terdant numtle lo the gronad z
Yet Nature, to thy Toeal iamates kiad«

With berries red thy matnm-bovghs has ennm*d
Tkee do I enry : for, bright April show'n

Will bid ngeia thy fresh green leares ez]>aad ;
And May, light floating ia a elond of flow'rs,

Will eanse thee to re-bloom with magic hand.
Bnt, on a^ spring, when genial dew-drops fell.

Soon did life's north-wind enrdle them with lioet ;
And, when my summer-bloKSom op*d its bell,

la blight aad mildew was its beaaty lost.

Before adducing other specimens of
his talents, it seems proper to give som«
account of the poet; and it can scarcely
be better related than in the following

Memoir of Rorert Millhouse, ry bis
XLDER Brother, John Millhouse.

Robert Millhouse was bom a^ Notting-
ham the 14th of October, 1788, and was
the second often children. The poverty of
his parents compelled them to put him to
work at the age of six years, and when ten
he was sent to work in a stocking-loom.
He had been constantly sent to a Sunday
school, (the one ^hich was under the parti-
cular patronage of that truly philanthropic
ornament of human nature, the late Mr.
Francis Wakefield,) till about the last-men-
tioned age, when a requisition having been
sent by the rector of St. Peter's parish, Dr.
Staunton, to the master of the school, for
six of his boys to become singers at the
church, Robert was one that was selected ;
and thus terminated his education, which
merely consisted of reading, and the first
rudiments of writing.

When sixteen years old he first evinced
an inclination for the study of poetry, which
originated in the following manner. — Being
one day at the house of an acquaintance,
he observed on the chimney-piece two
small statues of Shakspeare and Milton,
which attracting his curiosity, he read on a
tablet in front of the former, that celebrated
inscription —

** The cload-eapt towers, the gorgeons palaeen.
The soleroa temples, the great globe itseU,
Yea, all whieh *t inherit, shall dissolve ;
And like the baseless fabric of a Ttsioa,
LeaTO aot a wreck behind !**

Its beauty and solemnity excited in hit
mind the highest degree of admiration

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At the Fist opportunity he related the oc-
carrence to roe with apparent astonish-
ment, and concluded by sayino:, ** Is it not
Scripture T In reply, I told him it was a
passage from Shakspeare*s play of the
** Tempest," a copy of which 1 had in my

fossession, and that he had better read it.
or, although he had from his in6aincy been
accustomed to survey with delight the
beautiful scenery which surrounds Not-
tingham, had heard with rapture the sing-
ing of birds, and been charmed with the
varied beauties of the changing seasons;
and though his feelings were not unfre-
quently awakened by hearing read pathetic
narratives, or accounts of the actions and
sufferings of gp^at and virtuous men, yet he
was totally ignorant that such things were
in any wise connected with poetry.

He now began to read with eagerness
such books as I had previously collected,
the principal of whicn were some of the
plays of Snak8|jeare, Paradise Lost, Pope's
Essay on Man, the select poems of Gray,
Collins, Goldsmith, Prior, and Pamell, two
volumes of the Tatler, and Goldsmith's
Essays, all of the cheapest editions. But,
ere long, by uniting our exertions, we were
enabled to purchase Suttaby*s miniature
edition of Pupe*s Hom«r, Dryden's Virgil,
Hawkesworth s translation of Telemachus,
Mickle's version of the Lusiad, Tliomson*s
Seasons, Beattie's Minstrel, &c. These
were considered as being a most valuable
acquisition ; and the more so, because we
had feared we should never be able to
obtain a sight of some of them, through
their being too voluminous and expensive.

In 1810 he became a soldier in the Not-
tinffhamshire militia, joined the regiment
at Plymouth, and shortly afterwards made
an attempt at composition.

It will readily be expected that now,
being separated, we should begin to cor-
respond with each other ; and one day, on
opening a letter which I had just received
from him, I was agreeably surprised at the
sight of his first poetical attempt, the
** Stanzas addressed to a Swallow ;** which
was soon aAer followed by the small piece
written " On finding a Nest of Robins."
Shortly after this the regiment embarked at
Plymouth, and proceeded to Dublin ; from
which place, in the spring of 1812, I re-
ceived in succession seveial otlier efforts of
his rouse.

Being now desirous of knowing for cer-
tain whether any thing he had hiiherto pro-
duced was worthy to appear in print, he
requested me to transmit some of them to
the editor of the Nottingham Review, with

a desire that, if they met with bis appro
bation, he would insert them in his paper;
with which request that gentleman very
promptly complied. Having now a greater
confiaence in himself, he attempted some-
thing of a larger kind, and produced, in the
summer of 1812, the poem of ** Nottingham
Park."

In 1814 the regiment was disembodied,
when he again returned to the stocking-
loom, and for several years entirely neg-
lected composition. In 1817 he was placed
on the staff of his old regiment, now the
Royal Sherwood Foresters; and in the
following year became a married man. The
cares of providing for a family now increased
his necessities ; he began seriously to reflect
on his future prospects in life ; and per-
ceiving he had no other chance of bettering
his condition than by a publication, and
not having sufficient already written to
form a volume, he resolved to attempt
something of greater roagnitude and im-
portance than he had hitheito done ; and
n February, 1819, began the poem of
** Vicissitude." Tlie reader will easily con-
ceive that such a theme required some
knowledge of natural and moral philoso-
phy, of history, and of the vital principles
of religion. How far he has succeeded in
this poem is not for me to say ; but certain
it is, as may be ex|)ected from the narrow-
ness of his education, and his confined
access to books, his knowledge is very
superficial : however, with unceasing ex-
ertions, sometimes composing while at
work under the pressure of poverty and ill-
health, and at other times, when released
from his daily labour, encroaching upon
the hours which ought to have been allotted
to sleep, by the end of October, 1820, the
work was brought to a conclusion.

To his brother's narrative should be
added, that Robert Millhouse*s ** Vicissi-
tude," and other poems, struggled into the
world with great difficulty, and were suc-
ceeded by the volume of ** Blossoms." The
impression of both \7as small, their sale
slow, and their price low ; and nearly at
soon as each work was disposed of, the
produce was exhausted by the wants of the
author and his family.

Fresh and urgent necessities have re-
quired fresh exertions, and the result is
" The Song of the Patriot, Sonnets, and
Songs," a four-shilling volume, "printed
for the Author and sold by R. Hunter,
St. Paul's Church-yard, and J. Dunn, Not-
tingham." The book appeared in the

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antumn of last year, after poor Millhoase
had sufft^red much privation from the bad
state of the times. It was publiithed with
a slender list of 8ubscribers^K>nly seventy-
seven 1 — and, though intended to improve
his situation, has scarcely defrayed the bills
of the stationer and printer.

The author of « The Song of the Pa-
triot " anticipated the blight of his efforts^
tn the commencement of that poem, he
says:—

'— *Tu difflevU for little men

To nuM their feeble pigmjr heads to h:j(h»
At to attract the f laaee of paMiag ken

Where giaat ihoalden intercept the eky ;

And ah 1 *tis diflealt for tvch as I,
To wake fit straias where mighty laiBstrels nn^i

Perhaps, even this, shall bat be born and die:
Not fated to enjoy a second spring,
Bstlike some hawk-straek bird, expire on new-fiedg'd
wing.

In this poem there are stanzas expressed
with all a poet's fire, and all a patriot's
heartfelt devotion to his country.

Land of my fatken ! may thy rooky coast
Long be the bvlwark of thy free-bora race s

Long may thy patriots hare just eanae to bosst
That mighty Albion Is their native place,
SUU be thy sons nneqnall'd in the ehaso

Of glory, be it science, arts, or a.ins ,
And first o*enreening eonqneron to disgrace ,

Yet happier far, when Peane in all her ehanos.

Drives o«t from every land the din of war's alarms.

Potent art thon in poesy— Yet there still
Is one thing which the bard hath seldom scann*d ;

That national, exalting loeal thrill.
Which makes ovr home a consecrated land t
*11s not enough to stretch the Mnses* wand

O'er stotrs, when thy bast blood has pnrehas*d fame ;
Nor that thy fertile genias shoald expand

To east o*er foreign themes the witching fiame x

Thb haidi thy lyn performed, and won a glorious

Be every hlU and dale, when childhood waadera,
And every grove and nook, the lover knows.

And every stream, and runlet that meanders.
And every plain that conn freedom's fiMe
The dwelling-plaeo of Song,— and when npoae

The great immortal worthies of onr isle
Be haUow'd groondr-aad when the pilgrim goes

To hail the saerad dust, and muse awhile,

Be heard the freo-bora strain to blanch the tyraat*s

The patriotism of that people, traces of
whose victories are observable in many of
oar customs, has been well discriminkted.
^ In the most virtuous times of the Roman
republic their country was the idol, at whose
•hrine her greatest patriots were at all linm

prepared to nffer whole hecatombs of hih-
man victims : the interests of other nations
were no further regarded, than as they coiM
be rendered subset vient to the gratification
of her ambition; and mankind at large
were considered as possessing no rights^
but such as might with the utmost pro-
priety be merged in that devouring vortex,
with all their talents and their grandeur,
they were unprincipled oppressors, leagued
in a determined conspiracy against the
liberty and independence of mankind.***
Every English patriot disclaims, on behalf
of his country, the exclusive selfishness of
Roman policy ; and Millhouse is a patriot
in the true sense of the word. His *' Song
of the Patriot" is a series of energetic
stanzas, that would illustrate the remark.
At the hazard of exceeding prescribed
limits, two more are added to the specimens
already quoted.

A beacon, lighted on a giant bin ;

A sea-girt watch-tower to each ncighbomriaff atola ;
A barrier, to eontrol the despot's will ;

An instnunent of aU-directing fate

Is Britain ; for whate*er ia man is gnat,
P^U to that graataess have her soao attaia*d i

Dnadfnl in war to hurl the battle's weigkl;
Supreme in arts, la commerce anrestrain'd ;
Peerless in magic soog, to hcfld the soul eochaui''d.

Ia wealth and power stnpendons Is onr isle I
ObtainM by Labour's persevering hand :

And heaven-hora Liberty extends her smfll
To the nmotest coraen of our Innd i
The meanest subject feels her potent wand ;

Peasaat and peer an by one law ooBtnll'd ;
And this it is, that keeps us great and grand :

This Is the impube makes our warrion bold.

And knits mon close the bond our fathen sealM of old

The prevailing feature in Robert Mill-
house's effusions is of a domestic nature.
He loves his country, and deems his birth*
place and the hearth of his family its bright-
est spots. One of his sonnets combines
these feelings : —

Home.

Scenes of my birth, and eanless childhood honn

Ye smiling hills, aad spacious fertile vales I
When oft I waader*d, pluckiag vernal flowers.

And nnird in the odour>breathing gales;
Should fickle Fata, with talismanie wand.

Bear me afar when mther India glow%
Or fix my dwelling on the Polar Hnd,

When Matnn wean her over^nriag snows*
Btill shall your charms my fimdest thomas adora

Whea placid evening paiats the wastara sky,

• Robert Hall.

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Ami when Ryperioa wakes the Uashiag Morn*
To rear hu gorgeous sapphire throne on high.
For, to the guileless heart, where'er we roam.
No scenes delight us Uke oar mveh-Ior'd Home.

A maa so humble, with such acquire-
{Dents as have been here ezemphfiedy and
so unfortunate as to have derived little from
their exercise but pain and disappointment,
may be imagined to have penned the fol-
lowing address in distress and despond-
ency ;—

To Genius.

O bom at heaven, thon Child of magic Song t
What pangs, what enttiag hardships wait on thee.
When thon art doom*d to eramping Poverty ;

The poi^aons shafts from Defamation's tongne,—

The jeers and tonntings of the blockhead throng.
Who joy to see thy hold exertions fail {
While Hanger, pinching as December's gale,

Brings moody dark Despondency along.
And, should'st thou strive Fame's lofty mount to

The steps of its ascent are oat in sand ;

And halfway up,— a snake-scourge in her hand,

Larks palUd Envy, ready to assail :
And last, if thou the top, expiring, gain.
When Fame applauds, thou hearest not the strain.

In this sheet there is not room to further
make known, or plead at greater length,
the claims of Robert Millhouse to notice
and protection. I should blush for any
reader of poetical taste, with four shillings
to spare, who, after perusing the preceding
extracts, would hesitate to purchase the
poet*s last little volume. I should more
than blush for the more wealthy, who are
reputed patrons of talent, if they decline to
seek out and effectually succour him. I
am, and am likely to remain, wholly unac-
quainted with him: my only wish is to
induce attention to a talented and estima-
ble individual, who is obscure and neg*
lected, because he is unobtrusive and
modest.

AuguitB, 1827. •

AN INFERNAL PALINDROME.

{Palindnrnt, A word or sentence which is the same
read backward as forwards : as, wtadam ; or ihis
seatenee S«6{ dura a mdiins. - JoAnson.]

Whence did Geoffry Crayon derive «* The
Poor Devil Author," the title to one of his
** Tales of a Traveller,*' but from a legendary
story, according to which the devil is ac-
quainted with versification, although his
lintfl are oonstructed in a very rematkable
manzwr; tor they can be read forward and

backward, and preserve the same sen-ve.
There is a specimen of this '* literary in-
genuity '* in the present volume of the
Table Book, (col. 28.) The ^ Lives of the
Saints** afford another, viz :—

St. Martin (of whom there is an account
in the Every-Day Book^ vol. i. p. 1469)
having given up the profession of a soldier,
and being elected bishop of Tours, when
prelates neither kept carriages, horses, nor
servants, had occasion to go to Rome, in
order to consult his holiness upon some
important ecclesiastical matter. As he was
walking gently along the road, he met the
devil, who politely accosted him, and ven-
tured to observe how fatiguing and in-
decorous it was for him to perform so long
a journey on foot, like the commonest of
cockle-shell-chaperoned pilgrims. Tlie saint
knew well the drift of Old Nick's address,
and commanded him immediately to be-
come a beast of burthen, or Jumetiiutn ;
which the devil did in a twinkling, by
assuming the shape of a mule. The saint
jumped upon the fiend's back, who, at first,
trotted cheerfully along, but soon slackened
his pace. The bishop, of course, had neithei
whip nor spurs, but was possessed of a
much more powerful stimulus, for, says the
legend, he made the sign of the cross, and
the smarting devil instantly galloped away.
Soon, however, and naturally enough, the
father of sin returned to sloth and obsti-
nacy, and Martin hurried him again with
repeated signs of the cross, till twitchei*
and stung to the quick by those crossings
so hateful to him, the vexed and tired re-
probate uttered the following distich in a
rage:—

Signa te, Sifnat temere me fangis et angis :
Roma tibi subito motibos ibit amor.

That is — " Cro99f cross thytelf — thou
plaguest and vexest im without necessity ;
for, owing to my exertions, Rome, the ob-
ject of thy wishes, will soon be near." The
singularity of this distich consists, as
hinted above, in its being paliudromieai $
or it reads backwards as well as in the
common way — ^ugis, the last word of the
first line, makes signa — et makes te^and
so on to the beginning. Amor^ the last of
the last line, read backwards, makes Rowta
^^ibit makes tibi — and so forth.

These lines have been quoted imper-
fectly and separately in '* Encyclopedies "
and other books, under the words *' Palin-
dromical verses ;*' but the reader will not
easily meet with the legendary tale, which
gives them historical consistence and mean*
ing.

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Mf futhm'9 Diber, Vot the world's
BteaaM 1m goes btfora it all in (dhj,

No. XXIX.

[From the '* Gentleman Usher/* a Comedy,
by G. Chapman, 1606.]

Fineentio, a Prince (to gain Mm over to
kie iniereti in a love-affairj gulU Bassiolo^
a formal Gentleman Usher to a Oreai Lord^
with commendations of his wise house-or'
derittg at a great EtUertainment,

Vimc. — lieaides, food Sir, yonr Show did ikew oo
well—

Bats. Did it iadoed. my Lord?

Vine. O Sir, beliere ic,
*Twu the best fashion*d and wdl-order'd thiof^
That orer eye beheld : and therewiihal.
The fit attendance by the senrants need.
The feafle gnise in serTinf erery guest.
In other entertainments; every thing
Aboat yoar house so sortfally disposed.
That eT*a as in a tnm-spit (call'd a Jack)
One riee* assists another ; the great wheels.
Taming bat softly, make the less to whirr
Abont their bnsiness ; erery different part
Coaenrring'to one eommendable end :
80, and in sneh eonformaaco, with rare grace
Were all things order'd in yonr good Lord's house.

Bau, The most fit Simile that erer was.

Vine, Bat shall I tell yon plainly my eoBOoit,
Tonching the man that (I think) cansod this order f

Bast, Aye, good my Lord.

Fine. Yon note my Simile?

Bats. Draws from the tam<«pit — — —

Viae I see, yoa hare mo.
Eren as In that qnahit engine yon haTO seem
A little man in shreds stand at the winder,
Aad ssemi to put in aot all things abu him*
Aifting aad palling with a mighty stir«—
Yet adds 00 force to it, nor nothing does 1
80, thoogh yonr Lord be a brare gentleman,
Aad seems to do this bnsinoss, he does nothiag .
Some man abont him was the festival robe
That made him shew so glonons and divine.

Bau. I cannot tell, my Lord ; bat I shonld kaoift
If any snch there were.

Fine. Should know, quoth you ?
I warrant, you know well. Well, soma there be.
Shall have the fortuae to have such rare mea
(like brave Beasts to their arms) support thoir statai
When others, of as high a worth aad breed,
Ara made the wasteful food of them they feed.—
What sute hath yoar Lord made you for yonr scrviot f

Paeewnede Courtship^

The iosne Baeeiolo deeeribed.

I^ortaaa, I must havo other answer, for I kw
&M#«AnyiAl0r.— >hUplaotisfrsats ferhaitMl yon.

««i7 BMm, MustI but I don't see any ascinMiy thai

' I M«st lov« you. Idoooafeseyoaart
* TtUBi A ftstgsK MM*

[From the « Bastard," a Tragedy, Aatbor
Unknown, 1652.]

Lovefe Frown.

RodsrigmeM. Thy unole, Lore, holds stlU a jeakoa
eye
On all my actions ; aad I am admad.
That his suspicious ears
Are still behind the hangings ; that the s^rranta
Have from him in oommand to watch who visits.
*Tis safest, in my judgment, in his presence
That thou forbear to cast a smile upon me.
And that, like old December, I should look
With an unpleasant ana oontracted brow.

Farina. What, can'st thou change thy heart, aj
dear, that heart
Of fieah thoa gav*at m^, into adamant.
Or rigid marble ? can'st thou frown on me ?

Bod. Yon do mistake me, sweet, 1 mean not so
To change my heart ; 1*11 change my oountenanea.
But keep my heart as loyal as before.

Far. In truth I cannot credit it, that thoa
Can*st cast a frown on me ; I prithee, try.

Rod. Then thus 1
(Ae tritt, and camnat | thsff smik oa seek siksr.)

F», I prithee, sweet, betake thyself la school 1
This lesson thoa must learn ; ia faith thoa art out.

Bod. WelC I must learn, aad praotioi it, or wa
Shall blast our budding hopes.

For. Come, try agaia.

Bod, But if I try, aad prove a good proficioat }
If I do act my part discrstely, yoa
Must take it as a play, aot as a truth %
Think it a formal, aot a real frowa.

For. IshaU

Bod. Then thus 1 Tfaith, minion. 111 kwk to then.
{iks swoons.)

Bod. Why, how bow, sweet I— I did nustmst Chf
weakness 1
Now I have leam*d my part, you are to seek.

Far. 'Faith, 'twas my weakness; when I did psr
eeive
▲ eloud of rage condensed on thy bnnr.
My heart began to melL

[From « Love Tricks,"
James Shirley.]

a Comedy, by

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Jnf. O do not mock, Seliaa : let oot excellence.
Which 7<m are full of, make you prowd ami woiafuL
I am a OeBtlenao ; thoogh my outward part
Caarot attract affeetioa, yet Mine have told me,
Natare hath made me what the nee'l aot shame.
Yet look iato my heart ; there yoa shall m«
What yoa cannot despise, for there yoa are
With all yoor graces watting on yoa ; there
Lore hath made yoa a throne to sit, and rale
O'er Infortanio; all my thoughts obeying.
\nd honoaring yoa as qaecn. Pass by my outside,
Ify breast I dare compare with any man.

&>/. Bot who can see this breast you boast of so ?

/a/. O *tis an easy work ; for though it be
Not to be pierced by the doll eye, whose beam
Is speaton outward Hhapes, there is a way
To make a search into its hidden*tit pas«age.
I know you would not love, to please your sense.
A tree, that bears a ragged unleav'd top
In depth of winter, may when summer comes
Speak by his fruit he is not dead but youthful.
Though onoe he shew'd no sap : my heart's a vlant
Kept down by colder thoughU and doubtful fears.
Your frowns like winter storms make it seem desd.
But yet it is not so ; make it but youn.
And you shall see it spring, and shoot forth leaves
Worthy your eye, and the oppressed sap
Ascend to every part to make it green.
And pay your love with fruit when harvest oomefe.

Se/. Then yon confess your love is oold as ytt.
And winter's in yo«^r heart.

/•/. Mistake me not, Selina, for I isy
My heart is oold. not lov«.

M. And yet your bve it from yoor heart, IMl wai^
rant.

/«/. O you are nimble to mistake
My heart u oold in your displeasures only.
And yet my love is fervent j for your eye,
Casiiaf out beams, maiaUias the flame it bans ia.
Again, sweet Love,

My heart is not mine own, 'tis yours, you have it ;
And while it naked lies, not deign'd your bosom
To keep it warm, how can it be but ookU
In danger to be frosen ? blame aot it.
You only are in fault it hath no heat.

Set, Well. Sir ; I know yoa have rhetorie, but I
Can without art give you a final answer.

/a/. O stay, and think awhile ; I eaaaot relish
You should say final: sweet, deliberate \
It doth concern all the estote I have ;
I mean not dunghill treasure, but my life
Doth sUnd or fall to it ; if yoar answer be
That yoaoan love me, be as swift as light* aing •
But if you mean to kill me. and reject
My so long love^evotioas, which I've pirid
As to an altar, stay a little longer.
And let me eooat the riches I shaU loee
By one poor airy word ; first give xam back
That part of lafortnio that ia kat
Wltkb jvov Isre ; ptey Mt tha t jraal witk Bt.

C. L.

RIDICULE.

In many cases ridicule might be used in
the place of severe chastisement, and some-
times with a more lasting effect, especially
among young people. One scheme of this
kind was iriea with great success by the
elder Dr. Newcome, who governed a school
at Hackney about forty years ago. When
a pupil mistook in the pronunciation of a
Latin word, he used to make the faulty lad
repeat after him, before the whole school,
''NosGennHni, non cuHSmus, quanilt&tem»
syilab&rum." The penalty of uttering, is
talse quantity, this absurd assertion, sup-
posed to be made by a German, importing
that '*His countrymen minded not how
they pronounced Latin,** was more dreaded
by the boys than the ferula or the rod.

ttlDlCULOUS SITUATIONS.
Literary Nurserymen.

Melancthon studied the gravest points
of theology, while he held his book m one
hand, and in the other the edge of a cradle,
which he incessantly rocked.

" M. Esprit,** a celebrated author and
scholar, " has been caught by me," says
M. Marville, '* reading Plato with great
attention, considering the interruption
which he met, from the necessity of fre-
quently sounding his little child's whistle "

A Pridcess a-pick-a-pick.

The great constable of France, Anne de
Montmorency, a man whose valour and
military skill was only exceeded by his
pride, his cruelty, and his bigotry, was
ordered by Francis I. to carry on his shoul-
ders, or any way that he could contrive it,
his niece, the princess of Navarre, to the
altar, where she was, against her will, to be
manied to the due de Cleves. Brantome
observes, that this was a hard task, as the
little lady was so loaded with jewels, and
rich brocade of gold and silver, that she
could scarcely walk. The whole court were
amazed at the king's command ; the queen
of Navarre was pleased, as she wished her
daughter to be humbled, on account of her
having imbibed Lutheran principles; but
the constable was much hurt, at being ex
posed to the ridicule of the whole world
and said, *' It is henceforward over with
me; my favour at court is passed away :"
accordingly, he ^as dismissed as soon as
Jm wedding was over.

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THE QUINTAIN,

Running at the '* Quintain,** an old spoil
K>rmerly common in England, unexpectedly
occuniy and is sufficiently describea, in the
following report of a recent fashionable en-
fertainment : —

Court Circular.

Viscount and viscountess Gage gave a
grand f)&te on Friday, (August 3, 1827,) at
their seat at Fi He- place, Sussex, to about a
hundred and sixty of the nobility and gen-
try, at which the ancient game of quintaiA
was revived. The sports commenced by
gentlemen riding with light spiked staves
at rings and apples, suspended by a string,
ifter which they changed their weapons to
stout poles, and attacked the two auintains,
which consisted of logs of wood fashioned
to resemble the head and body of a man,
and set upright upon a high bench, on
which they were kept by a chain passing
through the platform, and having a weight
suspended to it, so that if the log was not
struck full and forcibly the figure resumed
its seat. One was also divided in the mid-
dle, and the upper part being fixed on a
pivot turned, if not struck in the centre,
and requited its assailant by a blow with a
staff, to which was suspended a small bag
of flour.

The purses for unhorsing this quintain
were won by John Slater and Thomas Tre-
r«ck, Esqrs. The other figure which did
not turn, opposed a lance towards the as-
sailant's &ce, and the rider vras to avoid
the lance, and unhorse the quintain at the
tame time. The purses were won by Shef-
field Neave, Esq. aiid ihe hon. John Pel«
haah

A third pair of purses were offered for
unhorsing the quintain, by striking on a
coloured bell, which hooped round the
waist of the figure, thereby raising the
weight, which « as considerable, by a much
shorter lever than when struck higher up.
This was a feat requiring great strength o1
arm and firmness of seat, and though not
fairly won according to the rules of the
game, the purses were ultimately assigned
to the veTV spirited exertions of Messrs.
Cayley and Gardener.

Viscountess Gage distributed the prizes
to the conquerors.

About six o*clock the numerous party
sat down to a cold collation of upwards of
three hundred dishes, consisting of evenr
delicacy the season could possibly afford,
including the choicest collection of fruits,
and wines of the finest quality : af^er which
many recontinued the game of quintain ;
others diverted themselves at rifling the
target. The ladies amused themselves at
archery. In the evening the assemblage of
nobility and gentry retired to the grand
hall, were fashionable quadrilles concluded
the amusements of the day.*

Combating the qumtain is presumed to
have preceded jousts and tournaments. It
was originally nothing more than the trunk
of a tree, or a post, set up for the practice of
tyros in chivalry. Afterwards a staff or
spear was fixed in the earth, and a shield
beinff hung upon it was the mark to strike
at : Uie dexterity of the performer consisted

• Tim«t.Acairfat7.I897

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hi smiting the shield so as to break the
ligatures, and throw it to the ground. In
process of time this diversion was improvedy
and instead of the staff and the shield, the
lesemblance of a human' figure carved in
wood was introduced. To render, its ap-
pearance formidable it was generally made
m the likeness of an armed Turk or Sara-
cen, with a shield on his left arm, and
brandishing a club or sabre with his right.
The quintain was placed upon a pivot, so
as to move round with facility. In running
at this figure the horseman directed his
lance to strike the forehead, between the
eyes or on the nose ; for if he struck wide
of those parts, especially upon the shield,
the quintain turned about with much velo-
city, and unless he was exceedingly careful
gave him a severe blow upon the back with
the wooden sabre; when this occurred it
was deemed disgraceful to the performer,
and excited the Utughterand ridicule of the
spectators.

The quintain b more particularly de-
scribed by the late Mr. Strutt in his account
of ^ The Sports and Pastimes of the People
of England,** a large quarto volume, with
plates, which, from its increasing scarcity
and price, is scarcely attainable by the
general reader. The above representation
of the armed quintain is one of a series of
illustrations for a new and correct edition
»f Mr. Strutt's ••Sports," which is now
preparing for the press under the superin-
tendence of the editor of the Table Book,
It will be accurately printed in octavo. Each
of the engravings will be iac-simile, and of
the same size as the engravings in the
f|uarto volume. The price of the new edi-
tion will not exceed one-sixth of the cost of
the original, and it will be published in
shilling parts.

DAVID LOVF^

For the Table Book.

Died, on Tuesday afternoon, June 12th,
1827, David Love; of whom there is a
portrait, with a memoir, in the Every- Day
Booky vol. ii. p. 225, with a further notice
at p. 1575. He had nearly attained his
seventy-seventh year; and, till within a
few weeks of his death, pursued his avoca-
tion of •• walking stationer " in Nottingham.
It was unnecessary for him to take out an
bfwkei*8 license, as the commiditiei in

which he dealt were entirely of lib own
manufecture.

According to the memoirs of David
Love's life, (a curious specimen of '• auto-
biography ,'^ which he |iublished in twenty-
four penny iiiiKibM\ in 1824, and which
he sold very numerously, he was born near
Edinburgh in the year 1750 ; at three years
of age he was abandoned by his father, and
his mother shortly afterwards became blind ;
he led her about, and was an •• unlucky
urchin ;*' when older grown he worked in
a coal-pit, but broke his arm, and was dis-
chargea, and commenced hawking tracts
and small books. At twenty-five he was
worth upwards of three pounds. Then,
thinking of settling in the world, he wooed,
won, and married a young woman : a small
shop was established, which succeeded at
first; but finding his fortune wasting, he
paid his first court to the Muses, by com-
posing two song9, of which the titles only
are now extant :— *• The Pride and Vanity
of Young Women, with Advice to Young
Men, that they may take care who they
marry ;" and •' The Pride and Vanity of
Young men, with Advice to the Maids, to
beware of being ensnared by their Flatteries
and enticing Words." These versify ings he
printed, and fir^t started at a distant fair.
Their sale exceeded his expectations; he
discontinued his shop, paid nis debts, and
soon after (during tne American war) en-
listed into the duke of Buccleugh's regiment
of South Fencibles. His wife auickly pre-
sented him with a son, which neing •• the
first man child bom in the regiment," the
duke accepted as his name-son. After ex-
periencing the vicissitudes of a soldier's
life, and getting out of the •• black hole''
two or three times by his verses, he was
disdiarged, in consequence of a weakness
in his arm. He then had his soldier's poems
printed, resumed his old trade of walking
stationer, turned his face to the south, and
was the more successful the fiirther he went
from home. After travelling for some
years he settled at Gosport, commenced
aookseller with his old stock of old booki^
and printed a fonrpenny volume of original
poems. He then lived for three years ia
London, and composed many poems
Bristol was his next place of residence, and
there he performed several remarkable cures
out of an old receipt-book, but was too
conscientious to turn quack doctor. Here
he saw his ftither, who died shortly after
•• a repenting sinner," aged ninety-threet
Still travelling, he reached Newbury, in
Bericshire, where he tells us he was •• con-
verted,** and he dates his •• new birth ^ on

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the 17th of April, 1796. Many pages of
Dis work are occupied by his religious ex-
peiieuce, and various texts of scripture,
whence he derived consolation.

In 1804 David Love buried his wife,
(aged fifty-one,) after a long illness, at Rug-
by, in Warwickshire. He journeyed to
lieicester, and thence to Nottingham, where
he from that time continued to reside, ex-
cept at intervals, and where he married
again. In eighteen months his second wife
died suddenly, also at Rugby. The follow*
ing is the coinmeDcement of a long elegy
OQ the subject : —

** In this rmaa world mj troablet •till abooad,
Mjr two wires lie in Rofby bnrial frovnd ;
Botk of one name, and both of them one afs.
And in one kouae both were called off ihe itage.**

rhese lines refer to a singular coincidence
respecting his wives; both their maiden
names were Mary llioropson, and both
were aged fifty-one at their death. In
1810, May 21, he married his third and
surviving wife at St. Mary's church, Not*
tingharo ; and, excepting a journey to Edin-
burgh, and another to London, they lived
in various paru of the town till his decease.
David's forte lay principally in religious
acrostics and hymns, for which he had a
£Ood demand among the pious inhabitants.
The following is inserted as being a ikori

To Avv Short,

niko Mttf, ** lam ihort of every thing:*

A m ahort, 0 Lord, of praiiia^ that.

If otkia< I caa do right ;

N99dj aad naked, poor I be^

8 kort. Lord, I am of sight :

H ow short I am of love aad gt»t»

Of every thing I'm hhort i

B enew me, then I'll follow peaea

Throagh good and bad report.

In person David was below the middle
stature ; his features were not unhandsome
for an old roan ; his walk was exceedingly
slow, deliberately placing one foot before
the other, in order perhi^ps to give his cus-
tomers time to hear wha\ he had got ; his
voice was clear, and stroi gly marked with
the Scotch accent. He p messed a readi-
ness of wit and repartee, which is often
nnited with aspiring tale its in lower life.
A tribute to Love's menory, written on
the day of his burial, siay not be unac-

ttie day
ctptable

BLCOYy wRirTEN IN St Mabt's Chvecm

TABD, NoTTIKGBAIf.

The sexton tolls the knell of David Lore,
The foneral train treads stowly thro* the street

Old OeneraJ,* wand in hand, with crape above,
Condocts the pageant with demeanoar meet.

Now stops the moarafnl trwn beside the graTa,
Aad all the air a solemn atillaesa hoUs ;

Save when the clerk repeats his twaaging sCaTa,
And OB the coffin fall the pattering moulds;

Bare that from jronder grasa-enrnmaded stona,
The whining schoolboy loudly does eomplaia

Of saeh, as crowding roand hb mossy thraoe,
larade hu tottering transitory reign.

Beneath those ragged stones, that corner's shades
And trodden grass in rough misshapen heap,

(Unless by Friday's art away oonT«y*d,t)
la order due, whatTarions bodies skep.

The call of** coals,** the cry of sooty sweep.
The twist machine t loud lumbering orer head ;

The jacks' skrill wkirriag,} oft disturbing sleep-
No more shall tunas them from their well-flook*d bed

For them no more the Indian weed shall bars.
Or bnstling laadtord fill his bererage rare i

No shopmates hail their eomrade's wi»h*d rstnn.
Applaud hb soag, and ia hb ekoras share.

Perhaps m this hard-beatea spot is laid
Some head once reni'd in the meehaaie powen^

Hands that the bat at cricket oft haTe sway'd.
Or woa the enp for gooseberries aad dowers.

Slow throagh the streets on tottering footsteps boraa,
Mattering hb humble ditties he would rove^

Siaging '• Oooae Fair," | or *• Tread Mill ** where foi
Ion
Coosiga'd by Liacola 'squires trod David Love.

• Old Omural. See Seery-Aiy lleoA, voL ii. eol.
1070, for a memoir of thb worthy.

4 Old Fridav, The aiekname of the ex-de|taty
sexton of St Mary's parish, who was more thaa wu^
pected of participating in re«orreetiontng. In Feb.
18S7, a discovery was mads of MNne bodies aboat to ba
remoTed to Loadon ; an examiaation enitned, when it
was fonnd that, for maay mdnfbs, the disseetinf roosBS
of the metropolis were supplied wholesale (jom the
Tarioos grouads of the paribh ; aad for maar days ao*
thing was heard of but the opeaiag of graTSS. which
were disooTered to be empty.

I Machiaes for making laca.

j Part of a stoekiaf frame, which aukea a great
noise in working.

I Ooou fair. A great holiday fair at NoCtiachaa,
so called probably from its oeearrence immedialaly
after Michaelmas day, (vis. on October S, 3, 4.) aad
the great t^uaatity of aeese slauj^htered aad eatca.
One of David's best soags ts oa this snbjeet, but it k
entirely looaL Popular tradition, however, haa ae-
signed a far different origin to its nan*e : a farmer who
f>r some reason or other (whether gri«if fbr the lose of
his wife, or her iaddelity, or from mere euriouiif , oi
dread of t*)« fair mk, or some other miaoa e«|ually uc
reasoaablr. aeoordiog to varieas aceooals) had brought
«p his three soas ia total seelusioa, danag whieh thev

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Om WMk I mtas'd him from the m]ulKei>plMi^
I Along th« ttnets where he wu wont to be t
Strange roioes eame, but hie I eoold not tnoi^
Before the 'Change, nor bj Sheep-lnae wae he.

And now irith honoor due, in end umj

Sbw through the eharch-yard pethe we're seen him
borne;
Approach and hear (if thon wilt hear) the laj

In which the bard'e departed worth we moam.

Epitaph.

Here reeta hie head apon the lap of earth.

A mi&etrel old in Nottingham well known.
In Caledonia wae hie hamble birth,

Bnt England makee hb aged bonee her own.

Ciong were hie verwa, and his lifo was long.
Wide, as a recompense, hie fame was spread t

He sold for halfpenoe (all he had) a eong.
He eara'd bj them ('twas all he wbh'd^ hie bread.

No farther I his merits can disckMC,
Hie widow dwells where Dand late abode;

Oob baj his life, wrote bjr himself, which shows
His serrioe to his oonatry, and his God.

Nottinffkamf

June ^4, 1827.

0.

THINGS WORTH REMEMBERING.

Be Honest.

If yoQ only endeavour to be honest, you
are struggling with yourself.

A DeFIKITI4}N.

Truth is the conformity of expression to
thought.

Take Care*

EauiTocation is a mean expedient to
avoia the declaration of trutb| without rer-
bolly telling a lie.

Keep ah Accouvt.

Our debts and our sins are always great-
er than we think of.

On their arriTiag at man's eetate,
he bronght them to the October fair, promietng to
hoy each of them wheterer he thoeght best Thtf
gased about them, asking the namea m whatrver thef
saw, when be bolding some woaMn walking, drvesed in
they demsMed what they were; the farmer,
' ' ■ ' » of the qncstion.

white.

somewhat alarmed at the rageraces
replied, ** Pho. those silly thiaKs are geese.** When,
withcat waiting an instant, all three exclaimed, ** Oh
father, bay me a piNife.'^

Theae's ko sucn thiito as III Lvce.

It is true that some misfortunes are in-
evitable; but, in general, they proceed
from our own want of judgment and fore*
sight.

Our Emjotmevts are covditioval.

If we had it in our power to gratify
every wish, we should soon feel the effects
of a surfeit.

Our real Wavts are few.

The stomach tires of every thing but
bread and water.

Moderate your Desires.

Take away your expensiTe follies, and
vou will have little occasion to complain of
hard times.

Many a Little makes a Micrle

When a shopkeeoer has company, he
may have two candles ; but when alone,
one candle will be sufficient for common
purposes. The saving will nearly find his
wife in shoes.

AstheTwio is be»t, the Tree inclines.

If you give your children an improper
education, their future misfortunes will lie
at your door.

There are trub and false Facts.

History should be read with caution. It
often presents us with false and delusive
pictures ; and, by the gay colouring of the
artist, excites our admiration of characters
really odious.

9ts((obrrfes(

OF THE

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

No. IV.

Of Sensible Qualities.

The most etninent philosophers of anti*
quity, Democritus, Socrates, Anstippus the
chief of the Cyrenalc sect, Phtto, Epicurus,
and Lucretius^ affirmed, that cold and heat,
odours and colours, were no other than
sensations excited in our minds, by the dif-
ferent operations of the bodies surrounding
us, and acting on our senses ; even Aristoik

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himself was of opinion, that " sensible
Qualities exist in the mind.** Yet when
Descartes, and after him Mallebranche,
(aught the very same truths, they were
ascribed to these moderns, owing to the
outcry they made, as if the opposite error,
which they attacked in the schoolmen, had
been that of all ages ; and nobody deigned
to search whether, in reality, it was so or
not. Were we to bring into review all that
the ancients have taught on this subject, we
should be surprised at the clearness with
which they have explained themselves, and
at a loss to account how opinions came to
6e taken for new which had been illus-
trated in their writings with such force and
precision.

Democritus was the first who disarray-
ed body of its sensible qualities. He
affirmed, that *' the first elements of things
naving in them naturally neither whiteness
nor blackness, sweetness nor bitterness,
beat nor cold, nor any other quality, it
thence follows, that colour, for example,
exists only in our imagination or percep-
tion of it; as also, that bitterness and
sweetness, which exist only in being per-
ceived, are the consequences of the differ-
int manner in which we ourselves are
affected by the bodies surrounding us, there
being nothing in its own nature yellow or
white, or red, sweet or bitter." lie indi-
jates what kind of atoms produce such and
such sensations : round atoms, for example,
^he taste of sweetness ; pointed and crook-
ed, that of tartness ; bodies composed of
angular and coarse parts, introducing them-
selves with difficulty into the pores, cause
the disagreeable sensations of bitterness
and acidity, &c. The Newtonians imitate
this reasoning everywhere, in explaining
the different natures of bodies.

extus Empirictts, explaining the doo-
tnne of Democritus, says, ^ that sensible
qualities, according to that philosopher,
have nothing of reality but in the opinion
of those who are differently affected by
them, according to the different dispositions
of their organs ; and thaf from this differ,
ence of disposition arise the perceptions of
sweet and oitter, heat and cold ; and also,
that we do not deceive ourselves in affirm-
ing that we feel such impressions, but in
concluding that exterior objects must have in
them something analogous to our feelings."

Protagoras, the disciple of Democritus,
carried farther than ever Democritus did
th^ consequences of his system; for ad-
mitting with his master the perpetual mu-
tability of matter which occasioned a con*
itant change in things, he thence concluded,

that whatever we see, apprehend, or toaeh,
is just as they appear ; and that the only
true rule or criterion of things, was in the
perception men had of them. From Pro-
tagoras, bishop Berkeley seems to have
derived his idea, *> that there is nothing in
external objects but what the sensible qua-
lities existing in our minds induce us to
imagine, and of course that they have no
other manner of existence ; there being no
other substratum for them, than the minds
by which they are perceived, not as modes
or qualities belonging to themselves, but as
objects of perception to whatever is perci-
pient."

We should think we were listening to
the two modem philosophers, Descartes
and Mallebranche, when we hear Aristip-
pus, the discijple of Socrates, exhorting men
*' to be upon their guard with respect to
the reports of sense, because it does not
always yield just information ; fur we do
not perceive exterior objects as they are in
themselves, but only as they affect us. We
know not of what colour or smell they may
be, these being only affections in ourselves.
It is not th(' objects themselves that we are
enabled to comprehend, but are confined
to judge of them only by the impressions
they make upon us ; and the wrong judg-
ments we form of them in this respect is
the cause of all our errors. Hence, when
we perceive a tower which appears round,
or an oar which seems crooked in the
water, we may say that our senses intimate
so and so, but ought not to affirm that the
distant tower is really round, or the oar in
the water crooked : it is enough, in such a
case, to say with Aristippus and the Cyre-
naic sect, that we receive the impression of
roundness from the tower, and of crooked-
ness from the oar ; but it is neither neces-
sary nor properly in our power to affirm,
that the tower is really round, or the oat
broken ; for a square tower may appear
round at a distance, and a straight stick
always seems crooked in the water." •

Everybody talks of whiteness and sweet-
ness, but they have no common faculty to
whidi they can with certainty refer impres
sions of this kind. Every one judg^ b}
his own apprehensions, and nobody car.
affirm that the sensation which he feeU
when he sees a white object, is the same
with what his neighbour experiences in re-
gard to the same object. He who has large
eyes will see objects in a different magni

• Peter H«ct, tbe celebrated bishop of Amttdu!*
'm hit ** Essay on the Weakam of the HaoMU Under
•tand'inf .** argnea to the same effect, aad alaoat a th<
■aine words. iSo.

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tude from him wLo&e eyes are little, and he
who hath blue eyes, discern them under
different colours from him who hath grey;
whence it comes, that we give common
names to things, of which, however, we
judge very variously.

Epicurus, admitting the principles of
Democritus, thence deduces ** that colour,
cold, heat, and other sensible qualities are
not inherent in the atoms, but the result of
their assemblage; and that the difference
between them flows from the diversity of
their sixe, figure, and arrangement ; inso-
much, that any number of atoms in one
disposition creates one sort of sensation ;
ana in another, another: but their own
primary nature remains always the same."

The moderns have treated this matter
with much penetration and sagacity, yet
they have scarcely advanced any thing but
what had been said before by the ancient
philosophers just quoted, and by others
who might be cited to the same effect.

For the Table Book.

MR. EPHRAIM WAGSTAFF,

HIS WIFE AND PIPE.

About the middle of Shoemaker-row,
aear to Broadway, Black friars, there re-
sided for many years a substantial hard-
waremao, named Ephraim Wagstaff. He
was short in stature, tolerably well favoured
in countenance, and singularly neat and
clean in his attire. Everybody in the
neighbourhood looked upon him as a
** warm " old man ; and when be died, the
property he left behind him did not bely
the preconceived opinion. It was all per-
sonal, amounted to about nineteen thou-
sand pounds; and, as he was childless,
it went to distant relations, with the excep-
tion of a few hundred pounds bequeathed
to public charities.

The family of Ephraim Wagstaff, both
on the male and female sides, was respect-
able, though not opulent. His maternal
grandfather, he used to say, formed part of
the executive government in the reign of
George I., whom he served as petty con-
stable in one of the manufacturing dis-
tiicts during a long period, llie love of
office seems not to have been hereditary in
the family; or perhaps the opportunities
of gratifying it did not continue; for, with
that single exception, none of his ancestors
could boast of official honours, llie origin
of the name is doubtful. On a first view,
it seems evidently the conjunction of two
names brought together by marriage or for-

tune. In the " Tatler " we read about *he
efaff in a variety of combinations, under
one of which the popular author of that
work chose to designate himself, and there-
by conferred immortality on the name of
Bickerstaff. Our friend Ephraim was no
great wit, but he loved a joke, particularly
if he made it himself; and he used to say,
whenever he heard any one endeavouring
to account for his name, that he believed
it originated in the marriage of a Miss
Staff to some Wag who lived near her ;
and who, willing to show his gallantry,
and at the same time his knowledge of
Fiench customs, adopted the fashion of
that sprightly people, by adding her- family
name to his own. The conjecture is at
least probable, and so we must leave it.

At the age of fif^y-two it pleased heaven
to deprive Mr. Wagstaff of his beloved
spouse Barbara. The bereavement formed
an era in his history. Mrs. Wagstaff was
an active, strong woman, about ten years
older than himself, and one sure to be
missed in any circle wherein she had once
moved. She was indeed no cipher. Her
person was tall and bony, her face, in
nue, something between brown and red,
had the appearance of having been scorch-
ed. Altogether her qualities were truly
commanding. She loved her own way
exceedingly ; was continually on the alert to
have it ; and, in truth, generally succeeded.
Yet such was her love of justice, that she
has been heard to aver re]>eatedly, that she
never (she spoke the word never empha-
tically) opposed her husband, but when he
was decidedly in the wrong. Of these
occasions, it must also be mentioned, she
generously took upon herself the trouble
and responsibility of being the sole judge.
There was one point, however, on which it
would seem that Mr. Wagstaff had con-
trived to please himself exclusively; al-
though, how he had managed to resist so ef-
fectually the remonstrances and opposition
which, from the structure of his wife's
mind he must necessarily have been doom
ed to encounter, must ever remain a secret
The fact was this: Ephraim had a peculiarly
strong attachment to a pipe ; his affection
for his amiable partner scarcely exceeding
that which he entertained for that lively
emblem of so many sage contrivanoes and
florid speeches, ending like it— in smoke
In the times of his former wives (fi>r twice
before had he been yoked in matrimony)
he had indulged himself with it unmolest-
ed. Not so with Mrs. Wagstaff the third.
Pipes and smoking she held in unmitigated
abnorrence: but havingy by whatevei

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means, been obliged to submit to their in-
troduction, she wisely avoided all direct
attempts to abate what she called among
her friends " the nuisance ;*' and, like a
skilful general, who has failed of securing
victory^ she had recourse to such stratagems
as might render it as little productive as
possible to the enemy. Ephraim, aware
how matters stood, neglected no precaution
to guard against his wife's mancsutres
meeting, of course, with various success.
Manv a tine did her ingenuity contrite au
accident, by which his pipe and peace of
mind were at once demolished ; and, al-
though there never could be any difficulty
in replacing the former by simply sending
out for that purpose, yet be has confessed,
that when he contemplated the possibility
of offering too strong an excitement to the
shrill tones of his beloved's voice, (the only
pipe she willingly tolerated,) he waved
that proceeding, and submitted to the sacri-
fice as much the lesser evil. At length
Mrs. Wagstaff was taken ill, an inflamma-
tion on her lungs was found to be her
malady, and that crisis appeared to be fast
approaching, when

The doctor leftrei the home with sorrow,

DwpMriDf of bis fee to*morrow.
The foreboding soon proved correct ; and,
every thing considers, perhaps it ought
not to excite much surprise, that when
Ephraim heard from the physician that
there was little or no chance of her recovery,
he betrayed no symptoms of excessive
emotion, but mumbling something unin-
telligibly, in which the doctor thought he
caught the sound of the words *' Christian
duty of resignation,** he quietly filled an
additional pipe that evening. The next
day Mrs. Wagstaff expired, and in due
time her interment took place in the church-
yard of St. Ann, Blackfriars, every thing
connected therewith being conducted with
the decorum becoming so melancholy an
event, and which might be expected from a
roan of Mr. Wagstaff*s gravity and ex-
perience. The funeral was a walking one
from the near vicinity to the ground ; and
but for an untimely slanting shower of rain,
no particular inconvenience would have
been felt by those who were assembled on
that occasion; that casualty, however,
caused them to be thoroughly drenched ;
and, in reference to their appearance, it
was feelingly observed by some of the by-
standers, that they had seldom seen so
many tears on the faces of mourners.—

Tq be eontiuued — (perhaps.)

Nemo.

AN ULTRA-MARINER.

According to father Feyjoo, in the month
of June, 1674, some young men were walk-
ing by the sea-side in Bilboa, and one ol
them, named Francis de la Vega, of about
fifteen years of age, suddenly leaned into
the sea, and disappeared presently. Ilis
companions, after waiting some time, and
he oot returning, made the event public,
and sent an account of it to De la Vega*s
mother, at Lierean^ a small town in the
archbishopric of Burgos. At first she dis-
credited his death, but his absence occa-
sioned her fond doubts to vanish, and she
mourned his untimely loss.

About five years afterwards some fisher-
men, in the environs of Cadiz, perceivec
the figure of a man sometimes swimming
and sometimes plunging under the water.
On the next day ihey saw the same, and
mentioned it as a very singular circum-
stance to several people. They threw their
nets, and baiting the swimmer with some
pieces of bread, they at length caught the
object of their attention, which to their
astonishment they found to be a weli-formed
man. They put several questions to him
in various languages, but he answered none.
They then took him to the convent of St.
Francis, where he was exorcised, thinking
he might be possessed by some evil spirit
The exorcism was as useless as the ques-
tions. At length, after some days, he pro-
nounced the word Liergan^. It happened
that a person belonging to that town was
present when he uttered the name, as wa^
also the secretary of the Inquisition, who
wrote to his correspondent at Liergan^,
relating the particulars, and institutmg in-
quiries relative to this very extraordinary
man ; and he received an account of the
young man who had disappeared in the
manner before related.

On this information, it was determined
that the marine man should be sent to
Liergan^; and a Franciscan friar, who was
obliged to go there on other business, un
dertook to conduct him the following year.
When they came within a quarter of a
league of the town, the friar ordered the
young man to go before and show him the
way. lie made no answer, but led the
friar to the widow De la Vega's house
She recollected him instantly, and embrac-
ing him, cried out, ** This is my son, that I
lost at Bilboa !*' Two of his brothers who
were present also knew him immediately,
and embraced him with equaJ tenderness.
Hci however, did not evince tne least sen-

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•ibility, or the smallest degree of surprise.
Ue spoke no more at Liergan^ than at
CadiZy no.- could any thing be obtained
from him relative to his adventure. He
had entirely forgotten his native language,
except the words /wn, vmOf tabaeo, '* bread,
wine, tobacco;** and these he uttered in-
discriminately and without application.
They asked him if he would have either of
these articles ; he could make no reply.

For several days together he would eat

large quantities of bread, and fot as many

days following he would not take the least

food of any kind. If he was directed to

{ do any thing, he would execute the com-

' mission very properly, but without speak-

j ing a word : he would carry a letter to

irhere it was addressed, and bring an

I answer back in writing. lie was sent one

day with a letter to St. Ander ; to get there

' it was necessary to cross the river at Pa-

drenna, which is more than a league wide in

that spot ; not Ending a boat in which he

could cross it, he threw himself in, swam

over, and delivered the letter as directed.

At this time Francis de la Vega was
nearly six feet in height, and well formed,
with a fair skin, and red hair as short as a
new-born in^nt*s. He always went bare-
footed, and had scarcely any nails either on
his hands or feet. He never dressed him-
self but when he was told to do it. The
same with eating; what was offered to
him he accepted, but he never asked for
food.

In this way he remained at his mother's
for nine years, when he again disappeared,
without any apparent cause, and no one
knew how. It may be supposed, however
that the motive or feeling which induced
his first disappearance influenced the se-
cond. Some time afterwards it was reported
I that an inhabitant of Lierganbs agam saw
Francis de la Vega in some port of Astu-
rias ; but this was never confirmed.

When this very singular roan was first
taken out of the sea at Cadiz, it is said
that bis body was entirely covered with
scales, but they fell off soon after his com-
ing out of the water. They also add, that
different parts of his body were as hard as
shagreen.

Father Feyjoo adds many philosophical
reflections on the existence of this pheno-
menon, and on the means by which a man
may be enabled to live at the bottom of the
sea. He observes, that if Francis de la
Vega had preserved his reason and the use
of speech, he would have given us more
instruction and information in marine af-
fairs, than all the naturalists combined.

ANIIPAIBIES.

Erasmus, thongh a natiTe of Rotterdam)
had such an aversion to fish, that the smell
of it threw him into a fever.

Ambrose Par^ mentions a gentleman,
who never could see an eel without fkiut-

There is

an account of another gentle-
man, who would fall into convulsions at the
sight of a carp.

A lady, a native of France, always faint-
ed on seeing boiled lobsters. Other persons
of the same country experienced the same
inconvenience from the smell of roses,
though they were particularly partial to the
odour of jonquils or tuberoses.

Joseph Scaliger and Peter Abono never
could drink milk. '

Cardan was particularly disgusted at the
sight of eggs.

Uladislaus, king of Poland, could not
bear to see apples.

If an apple was shown to Chesne, secre-
tary to Francis I., he bled at the nose.

A gentleman, in the court of the emperor
Ferdinand, would bleed at the nose on
hearing the mewing of a cat, however great
the distance might be from him.

Heniy III. of France could never Sit in
a room with a cat.

The duke of Schomberg had the same
aversion.

M. de Lancre gives an account of a very
sensible man, who was so terrified at seeing
a hedgehog, that for two years he imagined
his bowels were gnawed by such an animal.

The same author was intimate with a
very brave officer, who was so terrified at
the sight of a mouse, that he never dared
to look at one unless he had his sword in
his hand.

M. Vangheim, a great huntsman in
Hanover, would faint, or, if he had sufii-
cient time, would run away at the sight of
a roasted pig.

John itol, a gentleman in Alcantara,
would swoon on hearing the word iamtt
wool, pronounced, although his cloak was
woollen.

The philosophical Boyle could not con-
quer a strong aversion to the sound ot
water running through a pipe.

La Mothe le V* ayer could not endure the
sound of musical instniments, though he
experienced a lively pleasure whenever h
thundered.

The author of the Turkish Spy tells us
that he would rather encounter a lion in
the deserts of Arabia, provided he had but
a sword in his hand, than feel a spider

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crawling on him in tne dark. lie observes,
that taere is no reason to be given for these
secret dislikes. He humorously attributes
them to the doctrine of the transmigration
of the soul ; and as regarded himself, he
supposed he had been a At, before he came
into his body, and that having been fre-
quently persecuted with spiders, he still
retained the dread of his old enemy.

THE LACTEALS IN A MOLE.

A curious observer of nature will be de-
iighted to know, that the lacteal vessels
are more visible in a mole, than in any
animal whatever. The view, however, is
not of long duration. These vessels are
rendered visible by the mode of killing the
animal, which is by a wire gin that com-
presses the thoracic duct, thereby prevent-
ing the ascent of the chyle upwards. The
time of demonstration is about half an
hour after death. This curious fact was
unknown to anatomists, till mentioned by
Dr. A. Hunter, in his volume of maxims
on men and manners.

LOUIS GONZAGA

TO

MARIE MANCINT.
Florence, 1649.

II eantar ebe sal anioiB li wate.

II pi« M MBt« Talma, U men roncchio.

1 wonhippe thee tbo« ■Utrerre starre.
As thnmM amid the vanlt of Uae,

Rathea thy qaeenlje iplendoare farre^
O'er mooDtaia top and vale of dewe.

Yette more I love thf infante rajr.
As rUinfe from its eaiterne care.

With eireUnge, fearfnlle, fonde delajra.
It ieemes to kieee the erimsone wave.

I lova the prond and lolemne sweepe
Of harpe and tnimpette's hannonjre,

Lilie •wellinfes of the mi^nif hte deepe
like antbemes of the opeainf skje.

B«t lovelier to mj heart the tone
That dies aloaf the twibfhte's wiage

Ittil heard, a silver eif h, and foae.
At if a ipiritto toneh'd the stnsft.

Sweeta Mane I striftljt rones the
That gives thj beadtye all its rajer.

And thon ihalte be the rose, alwe.
And heartee shall wither in its Uaacw

Yette there are eyss had deeper loved
That roMbodde in its matine-beau.

The dew droppe on its bluhe nnmoved*
And shalle m/e love be all a dreame .

PULCI.

POINTS OF CHARACTER.

A Prime Ministeb.

The late sir Robert Walpole was from
his youth fond of field sporu, and retained
his attachment to them until prevented by
the infirmities of age from their further en*
joyment. He was accustomed to hunt in
Richmond Park with a pack of bea^ries.
Upon receiving a packet of letters, he
usually opened that from his gamekeeper
first; and in the pictures taken of him, he
preferred being drawn in his sporting
dress.

A Prelate.

Bishop Juion, who attended Charles 1.
on the scafibld, retired after the king's death
to his own manor of Little Compton, in
Gloucestershire, where, as Whitlocke tells
OS in his Memorials, ** he much delighted
in hunting, and kept a pack of good hounds,
and had them so well ordered and hunted,
chiefly by his own skill and direction, that
they exceeded all other hounds in England
for the pleasure and orderly hunting of
them." ' ^

A Huntsman.

Mr. Woolford, a sportmg gentleman, as
remarkable for politeness in the field as for
the fpoodness of his fox-hounds, was one
evenmg thus addressed by his huntsman :
** An* please vour honour, sir," twirling his
cap and quid at the same time, " I should
be glad to be excused going to-morrow to
Woolford-wood, as I should like to go to
see my poor wife buried." «« I am sorry for
thee, Tom," said his master, ** we can do one
day without thee: she was an excellent
wife." On the following morning, how-
ever, Tom was the first in the field. ** Hey-
day f* quoth Mr. W., ** did not I give you
leave to see toe remains of your poor wife
interred?" "Yes, your honour, but I
thought as how we should have Rood sport,
as it is a fine morning ; so I desired out
Dick, the dog-feeder, to see her miY AV *•

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THE TABLE BOOK.

MY DESK.

Ff^HkA Table Book.

Every one will agree with me, that this
is the favourite article of furniture, Every
one is fond of it as of an old fHend — a
faithful and trustworthy one — to whom has
been confided both joys and sorrows. It is
most likely the gift of some cherished, per-
haps departed being, reminding us by its
good qualities of the beloved giver. We
have no scruple in committing our dearest
•ecrets to its faithful bosom — they are never

divulged. The tenderest billet-doux, the
kindest acknowledgments, the sweetest
confessions of a mistress — the cruellest ex-
pressions and bitterest reprrtaches of a
friend lost to us for ever through the false
and malignant representations of an enemy

or perhaps the youthful effusions of our

own brain, which we ocsasionally draw
forth from the recesses of the most secretly
contrived pigeon-hoU, and read over d la
dirobU, with a half blush (at our self-love)
and a smile partly painful from revived

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re^o.iectiocs of Jays g^one, never to return-
all theM we may unhesitatingly deposit ia
this peraoniBcatioD of deMkretion.

The very posture assumed at a desk be-
speaks confidence and security The head
inclined over it, and the bosom leaning in
gentle trustingness against this kind and
patient friend.

By this description I would present to the
** mind's eye*' or the reader a plain unosten-
tatious piece of furniture, of too simple an
exterior to be admitted any where than in
the study «- square in shape, mahogany,
bound with brass at the comers, a plate of
the same metal on the top, of just a suflS-
cient size to contain one's own initials and
those of the giver. I detest those finicking
machines one finds wrapped up in an oil-
skin case in a drawing-room; made of
rosewood, inlaid with silver, or mother-of-
pearl, and lined with blue ▼elvet. It seems
like an insult to the friendly character of a
desk, to dress him smartly, seat him in a
fine apartment, and refuse to avail yourself
of the amicable services he tenders ypu. —
The contents of these coxcombical ac^
guaintancei are seldom better than its (air
owner's private journal, (which no one
thinks worthy of perusal— herself of course
excepted,) her album, and scrap-book, the
honourable Mr. Somebody's poetical effu-
sions, and the sentimental correspondence
of some equally silly young lady, her dear-
est friend.

Then there is the clerk's desk in a count-
ing-house— there are no pleasant associa-
tions connected with that mercantile scaf-
folding, with its miniature balustrades at
the top, partly intersected with accounts,
bills, and papers of all sorts, (referring to
busing) and surrounded by files clinging
by their one hook. Above all this is seen
the semicircular scalp of Ti brown wig,
which, as it is raised to reply to your ques-
tion, gradually discovers two eyes scowling
at yo4 from Mneath a pair of glaring spec-
tacles, a little querulous tumed-up nose,
and a mouth whose lines have oecome
rigid with ill-humour, partly occasioned by
t too sedentary life.

Again, there is the pulpit desk, with its
arrogant crimson cushion— telling a tale of
clerical presumption.

Lastly, there is the old bachelor's desk,
(Nay, do not curl up the corners of your
pretty mouths at me, sweet ladies — it may
be worth while to take a peep at it — at
least, I cannot prevail upon mytelf to omit
it in this notice of desks.) It is of the
plain and quiet description formerly men-
tioned, and very neatly and orderly ar-

ranged, both inside and out. Tlie latter n
kept bright and shining by the inde&ti»
gaole hands of Sally the housemaid ; who,
while she breathes upon the plate to give
it a polish, at the same lime breathes a wisk
(to herself) that her breath possessed the
magic power of unfastening locks, and so
enabling her to see *' what the old gentle- .
man keeps in this here box to make him
so fond on it.** The interior he takes in-
finite care to keep in complete and exact
order himself. Each particular compart-
ment has its appropriate contents consigned
to it. The fola-down nearest to him, as he
sits at it, contains a small miniature within
a red morocco case, of a placid and gentle-
faced girl, whose original sleeps for ever in
the bosom of the cold earth—a little box,
containing a ring set with brilliant^, and
enclosing a lock of her hair — all her letters
carefully tied up with green ribbon «- a
miniature edition of Shakspeare, and Mil*
ton, with his name written in them in her
hand-writing. In the opposite fold, near
the receptacle for the pens, wafers, ink, &c.
are his own little wntings, (for we are to
suppose him fond of his pen, and as having
occasionally indulged that fondness,) of all
of which he preserves neat copies, some
private memoranda, and an old pocket-
Dook, given to him by his old friend and

school-fellow, admiral , when he left

England that year as a midshipman.

In the drawer are different letters fit>m
his friends ; an^, perhaps, at the veiy back
of it, a little hoard of gold pieces, bright
and new from the mint.

As I now lean upon my old friend and
companion — my desk — I render it my
grateful acknowledgments for the many
pleasant hours I have.. spent over it; and
also for its having been the means of my
passing an agreeable quarter of an hou
with my gentle reader, of whom I now take
a courteous leave.

July, 1827. M. H.

WRITING DESKS.
There is not any mention of writing-desks
among the ancients. They usually wrote
upon the knee in the manner wherein An-
gelica Kauffman represents the younger
Fliny, as may be seen in a modem engrav-
ing; and yet it appears from Stolherg,
quoted by Mr. Fosbroke, that desks re-
sembling ours have been fouud in Her-
culanenm. Writing-desks in the middle
aees slanted so much, as to form an angle
of forty-five degrees : their slant till within
the lut two centuries was little less.

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WILTS' LOCAL CUSTOM.

DANCING ROUND THE HARROW.

To the Editor.

Dear sir, — ^I hand you the following
%uthentic particulars which happened in
the pleasant Tillage ofS*»»»nB»»»»r,
UM ffave rise to ** dancing round the har-
row : It worthy of being chronicled in the
TabU Book, they are yours.

John Jonei, not fiading his lovesuit sno
eessful with his master's daughter, because
her father, a farmer, rebuked him, took
umbrage, threw down his whip on the
* harrow ** in the fieM, left the team, and,
uuu eMmonie, went to sea.

The farmer and his daughter Nancy were
variously affected by this circumstance. —
** Comfortable letters " were hoped for,
news was eipected from some comer of the
world, but no tidings arri?ed as to the fate
or designs of honest John. Village gossips
often talked of the poor lad. The farmer
himself, who was a good sort of man, began
to relent ; for Nancy's cheeks were not so
rosy as formerly; she was dull at milking
time. Observers at church whispered,^
I " How altered Nancy K^ appears!*' • • •
I After a lapse of about six years appear-
ances change favourably. John returns
from sea auspiciously^-meets his Nancy
with open arms— her fiither finds him dis«
posed to make her happy-Wohn requests
ibrffiveness, and is pardoned — his steadiness
and attachment are tried and approved —
and — suffice it to say — John and Nancy
are manied. He assists her father in the
duties of the farm as his years decline,
while she supplies the absence of her mo-
ther, buried in the family grave of the
church-yard of her native village. ♦ ♦ ♦ •

As soon as the wedding took place, a
** harrow" was brought on the grass-plot in
the fore-close, when the villagers invited
danced round it till daybreak. • • ♦ ♦

This ^ dancing round the harrow " was
kept on several anniversaries of the wed-
ding-day ; a young fiimily and the old pro-
jector's decease occasioned its disconunu-
ance ; but, on each of these occasions, John
does not forget to present, instead, a not
less acceptable oflenng,.a good supper to
his workfolks in remembrance of his ad-
ranee in life

I am, dear sir,
(hmt and Boot*, Yours very truly,
Augtut 3, 1827. Jeboiada.

For the Table Book.
BAKEWELL, DERBYSHIRE.

AirCXSHT MOMUMBKTS AND ImSCRIPTIONS

IN TUE Church.

Upon the tablet 4>ver the mural mono*
nent in the chantry of the Holy Cross, is
the following inscription :

Godfrey Foljambe, Knight, and Avena his
wife, (who afterwards married Richard
de Greene, Knight,) Lord and Lady of
the Manors of Uassop, Okebrook, Elton,
Stanton, Dartey, Over hall, and Lokhawe,
founded this Chahtry in honor of the
HoW Cross, in tlie 39th year of the Reign
of King Edward the 3id, 1 366. Godfrey
died on Thursday next after the Feast of
the Ascension of our Lord, in the 50th year
of the reign of the same King ; and Ave-
na died on Saturday next afler the Feast
of the Nativity of the blessed Virgin
Mary, in the 6th year of the reign of
Richard 2nd, 1383.

N. B. Tlie Dates are taken from the Es-
cheat Rolls, which contain the Inquisitum
post mortem, 50th Edward 3. No. 24.

/f the Ve9try, there is an effigy in ala-
baster, of sir Thomas Wendersley de Wen-
dersley, who was mortally wounded at the
battle of Shrewsbury, 4th Henry IV., 1403,
and was buried at Bakewell, where formerly
were several shields of the arms of his
family carved in wood. (See Braihford'i
^ Monumental Inscriptions of Derby-
shire.'*)

Adjoining the vestry are several hand-
some monuments of the Vernon and Man-
ners' fiimilies.

In the centre is the tomb or cenotaph of
sir George Vernon, inscribed thus :
Here lyeth Sir George Vernon, Knight,
deceased, y« daye of Ano 156 and
Dame Margaret his Wife, dowghter of
Sr Gylbeit Tayllboys, deceased the
daye of 156 and also Dame Mawde
his Wvffe, dowghter to Sir Ralphe Lang-
foot, deceased the daye of Ano 1566.
whose solles God p-*don—

- On the right is a monument to sir John

Manners, with this inscription :

Here lyeth Sir John Manners, of Haddon,
Knt. Second Sonne of Thomas Erie of
Rutland, who died the 4lh of June, 1611,
and Dorothy his Wife, one of the Dawgh*
ters and heires of Sir George Vernon, of
Haddon, Knt. who deceased the 24 tl
day of June, in the 26th yeere of tht
Rayne of Queeoe Elizabeth, 1584.

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To the right of the window, on a mural
monument, is the following :
Heere lyeth huryed John Manners, Genta
3 Sone of Sir John Maners, Knight, who
dyed the 16th day of July, in the Yeere
of our Lord God 1590, being of the Age
of14yeeres.

To the left is an elegant monument to
sir John Maners, with this inscription :
George Manners of Haddon, Knt. here
awaits the resurrection of the just in
Christ. He married Grace, second
daughter of Henry Pierrepoint, Kn^ who
afterwards bore him 4 sons and 5 daugh-
ters, and lived with him in Holy Wed*
lock 30 years, she caused him to be
buried with his forefathers, and then
placed this monument at her own ex-
pence, as a perpetual Memorial of their
conjugal faith, and she united the figure
of his body with hers, having resolwed
that their bones and ashes should be laid
together. He died 23rd Apl. 1623, aged
54 — ^She died - - - aged - - -
Beneath ^his monument, on an alabaster
grave-stone on the floor, are some figures
engraved round them, with an inscription,
now obliterated, and the arms of Eyre im*
paled with Mordaunt.

In the Ckaneel.

Upon an alabaster tomb, repaired, and

the inscription cut, and filled up with black

in 1774, (by Mr. WaUon.)

Eiere lies John Vernon, son and heir of

Henry Vernon, who died the 12th of

August 1477, whose soule God pardon.

jingtut, 1827. E. J. H.

For the Table Book.
ERASMUS.
Qutritor, oada tiU nt aomen Erasoras ? A«MMt.

Re^.

Si tQm Mm ego, te Jiulioe Swmamt era.

Jomnii Awdoni, Ub. vii. epig. 34.

That tiion wast great Bratmu none di<pate s
Vet, hj the import of thy aame, wast imall :

For Bone its truth oaa readilj refate
Thoa wast— a Aro«M,>-EaAa>Mos after aU

The Reply of Erasmus.
Hraee, ifaMon$§, dif wit most this confess .^
i wfll be SviMiirt i-CaB*st thoa inaa« aie less ?

J.R.P.

enxtitk 9lan$»

No. XXX.

[From te "Woman's a Weathercock," a
Comedy, hy Nathaniel Field, 161 2. |

Falee MUtreee.

Seuamore alone ; having a letter in hie
hand from Bellafront, aeeuring him of her
faith.

Semi. If what I feel I oovld express la words*
Methiaka I could speak joy enough to men
To banish sadness frosB all lore for erer.

0 thou that reooaeilest the faults of all
Thy frothf sex, and in thy single self
Confines I najr has engraes'd, rirtne enough
To frame a spacious world of Tirtuous womea I
Had*st thou bera the beginning of thy sex,

1 think the devil in the serpent's skin

Had wanted cunning to o*er«oaie th/ goodness t
And all had lired and died in mnocency.
The whole creation—.
Who's there 7 — come in —

NeviU (enterimg.) What up already, Sendmore?

Scmd, Good morrow, mj dear Nevill ?

Nev. Whal*s this ? a letter I sure it is not so—

Semd. Bj heav'n, you must excuM me. Come, 1
know
You will not wrong mj friendship, and your ivlvniem
To tempt me so.

New. Not for the world, my friend.
Good morrow—

Seui. Nay, Sir, neither must you
Depart in anger from this friendly haa
I swear I lore you better than all men.
Equally with all Tirtue in the world :
Yet this would be a key to lead you to
A prise of that importance—

Neft. Worthy friend,
I leare you not in angerr-wbat d*ye meaa f^*
Nor am I of that inquisititre nature framed.
To thirst to know your prirate businesses.
Why, they concern not me: if they be ill.
And dangerous, 'twould griere me much to kaow

them;
If good, they be so, though I know them not:
Nor would I do your lore so gross a wrong.
To ooret to participate affisirs
Of that near touch, which your assured lotre
Both not think fit, or dares not trust me with.

9eud. How sweetly doth your friendship play with
mine.
And with a simple subtlety steals my heait
Out of my boeom I by the holiest Ioto
That ever made a story, you are a maa
With all good so replet^ that I durst trust yoa
Ev'n with this secret, were it singly mine.

Net, I do beliere you. Farewell, worthy friend.

Seei, Nay, look yoa, this lama Cashim doea Ml
pleasant.

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To« w»rc not vmit to maic yon Tuitilifli
So short aad eareleo.

jy«v. *Tu jw jeal)-isf.
That makea yon think it so ; for. bj «j ami,
Yon've firen me no distaste in keeping fnnn ■§
All things that miyht be bardensome, and oppran ■
In troth, I am invited to a Wedding ;
And the mora faster goes awaj fiom mo.
That I go toward it : and so good morrow—

Semd. Good morrow. Sir. Think I dant shov it
yon—

JVm. Now. by my life, I sot desire it. Sir
Nor ever lov'd these prying list*ntng men.
That ask of othen 'states aad passages :
Not one aaaong a hnndred bat proves false,
Envions and slaad'rons, aad will cot that throat
He twiaas his arms abont I love that Poet,
That fave ns readiag ** Not to seok oarselvea
Beyond oarselvea.** FarewelL

Semi, Yon shall not ga
I cannot now redeem the fanlt I have made
To sneh a friend, bat in disclosing alL

Jfn. Now, if yon love me, do not wrong me so ;
1 see yo« labonr with some serions thiag.
And think, like fairies' treasnre, to reveal it
Will bant yoar breast,— 'tis so delidons.
And so mneh greater Uma the continent.

Scad. O yon have, pierced my eatraila wifh yoar
words,
Aad I most now eiplain all to yoar eyes. (Qimt Ma

th$ Letter.)
Read s aad be happy in my happiness.

Nev, Yet think on't ; keep thy secret aad ikj fsiMA
Sore and entire. Oh give not me the meaaa
To become £abe hereafter ; or thyself
A probable reason to distnut thy friecd.
Though he be ne'er so near. I will not see it

Send. I die, by heav'n, if yon deny again.
I starve for counsel ; take it, look npoa iL
If yon do not, it is an equal plague
As if it beea known aad published.
For God's sake, read ; but with this caution*—
By this right hand, by this yet unstaia'd swordl
Were yon my father flowing in theee waves.
Or a dear son exhausted out of them.
Should yon betray the soul of all my hopes,
like the two Brrthrra (though love made them Stars)
We must be never more both seen agun.

Nev. 1 read it, fearless of the forfeiture :—
Yet wara yon, be as cautelous not to woond
My integrity with doubt, on Ukelihoods
From misreport, bat first esquire the tnith, (reads.')

Semd She is the food, the sleep, the air I live by—

Nee. (kming read the Letter.) O heav'n, we gpeak
like Gods, aad do like Dogs I—

Seedi What means my^

If we* Thu day this Bellafront, this rich h«r
Is married unto Count Frederick ;
Aad that's the Wedding I wns going to.

Scad. I prithee do not mock me ^-married I—

Nee. It ia no matter to be plaid withal;
Bat yet as true, as women aU are false.

Sead. O that this stroke were thunder to my breast.
For, NerJl, thoo hast spoka m^ heart ia twam s

And with the sodden whiflwjid of thy brtath
Hast ravish'd me out of a temperate soil.
And set me under the red burning sone.

Nee. For shama, retura thy blood into thy fai^
Kaow'st not how slight a thiag a Womaa u ?

Send. Yes ; aad how serious too.—

Scudmore, afterward9,/or$ak6U.

Scad. Oh God I
What aa interaal joy my heart has felt,
Sitting at oae of theM same Idle plays,
Whea I have seen a Maid's Inooostnacy
Presented to the life ; how glad my eyes
Have stole about me^ fearing lest my koka
Should tell the compaay contented there,
I had a Mistrsss finee of all each thoughts.

He reptiei to hiifriendy who adjuret him
to live.

Scad, The son Is stale to me ; to-morrow mora.
As this, 'twill rise, I see no difforence t
The night doth visit no but in one robes
She brings aa many thooghts, as she wean ttait
When she b pleasaat, but no rest at all t
For what aew strange thing shooU I covet life then •
Is she not false whom only I thought tne?
Shall Time (to show his stronf th) make Sendmors

liTO,

Till (parish the viciooa thought) I lovo not thee t
Or thoo, dear friend, renoTe thy heart from mel—

C.L.

Sliufrnt iMus(tt

SUPERIOR TO MODERN.

*' That the music of the ancients/* sajrs
Jeremy Collier, ''could command farther
than the modem, is past dispute. Whether
they were masters of a greater compass of
notes, or knew the secret of Taryins them
the more artificially ; whether they adjusted
the intenrals of silence more exactly, had
their hands or their voices further improved,
or their instruments better contrived; whe-
ther thev had a deeper insight into the
philosophy of nature, or understood the
kws of the union of the soul and body
more thoroughly ; and thence were enabled
to touch the passions, streugthen the senscv
or prepare the medium with greater advan^
tage ; whether they excelled us in Ul, oi
in how many of these ways, is not so clear
however, this is certain, that our improve
ments in this kind are little better than
ale-house crowds (fiddles) with lespMl to
theixB."

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The cflects of music among the ancients,
are said to hare been almost roiraculoun
riie celebrated ode of Dryden has made
every one acquainted with the magic power
Df Timotbeus over the emotions of the
human heart. And all, who have read
any thing of ancient history, must have re*
marked the wonderful effects attributed to
ihe musical instrument in the band of a
master.

Among a hundred other stories, which
evince the power of music, is the fol-
lowing :

Pythagoras was once likely to be trou-
bled at Wa lecture, by a company of
young men, inflamed with wine, and petu-
lant with the natural insolence of youthful
levity. Tlie philosopher wished to repress
their turbulence; but forbore to address
them in the language of philo:4ophy, which
they would either not have altended to, or
have treated with derision. He said no-
thing ; but ordered the musician to play a
<rave majestic tunc, of the Dorie style.
Die effect was poweiful and instantaneous.
The young men were brought to their sober
senses, were ashamed of their wanton be-
haviour, and with one accord tore off the
chaplets of flowers with which they had
decorated their temples in the hour of con-
vivial gaiety. They listened to the philo-
sopher. Their hearts were opened to in>
struct ion by music, and the powerful im^
pression being well timed, produced in
them a permanent reformation.

How desirable is it to revive the music
of Pythagoras! How concise a method
of philosophizing to the purpose ! What
sermon or moral lecture would have pro-
duced a similar effect so suddenly ?

But nothing of this kind was ever pro-
duced by the most successful efforts of
modem music. Let us suppose a case
somewhat similar to the precedmg. Let
us imagine a number of intoxicated rakes
entering the theatre with a professed inten-
tion to cause a riot. Such a case has often
been real. The music in the orchestra has
done all that it could do to sooth the g'row-
ing rage ; but it was as impotent and con-
temptible as a pistol against a battery. It
would be a fine thing for the proprietors,
if a tune or two could save the benches,
and the fiddlers preclude the carpenters.
But Timotheus and the Doric strains are
no more ; yet, snrely, in so general a study
of music it might be expected that some-
thing'of their perfection might be revived.*

* Vieetimas Kun.

MUSICAL ANECDOTES.

A OR AND MOVEMEKT.

A musical instrument-maker of Bremen
was on the point of failure, and his creditors
watched him so close, that he could not
get a pin*s worth carried away. He be-
thought himself of a singular stratagem for
deceiving his watchmen. He got together
about a hundred and fifty musicians, his
friends, in the shop, and set them ail play-
ing with the different instmmenU tnere,
the overture of the '' Gazza Ladra.** As it
was night, at each movement of the orches-
tra, he contrived to throw some article of
furniture from the back window, and the
fall was so managed, that, from the noise
of the instruments, no one perceived it.
At last, to finish the affair so happily be-
gun, at the end of the concert, each musi-
cian went out with his instmmcnL The
artist went out last, and locked the sho(>-
door, leaving nothing to his creditors but a
bust of Ramus.

Ah Accohpahiment*

The most singular spit in the world b
that of the count de dastel Maria, one of
the most opulent lords of Trevise. This
spit turns one hundred and thirty different
roasts at once, and plays twenty-four tones,
and whatever it plays, corresponds to a
certain degree of cooking, which is per-
fectly understood by the cook. Thus, a
leg of mutton d VAnglahe, will be excel-
lent at the 12th air; a fowl h la Ptamande^
will be juicy at the 18th, and so on. It
would be difficult, perhaps, to carry farther
the love of music and gormandizing.*

BEETHOVEN.

Ludwfg von Beethoven was bom in 177u
at Baun, where his father was then tenor
singer in the chapel of the elector of Co-
logne. At an unusually early age he was
able to perform that first of all works for
forming a finished player on the organ or
the piano-forte, the preludes and fugues of
Sebastian Bach, called ** Le Clavecin bien
temp^r^.'' At this time he displayed equal
progress in composition ; for, in the same
year, he published variations to a march,
sonatas, and songs, all for the pianorforte.

In 1 792, he was sent by the elector ic
V^ienna, as court-organist, to study the
theory of music under the celebrated J.
Uaydn, who, on leaving Vienna for London

• Furct 4« Leaarct.

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two yearis after, intniated his pupil to the
care of the learned Albrechtsberger. He
wad then more distinguished for his per-
formance than his composition. Judging
by the criticisms of his early works, harsh-
ness of modulation, melodies more singular
than pleasing, and an evident struggle
I to be original,' were among the principal
&ults of which he was accused. Severe as
these critics were on him as a composer,
they were lavish in their praises of him as
a player. In their opinion, no one could
equal him in spirit and brilliancy of exe-
, cution ; and nothing more was wanting to
I t>erfect his performance, than more preci-
iioQ and distinctness of touch. Uis greatest
power consisted in extemporary perform-
ance, and in the art of varying any given
theme without the least premeditation. In
this he approached nearest to Mozart, and
has never had a rival since.
I The precarious situation of the court of
Cologne during the war, and the death of
the elector in 1801, in whom the art of
music lost one of its most zealous patrons,
, induced Beethoven to choose Vienna as his
' permanent residence. As original and in-
' aependent in his general way of thinking,
' IS in his musical productions, a decided
enemy to flattery, an utter stranger to every
thing dishonourable, he disdained to court
, the favour of any one, however wealthy or
high in rank. He has consequently resided
nearly thirty years in that splendid metro-
polis, in open hostility with many ; and in
friendship with only a few, whom the ad-
I miration of bis great genius will not allow
! to take ofl*ence, either at the singularity of
I his manner, or the candour with which he
' f wes his honest opinions. Till very lately,
I he had hardly any other emolument than
what his compositions produced him, and
consequently he was too often in circum-
stances very unwonliy of such a great
' genius.

I In Austria, the native composers have
' experienced a neglect similar to that which
Frederick the Great displayed to the literati
* of Prussia. Salieri, the Italian, has all the
honours and emoluments of principal maes-
tro di capella to their majesties ; wheieas
the inimitable Beethoven relies entirely on
his own strength, without the smallest por-
tion of imperial munificence. It must have
' oeen a consideiation like this, together with
the increase of difficulties, that determined
him, in 1809, to accept an offer from the
I new lYestphalian court of Jerome Buona-
, parte, of the situation of maestro di capella.
I Fortunately, for ' the honour of Vienna and
oi Austria, the ardiduke Rudolph, and the

princes Lobkowitz and Kinsky, induced
him to alter this resolution. In expressions
at once the most favourable and delicate,
these princes had a document diawn up,
by which they settled on Beethoven an an-
nuity of 4000 florins, with no other condi-
tion, than that so long as he derives the
benefit of it, he must reside at Vienna, or
in some other part of the Austrian domi-
nions ; but he cannot travel into foreign
countries, unless with the consent of his
patrons. Vienna has thus become the place
of his abode durine the principal part of
his life. Although he had a great wish to
see foreign countries, particularly England,
he has never applied for leave of absence
to the archduke Rudolph, who is now his
only patron, the princes Lobkowitz and
Kinsky being dead. It has, however, been
doubted whether his presence would add,
either here or any where else, to his cele-
brity. His warmth of temper, extreme
frankness, and singularity of manners,
(which he is little able to rule according to
the prescribed forms of society,) his little
reserve in judging of people, and above
all, his great deaniess, seem little calcu-
lated to endear his person to the true ad-
mirers of his genius. Notwithstanding
these foibles, which more frequently belong
to great than to ordinary men, his charac-
ter, as a man and as a citizen, ranks de-
servedly high. There is a rectitude in his
moral conduct, which ensures to him the
esteem of every honourable person.

Beethoven*s works are universally ac-
knowledged to be, for the greater part,
f)roductlons of the highest oraer. In the
oftier strains of composition, he has attain-
ed so eminent a rank, that it is difficult tu
say who excels him. In many of his or-
chestral symphonies, overtures, quartettos
for the violin, concertos, trios, and sonatas
for the piano- forte, he may be placed with-
out the slightest presumption by the side
of Haydn and Mozart. His overture to
the " Men of Prometheus," and his piano-
forte concerto in C minor. Op. 37, would
alone be sufficient to immortalize him.
They will ever be heard with delight after
any overture or concerto, even of Mozart.
A list of his works is copied from that veiy
excellent periodical work, the " Harinoni-
con,*' into the " Biographical Dictionary
of Musicians,'' from whence the present
notice of Beethoven is derived.

The talents of a Haydn and Mozart
raised instrumental composition in Ger-
many to an astonishing elevation; and
Beethoven mav be said not only to have
maintained the art in that stupendous alt

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tude, but even tn some re«pects to have
brought it to still higher perfection. Rei-
chardty in his letters from Vienna, says,
'* Haydn drew his quartets from the pure
source of his sweet and unsophisticated
nature, his captivating simplicity and
cheerfulness; in these works he is stiil
without an equal. Mozart's mightier genius
and richer imagination took a more extend-
ed range, and embodied in several passages
the most profound and sublime qualities of
his own mind. Moreover, he was much
greater as a performer than Haydn, and as
such, expected more from instruments than
the latter did. He also allowed more
merit to highly wrought and complicated
compositions, and thus raised a gorgeous
palace within Haydn's fairy bower. Of
this palace Beethoven was an early inmate ;
and m order adequately to express his own
peculiar forms of style, he had no other
means but to surmount the editice with that
defying and colossal tower, which no one
will probably presume to carry higher with
impunity."

•• If any man," says the Quarterly Musi-
cal Review, <* can be said to enjoy an
almost universal admiration as a composer,
it is Beethoven ; who, disdaining to copy
his predecessors in any, the most distant,
manner, has, notwithstanding, by his ener-
getic, bold, and uncommon style of writing,
carried away the prize from our modem
Olympus. His peculiar beauties may be
enumerated as follows : originality of in-
vention — uncommon passages— a very
energetic manner — imitative passages al-
most innumerable — and abstruse scientific
modulation. The first of these peculiarities,
no sincere lover of music who has heard
any of his symphonies will refuse to admit ;
and it is principally to this prominent fea-
ture in all his works that the fame he has
acquired is owing. There is something in
the first movements of all his overtures and
symphonies, which, to the hearer, conveys
a clear impression that the piece is not
similar to any he ever heard before by other
composers. The frequent employment of
discords unresolved with a full harmony,
the apparent sombre cast of expression by
1 continual richness and depth of the bass,
the evident preparation for some beautiful
allegro or vivare movement ; all these con-
spire to raise the author in our estimation,
and to keep our attention alive. Yet, when
he does lead us to the quick, it is not upon
a light, unmeaning, or dance-like passage,
that he chooses to work ; conscious of his
if!Sources, he gives an excellent subject,
gradually rising into importance as the in-

struments one after the other join in tho
stringed chorus; and when (as Maister
Mace would say) ' that vast concord ing
unity * of the whole band comes ' thunder-
ing in,' we perceive with what admirable
skill the orchestra are brought together, and
afterwards, to the latter part of the pit'ce,
continue our admiration of the scientific
manner in which the parts are worked up.
The conclusion leaves us in regret."

In BeethoTen's ^ Mount of Olives," the
introductory symphony is considered to be
so affecting and appropnate as to be equal,
if not superior, to Haydn's introduction, or
representation of *< Chaos " in the " Crea-
tion." The whole is a stiikins; instance of
his originality of invention. With respect
to his energetic manner, nearly the whole
of his works abound with specimens of this
description of beauty. Yet, however, in th^
midst of his energy, variety, and abstruse-
aess, ideas may sometimes be discovered
which create enthusiasm solely from their
simplicity. Of this description is the well-
known passage in his *^ BsUle Sinfonia,**
where the one fifer is supposed to be heard
attempting to rally the aisordered ranks of
the French army, by playing their national
air of ^ Malbrouk," wnich he performs in a
minor key, from his own presumed thirst
and fatigue.

It is said that Beethoven does not write
down a single note of his compositions till
he has mentally completed them, and that
he holds his own earlier compositions in
contempt. He usually passes the summer at
the pleasant village of Baden, about twelve
miles from Vienna. He is very deaf, but can
hear without the assistance of any machire,
when addressed loudly and distinctly, llis
principal amusement in the country is tak-
ing long walks in the most romantic parts
of the vicinity ; these excursions he some-
times extends even through the night.*

ANNE DE MONTMORENCY.

Of the sanguinary character of this co^
stable of France some idea may be formed
by the specimen which Brantome has given
of his favourite orders. — " Go ! Let me see
those rascals stabbed or shot directly
Hang me that fellow on yonder tree ! Hack
me to pieces those scoundrels this moment,
who dared to defend that church against
the king*s forces ! Set fire to that village,
d'ye hear ! Burn me all the country for a
mile round this spot V*

* Biofraphical P*ct of MukieiuiB.

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THE TA.BLE BOOK.

L** r B t' :.<

C» I* T 0 fl H K 17^

Assi^nat

FAC-SIMILE OF A FRENCH ASSIGNAT FOR TEN SOUS,
Referred to in the followinq Communication.

To (he Editor,

Dear sir, — ^Perhaps you may esteem the
enclosed as a curiosity worthy of a place
in the Table Book. It is a genuine speci-
men of the oMtignaU used in lieu of money
during the French revolution. I believe
there are very few now to be had. It was
given to me by a French gentleman, whose
&tber (a native of Normandy) had lost con-
siderable sums by them. He had unfor-
tunately converted most of his property
into auignaiSf as a precaution durmg those
times, which, although eventually of so
much benefit to the French nation, were so
distressing while they lasted. But when
the use of coin was resumed, he found his
intention frustrated, and himself deprived
of all his fortune.

This gentleman had been the means of
assisting the duke and duchess of Chartres
in iheir escape to England, after having
concealed them for some time in his own
house. They left him with reiterated assru-
ances of liberal recompense and future
patronage, should they ever be so fortunate
as to return to their native country :— they
did return — but their Norman benefactor
was forgotten^he never heard any thing
more of them. — ^** Telle est laricompente
de lo%faut4 r was the concluding remark
of his ton, who related the story to me.

He was a pleasant specimen of a French-
man^ight, kind-]ieartcd, and extremely
enthusiastic; but his enthusiasm was
equally bestowed on the most important or
the most trivial occasion. I have seen him
rise from his seat, stretch his clasped hands
out at full length, and utter with rapturous
ecstasy through his clenched teeth, ** Ah,
Dien I que eitoit beau J** when perhaps the
subject of his eulogy was the extraorainary
leap of some rope-dancer, or the exagge-
rated shout of some opera-singer, whose
greatest recommendation was, that she pos-
sessed *' une voix h. enlever le toil** He
had a habit of telling immensely long sto-
ries, and always forgot that you had beard
him relate them often and often before. He
used to tack his sentences together by an
awful <' alorty' which was the sure sign of
his being in the humour (although by the
by he never was otherwise) for telling one
of his pet anecdotes, or, more properly
interminable narratives, for such ne madt
them by his peculiar tact at spinning then
out. He had three special favourites ; — the
one above related of aristocratic ingrati-
tude ; — another about Buonaparte*8 going
incognito every morning, while he was a»
Boulogne eur Mer, to drink new milk a
the cottage of an old woman, with whozn
he used to take snuff, and talk quite fami-
liarly ; — and the last and best-beloved, an

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account of his own good fortune in having
once actually tpoken with the emperor Na-
poleon Buonaparte himself 1 He bad been
an officer on board one of the ships belong-
ing to the floiiUe destined for the invasion
of England, and almost adored Buonaparte
as a sort of God. He was perhaps as
aifeciionate-hearted a human \mxk% as could
possibly exist, and I never heard him speak
bitterly against any one, excepting Me*-
tieurt la CSergh,

I have digressed considerably, but the
oiMigtiai is merely a matter of curiosity to
look at, and does not admit of much com-
nxcnt.

I am, dear sir,
Your respectful admirer,

June 29, 1927. M. H.

BUYING AND SELLING.

\ merehaml thall hurdlj keep bimself from Mng
wrong ; ud an kmkster ahmu. not be freed from ain.

\i a nail ttieketb fast between the joiamgt of the

lo dotb $u atieli eloae between bnjing and

, Beeletiastieui.

It has been observed in the House of
Commons, " That commerce tends to cor-
rupt the morals of a people." If we exa-
mine the expression, we shall find it true,
•n a certain degree.

Perhaps every tradesman -can furnish out
numberless instances of small deceit. His
conduct is marked with a littleness, which
though allowed by general consent, is not
strictly just. A person with whom I have
long been connected in business, asked if
I had dealt with his relation whom he had
brought up, and who had lately entered
into commercial life. I answered in the
affirmative. He replied, ** He is a very
honest fellow." I told him I saw all the
finesse of a tradesman about him. ** Ob,
rejoined my friend, a man has a right to
say all he can in favour of his own goods."

Nor is the seller alone culpable. The
buyer takes an equal share in the deception.
Though neither of them speak their senti-
ments, they well understand each other.
Whilst a treaty is agitating, the buyer pro-
nounces against the article; but when
finished, the seller whispers to his friend,^
<< It is well sold/' and the buyer smiles at
the bargain. The commercial track is a
line of minute deceits.

But, on the other hand, it does not seem
^ssible for a man in trade to pass this
line, without wrecking his reputation ;
which, if once broken, can never be made
whole. The cliaracter of a tradesman is
vsluaMe; it in his all; therefore, whatever

seeds of the vidoiis kind may shout forth
in the mind, they are carefully watched and
nipped in the oud, that they may never
blossom into action.

Having stated the accounts between mo-
rality and trade, I shall leave the reader to
draw the balance, and only ask, " Whether
the people in trade are more corrupt than
those out t" If the curious reader will lend
an attentive ear to a pair of formers in the
market, bartering for a Cow, he will find as-
much dissimulation as at St. James's, or at
any other sainfs, but couched in more
homely phrase. The roan of well-bred
deceit is *< infinitely your friend-^it would
give him immense pleasure to serve you V
while the roan in the frock ** will be — ^
if he tells you a word of a liel"

Having occasion for a horse, in 17-59, 1
mentioned it to an acquaintance, and in-
formed him of the uses the animal was
wanted for ; he assured me he had one that
would exactly suit; which lie showed in
the suble, and held the candle pretty high,
'' for fear of afiecting the straw/' I told
him it was needless to examine him, for I
should rely upon his word, being conscious
he was too much my friend to deceive me;
I therefore bargained, and caused him to
be sent home. But by the light of the sun
which next morning illumined the heavens,
I perceived the horse was " greased*' on all
fours. I therefore, in sentle terms, up-
braided my friend with duplicity, when nc
replied with some warmth, " I would cheat
my own brother in a horse.** Had this
honourable friend stood a chance of selling
me a horse once a week, his own interest
would have prevented himfrom deceiving me.

A mau enters into business with a view
of acquiring a fortune — a laudable motive !
Tliat property which arbes from honest in-
dustry is an honour to its owner; the f^
pose of his age, the reward of a life of
attention; but great as the advantage
seems, yet, being of a private nature, it b
one of the least in the mercantile walk.
For the intercourse occasioned by traffic
gives a man a view of the world, and of
himself; removes the narrow limits that
confine his judgment, expands the mind,
opens his understanding, removes his pre-
judices, and polishes his manners. Civility
and humanity are ever the companions of
trade ; the man of business is the man of
liberal sentiment: if he be not the philoso-
pher of nature he is the friend of his coon-
try. A barbarous and commercial peoplf
is a contradiction.'*

* HnttoB'i £UtOTj of Biraungbaok

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LONGEVITY

Of ▲ HEVABXABLC HlOBLAlTDEE.

In Augast, 1827, John Macdonald ex*
pired in his 8on*S house, in the Lawnmar-
kel, at the advanced age of one hundred
and seven yean. He was born in Glen
Tintsdale, in the Isle of Skye, and, like the
other natives of that quarter, was bred to
rura] labour. Early one morning in his
youth, when looking after his black cattle,
he was surprised by the sight of two ladies,
as he thought, winding slowly round a hill,
and approaching the spot where he stood.
When they came up, they inquired for a
well or stream, where a drink of water
could be obtained. He conducted them to
the "Virgin Well," an excellent spring,
which was held in great reverence on ac-
count of its being the scene of some super-
stitious and legendary tales. When they
had quenched their thirst, one of the ladies
rewarded Macdonald with a shilling, the
first silver coin of which he was possessed.
At their own request he escorted them to a
gentleman's house at some distance, and
there, to his great surprise and satisfaction,
he learned that the two " ladies " were
Flora Macdonald and prince Charles Stew-
art.

This was the proudest incident in Mac-
donald's patriarchal life ; and, when sur-
rounded by his Celtic brethren, he used to
dilate on all the relative circumstances with
a sort of hereditary enthusiasm, and more
than the common garrulity of age. He
afterwards turned joiner, and bore a con-
spicuous part in the building of the first
protestant church which was erected in the
island of North Uist. He came to Edin-
burgh twenty-three years before his death,
and continued to work at his trade till he
was ninety-seven years of age.

Macdonald was a temperate, regular-
living man, and never paid a sixpence to a
surgeon for himself, nor had an hour's sick-
ness in the whole course of hi^i life. He
used to dance regularly on New-year's
day, along with some Highland friends, to
the bagpipe. On New-year's day, 1825,
he danced a reel with the father, the son,
the grandson, and great-grandson, and was
m more than his usual spirits. His hearing
was nothing impaired, and till within three
weeks of his demise he could have threaded
the finest needle with fiicility, without
glasses.*

• Seotginuu AugiuU 18S7.

Mitohtriti

OF THE

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS

No. V.

Having examined what knowledge th«
ancients bad in logic and metaphysics, we
are now to consider with tlie same impar-
tiality, what general or particular disco-
veries they made in physics, astronomy,
mathematics, mechanics, and the other
sciences.

Of Bodies — the Incorporealitt of

THEIR ElEMEMTSxo^LeiBNITZ.

Although the distance may appear con-
siderable between metaphysics and phy-
sics, yet an idea of their connection runs
through the whole system of Leibnilz. He
founds this on the principle, employed long
ago by Archimedes,'* that there must be
a sufficient teason for every thing." Leib-
nitz inquires, why bodies are extended in
length, breadth, and thickness. He holds,
that to discover the origin of extension, we
must come at something unextended, and
without parts; in short, at existences en-
tirely simple ; and he contends, that ** things
extended' could have had no existence,
but for *' things entirely simple.''

The foundations of this system were, in
eflect, long since laid by Fythagoras and
his disciples. Traces of it are in Strato of
Lampsacus, who succeeded Theophrastus
in the Lyceum; in Democritus; in Plato,
and those of his school; and in Sextus
Empiricus, who has even furnished entire
arguments to Leibnitz for establishing ** the
necessity of seeking for the reason of com-
pound things, in those which never had
external existence." Moderatus Gaditanus,
in relation to the numbers of Pythagoras,
says, *' Numbers are, so to speak, an assem-
blage of units, a progressive multitude
which arises from unity, and finds there its
ultimate cause." And Hermias, expound-
ing the doctrine of the Pythagoreans, says,
that, according to them, '* the unit, or sim-
ple essence, was the origin and principle
of all things."

Sextus Empiricus deems it unworthy 01
a philosopher to advance, that what fiiUs
under the notice of our senses, could be the
principle of all things ; for things sensible
ought to be derived from what is not so.
Things compounded of other things cannot
possibly be themselves a principle; but
what constitutes those things may. Those

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who affirm that atoms, similar parts, parti-
cles, or those bodies which only are to be
ipprehended by the intellect itself, are the
primary elements of all things, in one
respect say true, in another not. In so far
IS they acknowledge for principles, only
such things as fall not under our senses,
they are right ; but they are wrong in ap-
prehending those to be corporeal princi-
i^les : for as those bodies which fall not
under our senses, precede those which do,
they themselves are preceded also by what
is of another nature : and as the letters are
not a discourse, though they go into the
composition of it, neither are the elements
of body, body : but since they must be
either corporeal or incorporeal, it follows,
that they are incorporeal. To this end he
argues, that " bodies are composed of in-
corporeal principles, not to be compre-
hended but by the mind itself."

To the same effect, Scipio Aquilianns,
treating of the opinion of Alomeon, the
Pythagorean, concerning the principles of
things, reduces it to a syllogism. '* What
precedes body in the order of nature, is the
principle of body ; number is such a thing;
therefore number is the principle of body.
The second of these propositions is proved
thus: — Of two things, that is the fiYst,
which may be conceived independent of
the other, whilst that other cannot of it.
Now number may be conceived independ-
ently of body, but not body of number;
wherefore number is antecedent to body in
the order of nature."

Marcilius Ficinus imputes to Plato the
same notion, and gives us the substance of
that philosopher's thoughts. " The differ-
ent species of all sorts of compounds may
be traced out to something which in itself
is uncompounded ; as the boundaries of
body to a point, which lias no boundary ;
numbers to a unit, which consists not of
numbers ; and elements to what has nothing
in it mixt or elementary.*' Marcilius Fici-
nus expresses the system in a few words.
'' Compounds are reducible into things un*
compounded, and these again into what is
still more simple." One sees here those
compounds of Leibnitz, which, when re-
duced to their simple parts, terminate in
the Deity for their cause and source.

Plotinus also a^rms, that *< there must
be in bodies some principle, or substratum,
entirely different from anything corporeal.

These quotations accord with passages
in Plutarch concerning Hcraclitus. There
are passages in Stobseus, from Enicurus,
Xenocrates, and Diodorus, to a similar pur«
port; and a remarkable one in Hebrewi

xt. 3. ** Through faith we understand tba
the worlds were framed by the word ol
God, so that thiiigM which are $een wert nom
made ofthingt which do appear.***

It every where appears that LeibntH
drew many of his notions from Plato ; ana
he defines his '* monads," just as Plato does
bis ideas, rii Svtm •vr«, ** things really ex-
isting." An erudite German says, '* I am
assured by one of my friends, who wa;
himself informed of it by a learned Italian,
who went to Hauover to satisfy an ardent
desire he had of being acquainted with Mr.
Leibnitz, and spent three weeks with hins,
that this great man, at parting, said to him :
' Sir you have often been so good as to in-
sinuate, that you looked upon roe as a man
of some knowledge. Now, sir, 1*11 sho^
you the sources whence I drew it all ;' and
immediately taking him by the hand, led
him into his study, showing him all the
books he had ; which were Plato, Aristotle,
Plutarch, Sextus Empiricus, Euclid, Archi-
medes, Pliny, Seneca, and Cicero.*'

Leibnitz and Parmenides agree in these
particulars: —

1. The existence and essence of things
are different.

2. The essence ofthings^existent^is with
out the things themselves.

3. There are, in nature, similar and dis-
similar things.

4. The similar are conceived, as in exist-
ence essentially the same.

5. Whatever exists is reducible to certain
classes, and specific forms.

6. All those forms have their existence
m the unity ; that is, in God ; and hence
the whole is one.

7. Science consists in the knowledge,
not of individuals, but of kinds or species.

8. This knowledge differs from that of
things existing externally.

9. Forms or ideas, as they exist in God,
escape the observation of men.

10. Hence men perceive nothing per-
fectly.

11. Our mental notions are but the
shades or resemblances of ideas.

Of Animateo Nature. — Buffok.

Bufibn's theory respecting universal mat-
ter, generation, and nutrition, so much re-
sembles what was taught by some of the
ancients, that it is difficult not to think that
his ideas drew their origin from that first
school. It appears indeed, that he had

* PerhApa this principle derivea fnrtlier tllitttrfttim
from scriptDre. ** lo the begxnp''ng was tiM Wtf4.*
Jah9« L Kii.

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attentiTely read the aDcients, and knew
how to value them. He says himself, that
'' the ancienu understood much better, and
made'a greater progress in the natural history
of animals and minerals, than we have
done. They abounded more in real obser-
vations ; and we ought to have made much
better advantage of their illustrations and
"emarks/' Yet Buffon does not seem to
oave perceived the analogy which every
where reigns between hi& system and that
of the ancients.

Anaxagoras thought that bodies were
composed of small, similar, or homogeneous
particles; tlial those bodies, however, ad-
mitted a ccitain quantity of small paiticles
that werf hetero^ene, or of another kind ;
but that :o constitute any body to be of a
particular species, it sufficed, that it was
composed of a great number of small parti-
cles, similar and constitutive of that species.
Different bodies were masses of particles
similar among themselves ; dissimilar, how-
ever, relatively to those of any other body,
or to the mass of small particles belonging
to a different species. Thus, the ancients
taught, that blcod was formed of many
drops or particles, each of which had blood
in it; that a bone was formed of many
small bones, which from their extreme lit-
tleness evaded our view ; and these similar
ETts they called i/»4ifu(imt iimilaritatet.
kewise, that nothing was properly liable
to generation, or corruption, to Dirth, or to
death ; generations of every kind, being no
other than an assemblage of small particles
constituent of the kind ; and the destruction
of a body being no other than the disunion
of many small bodies of the same sort,
which always preserving a natural tendency
to reunite, produce again, by their conjunc-
tion with other similar particles, other
bodies of the same species. Vegetation and
nutrition were but means employed by
nature for the continuation of beings ; thus,
the different juices of the earth being com-
posed of a collection of innumerable small
particles intermixed, constituting the dif-
ferent parts of a tree or flower for example,
take, according to the law of nature, differ-
ent arrangements ; and by the motion ori-
ginally impressed upon them, proceed till,
arriving at the places destined and proper
for them, they collect themselves and hah,
to form all the different parts of that tree or
flower ; in the same manner as many small
imperceptible leaves go to the formation of
the leaves we see, many little parts of the
fruits of different kinds to the composition
of those which we eat ; and so of the rest.
The same, with respect to the DutritioD of

animals. Tlie bread we eat, and ihe othe
aliments we take, turn themselves, accord
ing to the ancients, into hair, veins, arteries
nerves, and all the other parts of our body ;
because there are, in those aliments, the
constituent parts of blood, nerves, bones,
hair, &c. which, uniting with one another,
make themselves by their coalition percepti-
ble, which they were not before, because of
their infinite littleness.

Empedocles believed, that matter had in
it a living principle, a subtile active fiie,
which put all in motion ; and this Buffer
calls, by another name, " organized matter,
always active ; or animated organic mattei."
According to Empedocles, "this matter
was distributed through the four elements,
among which it had an uniting force to bind
them, and a separating to put them asun-
der; for the small parts either mutually
embraced, or repelled one another; whence
nothing in reality perished, but every thing
was in perpetual vicissitude."

Empedocles had a sentiment, which Buf-
fon follows, in the same terms ; where he
says, that << the sexes contain all the small
parts analogous to the body of an animal,
and necessary to its production.''

Plotinus, investigating what might be
the reason of this sympathy and attraction
in nature, discovered it to proceed from
such a " harmony and assimilation of the
parts, as bound them together when they
met," or repelled them when they weie
dissimilar; he says, that it is the variety ot
these assimilations that concurs to the form-
ation of an animal; and calls this binding,
or dissolving force, ** the magic of the uni-
verse."

Anaxagoras thought as Buffon does, that
there is no preexistent seed, involving in-
finite numbers of the same kind one within
another ; but an ever active organic matter,
always ready so to adapt itself, as to assi-
milate, and render other things conform-
able to that wherein it resides. The species
of animals and vegetables can never there-
fore exhaust themselves ; but as long as an
individual subsists, the species will be
always new. It is as extensive now as it
was at the beginning, and all will subsist
of themselves, till they are annihilated by
the Creator.

It would be easy to show, that in morak
and politics, as in physics, the most enii
nent moderns have said nothing nev
Hobbcs has advanced nothing, but what Us>
found in the writings of the Grecian and
Latin philosophers ; and above all, in those
of Epicurus. Montesqiieu also assumes
fiom the aodexita the principles of hi*

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system ; and MachtaTel those of his politics

from Aristotle, though we have attributed

to his genius the whole honour of having

iuTented them. But these discussions

would detain the reader too long; we hasten

therefore to another field of contemplation,

not less fruitful of testimony, in support of

I the position, that the most celebrated phi-

i losophers among the moderns have taxen

' what they advance from the works of the

ancients.

For the TeMe Book.

CRASSHOPPEM.

«• 8ft«ter de bnmOf «b bnmeht/'

TIm ttream naj flow, tbe whml maj nio,
TIm ooni ia Tain be l>fown*d ia •ma*

Aad t)oltiBf>miUa, like eorka, be stoppen ;
8aTe tkat tbeir clacks, like aolsj raia.
Make floar of oora la root aad graia

B/ Tirtoe of their Rorraat.

Aad LoadoB epoilsicca (iforUmtut) seot
To iboot at tpanvws (waatj feet

Like fiBfer-beer eaeapiaff^pepperi t
PlgOBBO aro tktts kaaMaefj^ akoC,
Aad that tkef go to pie aad pot.

Poor pall* aad Cfawblail Uortsaaf

Treee ie tbeir tbroads rewable dm^
Aad tbej wbo ** cat maj come agaia,*

To take their tithe ae legal loppen i
Soldiere aad lailori, after wan,
la epite of glory, faoie, aad etan.—

Are eiUy aot pea^'ea Horpsas f

Tot Bore tkaa theee, la •ammer'e erra.
There hop, betweea the Madet of Henrea

Aad haibtoBce pearl/ dioppen,
laiecti of aiirth, whose aoags eo thriU
Delight the Mr« of vale aad hill.

The graity, greea— OaAaa-Homat.

Attg. 1827.

J. 11. P.

For the Table Book,

WASPS.

A grocer*s shop at Camberwell — ^ the
Grasshopper" — is much visited by wasps
for the sweets of the sugar hogsheads. Tne
shop is closed on Sundays, but they find
entrance into it by creeping privately
tnrough the hejfhole of the door,

C.W.P.

THE BARLEY-MOW.
To the Editor.

My dear 8ir,-rNothing coald possibly
exceed the heartfelt pleasure I enjoyed
when the last load .was drawn into the
farro-yatrd ; and the&rmer,and his men and
women, witnessed the completion of ih9
•' Barley.mow." Their huzzas filled the
scenery, and the barns and church replied.
The carters and horses were trimmed with
boughs and wild flowers. The hedges
siding the lanes, and the patriarch elms and
walnuMrees, as the survivors of templar
consecrations to the demesne, took tneir
tithes, to the joy of birds; and the fields had
still a generous strewing of ears for the
peasant-gleaners, who, like ants, collected
a small store for the days of frost and ad-
versity. The farmers heart gladdened with
the reward of his labours* The ale-bottle,
when held upward, gurgled its choice liquid
into many thirsty throats, £\ery thing and
every body showed satisfiiction. The
housewife came forth with a rake in hei
hand, in her aim-shielding gloves and broad
flat bonnet, and she sung the rejoicings of
her peace in a minor key, suitable to bei
taste of harmony, lier daughter too came
tripping in a lifbtsome gait and charming
advance, towards her sire and myself, with
cake and cider, dimpling and exhilarating.

By- this time the " Barley-mow *' was
ooning to a point, and the stray ears were
plucked out of its bulging sides.

The evening closing into eternity, the
peaceful aspect of nature sweetly acomrded
with the quiet sensations of thankfulness,
glowiiig in the gratefttl breasts of the per-
sons cast in this out-of-town spoL The
increasing pall of dusk, when the work
was ended, drew the labourers into a circle
within their master's welcome domicile.
Here the farmer and his wife and family
were assembled, and, without pride's dis-
tinction, regaled the sharers of their sum-
mer-toil with that beverage that warms the
feelings of hope into real joy. This was
the triumph ot the ** Barley-mow." Every
tongue praised, as every energy assisted it
It was a heartfelt celebration. Songs we«
suniTf and they danced down the midnight
The'^foot of Time stepped lightly, till tht
weather-featured clock toird the end of th«
loyful recreation. Sincerity, unity, anu
hospitality were blended : the master was
satisfied with his servants — the servants
were thankful with their means of support
My thoughts rebounded high, as my sym-
palhict awakened to so mudi happiness is

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10 small a compass. Ere satiety arrived
the companions separated. My candle was
ready; 1 shook hands with my fiiends;
and, after penning you this outline, retired
with benevolent impressions and aspirations
in behalf of a cheerful country life, arising
from contented habits and industrious
courses.

The two following stanias were audible
for a long time in the neighbouring rurai-
ries:

Ut Htm MTtlM ud aekk lla

UadistarVd for many • daf
Labour stoopa witboat a ugb.

And gtukf eara u gay
Bleu the harroir and the ploogb
Bleat Um (lorioM BarUymom

Now Aa miUei's boppert plafs

Mow tba maltstar*! kila is dry
Eaiptj easlu prapare dM waj,

Aad mlrfh ia ia tba ajai
Praba tba saa aad trim tba boo|h»—
Hail tba golden Avby«Ma /

I am, my dear sir.

Yours very truly,

J-ILP.

T n T e,

Auguit 1, 1827.

HANGING THE SHUTTLE.
To the Editor.

Sir,— The custom of *• hanging the shut-
tle " arose out of the introduction of a
** spring loom," which an eminent clothier
at Langley ventured, in 1794, to have
erected in one of his cotUges, built for the
use of his men.

One person performing nearly as much
work in this loom as two persons, the
weavers in the neighbourhood met at the
*' Plough," to consider the best means of
opposing the success of the one-shuttle
btranger*

After sundry resolutions were passed,
declarative that spring-looms would prove
4iurtful to weavers of the old school, they
suspended a shuttle to a bacon rack by a
skein of Ungled yarn over the table round
which they sat. Meeting every Saturday-
night at this inn, they pledged their affiance
to the « shuttle," and continued the custom
till their meetings were fruitless.

The << hanging the shuttle" over them
signified that no honest weaver should work

a spring-loom to the injury of his fellow
workman. Tbis prejudice having subsided
and most of the weavers that assembled a.
the ** Plough*' being dead, their sons agree
to the prevailing and supposed improve-
ments.

I am, sir.

Yours respectfolly,

Jmip 28, 1827.

* P

For the TaUe Book.

THE STEPS OF PERFECTION.

Paraphraeedfrom the Latin of John Owen

Faith, Hope, and Cmaritt.

H - I S

T . R . £ I E

I . A

A - H

F . C

5 7 4

.Oil
. H I F

-S

-A
T

I
R
A
C

r

s

£
P

S

4

Wbaa Vmtus bar axamplas draw ia beavea.

Sswn stepa to raaeb tbam ware to iMrtab fivaa:-*

Hori, ao daainma to ba firttt atlaiaa

F9mr of tba Sitkk : bat KAiTH>f«a pnoepta f asaa t

Love is tba ebiaf, for Lara tba two aseeli*

Aad ia tba virtaa af Puraonair dwaUa.

P.

NEWSPAPER ORTHOGRAPHY, 1682

From the ** Tme Proteetant Mereury/*

No. 162.

Advebtisememt.

LOST, a Flowered silk Manto (Mantua)
Gown of a sable and Gold Coulor,
lined with Black, betwixt ArtaeeeH Clere
(St. Agnes le Clair) and the White Houses
at Hogtden (Hoxton) on Wednesday last,
the 19th instant, about 4 or 5 « dock in
the Afternoon. Any one that can girt
Intelligence of the said Manto Gown to
Mr. Blewit's, at the Hose and Crown 1o
Lotttkberryf shall have lOt. for their pains.

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Poetrp*

For the Table Book.

THE DESTRUCTION OF

SENNACHERIB'S ARMY.

And it came to pftn that aifht. that the Anyel of the

- Wd went out* and smote in the camp of the Aisf-

riaas an haadred foaneore and fire thoataad : and

#ben they aroae earljr in the mornior, behold, they

were all dead corpse* I —2 Kingt, xix 3ft.

The nia in hia beauty had loak to reat.
Add with ma^ie coloon tUamin*d the west.
Costing o'er the temple his brifhtest gold.
The tenplor-^^boTah's dwelling of old :
The flowers were elos*d by the cTening breexa,
That sadly sigh'd throagh Lebanon's trees ;
The moon was np, so pale and bright,
(She look'd more beaotifal that night,)
Whilst nnmerons stars were roand her gleaming-
Stars in silent beauty beaming.

The Find of Fear his dark wings spread
O'er the city of God, and fill'd it with dread ;
Bat the king at the altar prostrate lay.
And plae'd on Jehovah's arm hia stay ;
In anxious watching he paas'd the night,
Waiting the return of the morning light.
When forth his embattled hosts should more.
The power of Jehovah on the Heathen to prove I

The Assyrian hosts were proud in their might.
And in revelry spent the oomroeaeemeut of night,
*Till the power of wine o*er their coward-souls creep<

inf.
Each man in his armour lay prostrate, sleeping I

At the midnight watch the angel of Ood

O'er the Assyrian camp spread his wings abroad ;

On his brow was plac'd a crown of light.

Which shone like a meteor in the gloom of night.

And queaeh'd, with iu brightness, the moon's pale

sheen.
Which her uckly rays flung over the scene t
His flowing robe in large folds roU'd,
Spangled with genu and bright with gold
As over the Assyrian camp he pass'd.
He breathed npon them a poisonous blast —
It blanch'd their cheeks — and without a g oan
Each soul was hurried to his long, long home I

At the morning watoh in the Assyrian camp
Was heard no sound of the war-horse tramp I
The bright son rose, like a bridegroom dress'd.
And illnmin'd the camp from east to west ;
But there was no spear ia his bright beam gleaming.
Nor polish'd mail his reflected light streaming :
The spear and the armour were cover'd with rust.
And prostrate the warrior lay down ia the dust 1
To arF*i * to arms I the trumpet soonded—
rhe echoes in mockery the blast resounded I
Seanaeherib waited his embattled host,
lUfnUvi his heart and his impioas ooaaih*

The trampet was sounded again and again,
Ite shrill notes echoing o'er the prostrate slua;—
But his bands were bound in the slumber of death,
Kor heeded the war^tirring clarion's breath 1
The angel of God had pasa'd over the host*
la the grasp of Death lay SeanacheriVs host I

O. N. Y.
July, 1827.

For the Table Book.

NIXON'S PROPHECIES.— MR, CAN-
NING.

Mr. Caiiniko*s decease on the 8th ol
August, 1827, occasioned the following
article in the newspapers.

The Death of Mr. CANNiiie predicted
BT Nixon, the Astrologer.

In an old book, entitled The Prophecies
of Robert Nixon, printed in the year 1 701 , is
the following prophetic declaration, which
appears to refer to the late melancholy erent,
which has deprived the English nation of one
of her brightest ornaments : — ** In the year
1827 a man will raise himself by his wis-
dom to one of the most exalted oflSces in
the state. His king will invest him with
great power, as a reward for his zeal. Eng-
land will be greatly rejoiced. A strong
party will enter into a league against him,
out their envv and hatred will not prerail.
The power of God, which reigneth over all,
will cut him off in his prime, and the nation
will bitterly bemoan lier loss. Oh, Eng-
land? beware of thy enemies. A great
friend thou wilt lose in this man."

The preceding is a prediction made after
the erent — a mere " hoax " on the credu-
lous. There is nothing of the kind among
the prophecies imputed to Nixon, who was
not an astrologer, and probably existed no-
where but in the imagination of the writer
of the manuscript copied by the ** Lady
Cowper."

BUSH EELS.

At this season when persons, at inns in
Lincolnshire, ask for " eel-pie," ihey are

|)resently provided with "bush eels;" name*
y, enakes, caught for that purpose in the
bushes, and sold to the landlords cheaply,
^bich are made into stews, pies, and fries.

P.

Jl

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CASE CONTAINING TUE HEART OF LOED EDTVARD BRUCE,
At Culross Abbey.

T<ord Edward Bruce was eldest son of
Sir Edward, baron of Kinlosi>, so created
by James I. in 1603, to whom the king
gave the dissolved abbey of Rinloss, in
Ayrshire, after he had been instrumental
in his succesfflon to the crown of England ;
whither accompanying the king, he was

made master of the roIU in 160*, died in
1610, and was buried in the Rolls chapel.
His son, the lord Edward, killed in duel by
sir Edward Sackville in 1613, was suc-
ceeded by his brother, who was created
earl cf Elgin in 1633, and an English baron
in 1641.

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Sir Edward SacVriUe, hj Mrhose habd
th« lord Edward Bruce fell, was younger
brother to Richard Sackvilie, earl of Dor-
sety on whose death he succeeded to the
title. He was lord president of the couo-
cjl, a ioint lord k^pcr, ^^^ filled sereral
other distinguished offices under Chatles 1.,
to whom he adhered, by whose side he
fougrht at the battle of Edge-hill, and whose
death he took so much to heart, that he
never aflerwards stirred out of his house in
Salisbury-court, but died there on the 17th
of July, 165*2,

Between these noblemen there arose a
quarrel, which terminated in their duel ;
and all that is, or probably can be known
respecting it, is contained in the following
correspondence, preserved In a manuscript
in Queen's college library, Oxford.*

A MomuuTt MontUnr Saekviie.

^ I that am in France, hear how much
vou attribute to yourself in this time, that I
have given the world leave to ring your
praises ; and for me, the truest almanack,
to tell you how much I suffer. If you call
to memory, when as I gave you my hand
last, I told you I reserved the heart for a
truer reconciliation. Now be that noble
gentleman, my love once spoke, and come
and do him right that could recite the tryals
you owe your birth and country, were I
not confident your honour gives you the
ume courage to do me right, that it did
to do me wrong. Be master of your own
weapons and time; the place wheresoever,
[ will wait on you. By doing this, you
shall shorten revenge, and clear the idle
opinion the world hath of both our worths.

•* Ed. Bruce.'*

A MonHeur, Moiuieur Baron de Kinlot9,

*' As it shall be always far from nre to
seek a quarrel, so will I always be ready
to meet with any that is desirous to make
tryal of my valour, by so fair a course as
you require. A witness whereof yourself
shall be, who, within a month, shall receive a
strict account of time, place, and weapon,
where you shall find me ready disposed to
give Donourable satisfaction, by him that
shiiil conduct you thither. In the mean
time, be as secret of the appointment, as^ it
seems you are desirous of it

« E. Sackvile."

' GoOrmft Pccraga.

A Moimeur, Motuieur Baron de KintosM,

*' I am at Tergose, a town in Zeland, to

Sive what satisfaction your sword can ren-
er you, accompanied with a worthy gentle-
man for my second, in degree a knight.
And, for your coming, I will not limit you
a peremptory day, but desire you to make
a definite and speedy repair, for your own
honour, and fear of prevention ; at which
time you shall find me there.

Tergose, lOM ** E. Sacevile."

of August, 1613.

A Momieur^ Montienr Saekviie,

** I have received your letter by your
man, and acknowledge you have dealt
nobly with me ; and now I come, with all
possible haste, to meet you.

« E. Bruce."

The combat was fierce, and fatal to lord
Bruce. The survivor, sir Edward Sack
yille, describes it in a letter, which will be
inserted at a future time. For the present
purpose it is merely requisite to state, that
lord Stowell, in a communication to the
earl of Aberdeen, president of the Society
of Antiquarians, dated February 15, 1822,
seems to have determined the spot whereon
the duel was fought, and the place of lord
Bruce's interment. From that communica-
tion, containing an account of the discovery
of his heart, with representations of the case
wherein it was enclosed, the following detail
is derived, together with the engravings.

It has always been presumed that the
duel was fought under the walls of Ant-
werp ; but the combatants disembarked at
Bergen-op-Zoom, and fought near that
town, and not Antwerp. The circumstances
are still well remembered at Bergen, while
at Antwerp there is not a trace of them.
A small piece of land, a mile and a half
from the Antwerp gate of Bergen, goes by
the name of Bruce-land ; it is recorded as the
spot where Bruce fell ; and, according to
tradition, was purchased by the parties to
fight upon. Tiie spot is unclaimed at the
present day, and marked by a little earth-
en boundary, which separates it from the
surrounding corn-fields. It was considered,
until the French revolution, as free ground,
where any person might take refuge with-
out being liable to arrest. Lord Bruce was
buried at Bergen, and a monument is stated
to have been erected to his memory within
the great Protestant church, which was
nearly destroyed in the siege of 1747.

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APPEARANCE OF THE HEART OF LORD EDWARD BRUCE.

In conseaueDce of a tradition, that the
heart of lord Edward Bruce had been sent
from Holland, and interred in the vault or
burying-ground adjoininf^ the old abbey
church of Culross, in Perthshire, sir Robert
Preston directed a search in that place in
1808, with the followinsr result. — ^Two flat
stones, without inscription, about four feet
in length and two in breadth, were disco-
vered about two feet b«low the level of the
pavement, and partly under an old projec-
tion in the wall of the old building. These
stones were strongly clasped together with
iron ; and when separated, a silver case, or
box, of foreign workmanship, shaped like a
heart, was found in a hollow t>r excavated
place between them. lu lid was engraved
with the arms and name *' Lord Edward
Druse;" it had hinge^i and clasps; and
when opened, was found to contain a heart,
carefully embalmed, in a brownish coloured
liquid^ After drawings were taken of it,
as represented in the present engravings,
it was carefully replaced in its former
situation. There was a small leaden box
between the stones in another excavation ;
the contenU of which, whatever they were
originally, appeared reduced to dust.

Some lime after this discovery, sir Robert
Preston caused a delineation of the silver
case, according to the exact dimensions,
with an inscription recording its exhuma-
uon and re-deposit* to be engraved on a

brass plate, and placed upon the projectfci
of the wall where the heart was found.*

It is a remarkable &ct, ihat the cause of
tke quarrel between lord Bruce and sir
Edward Sackvile has remained wholly un-
detected, notwithstanding successive inves-
tigations at different periods. The last was
conducted by the late lord Leicester, and
several gentlemen, whose habits and love
of investigation are equally well known,
but they were unable to discover the slight-
est clue to the object of their anxious and
diligent inquiry. Lord Clarendon, in his
"History of the Rebellion," records the
combat as an occurrence of magnitude,
from its sanguinary character and the emi-
nence of the parties engaged in it. He
does not say any thing respecting the occa-
sion of the feud, although lord Brace's
challenge seems to intimate that it was
matter of public notoriety.

HEART BURIAL.
During the rebuilding of part of the
church of Chatham, Kent, in 1788, there
was found in one of the vaults a leaden pot,
containing,, according to an inscription,
the heart of a woman, one Hester Harris.
The pot appeared to have been nailed up
to the side of the vault, there being a piece
of lead soldered on for that purpose.f

• ArckiMloffia. xx. 515. t 0«t. Maj. ITSt.

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POETICAL QUID PRO QUO.

A Greek poet frequently offered little
compliments to Augustus, with hopes of
tome small reward. His poems were
worthless and unnoticed, but as he per-
sisted in his adulation, Augustus amused
himself with writing an epigram in praise
of the poet, and when he received the next
customary panegyric, presented his lines to
the bard with surprising gravity. The poor
man took and read them, and with appa-
rent delight deliberately drew forth two
farthings, and gave them to the emperor,
saying, ** This is not equal to the demands
of your situation, sire ; but *tis all I have :
if I had more I would give it to you."
Augustus could not resist this; he burst
into laughter, and made tHe poet \ hand*
Home present.

was the manuariohtm, one carried in Ibe
hand duriug summer, on account of per-
spiration. Queen Elizabeth wore handLer^
cnie£i of party-coloured silk, or camhri«
edged with gold lace.

POCKET HANDKERCHIEFS.

These useful appendages to dress were
certainly not in use with the Greeks. The
most ancient text wherein handkerchiefs
are expressly mentioned, describes them as
long cloths, called orariay used and worn
by senators ^ ad emungendum et exspuen-
dum ;" that use is said to have grown out
of the convenience of the orarmm, which
is supposed to have been merelv used at
first to wave for app\ause in the public
shows. Mr. Fosbroke presumes it to have
been the ** swat-cloth ** of the Anglo-
Saxons ; for one called wwpputa and maiir-
puhu was then worn on the left side to
wipe the nose. In subsequent ages there

POCKETS.

Mr. Gifford relates the preceding anec-
dote, in a note on his Juvenal, from Macro-
bius. He makes the poet draw the far-
things from his *' pocket :'* but the pocket
was unknown to the Greeks and Romans.
Mr. Fosbroke savs the men used the girdle,
and the women their bosom ; and that Strutt
thinks the terip, and purse, or bag, were
succedanea. The Anglo-Saxon and Nor-
man women wore pocketting sleeves ; and
sleeves with pockets in them, mentioned by
DuCange, Matthew Paris, Malmesbury, and
Knighton, were searched, before the wear-
ers could be admitted to the royal presence.
Sleeve pockets are still worn by the monks
in Portugal.

PICKPOCKETS.

The old robbers, in the " good old times,*
when purses were carriod in the hand or
borne at the side, cut them away, and car-
ried them off with the contents, and hence
they were called ** cut-purses." In the
scarce ** History of Highwaymen," by
Smith, there is a story of a ludicrous pri-
vate robbery, from " the person" of a man,
mistakenly committed by one of these cut-

{)ur8es. One of Shakspeare's rogues, Auto-
ycus, says, that *' to have an open ear, a
quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary
for a cut-purse." Of course, '* pickpockeu^
are of modern origin ; they ** came up** with
the wearing of pockets.

No. XXXL

[From the " Triumphant Widow," a Co-
medy, by the Duke of Newcastle, 1677.]

Hwnouf of a Thief going to Execution.

Qfieen. Room for the prisoner there, nion for the
pri»oner.

Footpad, Make room there ; *tift a etraage thinf a
man caanot go to be haaged withont erowdiaf for it.

lit FeUow. Pray, Sir, were not fou a kin to oae
aimd0f

Footfcd. No ; I had ran faster awaj then.

id FMow. Praf , prisoner, before joar death dear
yonr eoBseicDce, and teH me tmlj, fro.

(att ask him ftetUoM aiomt robkertct.)

Manffery, I am sare jon had mj Lod/'s gilt candle
cap.

Footpad, Yes, and woold hare kept it ; bat she hat
it again, has she not ?

Jamti. And the plate oat of mj bntterjr—

Footpad. Well, and had she not it again 7 what a
plague wonld yw hate? jon raamiae me, as if foa
would hang me, after I am hanged. Praj, oSoera, ftf
me of these impertinent people, and let me dia in
qniet

IttfFomam. Olordl how angry he is! that shewn
he Is a right reprobate, I warrant yon.

Footpad. I belioTe, i^ all of yon wcro to be hanged,

* A noted Highwayaua m those daya.

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irbtcli I hope maj be in good Hme, 700 wonU aot Im
rery merrjr.

id fFomcM. LocC« wbat a down look ke has I

Ut ff^nuM. Aye. and what a elood in lie forehead,
goody Twattle, m^rk that^

BdfTonuM. Aye, and inch frowning wrinklee, I
warrant yon, not eo aaeh at a emile from him.

JPVSipad. Smile, qnolh the I Tk^ tie sport for yon,
'tis none for me, I asenre you.

lit fyoman. Aye, bot 'tis to long before yon aie
kan^

Footpad, I wtek it longer, good woman.

1st Follow, Prithee^ Mr. Thief, let this be a waning
to yon for erer doing the like again.

Fuotpttd. I promise yon it shalL

UfFomoM, That*s well; thank yon witk all my
heart, la 1 that was spoken Uke a preebns godly man
now.

l$t PTomam. By my trnly, methmks now he is a
Tory proper man, as one shall see in a snmmer's day.

Footpad. Aye, eo are all that are hanged ; the gal*
lows addf a great deal of graee to one*s person.

84 fFomoM, I TOW Ke u a lordy man ; *tis pity he
shoold be ukea away, as they say, in the flower of his
age.

\U Officer, Come, dispatch, dispatck ; wkat'a plague
shall we stay all day, and neglect onr bnsiness, to hang
one thief?

M Qfieor, Pray, be hanged qoickly. Sir ; for I am
to go to a Fair kard by.

\H Qfieer, And I am to meet some friends to dri^k
ont a stand of ale by and by.

lit PKomoM, Nay, pray let him speak, and die like a
Skristinn.

8d fFomoM, O, I hnTs heayd brare speeches at thw
plane before.

Footpad. Well, good people^if I may be bold to
eall yon so— this Palpi t was aot of my ehnsing. I
shall shortly preaek mortality to yon without speak-
ing, tkerefore pmy take example by me. and then I
know wkat will beeome of ye. 1 wi24 be, 1 say, yonr
memento suni, hoping yon will all follow me.

Uk Fellow, O he speaks rarely.

Stf Fellow. Aye, does Latin it.
footpad, I kare been tco ooretons, and at last
taken for it, and am Tery sorry for it I have been a
great sinner, and condemned for it, which grieres me
not a little, thai I made not my esenpe, end so I
heartily repent it, nad so I die with this true eonfet*
•ion.

lit fFomoM (weeping), Mercy on ktos, for a better
man was never hanged.

id H^onum, So true and hearty repentance, end so
pion*.

Sd Ftttow, Help him np kigher 00 the ladder. Now
yon are above ns alL
Footpad, Trnly I desire yon weie all eqnal with

me ; I have no pride in this woild.

Uf Fellow, Will yon not sug. Sir, before yon are
kaaged?

Footpad, Vo, I thank yon; I am not so memly
disposed.
HmgmoM, Come, am yon readj I

Footpad. Yes. T hare been preparing; for yon tHeee
many years.

.si H^omam, Mercy on him, nnd snve his better part.

8d fVoman, Yon see what we most all oome to.
(horn Uowe a reprieoe.)

OjScer, A repneve 1 how eame that ?

Pott, My Lady Hanghty proeared it

Footpad, I will always saj, while I live, taat het
Ladyship is a eivil peraon.

Ut Fellow. Pish, wkat mnst he not be hanged now ?

Sd Fellow. Wkat, did wn come all tkis way for this?

Ut fFomam, T«ke all this pains to see nothing ?

Footpad. Verj pious good people* I shall shew yov
BO sport this day.

[From *^ Mamamouchi,'' a Comedy, bv
Edward Ravenscroft, 1675.

Foolish Lender,

Debtor. As to my affairs, yon know I stand indebted
to yon.

Creditor. A few dribbling snms. Sir.

BebL Yon lent *em me very frankly, and witk a
great deal of generosity, and mack like a genlleman.

Cred, Yon are pleased to say so.

DohL Bnt I know how to receive kindnesses, and to
make retnms noeording to tke merits of tke person that
obliges me.

Cred, No man better.

Debt, Therefore pray let's see how onr aoconntn

Cred. They are down here in my table book.

Debt I am a man that love to acquit m/self of aQ
obligations as soon— ^

Cred, See the memorandum.

Dobt. You kave set it all down .

Crod. AIL

Debt Pray read—

Cred. Lent, the oeeond time I saw yon, one hundred
guineas.

Debt Right

Cred. Another time fiftf .

Debt Yea.

Cred. Lent for a certain oocasioa, wkick 1 did not
tell you, one hundred nnd fifty.

Debt Did I not? that I should eoMeal any tking
from my friend I

Cred. No maUer.

Debt. It kwks like mistmat, wkick w a wrong to
friendship—

Cred. OLordl

DebL I am so askamed l-4»r I dare trast my sod
witk yon. I borrowed it, to lend a penoa of quality
whom I empfeyed to introdnee mo to tke King, afid n
eommend to kis partieular favour, that I might b
able to do you service in yonr aflkira.

Cred. O did yon so? then thai debt ia as it «reM
paid; ril cross It out.
DebL By no means ; yon skall kave it, or I tw
Cred. Well,Sir,asyoup]eu«.

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DeH, I vow 1 would ne'er have borrawsd of ydv
Again, u long a* joa lired— bat prooe«d—

Cred, Another time one hoairod—

Dgbt, O, that wae to lend into France to my wife to
iriog her over, bat the Qaeen woald not part with her
then ; and tinoe, she ia fallen aiek —

Cred. Alas I

DebL But prettj well recovered—

Cred. These foar snms make vp foar hnndred gni-

DehL Jnst at can be; a verjr good aeoooat, Pnt
down two hnndred more, which I will borrow of yoa
now ; and then it will be jost six hondred : that is, if
it wiU be no inconvenience to ]roa —

Cred, Eah. not in the least—

DebL It is to make up a sam of two thoasand
pounds, which I am about to lajr np ia houses I have
bought ; but if it incommode you, I can have it eise-
where—

Cred* O, by no means—

DebL You need but tell me, if it will be any tzou-
blo-

CredL Lord, Sir, that you will think so—

DebL 1 know some will be glad of the occasion to
senre me ; bnt these are favours only to be asked of
special friends. I thought yon, being my most
esteemed friend, would take it ill, if yon should oomo
la hoar of it, that I did not ask you first—

OfW. It ia a great honour.

C.L.

FURS.— TIPPETS AND SCARFS.
To the Editor.

Dear sir, — Dr. Whitaker, in hia " His-
tory of Craven," makes several extracts
from the Compotus of Bolton in Cra-
ven, a folio of a thousand pages, kept by
the monastery; which book begins in 1290
and ends in 13^5. On one item, <' In
fururft de Buget, v«.,'' the doctor has the
following note, which may be interesting
to others besides the lovers of the delight-
ful science of heraldry.

'* In fururd de Buget. In the middle
ages, /iff of different species formed an ele-
gant and comfortable appendage, not only
to professional habits, but to the ordinary
dress of both sexes, from the sovereign to
Ihe private gentleman. Beneath the latter
rank, none but the coarsest kinds were ever
in use, which they certainly wore ; for Chau-
cer, who intended to clothe his personifi-
cation of Avarice in the garb of Poverty,
allows her, notwithstanding, < a bumette
cote, furred with no meniveere, but with a
furre rough of lambe skynnes, hevy and
blacke.* {Rom. Roe.) Tlie different sorts
enumerated in the Compotus are, the buget^
or budge, grie, de ventre leporino^ the white
^■ur of the hare's belly, and de peUibue agni^

nif, or lambs' skins The last of tnese,
which still forms the Iming of the hoods ol
the bachelors of arts at Cambridge, was
anciently worn both by bishops and noble-
men. For Uie first, 5ee Mr. Warton*s note
on *Comus,' edit. i. p. 146; and the in-
ventory of the wardrope of the second earl
of Cumberland in that volume. With re>
spect to budgey or buget, it is understood
by Mr. Warton (note on Comus, line 709^
to be fur in general ; but this interpretation
is negatived by the terms of the present
article, furura de buget. Whatever budgi
may have been, it is unknown to Du Cang^
who has, with immense labour and erudi*
tion, collected every thing known on the
subject in the middle ages. It was cer-
tainly scarce and expensive, being used for
the lining of the prior's (Bolton) hood
alone. After all, I suspect it to have been
llie skin of the Lithuanian ireasel.* Even
as late as Dr. Caiius's time, the hoods of
the regent masters of arts of Cambridge
were lined < pelle arminft seu Lituana can-
didft.' Lituan is sometimes used by the
old writers on heraldry as synonymous
with ermine. If I am right in my conjec-
ture, therefore, budge so nearly resembled
ermine, that either skin might be used in-
differently as a badge of the same academi-
cal rank. And this accounts for Milton's
epithet * budge,' as applied to doctors,
whose congregation robes at Cambridge
are still faced with ermine. Grie, I think,
was the skin of the grey, or badger.f Tlie
sleeves of Chaucer's monk, ' a fayre pre-
late,' who was gayly and expensively
habited, were 'purfited with grie :* and
in the head of a nishop in painted glass, I
have a fine specimen of this fur in the form
of a tippet about the neck.

** It seems that, in the middle ages, eccle-
siastics were apt to luxuriate in the use of
beautiful and costly furs : ' Ovium itaque
et agnorum despiciuntur exuvise ; eimelini,
gibelini {eablee) martores exquiruntur et
vulpes/ This vanity was checked by an
English sumptuary law — ' Statutum est ne
quis escarleto, in Anglorum gente, sabelino,

* I hare since dtseovered that budge is the same with
** shanks,** one of the many kinds of fur enumerated ia
the statute of the 24th Hen. VI 1 1 . ; that is, a very delieate
white skin stripned from the legs of a fine haired kid
and almost Miual in raliie, as well as in appearance, tc
ermine. It is not im possible that the name may hare
been derired from the Terb ** budge,** as the 1^ arr
the instruments of locomotion. See Minshew, ia voet
Furre. Note to $eeond edU. fFhitaker'iCrmvem.

t In the dialeet of Craven, eorafactors or millers arc
called badgers. Why is this?— the derivation in Mr
Carr's work, ** Horm Momenta Cravenss,** TeuU Rat
sen discurrere, seems to me very far>fetched. 1 aa
inclined to think that millers (Stained the name fTci«
*%e colour of Ihiiir slothes. T.aM.

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?ano, Tel gris^o uteretur/ BromptoD, Anno
1188. Again, in two MSS. quoted by Da
Cange, to whom 1 ara also indebted for the
foregoing passage, the expeisive furs are
enumerated thus,

* Vain et gria, et cnoiaat, at tablet da ntie :*
and again,

* Sables, enninai, et Tair, «t frit.'

Fair was the skin of the Mus Ponticns, a
Kind of weasel, the same animal with the
ermine, but in a different state, i. e. killed
in summer when the belly was white and
the back brown, whence it obtained the
name of ' Varia.' The ancient mineveere
was < minuta raria,' or fur composed of
these diminutive skins ; and Drayton was
learned and accurate when he ga?e his
well-dressed shepherd * mittons* of bauson's
skin ;* that is, of gris, and a hood of mine-
veere. With respect to m^/m, I have only
to add, that from their grave and sober
elegance, they were retained as tippets in
the habits of bishops and other dignjtaries
in England to the time of queen Elizabeth,
when they gave place to a similar ornament
of silk, the origin of the present scarf,
which continued to be callea a tippet till
the reign of Charles II. See Baxter's life,
where we -find that puritan, when sworn
in kind's chaplain, refusing to wear the

tippet/

I am, &c.

T. Q. M.

BUDGE BACHELORS.— BUDGE.
ROW.

In the old lord mayors' processions of
London, there were, in the first division,
the '* ^dge bachelors marching in mea«
sured order."t These bttdge-hsxhelon go
in the " Lord Mayor's Show" to the present
day, dressed in blue gowns trimmed with
budffe coloured fur, white. Bishop Corbet,
in his " Iter Boreale,** speaks of

• a mott ofieiooi dradfe*

Hit face aad gown drawn oat with the tame hmdg^t

implying, that his beard and habit were of
like colour. Budge-vovty Cannon-street, ac-
cording to Stow, was *' so called of budge-
fur, and of skinners dwelling there."

* Mittont an glovat with no fingers, having oolj a
>Iac« for the thamb. Thej are much worn in Crar«n«
tsd the Scotch thepherd*, manj of whom are eoa-
ttantly there, earn a little money by the tale of them :
rhey knit them with oomnion wood tkewen. T. Q. M.

t See the •*Lowioa Pageant" of 1680, in **Hon« cm
VtraCerief.**

DAIRY POETBT.

TotJkeSditor.

Sir,—You may perhaps think the *'Old
Arm Chair" worthy a place in your amus-
ing columns. It is the production of a
aelf-Uught, or natural genius, like Bloom-
field, living in the ^ns of this place, and
carrying on the business of a amall dairy-
man.

hko/Ely,
Aug.lA, 1827.

Yours obediently,
M.W.

THE OLD ARM CHAIR.

Sat 7a&2«B0ofc.T^i. p.786.

What raooUaotioBt of tha paat.
Of «mea gooa by, aad dayt tiiat www.

Crowd throogh my mind whana'ar I eaat
A look vpoB my fathar't ehair.

How often have I elimb*d hit kaeea
To pat hit cheek, aad ttioka h» hair i

The kind paternal kiat to teiae,
When teatad in thit old am chair.

And mneh of monitory lovt.

Which bade me of the world beware i
Hit toagne hat nttei'd o*er and o*er»

Whan teatad in thit old arm ehair.

When ev'ning eall'd nt round the henrth.
And ttormt dittnib'd the wintry air;

What merry talct of tocial mirth
Have ittned from thit old arm ehair.

With tnmmer*! toil aad heat o^eroome^
When weary natavt toaght repair i

Dft hat ha thrown hit languid lintme^
Eihanttad, ia thia old arm chair.

When advene fortaae eron*d hit road.
And bow*d him down with aaxiovt cart

How hat he tigh'd beneath the load.
Whan taatad in thit old arm ch«r.

Bat death long nnee hat elot'd hit eyet (
And peacefnUy he ilamben, where

A ginaty tnrf it teen to rite,
And fillt no more thit old arm chair.

Ey'n that which doct thote toenet leeall.
Which age aad waiting wormt impcor

M ntt shortly iato piccet fall.
And ceate to be aa old arm chair.

Tet while itt tmallett partt ramaia*
My fancy thall behold him there s

And memory ttir thote thonghtt agabii
or Kha who filTd the old at m chi ir.

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THE TAELE BOOK.

For the TahU Book.

SONNET

To T. Hood, Esq. written after read-
ing HIS *' Plea of tue Midsuumer
Fairies."

Del'ig^htfttl bard I what praises raert are thine.
More than my verse can soand to thee belong ;

Well hast thou pleaded, with a tongne divine.
In this thy sweet and newly breathed song.
Where, like the stream, smooth numbers glKlinj;
throng;

QatherM. methinks I see the elfin ra e.
With the Immortal standing them among.

Smiling benign with more than cour \y grace ;

Rescued I see them,—- all their gan.bols trace,
With their fairqneen Titania in h< r bower.

And all their avocations small embrace,
Piotttr'd by thee with a Shakspearean power^

O when the time shall come thy soal must flee,

Thn may some hidden spirit plead for thee.

Edward Moxon.

For the Table Book,
THE QUINTAIN.

■ My better parts

Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up,
Is bnt a gwnfaia, a meie lifeless block.

At You Ltke U.

Mr. Chalmeis, in his edition of Shak-
speare, gives the following annotation on
the preceding passage :— " A quintain was
a po*t, or butt, set up for sevet^l kinds of
martial exercises, against which they threw
their darts, and exercised thek arms. But
all the commentators are at variance about
this word, and have illustrated their opi-
nions with cuts, foi which we must refer
the reader to the i-ew edition, 21 vols. 8vo."

Ben, the satirical sorrel Ben Jonson, thus
notices this same qnintin, quintain^ or
gwyntyny as the Welsh spell it : —

■ At qmnlin he

In honour of his bridal-tee.
Hath challenged either wide rountee;
Come cut and long taile, for there be
Six batchelors as bold as he,
Adjntbg to his company.
And each one hath his livery.

The word gwyntun literally meant vaiie,
and was corrupted by the English into
quintin, or qufntain. Thus, we may natu-
rally suppose, that this ancient custom, and
more paiiicularly bridil game, was bor-
rowed by the Britons irom the Welsh,

who had it from the Romans on their in-
vasion of England. It is mentioned by
Minshew, as being a S|>ort held every fifth ;
year among the Olympic frames, or it was
the last of the n-twrm^XM, used on the fifth or
last day of the Olympics : it is supposed to
be a Roman game, and left in this island
ever since their time.

Dr. Ken net, in his ** Parochial Antiqui-
ties,'' from Dr. Plot, says, that at the village
oi Blackthorn, through which the Roman
road lay, they use it at their weddings to
this da^, on the common green, with much
solemnity and mirth.*

Dr. Johnson says, I know not from
whence it is derived ; Minshew deduces it
from q^tintus, and calls it a game celebrated
every fifth year ; pabu quintanufy and from
quintaine, trench. It is, says he, an upright
post, ou the top of which a cross-post turned
upon a pin ; at one end of the cross-post
was a broad board, and at the other a heavy
sand-bag; the play was, to ride against
the broad end with a lance, and pass by
before the sand-bag, coming round, should
strike the tilter to the ground. Sir Henry
Spelman, who was a spectator of the game,
^coincides with this account, and says, " by
which means, striking at the board, whirls
round the bag and endangers the striker.'-
At weddings, in England and Wales, it
was a constant amusement, and so f^ne-
rally practised in the latter country, that it
mav almost be said to class with their sports
and manners.

In Roberts's "Popular Antiquities of
Wales,"+ there is the following account of
this ancient manly amusement. " On the
day of the ceremony, the nuptial pre-
ients having previously been made, and the
marriage privately celebrated at an early
hour, the signal to the friends of the bride-
groom was given by the piper, who was
always present on these occasions, and
mounted on a horse trained for the pur-
pose ; and the cavalcade being all mounted,
set off at full speed, with the piper playing
in the midst of them, for the house of the
bride. The friends of the bride in the
mean time having raised various obstructions
to prevent their access to the house of the
bride, such as ropes of straw across the
road, blocking up the regular one,&c., and
the quintain ; the rider in passing struck
the flat side, and rf not dexterous was over-
taken, and perhaps dismounted, by the
sand-bag, and became a fair object for

• Vide also Mat. Pans: and Strype's - Hwtory of
I-nndon." vol. i. 1st part» page 849. who delineates ita
fignre.

t Page 16a. ,

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biughter. The gtpyntyn was also guarded
bpr champioDS of ihe opposite party ; who,
if it was passed successfully, challenged the
ad?CDturers to a trial of skill at one of the
tour and twenty games— a challenge which
could not be declined ; and hence to guard
the gwyntyn was a service of high adven-
ture."

In Henry the Third's time, or about the
year 1253, it was much in fashion in almost
every part of the kingdom : this game was
sometimes played, by hanging a shield upon
a staff fixed in the ground, and the skil^l
squire riding by struck the shield in such a
manner as to detach it from its ligatures ; *
but this was ofa less dangerous nature, and
only used when the quintain could not be
obtained.

There w?s another, but more haxardous
manner, to those who were not skilled by
Habit in the use of the lance and javelin.
It consisted of two large poles being drove
into the ground, far enough apart to allow
a roan on horseback to ride ^ll speed be-
tween them : at the top of these was an
immense heavy sand-bag, fixed on a pivot,
so as to swing freely round, and backwatd
and forward, with amazing rapidity : this
the young aspirant for chivalric honours
delighted in, as a grand treat for the dis-
play of his personal bravery and contempt
for danger. He commenced by reining m
bis steed opposite to the sand-bag, then
dashing away at full speed, at the same
time hurling the javelin at the bag with
considerable force, and passing between
the poles before it could resume its original
position. &lany of the squires and veo-
men of Richard with the Lion-heart, held
it in srreat esteem; and they would often
pass through the supporters, regain their
javelin, return back before the bag had
sufficient time to fall, and ride bravely off
without a single blow from this heavy in-
strament of pleasure. He who executed
this feat in a handsome manner was de-
clared victor, and the prise to which he
became entitled was a peacock.

In the princely ffete given by sir Rhys ap
Thomas, m honour of his being admitted
companion of the illustrious order of the
Garter, it is mentioned thus : — ** When
they had dined they went to visit cache
captaine in his quarters, whearc they found
everie man in action, some wrestling, some
hurling at thebarr, some taking of the pike,
some running at the punUttne^ &c." Dr.
Watts thus explains it : — ** A ludicrous and

Mill's Hutovy of CbiTslry.

sportive way of tilting or runnirig on horse-
back at some mark hung on high, move-
able, and turning round ; which, while the
riders strike at with lances, unless they ride
quickly off, the versatile beam strikes upon
their shoulders.''

I earnestly recommend for the perusa.
of the reader, (if he deli^^hts in '* merie
deedes an* greenewoodee sportes, inn thee
brighte formes of ladecs highh, immersed
in uncouthe donjons, by treacherouse kings,
greate lords, an' mightee knights/*) the
tale of" Castle Baynard," in which he will
find many very interesting customs, and
more particularly, an excellent delineation
of the above game. The author of this
delightful little story is iial Willis, who is

Cessed of considerable talent, and a
wledge of our ancestorial manners.

F. C. N.

A FARTHING LORD.

Lord Braco, an ancestor of the earl of
Fife, was remarkable for practising that
celebrated rule, ** Get all you can, and keep
all you get.'' One day, walking down the
avenue from his house, he saw a farthing
lying at his feet, which he took up and
carefully cleaned. A beggar passing at the
same time, entreated his lordship would
give him the &i thing, saying, it was not
worth a nobleman's attention. " Fin* a
farthing to yoHr9el\ puir body,** replied his
lordship, and carefully put the coin into hii
breeches pocket.

In addition to being his own farthing
finW, his lordship was nis own factor and
rent-collector. A tenant who called upon
him to pay his rent happened to be deficient
a single farthing. This amount could not
be excused ; and the farmer had to seek the
farthing. When the business was adjusted,
the countryman said to his lordship, ** Now
Braco, I wou'd gie ye a shillin' for a sight
o* a' the goud an* siller ye hae."— ** Weel,
mon," replied Braco, " it's no cost ye ony
mair;" and accordingly* for and in con-
sideration of the aforesaid sum, in hand fiist
well and trulv paid, his lordship es^hibited
several iron boxes filled with gold and siU
ver coin. ** Now," says the farmer, ** Vn
as rich as yoursel', Braco."—** Aye, mon T
said his lordship, ** how can that be ?" -
** Because I've seen it— an' you can do uae
mair."

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TBE TABLE BOOK.

SINGULAR TOLL.
Skipton in Crateh.

From a paper of Henry the Eighth's time,
Among tlie MSS. at Skiptoii, 1 find that the
following singular toll was anciently levied
in Skirack and Crookrise :

*< Note, that theise customes hayth ben
used tyine out of mynd, by y« report of
Rob. Garth, forster ther ; the whych »-ay-
eth, that be in all his tyme, and his father
afore him in y* office, always hayth taken
the sayd customes :

"first, that eT*ry bryde cumynge that
waye shulde eyther gyve her lefte shoo or
tU9. ivd, to the forster of Crookryse, by
wsiy of custome or gay tcloys.''

The rest only relate to tolls taken for the
passage of sheep, cattle, and wool.

The commutation was so high, that I
iuppose the penalty would generally be
paid in kind ; and by this ungallant cus-
tom, the poor brides of Craven would be
reduced to tread the rugged ways of Crook-
rise in the situation of the light-footed sons
of Thestius —

— ■^— «•# Xmm Ix^H »fm^^>M w«)«f ,
T**}* it wtltX»H- —

Emnp, in Fragm.*

A CURIOUS NARRATIVE.

For the Table Book.

Prince George of Denmark, and Sir
John and Lady Dvddlestone.

The following very remarkable anecdote
IS accompanied by a reference to the only
work of any authority wherein I have met
with it.

Prince George of Denmark, the nominal
king-consort to queen Anne, in passing
through Bristol, appeared on the Exchange,
attended only by one gentleman, a military
officer, and remained there till the mer-
chants had pretty generally withdrawn, not
one of them having sufficient resolution to
speak to him, as perhaps they might not be
prepared to ask such a guest to their houses,
but this was not the case with all who saw
him, for a person, whose name was John
Duddlestone, a bodice-maker, in Corn-
street, went up and asked the prince if he
was not the husband of the queen, who in-
formed him he was. John Duddlestone
then told the prince, that he had observed,
with a great deal of concern, that none of
the merchants had invited him home to

« Dr. WAitakpr*« UUtory of CnTan.

dinner, adding, it was not for warn of love
to the queen or to him, but because they
did not consider themselves prepared to
entertain so greafc a man ; but John said,
he was ashamed to think of his dining ai
an inn, and requested him to go and dine
with him, and bring the gentleman along
with him, informing him that he had a piece
of good beef and a plum pudding, and ale
of his dame's own brewing. Ilie prince
admired the loyalty of the man, and though
he had bespoke a dinner at the White Lion,
went with him ; and when they got to the
house, Duddlestone called his wife, who
^as up stairs, desiring her to put on a clean
apron and come down, for the queen's
husband and another gentleman were come
to dine with them; she accordingly came
down with her clean blue apron, and was
immediately saluted by the prince. In the
course of the dinner, the prince asked him
if he ever went to London ? He said, that
since the ladies had worn stays instead of
bodices, he sometimes went to buy whale-
bone; whereupon the prince desired him
to take his wife when he went again, at the
same time giving him a card, to Militate
his introduction to him at court.

In the course of a little time, John Dud-
dlestone took his wife behind him to Lon-
don, and, with the assistance of the card,
found easy admittance to the prince, and
by him they were introduced to the queen,
who invited them to an approaching dinner,
informing them that they must have nem
clothes for the occasion, allowing them to
choose for themselves. Each therefore
chose purple velvety such as the prince had
then on, which was accordingly provided
for them, and in that dress they were intro-
duced by the queen herself, as the mo9t
loyal persons in the city of Bristol, and the
only ones in that city who had invited the
prince her husband to their house; and
after the entertainment, the queen^ desiring
him to kne^ down, laid a sword on his
head, and (to use lady Duddlestone's own
words) said to him, " Ston up, eir Jetn/*

Sir *' Jan** was offered money, or a place
under government, but he did not choose
to accept of either, informing the queen
that he nad ** JUty pounds out at use," and
he apprehended that the number of people
he saw about her must be very expensive.
The queen, however, made lady Duddle-
stone a present of her gold watch from hei
side, which ** my lady " considered as no
small ornament, when she went to market,
suspended over a blue apron.

I first found this interesting account in
" Corry's liiatoiy of Bristol/' which wa»

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THE TABLE BOOK.

published a few years ago ; out whence it
was derived that author does not mention.
As the editor of the Table Book is equally
uninformed, perhaps some of his corres-
pondents may be able to point out its
origin ; and, if it be authentic, communi-
cate some particulars respecting the worthy
knight and his dame.

OF THE

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

No. VI.
The Corpuscular Philosophy.

The two illustrious modems, Newton and
Gassendi, attribute the continual change
which happens in bodies to the different
figure ana magnitude of their minute cor-
puscles; and affirm, that their different
junction or separation, and the variety of
their arrangement, constitute the differences
of bodies. This corpuscular philosophy
can be traced from the times of Democritus,
to its founder Moschus the Phoenician. It
does not appear that the Phoenician school
admitted the indivisibility of atoms ; where-
as, Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus
did. And so the philosophers in all ages,
down to the Cartesians and Newtonians,
admit the same. Aristotle, as great in
mefaphysics as able in mathematics, treats
of it in his works of both kinds A modem
proposition respecting it has been deemed
new, although anciently it was expressed
in almost the very sam^ terms.

The Newtonians say, ** that the smallest
parcel of matter is able to cover the largest
extent of space, by the number of parts
into which it may be divided; and that
without so much as leaving any one pore
of the smallest dimension uncovered."
Anaxagoras had previously said, that each
body, of whatever size, was infinitely di-
visible ; insomuch, that a particle so small
IS the half of the foot of the minutest in-
sect, might furnish cut of itself parts sufii-
cient for covering an hundred million of
worlds, without ever becoming exhaustible
as to the number of its parts. Democritus
escpressed the like proposition, when he
affirmed that it was " possible to make a
world out of an atom." Chrysippus says
Jie same, when he maintains that a drop of
wine may be divided into a number of
parts, each of itself sufficient to mingle
with all the small particles of the ocean.

Motion— ITS Acceleratiok — the Fall
OF Bodies.
The ancients, as well as the moderns,
define motion to be change of place, or the
passing from one place to another; they
knew the acceleration of bodies in ftiliing,
but not so exactly as to determine its law or
cause. It was an axiom of Aristotle and
the Peripatetics, that a body in fallirfg ac-
quired a celerity of motion, proportionable
to its distance from the place whence the
motion began ; but they knew hot that this
increase of the celerity of falling bodies
was uniform, and that the spaces passed
over in equal times increased proportiona-
bly to the unequal numbers 1, 3, 5, 7, &c.
Two mistakes of Aristotle hindered him
from arriving at the truth. The first was,
that there were two tendencies in body;
one downwards, carrying it to the centre,
in those that were heavy; (he other up-
wards, removing it from it, in those that
were light. His second error was, that he
thought different bodies rolled through
space with a celerity proportional to their
masses. lie did not consider that the re-
sistance of the medium was the only cause
of this difference ; for supposing them tc
move through an irresisting medium, or iii
vacuo, the lightest bodies would then fall
with the same velocity as the heaviest.
This is demonstrated by means of the air-
pump, wherein paper, lead, and gold, de-
scend with equal swiftness.

Yet all the ancients were not thus igno-
rant. Lucretius, instructed in the principles
of Democritus and Epicurus, arrived at
this knowledge, and supports it by such
arguments, as might do honour to the most
experienced naturalist *Sf our times. —
'* Admitting that there was nothing in the
vacuum to resist the motion of bodies, it
necessarily followed, that the lightest would
descend with a celerity equal to the weigh*
tiest ; that where there was no resistance
in the medium, bodies must always move
through equal spaces in equal times ; but
that Uie case would be different in such
mediums, as opposed divers degrees of re-
sistance to the bodies passing through them."
Hereupon, he alleges the very same rea-
sonings which Galileo draws from experi-
ence to support his theory. He says, that
** the difference of velocities oui^ht to increase
or abate, accordinjir to the difference of re-
sistance in tne medium ; and that because
air and water resist bodies differently, they
h\l through these mediums with different
degrees of velocity." We shall presently
see, that the ancients were acquainted witli
the principle of gravUotton.

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THE TABIxE BOOK.

GRASSINGTOT^ THEATRICALS.
To the Editor.

Dear sir,— -When I sent you the sketch
of « Tom Airay '* of this place, and his as*
sociatet, I was not aware that the practice
of acting^ plays was a very ancient one in
the parish of Dnton, (in which this place
is.) The following extract from Whitaker's
history will prove this to have been the
case, and that Airay was *' the last of a
bright band.*' It will doubtless be perused
with interest by many of the inhabitants of
Craven, very few of whom I am inclined to
think know of the circumstance. Whita-
ker's history is an expensive work, and only
in the hands of a few.

" Many of these amusements were long
after in use at Linton, But the most popu*
lar of their amusements was the practice of
acting old plays, continued, I have no doubt,
from the old * Kirk Sights,' and clerk
plays, though I can trace it in Craven do
farther than 160C, where I find the follow-
ing article in the accounts of Francis, earl
of Cumberland : —

" * Item, paid to the yonge men of the
town, (Skipton,) being his I'ps tenants and
servants, to fit them for acting plays this
Christmas, uittJ

" In the interval of a century from this
time, it does not seem that they had much
mproved their stock of dramas ; for, within
the recollection of old persons with whom
[ have conversed, one of their favourite
performances was 'The Iron Age,* by Hey-
wood, a poet of the reign of James I., whose
work, long since become scarce, and almost
forgotten, had probably been handed down
from father to son, through all that period.
But in every play, whether tragedy or
comedy, the Vice constituted one of the drth
matu pertona, and was armed, as of old,
with a sword of laih, and habited in a loose
party-coloured dress, with a fur-cap, and
fox*s brush behind. In some parts of Craven
these personages were callea clowns, as in
Shakspeare*s time, and too often and too
successfully attempted to excite a laugh by
ribaldry and nonsense of their own ; a prac-
tice which is very properly reprehended in
Hamlet.

" In the * Destruction of Troy ' this per-
sonage easily united with Thersites; but
he was often found in situations where his
appearance was very insongruous, as ex.
gr. in 'George Barnwell.' These rustic
actors had neither stage nor scenes, but
performed in a large room, what is called
the • house,** of an ordinary dwelling.

"Sometimes they fabricated a kind o
rude drama for themselves ; in which case
as it is not likely that the plot would bi
very skilfully developed, the performen
entered one by one, and each uttered c
short metrical prologue, which they verj
properly chose to call a fore-speech. For
why should these honest Englishmen be
indebted to the Grecian stage for the word
prologue, when they were certainly be-
nolden to it for nothing else ?

" In these fabrications, I believe, the
subjects- were frequently taken from printed
plays ; but the texture was of very inferioi
workmanship. For this I must beg my
reader to give me credit; though, if ai\
readers had the same relish for what, in th*
language of dulness, is called low, with
Dr. Farmer and Mr. Warton, I could excitt
more than a smile by tlieir travestie of the
' Merchant of Venice.' An old inhabitant
of this place, (Linton,) whom I well knew,
had the reputation of a dramatic manufac-
turer, though he had, in reality, no talent>
beyond those of an actor. But his fame
drew upon him an awkward application ;
which, as the stated price of these services
was three half crowns, he parried very
dexterously by demanding half a guinea.
Thus much for the chapter of amuse-
ments.*'

In mentioning Airay's stage companions
I forgot to name Sim Coates, one of the
principal. He was a club-footed man,
and used to perform the " Fair Penitent 1"
He is lately dead*

GroMthigton in Craveiiy
Aug. 1, 1827.

I am, &c.

T. Q. M.

« So it B kitcMn eaUed in the CravcB dideot.

THE GIN ACT— NAMES OF DRAMS

On the 29th of September, 1736, wheri
the bill against spirituous liquora took
place, several people at Norwich, Bristol,
and other places, as well as at London,
made themselves very merry on the *' Deatii
of Madam Gin," and some of both sexes
got soundly drunk at her " funeral," foi
which the mob made a formal procession,
but committed no outrage.

A double guard for some days mounted
at Kensington ; the guard at St. James's,
and the horse-guards at Whitehall, were
reinforced; a guard was placed at the
Rolls Office, Chancery-lane ; and a detach-
ment of the life and horse grenadier guards

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THE TABLE BOOK.

panulcd in Corent Garden, &c. in order to
suppress any tumult that might happen at
the going down of spirituous liquors.

Several of the distillers took out licenses
to sell wine, others made preparations to
take to the brewing-trade, and some went
down to Oxford and Cambridge to open
taverns there. The accounts of that period
state, that the university of Oxford intended
to try their right with them ; the privilege
of licensing vintners having been granted to
it by a charter of Henry VIII., and after-
wards confirmed by an act of parliament
in 1 3 Elizabeth.

The distillers and others in different
parts of the town sold a liquor, which
scenes to have been wine, with spices in-
fused therein; and several continuing to
sell spirituous liquors contrary to the act,
informations were laid against them to the
commissioners of excise.

Drams under the following names were
sold at several brandy-shops in High llol-
born, St. Giles's, Tothill-street, Rosemary-
lane, Shored itch, the Mint, Kent-street, &c.
vii. « Sangree," " Tow Row," " Cuckold's
Comfort," " Parliament Gin," " Bob,"
**Make Shift," "The Last Shift," "The
Ladies' Delight," "The Balk," ** King
Theodore of Corsica," " Cholick and Gripe
Waters." These denominations were with
a view to evade the late act.

On the 14th of October, 1736, there
came on before the commissioners of excise
the trials of Mr. Robert Kirkpatrick, sur-
geon and apothecary in Turnmill-street,
and Mr. John Thomas, chymist at Shore-
ditch, on informations for retailing spiritu-
ous liquors, contrary to the intent and
meaning of the act; and they were both
found guilty. The penalty was one hun-
dred pounds each.

G. K.

A YOUNG POETS OWN EPITAPH.

A few weeks before John Keats died of
decline, at Rome, a gentleman, who was
sitting by his bedside, spoke of an inscrip-
tion to his memory. Keats desired that
there should be no mention of his name or
country. "If there be any thing," he said,
" let it be. Here Uee the body of one whoee
futme tc'ot writ in wttierJ*

Fwr tke Tahle Book.

TIME.

Oh Tine, that •«« with rerisUctt wisy
Cats off oar jopi and ihorteiu all oor paia*

Thoa great destroyer that doth always bring
Relief to maa— all bow beoeath thy reiga;

Nations before thee fall, and the grim king
Of death and terror follows in thy train.

Thon bring*st the enp of Lethe to the mind.

Which else on earth no joy oonld erer find*

Little in foath we think vpon tkj flight.
Nor eatch the lesson of each passing day.

Till, when too late, it bnrsts upon onr sight.
And thoa hast crowned ns with thj cap of giey *.

Oor friends for ever fled, and all the light
Thi^t gilded this dim world hath passed away

On to etemitjr— thro' that sad portal

Which parts ns, and assares as man is mortal.

Thoa teachest as the vaaitjr of earth.
With which, in spite of thee, we are delighted.

And lead*st ns qaiekly onward from oor birth
Unto old age, then Irav'st as there benighted ;

Where all oar earthly pleasures, joys, and mirth
Fade fast away,like yoang leaves seared and blighted

And hope, that Inred as onward, then, we find.

Was bat an igiUt fattuu of the mind.

s.

HACKERSTON'S COW.

This is a Scotch proverb, the application
of which may be inferred from tlie follow-
ing account of its origin. A tenant of lord
Hackerston, who vrw one of the judges of
the court of session, one day waited on bis
lordship with a woful countenance. " My
lord," said he, " I am come to inform your
lordship of a sad misfortune, my cow has

fored one of your lordship's cows, so that
fear it cannot live."—" Well, then, you
must pay for it.''— »•" Indeed, my lord, it
was not my fault, and you know I am a veiy
poor man." — " I can*l help that, I say you
must pay for it ; I am not to lose my cow."
— " Well, my lord, if it roust be so 1 cannot
say against your lordship,— but stop, my
lord, I believe I have made a mistake, it
was your lordship's cow that gored roine.^ |
" 0 1 that is quite a different affair,— go
along and don*t trouble me, I am biuy— ^o
along, 1 say."

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ROPE-RIDINO ON HORSEBACK, ON
ST. MARK'S DAY AT VENICE.

The gaiety and splendour exhibited in
the place of Su Mark at Venice on this
anniversary, is extremely attractive. For-
meily, among the remarkable customs in
lionour of this the patron saint of the city, it
was usual for a man to ascend and descend
a rope stretched from the summit of St.
Mark's tower, and secured at a consider-
able distance from the base.

On the last day of February, 1680, the
doge, the senate, and the imperial ambas-
sador, with about fifty thousand spectators,
beheld the annual solemnity. In the first
place appeared certain butchers, in their
roast-meat clothes ; one of which, with a
Persian scimitar, cut off the heads of three
oxen, one after another, at one blow, to the
admiration of the beholders, who had never
seen the like either in Venice, or any other
part of the world. But that which caused
greater wonder was this : — A person,
adorned in a tinsel riding habit, having a fifilt
helmet upon his head, and holding in his
right hand a lance, in his left a helmet
made of a thin piece of plate gilded, and
sitting upon a white horse, with a swift
pace ambled up a rope six hundred feet
long, fastened from the quay to the top of
St. Mark's tower. When he had arrived
half way, his tinsel coat fell off, and he
made a stand, and stooping his lance sub-
missively, saluted the aoge sitting in the
palace, and flourished the banner three
times over his head. Then, resuming his
former speed, he went on, and, with his
horse, entered the tower where the bell
hangs ; and presently returning on foot, he
climbed up to the highest pinnacle of the
tower ; where, sitting on the golden angel,
he flourished his banner again several times.
This performed, he descended to the bell-
tower; and there taking horse, rode down
again to the bottom in like manner as he
had ascended.*

** Whoever, says Mrs. Piozzi, " sees St.
Mark*s Place lighted up of an evening,
adorned with every excellence of human
art, and pregnant with pleasure, expressed
by intelligent countenances sparkling with
every grace of nature — the sea washing its
walls-^the moon-beams dancing on its sub-
jugated waves — sport and laughter resound-
ing from the coffee-houses — girls wiih gui-
tars skipping about the square — masks and
merry-makers singing as they pass you —
unless a barge with a band of music is

* If alcolm** Mamicn of Svrop*.

Heard at some distaace upon the water,
and calls attention to sounds made sweeter
by the element over which they are
brought ; — ^whocver is led suddeoly,'' says
Mrs. Piozzi, ** to this scene of seemingly
perennial gaiety, will be apt to exclaim in
Venice, as Evedoes to Adam in Milton,

With thM oonveniBf , I fbrfet all tfaae*

All MMou, ud their ehaage— all piMW alikal"

REV MR. WILSON,
THE MAN IN THE MOON.

It will now give pain to no one, if I no-
tice Mr. Wilson, formerly curate of Ilalton
Gill, near Skipton in Craven, and father of
the late Hev. Edward Wilson, canon of
Windsor. He wrote a tract, entitled " The
Man in the Moon," which was seriously
meant to convey the knowledge of common
astronomy in the following strange vehicle :

A cobbler, Israel Jobson by name, is
supposed to ascend first to the top of Pen-
nigint; and thence, as a second stage
equally practicable, to the moon 1 after
which be makes a tour of the whole solar
system. From this excursion, however,
the traveller brings back little information
which might not have been had upon eanh,
excepting that the inhabitants of one of the
planets, I forget which, were made of*' pot
metal.'' The work contains some otoer
extravagancies ; but the writer, after all, was
a man of talent, and has abundantly shown
that had he been blessed with a sound
mind and a superior education, he would
have been capable of much better things.
If I had the book before me I could quote
single sentences here and there, which in
point of composition rise to no mean de-
gree of excellence. It is rarely to be met
with, having, as I am told, been industri
ously bought up by his fbimily. I have
only seen one copy, and my recollection of
what I read in it is not very particular.*

Mr. Wilson had also good mechanical
hands, and carved well in wood, a talent
which he applied to several whimsical pur-

Eoses. But his ehef-tTcenvre was an oracu-
ir head, like that of friar Bacon and the
disciple of the famous Escotillo, with which
he diverted himself and amazed his neigh-
bours, till a certain reverend wiseacre
threatened to complain of the poor roan to
his metropolitan as an enchanter ! After
this the oracle was routcf

* Could any reader of the TmbU Book forward •
opy ?— K».
t Rer. Dir. Whitako's Hittorv ti Ciavib.

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SUMMER SHOWERS— SCORCHED
LEAVES,

In the flammer, after some days of fine
wejither, during the heat of the day, if a
ftorm happens, accompanied with a few
light showers of rain, and the sun appears
immediately after with its usual splendour,
it bums the foliage and the flowers on
which the rain had fallen, and destroys the
hopes of the orchard. The intense heat,
which the ardour of the sun produces at
that time on the leaves and flowers, is
equal to that of burning iron. Naturalists
hsvre sought for the cause of this strange
efiect, but they hare said nothing which
satisfies a reasonable mind. This is, how*
erer, the fact : in the serene days of the
summer it is visible that there gathers on
the foliage and the flowers, as, indeed, on
every other part, a little dust, sometimes
more and sometimes less, scattered by the
wind. When the rain falls on this dust,
the drojMi mix together, and Uke an oval or
round form, as we may frequently observe
in oiir houses on the dusty floor, when ser-
vants scatter water before they sweep. These
globes of water form convex lenses, which
produce the same effect as burning mirrors.
Should the rain be heavy and last long, the
sun would not produce this burning heat,
because the force and duration of the rain
will have destroyed the dust that formed
these drops of water ; and the drops, losing
their globular form, in which alone consisted
their caustic power, will be dispersed.*

ROYAL SUMMER-HOUSE, IN SIAM.

The king of Siam has in one of his coun-
try palaces a most singular pavilion. The
tables, the chairs, the closeu, &c. are all
composed of crystal. The walls, the ceiling,
and the floors, are formed of pieces of plate
glass, of about an inch thick, and six feet
square, so nicely united by a cement, which
is as transparent as glass itself, that the
most subtile fluid cannot penetrate. There
is but one door, which shuts so closely, that
it is as impenetrable to the water as the rest
of this singular building. A Chinese en-
gineer constructed it thus as a certain re-
medy against the insupportable heat of the
climate. This pavilion is twenty-eight feet
in length, and seventeen in bieadth; it is
placed^in the midst of a great basin, paved
and ornamented with marble of various
colours. Tliey fill this basin with water in

• PcCei UtteC

about a quarter of an hour, and it Is emptied
as quickly. When you enter the pavilion
the door is immediately closed, and ce-
mented with mastic, to hinder the water
from entering ; it is then that they open the
sluices ; and this great basin is soon filled
with water, which is even suffered to over^
flow the land ; so that the pavilion is en*
tirely under water, except the top of the
dome, which is left untouched for the beneflt
of respiration. Nothing is more charming
than tne agreeable coolness of this delicious
place, while the extreme heat of the sim
Doils the surface of the freshest fountains.*

SPANISH PUNCTILIO.

On occasion of the decease of the queen
mother of Spain in 1696, the Paris papers
gravely relate the following particulars of
a dispute respecting precedence.

The officers of the crown and the grandees
of the kingdom assembled at the usual time
to open her majesty's will; but finding
that the first lady of the queen's chamber,
who ought by virtue of her office to have
been present, was absent, the august body
sent a messenger, requesting her attend-
ance. Ttie first lady, deeming the message
a gross attack upon her privileges and
high importance, mdisnantly replied, that
it was her indispensable duty not to leave
her deceased royal mistress, and therefore
the nobles must wait on her.

Thereupon ensued a negotiation by mes*
sages, which occupied eight hours. In the
course of the discussion, the grandees in-
sisted on their claims of precedence as an
aggregate body, yet, individually, they
considered themselves happy when com-
plying with the commands of the ladies.
Fixed in her resolution, the lady higli-
ehamberlain acquainted her opponents with
her final determination. The decision of
the great officers and grandees was equally
unalterable ; but at the last they proposed,
that "without rising from their s«ats, or
moving themselves, they should be carried
to a room at an equal distance between
their own apartment and the lady high-
chamberlain's, who should be carried to
the same place, seated upon a high cushion,
in the same manner as she sat in the
queen's chamber, to the end it might be
said, that neither tide had made a step to
meet each other.*' It seems that the per-
formance of the solemnity happily termi-
nated the important difference.

* FBreti«i«.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

BOSWELLIANA.

The foiluving anecdotes are related by,
or relate to, the well-known James Boswell,
who conducted Or. Johnson to the High-
lands of Scotland.

It may be recollected that when Boswell
took the doctor to his father's house, the old
laird of Auchinleck remarked, that *' Jamie
had brought an odd kind o' a chiel* wi*
him.'* " Sir," said Boswell, " he is the
grand luminary of our hemisphere,— quite
a coMtellation, sir.*' — *' Ursa Majors (the
Great Bear,) I suppose,'* said the laird.

Some snip-snap wit was wont to pass
between sire and son. " Jamie'* was ored
an advocate, and sometimes pleaded at the
bar. Pleading, on a particular occasion,
before his father, who, at that time, was
** Ordinary on the bills," and saying some-
thing which his lordship did not like, he
exclaimed to Jamie, *< Ye're an ass, mon.*'
— ^** No, my lord," replied Jamie, " 1 am
not an ass, but I am a cult, the foal of an
assT'

In 17^5, Boswell addressed '< a Letter
to the People of Scotland " on a proposed
alteration m the court of session. He says
in this pamphlet, '' When a roan of probity
and spirit, a lord Newhall, whose character
is ably drawn in prose by the late lord
president Arniston, and elegantly in verse
ny Mr. Hamilton of Bangour, — when such
a man sits among our judges, should they
be disposed to do wrong, he can make them
hear and tremble. My honoured father
told me, (the late lord Auchinleck,) that sir
Walter Pringle * spoke as one having au-
thority* — even when he was at the bar,
' he would cram a decUion down their
throats.' "

Boswell tells, in the same ** better," that
" Diincan Forbes of Culloden, when lord
president of the court, gave every day as a
toast at his table, ' Here*s to every lord of
session who does not deserve to be hang-
ed 1' Lord Auchinleck and lord Mon-
boddo, both judges, but since his time, are
my authority," says Boswell, " for this.->I
do not say that the toast was very delicate,
or even quite decent, but it may give some
notion what sort of judges there may be.**

It is further related by Boswell, that a
person was executed to please his laird.
^ Before the heritable jurisdictions were
abolished, a man was tried for his life in
the court of one of the chieftains. The
jury were going to bring him in * not
guilty,* but somebody whispered them, that
* the young laird had never seen an execu-
tion^ upon which tlicir verdict was —

' death ;' and the man was hanged accord"
ttu^ty,*'

This is only to be paralleled by the
story of the highland dame, whose sense
of submission to the chief of her clac
induced her to insinuate want of proper
respect in her husband, who had been con-
demned, and showed some reluctance to
the halter. <<Git up, Donald," said the
" guid wife,** to her •* ain guid man,** ** Git
up, Donald, and be hangit, an' dinoa anger
the iaird."

BOWEL COMPLAINTS
A Recipe.

The wnter of a letter to the editor of the
« Times," signed " W." in August, 1827,
communicates the following prescription, as
particularly useful in diarrhoea, accompanied
by inflammation of the bowels :—

Take of confection of catechu 3 drachms;
simple cinnamou water 4 ounces; and
svrup of white poppies 1 ounce. Mix
them together, and give one or two table-
spoonfuls twice or thrice a day as required.
To children under ten years of age give a
single dessert-spoon, and under two years a
tea-spoonful, two or three times, as above
stated.

This mixture is very agreeable, and far
preferable to the spirituous and narcotic
preparations usually administered. In the
course of a few hours it abates the disor-
der, and in almost every instance infallibly
cures the patient. During the fiuit season
k is especially valuable.

dS^itnpb

ON A MARINE OFFICEU

Here lies retired from batj ■
A Fint LienteaaBt of If arinet ;
Who lately li?ed in peace aaJ plenty
Ob board the ahip the AUlaata .
Now, stripp'd of all his warlike kkjw.
And laid in box of elm below.
Confined to earth in narrow bofde.-v.
He rises not till forther orders.*

• Fran the *• Notes of a

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THE TABLE BOOK

NATHAN COWARD,
Gloyeb and Poet, of Dersinghah, Norfolk.

For the Table Book.

This eccentric individual, iwhose fertile
pen procured him notoriety, was the son of
a small grocer at March in the Isle of Ely.
To use his favourite expression, he " came
forth** on Friday, the 1 3th of April, 1736,
O. S. He received the rudiments of his
education under ^dame Hawkins," from
whom he was remored to a most sagacious
schoolmaster, named Wendall; and he
** astonished hb schoolfellows by the bril-
liancy of bis genius," till he was bound to
his cousin Coward, of Lynn, to learn the
art and mystery of a " glover and breeches-
maker." He had nearly passed through
his apprenticeship, and attained to the age
of twenty, unconscious of the numerous
** ills that flesh is heir to," when one day

Sazing at a small shop-window, nearly
linded by gloves and second-hand unmen-
tionables, an accidental aperture favoured
hun with a glimpse of the too charming

Miss Barbara Green, in the act of making
wash-leather gloves. She was a maiden,
and though something more than fifty, her
fading beauty rendered her, to Nathan, all
that

•• Yoathfal poets fancy when thej lore.**

From that moment his eyes lost their
lustre, —

** Lore, like a worm i' th* bud, prejed on Us damask
cheek.

He was to be seen pursuing his avoca
tions at his " board of green cloth" day by
day, sitting

— — ** Like Patience on a monameat
Smilinf at gnef."

He ** never told his love " till chance ena«
bled him to make the idol of his hop«
the ofier of his hand. << No," said the to4
fascinating Barbara Green, " I will be an
Evergreen,*^ The lady was inexorable, and
Nathan was in despair; but time <^d

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THE if ABLE BOOK.

i

Vefltfctten ^tepBtcd « grteving^s a folly,- and
•* it's better to have any wife than none, '
and Nathan took unto himself another, with
Whom he enjoyed all the *< ecstatic ecstasies"
bf domestic felicity.

Nathan's business at Lynn became in-
adequate to his wants, and he removed to
the village of Dersingham, a few miles dis-
tant ; and there, as a " glover, poet, habf r-
dasher, green-grocer, and psalm-singer,** he
regetated remote from vulgar throng, and
beguiled his leisure by " cos^iuting in co-
gibttndity of cogitation." — Here it was, he
tells us, that in 1775 he had a " wonderful,
incomprehensible, and pathetic dream ** —
a vision of flames, in the shapes of *' wig-
blocks" and " Patagonian cucumbers," at-
tended with horrid crashes, like the noise
of a thousand Merry Andrew's rackets,
which terrified and drove him to the
" mouth of the sea ;" where, surrounded by
fire and water, he could only escape from
dreadful destruction by -^ awaking. He
believed that the fiery wig-blocks were
** opened to him" in a dream as a caution, te
preserve him from temptation. Il was soon
after this that, seeing one of his neighbours
at the point of death, he << eogixated " thd
following

*' Reflection.

** What ereatnrM are we 1

Uader the hands of he.
Who created ns for to be^

Oljeets of hia great menjr i
Aad the eame mast I be*
Whee yean seven tjr,
Creep apon me.**

On another occasion, while his wife wat
dangerously ill, Nathan, sitting by her bed-
side, became overwhelmed With " the in-
fluence of fancy," and belieringher actually
dead, concocted this

" Epitaph.

« Mf wife is dead,— she was the best.

And I her bosom friend ;
Tes, she is foae,— her soal*s at rest.

And I am left to mead.**

Nathan made a trifling mistake; for, ''to
his great surprise," his wife recovered, and
the epiuph was put by till the proper time
should arrive.

Nathan's dexterity in wielding his pen
enabled him to serve unlettered swains in
other matters, besides their nether gar-
ments. He wrote letters for them ** on
love or business," in

Thoogiito that breathe, and words taat bani.**

The following ending of a ** liove-lettei
written by particular desire," is a specimen
of his '' effusions in prose."

-*' Marriage is like war; the battle

causes fear, but the sweet hope of winning
at the last stimulates us to proceed. But
the effects of matrimony are much more
agreeable than war, because the engage-
ment may be accomplished without being
prejudicial to the welfare of society. Were
1 to mention all the comparisons my warm
imagination could furnish me with, it would
swell ih'ii letter to a very great bulk.

** So to conclude ; — the many inconveni-
ences attending my being in business alone,
are beyond conception ; and I wish the fa-
tigue to be abatea by sharing it with some
congenial soul, who may be intrusted with
both secrets and circumstances, and all
af^irs of importance, too tedious to men-
tion."

Filled with self-importance by a lively
Sense of his vast acquirements, and hia
amazing utility to his village neighbours,
he turned his thoughts to the ^ affairs of
the nation" in the year 1799, and projected
the salvation of the empire, by a plan of
finance for raising adequate supplies to
carry on the war against France with
Tigour. This he submitted in a spirited
memorial, addressed

«To THE Hon. Wm. Pitt, Fin* of
Minitteri, &c. &c. &c.

*' Mat it please your grracious Honour,
Dear sir, to take into your honourable con-
sideration the undermentioned business
which at this critical crisis and expensive
period wants very much to be put in prac-
tice, to the advantage of the world, the
benefit of our own government, the public's
D^elfare, and the glory of Dersingham.^

Nathan's memorial runb to great length,
but he states its real ** business " in a few
words. — ** Beloved and honourable sir, be
not angry at my proposal, if not approved
of, whicn is, to oeg of all dukes, lords,
earls, barotiets, country squires, profound
justices, gentlemen, great and rich farmers,
topping tradesmen, and others, who, to my
certain and inconceivable knowledge, have
so much unnecessary ornamental and use-
less platef of all sorts and descriptions, to
deliver up the same immediately to govern-
ment, to be made into money for the sup
port of this just and necessary war. Ho-
noured sir, my plan is not to debar any one
from having a sufficient quantity of suck
like plate, but only that which stands and
remains useless and unu&ed, which would

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Mile matiy handreds, if not thonsaDdi of
Qioney. I have but little, yet I am (so is
my wife, ia God's name) minded, wiUiug,
and desirous, out of half a dozen tea-
spoons, to deliver up half, which you know,
miKhty sir, will be eiactly three.

Nathan proceeds to say, that ** Many
useless things, such as great waiters, tea-
kettles, frying and sauce pans, and sundry
other articles in the gold and silver way,
too tedious to mention, were they now
turned into money, would supply your
wants of cash. Brass, earthenware, pipe-
clay, china and glass, nothincf can be
sweeter, nor look neater, and sufficient for
any man or woman upon earth to eat and
drink out of. — Mr. Pitt, these sentiments I
deliver from my heart; they are the dictates
of wisdom and the fruit of experience.—
Was our good and gracious king, as also
yourself, worthy Mr. Piit, once to come
4own into the country, and take a survey
of matters, you would be astonished how
abundance of individuals live. Pray, sir,
in God's name, take off a few taxes from
the necessaries of life, especially salt, sugar,
leather, and parchment. I ntyself have but
six or seven shillings a week coming in,
and sometimes not that, by losses and bad
debts ; and now com is risen, we labour
under great apprehension in other articles.
^Dear and noble sir, I once heard a ser-
mon preached on a thanksgiving day, for
the proclamation of peace, by one Rev.
Mr. Stony, at Lynn, Norfolk, mentioning
the whole calamities of the war; and he
brought your honourable father in, very
fine. I wish from the bottom of my heart
I may shortly hear such a like one preached
upon yourself."

In conclusion, Nathan thus inquires of
Mr. Pitt, ** Honoured sir, from whence
comes wars, and rumours of wars, cock-
fightings, and burglaries f Finally, says
Nathan, ^ The limits of one sheet of paper
being filled, I must conclude, with wishing
well to our good and gracious king, the
queen, and all the royal fumily ; as fJso to
your honour, Mr. Pitt, your consort, sons
and daughters, (if any,) and family in
general.*'

Nathan established his public character
by his epistle to Mr. Pitt. He made known
its contents to all his friends, and shortly
afier he had transmitted it, he received an
acknowledgment of thanks and a promise
of reward, in a scrawling hand with an
unintelligible signature; whereupon he
sagely consoled himself with this remark,
that great men, ** despising the common,
plebeian method of writing, generally

scratch their names so illegt'ble, that neither
themselves nor any body else can read
them."

Nathan's notoriety was now at its lieiglit.
He usually visited Lynn once or twice a
week ; and flattered by the general enco-
miums bestowed on his transcendent abili-
ties by his admirers in that ancient town,
he ventured to disclose a long-cherished
hope, the object of his ardent ambition, to
appear in print as an author His desire
was fostered by several literary youths, re-
sident in Lynn, to whom he submitted his
writings for arrangement, and in 1800 they
were published to the world under the title
of ** Quaint Scraps, or Sudden Cogitations."
Previous to its appearance, he received re-
peated congratulations on the forthcoming
nook. Among other " Commendatory
Verses" was a |X)etical address, purporting
to have been written in America, addressed
*' To Nathan Coward, the sage Author of
Scraps and Cogitations, by Barnabas Bol-
dero, LLD. VS. MOPQ. &c. of the Cogi-
tating College, Philadelphia.** This pleas-
ing testimonial required Milton, and tlie
" far-famed bards of elder times," to give

£lace to the rising luminary of the poetical
emisphera.

** Avmuit I avanatl hide yoiir diminish'd fttiuUI
When the ■«■ ihiaei the stars should seek their beds.
No longer cloads the dawaing light imprison.
The golden age is oome t a mighty soa has ri«ea
A mighty snn, vhose congregated rays
At Dersingham pour forth their daxsling blaae t
Not there alone, bat e'en throoghoat all nationM,
Beam Nathan's Seraps and Sudden CogitaliontI
None better knows Pindaric odes to write,
None e'er a better love-song can indite ;
None better knows to play the tragic part^
Or with sweet anthems captivate the heart {
None better knows to sport extemo're wit.
Or with strange spells avert an agve fit ;
None better knows to frame th* elegiae air.
Or with the nasal Jews harp charm the ear.*

This address is printed entire in Nathan's
book, which consisted of epitaphs, love-
letters, valentines, cures for the ague and
consumption, reflections, songs, &c. &c.
The preface, the sketch of his life, and the
conclusion to the work, were drawn up by
Nathan's youthful editors. Through tneni
Nathan appealed to the reviewers in an ad-
dress, containing the following spirited
passage : — ** It is ye, ye mites of criticism
It is ye alone I fear; for, like your name-
sakes, the greater the richness and good-
ness of the cheese the more destructive are
your depredations* and the more numerous

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vmir partisans." Towards the public, the
poet of Dersingham vras equally candid
and courageous. — ^^ I shun the general path
of authors/' says Nathan, ^* and insteaul of
a feeling conscious of the numerous defects,
and submitting my trifles, with all possible
humility, to the candour of a generous
public,' I venture to assert, that the public
must receive the greatest advantage from
my labours ; and every member of society
shAll bless the hour that ushered into ex-
istence my ' Quaint Scraps and my Sudden
Cogitations.' For what author, were he
actually conscious of his numerous defects, verse."
would wish to trust himself to the mercy
of that generous public^ whom every one
condemns for want of discernment and
liberality. No, I profess, and I am what I
do profess, a man of independent spirit 1
and although I have hitherto dwelt in oh-
scurity, and felt the annihilating influence
of oppression and the icy erasp of poverty,
yet I nave ever enjoyed the praiseworthy
luiuiy of having an opinion of mv own ;
because, — I am conscious of the inferiority
of the opinions of others."

These were some of the preliminary
oieans by which, with an honesty worthy
fo be imitated by authors of greater fame,
Nathan aspired to win ** golden opinions."
The dnal sentence of his valedictory ad-
dress << to the reader " is remarkable for
feeling and dignity. *' I am conscious/'
lays Nathan, ** that I begin to fade ; and be
assured, that if I should be so fortunate as
to blossom a few years longer, it must be
entirely imputed to the animating influence
of your praises, which will be grateful as
the pure and renovating dews of heaven.
And when at length the soft breeze of
evening shall fly over the spot where I
once bloomed, the traveller will refresh it
with the soft tears of melancholy, and sigh
at the frailty of all sublunary grandeur.''

His wish accomplished, and his book
published, Nathan's spare person, (about
the middle size,) claa in tight leather
" shorts," frequently ambulated the streets
of Lynn, and he had the ineffable pleasure
of receiving loud congratulations from his
numerous friends. Here, perhaps, his lite-
rary career had terminated, had not Napo-
leon's abortive threats of invasion roused
Nathan to take his stand, with daring pen,
in defiance of the insolent foe. Our pa-
triotic author produced a ^ Sermon" on the
impending event. His former editorial
tsdistants again aided him, and announced
lis intentions by a prospectus, setting forth
that, on such an occasion, ** when address,
argument, and agitation, elegy, epitaph, and

•pithalamium, pufl^ powder, poetry, anci
petition, have been employed to invigorate
and inspirit the minds of Englishmen, it
surely must be a matter of serious exulta*
tion, that a writer of such superlative cele-
brity as Nathan Coward should draw his
pen in defence of the common cause.-^
Cold and disloyal indeed must be that
breast which, even on the bare perusal,
does not feel the glow of enthusiastic pa-
triotism,^-does not beat with rapture at
the pride of Dersingham, the glory of hit
country, and the admiration of the uni-

** RIm, Britons, rise, and rising nobly raise
Yomr joyful Pasans to great Nathan's praise ;
Nathan, vhoee powers all glorioas heights can reach,
Nov eharm an agne,'-now a Sermon preach ^-^
Nathan, who late, as time and eaoae seem'd fit,
Despatob*d a letter to great premier Pitt.
Showing how qviek the public in a dash
Might change their spoons and platters into cash ;
And now with aeaH, attached to name nor party,
Thnaders ont vengeance 'gainst great Buonaparte ;
Zeal that no riral bard shall e*er ezeeed ;
To prore yonr judgment, quickly buy and read.**

Soon after the publication of his " Ser-
mon," Nathan became more sensible to the
infirmities of '* threescore years and ten."
And the epitaph on his wife having been
duly appropriated, for in good time she
died, he removed to Liverpool, where he
had a daughter married and settled, and
there, in her arms, about the year 1815, he
breathed his last at the age of eighty. —
RequieseMi in pace^

K.

PETER AND MARY.

Dr. Soams, master of Peterhouse, Cam-
bridge, towaitis the close of the sixteenth
century, by a whimsical perverseness de-
prived the college over which he presided
of a handsome estate. Mary, the widow
of Thomas Ramsey, lord mayor of London,
in 1577, after conferring several fevours on
that foundation, proffered to settle five
hundred pounds a year (a very large in-
come at that period) upon the house, pro-
vided that it might be called ** The college
of Peter and Mary.'' «<No!" said the
capricious roaster, ** Peter, who has lived
so long single, is too old now for a female
partner." Fuller says it was " a dear jest by
which to lose so good a benefactress." The
lady, offended by the doctoi's fantastic
scruple, turned the stream of her bexievo-
lence to the benefit of othvr public fouLda*
tious.

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1^0. XXXII.

From " Lore's Metamorphosis,'^ a Come-
dy, by John Lily, M. A. 1601.]

Love hal/'denied U Love kaff-confeei.
Niea. Niobe, her maid.

NUu. I fear Niobe is in Iota.

Nwbe, Kot I, madam; yet mnst I eonfaaa, tkat
oftntimM I kaT« had tweet tkoof hta, ■ometimei hard
cooeeita: betwixt both, a kind of jieldiof; I kaow
not what ; bat eertaialj I think it is not love t sigh I
can, and find ease b melaacholjr : smile I do^ and take
pleavmre in imaginatioa: I feel in myself a plessiac
pain, a chill heat, a delicate bittemen ; how to term
it I know not i withont doabt it may be LoTOi sare I
am it is not Hate.

[From « Sapho and Phao," a Comedy, by
the same Author, 1601.]

Phao, a poor Ferryman^ praisee hie €0*-
dition. — He ferriee over Fenus ; who tn-
/Uunee Sapho and him with a mutual pae*
tton.

Phao. Thoa art a ferryman, Phao, yet a fieemaat
poemtising for riches eontent, and for honours qniet
Thy thonghts are no higher than thy fortaaes, nor thy
desires greatsr than thy calling. Who dimbeth, stand-
eth on glass, and felleth oa thorn. Thy heart's thirst
IS satisfied with thy hand*s thrift, and thy genUe la-
boars in the day tarn to sweet slnmbers in the night.
As much doth it delight thee to rale thy oar in a calm
stream, as it doth Sapho to sway the sceptre in her
brare court. Eary ne?er easteth her eye low, ambi-
tion pointeth always upward, and nrenge barketh
only at atan. Thou farest delicately, if thoa have a
fare to buy any thing. Thine angle is ready, when thy
oar is idle t and as sweet is the fish which thoa gettest
in the rirer, as the fowl which othera buy in the mar-
ket. Thou needest not fear poison in thy glass, nor
treason in thy guard. The wind is thy greatest enemy,
whose might is withstood by policy. O sweet life I
seldom found under a golden eo>rert, often under a
thatcht cottage. But here eometh one i I will with-
draw myself aside ; it may be a passenger.

Fenue, Phao ; She, as a mortal.

renal. Pretty youth, do you keep the ferry, that
eondueteth to Syraeusa?

Phao. The ferry, fur lady, that eoadncteth to Syra-
eusa.

Venmt. I fear, if the water should begin to swell,
thoa wilt want cunning to guide.

Phao, These waters are commonly as the passengers
are ; and therefore, carrying one so fair in show, there
ts no eaose to fear a rough sea.

Feavf. To pass die time in thy boal^ eaa*sti»*d»
Tise any pesttme ?

Phao. If the wind be with me, I can angles or tell
tales : if against me, it wiU be pleasure for you to see
me take pains.

Vnoi. Hike not fishing; yet was I boia of the sea.

Phao. But he may bless fiihiag, that oaaght such an
one in the sea.

Feaai. It was not with an aagle, my boy, but with
a net.

Phao. So, was it aaid, that Ynleaa caught Man
with Venus.

r«»«f . Did'ftt thou hear so ? it was some tale.

Phao. Yea, Madam ; and that in the boat did I
mean to make my tale.

Feaat. It is not for a ferryman to talk of the Ood^
LoTss : but to tell how thy father could dig, and thy
mother spun. But come, let us away.

Phao. I am ready to wait—

SaphOf eleepleee for love of Phao, who
/over her as much, consults with him about
some medicinal herb s She, a great Lady g
He, the poor Ferryman, but now promotea
to be her Oardener.

Sapho. What herbs haTs you brought, Phao ?

Phao. Such as will make you sleep. Madam ; though
they cannot make me slumber.

SopAo. Why, how can you cure me, when yo« can-
not remedy yoaraelf ?

Phao. Yes, madam ; the cauaea are contrary. 7c«
it is only a dryness in your brains, that keepeth yoo
from rest. But—

8apho. ButwUt?

Phao. Nothing : but mine is not s(h-

Sofho. Nay then, I despair of help, if oar disease
be not all one.

Phao, I would our diseaaea were all oae I

Sapho. It goee hard with the patient, when the phy-
aician is desperate.

Phao. Yet Medea made the erer^oraklng dragon to
snort, when she (poor soul) could not wink.

Sapho. Medea was in k>Te, and nothing could cause
her rest but Jaeoa.

Phao. Indeed I know no herb to make loyers sleep
but Heart's Ease : which, because it groweth so high.
I cannot reach, for—

Se^ho. For whom?

Phao. For such as lore—

Sapho. It sloopeth very low, and I can never atoop
to it, that

PAae. That what?

Sapho. That I may gather it But why do yo« aigh
80^ Phao?

Phao. It is mine use. Madam.

Sapho. It wiU do you harm, and me too: for I
hear one sigh, but I must sigh also.

Phao. It were best then that your Ladyship gtra me
leare tobegone: for 1 eaa but sigh—

Sapho. Nay, sUy ; for now I begin to ugh, 1 shall
not leare, tliough you be gone. But what do yoo thiaii
best for your sighing, to take it away ?

PAm. Yew, Madam.

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Phao. No, Madam ; Yew ©f the treft,

Sapho, Then wiU I love Yew ti»e batter. And »-
deed I think it woald make me tleep too ; thererore»
all other limplee eet aside, I will simply wa calj
Yew.

Phtio, Do, Madam ; for I think nothing in the wvrU
eo good as Yew.

Sapho. Farewell, for Chls time.

Sapho quettions her low-placed Affection,

Sapho. Into the nest of an Ale/on no bird can enter
)nt the Alcyon ; and into the heart of so great aliiadj
jan any creep bat a great Lord T

Cupid, Sapho cured of her love by the
pity of Venue,

. Cupid, But what will you do for Phao?

Sapho. I will wish him fortunate. This will I do
tor Phao, because I once loved Phao t for never shall
it b« said, that Sapho loved to hate : or that out of lova
shv could not be as courteous, as she was in ]oTe p»s>
siuLate.

Phao*e final reeohitioiu

Phao. O Sapho^ thou hast Cupid w thy acme, 1 in
m) heart ; thou kisMst him for sport, I must eniM
him for spite ; yet will I not enrse him, Sapho, whom
thiMi kissest. This shall be my resolntion, wherever I
wand«r, to be as I were ever kneeling before Sapho s
my lo>aIty unspotted, though unrewarded. With as
Htlie malice will I go to my grave, as I did lie withal
in my cradle. My life shall be spent in sighing and
wishing; the one for my bad fortune, the other for
Sapho's good.

C. L.

For the Table Book,
WHITTLE SHEEPSHANKS, ESa

Formerly there was a farmer of very ex-
tensive property, who was also of great piety,
residing in Craven, with the above awkward
Christian and surname. He once purchased
some sheep of a native of North Britain at
one of the dkipton cattle fairs,and not having
cash enough with him to pay for them, he said
to the man, ** Tve no money by me at pre-
sent, but 1*11 settle with you next fair."
** An' wha ma ye be, sir ?*' said the Soots-
man. " What, don't ye know me ? I
thought everv body knew Whittle Sheep-
shanks.*' *^ Hout I mon/' said the Scots-
man, ** dinna think tu make a fule o' me ;
wiia'ever heard sic a name o* c eheepehanke
wV a whittle to it," This so offended Mr.
Sheepshanks, that he changed his name to
Vork«

T. Q. M.

F0r the Table Book,
MY " HOME."

This is the soothing word tha* calms the
mind under all the vaiious anxieties, mor«
tifications, and disappointments we meet
with, day after day, in the busy world.
This is the idea that enables us to support
the most trying vexations and troubles — it
is an antidote for every cvil^

My ** Home !" — ^There is a deliciously
restful, quiet tone about the word. It pre-
sents heavenly ideas of soft ease, and gentle
repose to the oppressed mind and languid
body — ideas of quiet seclusion, where one's
powers and faculties may be relaxed, and
be at rest. The idea of ** home " is per-
haps the pnly one which preserves an equal
influence over us through all the different
periods of life.

The weary child that slowly draws its
little tender feet, one after the other, in
endeavours to keep up with ** dear pa^/'
who has taken it out for a long walk, looks
up in his face with brightening eyes, as he
says, *' Never mind, we shall soon he home
now.'' Its tiny fingers take a fiiiner grasp
of the supporting hand of its father, and
its poor drooping head half erects, as it
thinks of the kind mother who will receive
it with words of sympathy for its fiitigue,
seat it in her lap, lay its face on her
cherishing bosom with comforting expres-
sions, and chafe its aching limbs with her
soft palms.

The school boy, or girl, when holiday-
time comes — with what anxiety do they
not look forward to the time of the chaise s
arrival, which is to take them ''home!**
They both think of the approaching happy
meeting with all their affectionate family —
the encouraging smile of the proud father
— the overwhelming kisses of liie fond
mother^-the vociferous welcomes of the
delighted brothers and sisters. Visions of
vreluRierited praise bestowed on the differ-
ent exhibitions of the neatly executed copy-
book, the correctly worked sums, (those
tremendously long phalanxes of figures,
th^t call forth the mirthful astonishmeDt of
the younger party,) the well-recited Latin
lines, and the " horribly hard ** translation,
pass before Jde mind.— SA« anticipates the
admiration that will be elicited by the dis-
play of certain beautiful needlework, (that
pernicious destroyer of female health, both
Dodily and mental,) which, at the expense
of shape and eyesight, is perhaps brought
to such perfection as exactly to imitate the
finest " Brussels."— Alas, poor Woman *
How comes it that we are so blind to oar

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own good, as to empky in such trifling and
even injurious pursuits all your faculties,
which (inferior to man's, as man assumes
they are) might still be cultivated and de-
veloped, so as to add mental acquirements
to your gentle qualities, and render you a
still more amiable and desirable companion
, for us.

The man while busy at his daily occupa-
tion thinks of going "home" after the
fatigues of the day with ecstasy. He knows
that on his return he shall find an affection-
ate'face to welcome him — a warm snug
room— a bright fire— a clean hearth— the
lea-things l^id— the sofa wheeled round on
the rug — and, in a few minutes after his
' entrance, his ytik sitting by his side, con-
I soling him. in his vexations, aiding him in
his plans for the future, or participating in
his joys, and smiling upon him for the
good news he may have brought home for
her — ^his children climbing on the hassock
at his feet, leaning over his knees to eye
his face with joyous eagerness, that they
may coaxingly win his intercession with
♦*dear mamma "for "only haif an hour
longer." , . .

I have hitherto looked only at the bright
side of the picture. I am unhappily aware
that there are individuals who never can
know the luxury of " home." Mr. Charlei
Lamb says, that " the home of the very
poor is no home." And I also aver, thai
the home of the very rich is no home. He
may be constantly at home if he chooses,
therefore he can never know the delightful
sensation of a return to it, after having
been obliged (for with human beings the
chief charm of a thing seenv* tp arise from
iU being denied to us) to remain out all
day. Besides, " home " should be a place
of simplicity and quiet retirement after the
turmoil of the worid. Do the rich find
these amid their numerous guests and
officious domestics— their idle ceremony,
and.pomp, and ostentation? This is not
the "ease and comfort" (that greatest
source of an Englisbn^an's delight) which
shouki be peculiar to " home."—

There is, likewise, another being who
never can taste the truly exquisite enjoy-
ment of "home:" — I mean the "Old
Bachelor." He leturns to his lodging (I
will not say to his " borne")— there may
be ^very thing he can possibly desire in the
shape of mere external comtorts, provided
for him by the officious xeal and anxious
wish to please of Mrs. Smith, (his house-
keeper,) but still the room has an jair of
cfailUng vacancy :— the very atmosphere of
thie aiartment has a dw^ uninhabited

appearance — the chairs, set round with pro-
voking neatness, look reoroachfullv useless
and unoccupied — and tn« tables and other
furniture shine with impertinent and futile
brightness. All is dreary and repelling.
No gentle face welcomes his arrival — no
loving hand meets his — ^no kind looks an-
swer the listless gaze be throws rnund the
apartment as he enters. He sits down to a
book — alone. There is no one sitticy by
his side to enjoy with him the favourite
passage, the apt remark, the just criticism
— no eyes in which to read his own feelings
— his own tastes are unappreciated and
unreflected — he has no resource but him-
self-^no one to look up to but himself-^all
his enjoyment, all his nappiness mustjema*
nate from himself. He flings down the
volunoe in despair — buries his face in his
hands— thinks of her who might have been
his beloved and heart-cheering companion
— ehe is gone ! — —

tioMEl — scene of tenderly cherished
infancy— of youthful buoyancy, brilliant
with enjoying and hopeful feelings — of
maturer and exquisite happiness — of all
our best feelings— towards thee does my
hoart ever yearn in constant and grateful
afiectioo !-r-

M. H.

For the Table Book,
THE BLACKBERRY BLOSSOM.

WRITTEN IN Ep^IKG FoRSST.

Tke mmidea*s bloth,

fiweet bUekberrjr blMsoiii, fboa
WtwttU IB pricUly iMves that ro?e
^0*«r frieDdlik« tsrviiv boagh.

•Cogipasio^hip

Thine attributes, tboii girmC
Likeneu of rirtae sblflded safe

From lives with inborn thou Uvest.

Wbatismaakiad?

Bat like tkj waad'ricf ?— Time
Leads mortals throogk the aase of lifiB,

Aad ttaonsanda hopewards climb.

A sadden blas^*

Tbea what of hope repaiqs ?
Beauty fall soon i>y sicknesg falls,

And pleasures die in j9ai,oa.

Bat froit

Tbon ripenest by the sky i
May haman hearts bear f raits of

Before in eaitkiA«y lie 1

AffgUtt 1% 1827.

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BURNSAL UCH-GATE.

GRASSMERB FONT.

NOTES ON A TOUB, OHIEPLT PEDESTRIAN, FEOM SKIPTON IN CRAVEN,
YOBKSHIRE, TO KESWICK, IN CUMBERLAND.

" I hate the man who can tiarel from Dan to Beenheba and saf 'tte all banen.*— ^STctml

Jufy 14, 1827. Left Skipton for Kes-
wick. The road from Skipton to Bumsal
exhibits some romantic scenery, which the
muse of Wordsworth has made classic
mround. About half a mile from Rilston,
on the rfjB^ht-hand side of the road, are the
ruins of Norton tower, one of the principal
scenes in the poem of the " White Doe of
Rylstone.'* Having visited the tower before,
I did not think it worth while to reascend
he immense precipice on which it stands.

15th, Sunday. Previously to the com-
mencement of the service at Buntf a/ church,
[ sketched the " lich-gate," which differs
considerably from the beautiful one of
Beckenham, in Kent; a drawing whereof
is in my friend Mr. Hone's Table Book.
The manner, wherein the gate turns on its
pivot is rather curious, and will be best
exemplified by the drawing above. The
churcn, an old structure, apparently of the
teign of Henry VII., is pleasantly situated
on ** the banks of the crystal Wharfe." Wliile
attending divine service, one or two things
struck me as remarkable. The church has
an organ, on which two voluntaries were

played ; one after the psalms for the day,
and the other after the second iesson ; but
during the singing of the metrical psalms
the organ was silent. Instead of it two or
three strange-looking countrymen in the
organ gallery raised an inharmonious noise
with a small fiddle, a flute, and a clarinet.
Why do the churchwardens allow this!
The gallery of the church should not be
allowed to resemble the interior of an ale-
house at a village feast. The church would
have looked better had it been cleaner:
the pew wherein I sat was covered with
cobwebs. The business of the church-
wardens seemed to me to consist rather in
thumping the heads of naughty boys than
in looking after the state of the church.

Afternoon, eame day. At Linton, about
two miles up the river, arrived daring the
time of service. This church has suffered
much from the *'beautifiers;" who, amongst
other equally judicious improvements, have
placed a Venetian window over the altar of
the Gothic edifice : the present incumbent,
the Rev. Mr. Coulthurst^ is about to remove
it. The altar rails were covered mlh

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garlands made of artificial flowers. Church
garlands were formerly made of real flowers.
They are borne before the corpses of un-
married young women. I have heard an
old woman in Durham sing the following
stanza* which evidently idludes to the
custom :—

When I Ml dead. Wor« I be buried.

Hearken ye maideot fair, thii in(at']re do-
Make me a garland of maijoram and kKoa thyme.
Mixed witli the paaey, reeemary, and rae.

The practice of bearing the garlands is siill
very common in the country churches in
Craven.

In the churcb-yard is the following in-
scription on a stone, date 1825 1 The march
of intellect is surely here proceeding at a
rapid pace I

Remember man, that pasetk by
Ae tboa is now so once wae 1 1
And at I ii MO mnet thoa be,
Prepan thyself to follow me.

Some one had written beneath,

To fellow yoii*8 not my intent.
Unless I knew which way yon went.

Julfi 16. Went from Lintoo over the
moors to Clapham ; passed through Skire-
thoms, over Skirethoms moor, by Malham
Water, by the side of Pennygent, through

Great and Little Stainfbrth, over

moor,* through Wharfe and Austwick.
Malham Water is a beautiful lake, well
worthy of the traveller's notice ; it is sup-
posed to be the source of the river Aire,
which springs in the neighbourhood. About
a mile from it is the ramous chasm Gor-
dale. (Vide Gray's Journal.) From —
moor,* above Uie village of Little Stain-
forth, is a sublime view of mountain scenery,
in which Pennygent is a principal object.
No traveller should pass through Little
Stainforth without seeing the water&U be-
low the bridge. There is a finer one in the
neighbourhood, but I was ignorant of it
when I passed through the village. From
the waterfell the bridge appears to great
advantage; the arch has a fine span. There
are, I was told, some curious caves in this
part. N.B. This day's journey tought me
that the information of the peasantry with
respect to distances is not to be depended
upon : at Little Stainforth I was informed
it was three miles to Clapham ; six would
have been nearer the mars.

• I eannot remembffr the names i the map of Yosk-
ihiie l ha?e affords no cale.

July 17, 18. Kirby Loiudale. This town
is on the banks of the Lune, which here
winds through a finely wooded valley. It
has an elegant old bridge. In one of the
battlements is a stone, rtssemblingaRoman
altar, with this inscription — ^Feare God,
HoNORE TE KiMGE, 1683. Why and when
placed there I know not. Drunken BaN
naby'8*'^tfZain/a<*tointfi taberwm,** may
be seen in the main street : it is still used
as an inn. The church is a handsome
structure; near the altar rails 1 observed
the table of consanguinity placed.* At the
west end is a fine Norman doorway, a
considerable sufferer by ^ beautifying.'*
In the church-yard, on a neat pyramidal
tombstone, is the following melancholy in-
scription : —

Eattern Hde,

SAoaxD
to the Memory of
Alios Cians,
Aged 81 years ;
Aons Wallvko,
AgedSS;
Bella ConirrB waits.

Aged 90s

HAinrAB AausTBoiro,

Aged 18s

AaVBS NiOHOLSOH,

Aged 17:
All of whom were harried iato eternity by the awful
eonHagratioa by fire of the Rose and Crown Hotel, a
this towB, on the night of the 6 December, I8S0.

fFestem tide.

In the midst of life we are in Death.

Before the mountains were brovght ibrth,^ or ever
thou hadst formed the earth and the world, eyea iron:
everlasting to ererlasting tbott art, O Ood I

Thoa tnmest man to destraetioa, andsayrst, Re*nm,
ye children of mea.

Thov oarriest them away as with a flood ; they are
as a sleep : ia the merning they are like grass w'lieh
springeth op.

In the morning it floarlsheth and groweth np : in the
evening it is cut down and witliered.

Erected by yolnatary oontribntioas.

All the sufierers in this dreadful conflagra-
tion seem to have been young, ** Whom
the Gods love die young,*' 1 think is said
by one of the Grecian poets.

A walk, extending from the north gate
of the chuich-yard along the banks of the
Lune, affords a delightml prospect of the
county, with several gentlemen's seats.

• This seems a pretty general cnstom I'n Westmor»
land. Do the yonng people of this oonnty need in£»r»
iag that '* a maa may not marry his grandmother r*

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X.B. The ReT. Mr. [Iii.it, the author of an
elegaut version oi' Tasso's Jerusalem Deli-
7ered, was once curate here. I believe the
welUknown Carus Wilson is the officiatiog
miDister at present.

18th, Evemng^At Kendal. At Cow-
brow half way between Kirby Lonsdale
and this plaee, i» the foUowing stanza, be-
tteath a sign representing a plougliboy ;^-<-

The weather** (mat, the leaaon** now,
Drire op my bojs, Ood epeed the ploagh ^
All jron mj friend* pray call and see
What jolly bojfS we ploaghiac;* be.

Had this ** poetry'* been in the neigh-
bourhood of EKirham, I should have sus-
pected it to have been written either by
the late Baron Brown, or Vet. Doc. Mar-
ihal), though I do not think the doctor
would have made such a bull as runs in
the last line.

19. Left Kendal for Bownett, Arrived
there in the evening, and took up my quar-
ters at the posting-house at the entrance of
the village. From the front windows of
the inn is a good view of Windermere. At
the time of my arrival it was invisible ; both
lake and village were enveloped in a thick
mist. About eight o'clock the mist dis*
persed, the sky j^rew clear, and Winder-
mere was seen in all its beauty. This is
the largest of the English lakes ; and, ac-
cording to Mr. Athey s Guide, is ten miles
in length. The hills around it are delight-
fully wooded, but the scenery is tame when
compared with that of the more northern
lakes. Bell's Island is now called Cur-
wen's Island, from its being the country
residence of Mr. Curwen: it is the largest
of the numerous islands on Windermere.
In Bowncss ehurch-yard is a tonib to the
memory of Rassellas Belfield, an Abyssi-
nian. Near Troutbeck bridge, in the neigh-
bourhood, is the seat of the laureate of the
Palmy isle. In the midst of the village is
a tiee on which notices of sales are posted.
Bowness is to the inhabitants of Kendal
what Hornsey is to the cocknies, and dur-
ing the summer months gipsying excur-
lions are very frequent. On the evening
that I arrived some Oxonians were *' asto-
nishing the natives:" they seemea lo think
that, as they were from college, they had a
right to give themselves airs. The inhabit-
ants appeared to regard them with mingled
ooks of pity and derision.

July 20. Left Bowness for Gra»9merey
through Ambleside and RydaL At the last
place I turned aside to see Rydal Mount,
the residence of the celebrated poet, Woitls-
worth. While proceeding to bis cottage.

an old woman popped sHit her licnd froin
tlie window of a ruae Uut» and saktd me if
I should like to see the waterfall : I entered
her dwelling, where a good fire of sticks
and turf was burning on the hearth ; and,
from the conversation of the daine, I
gleaned that she was a dependant on the
bounty of Lady le Fleming, in whose
grounds the waterfall was : she at length
conducted me to it. This waterfall is cer-
tainly a fine one, but as seen through the
window of a summer-house it has rather a
cockney appearance. Rydal Hall is a huge
uncouth building; the beautifiers have
made the old mansion look like a factory :
when I first saw it from the road I mistook
it for one. N.B. For seeing the waterfidl,
the price is " what you choose !"

I now proceeded to Rydal Mount, whidi,
from the trees surrounding it, can hardly
be seen from the road : the approach is
shaded by beautiful laurels — proper trees
for the residence of Wordsworth 1 While
reconnoitring I was caught in a heavy
thunder-shower, and should have been
drenched, had not a pretty servant girl in-
vited me into the kitchen, where I sat for
at least an hour. On the dresser, in a large
wicker cage, were two turtledoves ; these,
I learnt, were great favourites, or niherpete,
(that was the word,) with the bard. The
shower having ceaised, I obtained Mrs.
Wordsworth*8 leave to walk through the
garden : from the mount in it I gained an
excellent view of the front part of the
house. I had scarcely reached the village
of Rydal when another shower drove me
into a cottage, from the door of which I
had my fii^t view of the author of the Lyri-
cal Ballads : he is rather tall, apparently
about fifty years of age; he was aressed m
a hair cap, plaid coat, and white trowsers.
It was gratifying to hear how the Rydal
peasantry spoke of this good man. One
said he was kind to the poor ; another, that
he was very religious ; another, that he had
no pride, and would speak to any body :
all were loud in his praise.

At Rydal is a neat gothic church, lately
erected at the sole cost of Lady le Fleming.
I have not seen any new church that pleasai
me so much as this ; the east end is finely
conceived, aiul both the exterior and inte-
rior reflect the highest credit on the taste
and talent of the artist, Mr. Webster of
Kendal. I wished Mr. Hone had seen it
with me, for I know be «.ould have been
dp.lighted with it. The church tower forms
a pretty object from many parts of the
neighbourhood. Rydal lake is small, but
very romantic. On some of the surrounding

— \{

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bills I obsen-ed those rude erections of"
loose stones whidi the country boys are in
the habit of buildiug, and which they call
men. Wordsworth alludes to these men in
hM Lyrical Ballad« :^-

To the top of higk • they o1iano*flto dinb,

And there did they build, withoat mortar or Hme,
A MUM on the top of the orag.

A few of these « men '' being fwwdfd
with arms, resemble crimes, and transport
the imagination of the beholder to catholic
countries. The " Opium Eater** resides in
this part; I saw him; his name is i>e
Q— .

Jttiy21. Granmert. Arrived hew at
nine in the moining, and took up my
quarters at Jonathan Bell's, the Grassroere
inn. This is a most lovely village. The
poem of the " City of the Plague," in which
Its lake and church are so exquisitely de-
scribed, conveys but a faint idea of its
♦)eauties — even my favourite, Wilson, has
failed in delineating this fairy spot. On
entering, the first object that stnick me was
(he church and its cemetery.

There is a Uttk chnrch-yard on the tide
Of a low hiU that hangs o'er Orassmere iali;^.
Ifoet beaattfal it iel a Teraal epot
Enclos'd with wooded rock»» where a few f favM
Lie theltex'd, aleepinf in eternal calm-
Go tHither when you will, and that tweet spat
Is bright wUh sunshiaa.

Death pat on
The eonatenaaea of mi aogel. in4h« «poi
Whkh he had aaaetified

I found the description correct, with the
exception of the sunshine passage; for
when I entered the church-yard not a sun
ray smiled on the graves ; but, on the con-
trary, gloomy clouds were frowning above,
llie church door was open, and 1 discovered
that the villagers were strewing the floors
with fresh rushes. I learnt from the old
clerk, that, according to annual custom,
flie rush-bearing procession would be in
the evening. I asked the clerk if there were
any dissentcn in the neighbourhood; he
said, no, not nearer than Keswick, where
there were some that called themselves
Presbyterians ; but he did not know what
they weie, he believed them to be a kind
^ipapuhet,^ During the whole of this day

« I quote from memory, and cannot fill ap the blank.

t The only instance of dissent I heard of betwixt
Kendal and Keswick, was a primte Unitarian chapel
.at a gentleman's seat near Bowness. At Kendal and
Kenrick the disaentars are yrj nnmeroaa.

I observed the children busily employed jn
preparing garlands of such wild flowers as
the beautiml valley produces, for the even-
ing procession, which commenced at nine,
in the following order: — The ohilditen
(chiefly girls) holding these garlands, par
faded through the village, preceded by ^e
Unwn band, (thanks to the great drum ibr
this information;) they then entered the
church, where the three lai:gest garlands
were placed on the altar, and the remaining
ones in various other parts of the place.
(By the by, the beaut ifiers have placed an
ugly win jiow above the altar, of the non-
descript erder of architecture.) In tlie pro-
cession I observed the " Opium Juater,'*
Mr. Barber, an opulent gentleman residing
in the neighbouihood, Mr. and jidra.
Wordsworth, Miss Wordsworth, and Miss
Dora Wordsworth. Wordsworth is the
chief supporter of these rustic ceremonies.
The procession over, the party adjourned
to the ball-room, a hayloft, at my worthy
friend, Mr. BelPs, where the country lads
and lasses tripped it merrily and keauUy,
They called the amusement iandng,^ hut 1
called it thumpUigi for he who could make
the greatest noise seemed to be esteemed the
best dancer; and, on the pcesent occasion,
I think Mr. Pooley, the schoolmaster, .bore
away the palm. Billy Dawson, the fiddler,
boasied to me of having been the officiating
minstrel at this ceremony for the last six
and forty years, lie made grievous com-
plaints of the outlandish tunes which the
" Union band chaps*' introduce : in the

E recession of this evening they annoyed
(illy by playina the " Hunters' Chorus in
Friskits/ "Who," said Billy, " can keep
•time widi such a queer thing ?" Amongst
the gentlemen dancers was' one Dan 3ur-
kitt; he introduced himself to me, by
seiiit^ my coat collar in a mode that would
have given a Burlington Arcade lounger

the hysterics, and saying, ** I m

old Dan Burkitt, of Wytheburn, sixty-sii
years eld— not a betur jigger in Westmore-
land.*' No, thought I, nor a greater toss-
pot. On my relating this to an old man
present, he tpld me not to judge of West-
moreland manners by Dan's ; " for," said
he, " you see, sir, he is a statesman, and
has been at Lunnon, and so takes liberties.''
In Westmoreland, formers residing on their
own estate are called << sUtesroen." The
dance was kept up till a quarter to twelve,
when a livery-servant entered, and deliver-
ed the following verbal mes.sage to Billy —
" Mastei's respects, and will thank you to
lend him the fiddlestick." Billy took the
hint; the sabbath mom was at hand, and

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the pastor of the parish had adopted this
gentle mode of apprizing the assembled
revellers that they ought to cease their
revelry. The servant departed vrith the
fiddlestick, the chandelier was removed,
and when the village clock struck twelve
not an individual was to be seen out of
doors in the village. No disturbance of
any kind interrupted the dance : Dan Bur-
kitt was the only person at all ** how came
you so r and he was ^* non se ipse" before
the jollity commenced. He told me he
was " seldom sober ;" and 1 believed what
he said. The rush-bearing is now, I be-
lieve, almost entirely confined to West-
moreland. It was once customary in
Craven, as aippears from the following ex-
tract from Dr. Whitaker : — " Among the
seasons of periodical festivity, was the
rush-bearing, or the ceremony of conveyini^
fresh rushes to strew the floor of the parish
church. This method of covering floors
was universal in houtw while floors were
of earth, but is now confined to places of
worship: the bundles of the girls were
adorned with wreaths of flowers, and the
evening conehided with a dance. In Craven
the custom has wholly ceased .*'

In Westmoreland the custom has under-
gone a change. Billy remembered when
the lasses bore the rushes in the evening
procession, and strewed the church floor at
the same time that they decorated the
church with garlands ; now, the rushes are
laid in the morning by the ringer and
clerk, and no rushes are introduc^ in the
evening procession. I do not like old cus-
toms to change; for, like mortals, they
change before they die altogether.

The interest of the scene at Grassmere
was heightened to me, by my discovering
that the dancing-room of the rush-bearers
was the ball-room of Mr. Wilson's chil-
dren*s dance. The dancing-master described
so exquisitely in his poem is John Carra-
dus. From an old mhabitant of Grass-
mere I had the following anecdotes of the
now professor of moral philosophy. He^was
once a private in the Kendal local militia ;
he might have been a captain, but not hav-
ing suflicient knowledge of military tactics,
he declined the honour.

Wilson » while in the militia, was billeted
at one of the Kendal inns, where a brother
private was boasting of his skill in leaping,
and stated, that he never met with his
equal. Wilson betted a guinea that he
would outleap him ; the wager was accept-
ed, and the poet came off victorious, having
leaped seven yards ; his bragging antago-
nist leaped only five* Mr. Wilson appears

to have been celebrated in Westmoreland
for these things ; being a good climber of
trees, an excellent swimmer, and a first-rate
leaner.

The poet had a curious fancy in wearing
his hair in long curls, which flowed about
his neck. His sergeant noticed these curls,
and remarked, that in the militia they
wanted men and not puppies ; requesting,
at the same time, that he would wear his
hair like other Christians. The request oi
the sergeant was complied with, and the
poet's head was soon deprived of its tresses.
On a friend blaming him for submitting to
the orders of a militia sergeant, he coolly
said, <* I have acted cof lectly ; it is the
duty of an inferior soldier to submit to a
superior,"

^yhile in the militia, Wilson opposed
himself to seven beggars, or trampers, of
•* "iToanghuaband's gang,** who were insult-
ing a poor man. In this fray the bard got
two black eyes ; ** but,** added the narrator,
" no matter — he got 'em in a good cause.*'

July 22, Sunday, Attended church.
After service sketched the font, which ap-
peared to be of great antiquity. Near tne
altar is the fi)llowing inscription on a beau-
tiful marble monument, designed and exe-
cuted by Webster of Kendal : the poetry
is by Wordsworth.

In T0S BVKIAL OboVV»

Of this ehnrah are deporited the remuns of Jxmiiia
Amr Dkbohab, teoond Daughter of Sir Eoutom
BBTOon, of DentOD Coart, Kent, Bart. She departed
this life, at the Uj Cottage. RjdiO, May S6, 1889.
Aged Si8 years. This memorial is ereeted by her ha«-
hand, EDvaao Quillikak.

These vales were saddened with no common gloom
Wlien good Jemima perished in her Uoom ;
When, soeh the awfal will of HeaTca, she died
Bjr flames breathed on her from her own firs-siia.
On earth we dimly tee, aad but in part
We know, yet faith sustains the sorrowing heart ;
And she the pure, the patient, aad the meek.
Might hare fit epitaph eould feelinp speak:
If words eodGi tell, aad monamenfes record.
How treasures lost are inwardly deptored.
No aame by griefs fond eloqoenee adorned.
More than Jemima's would be pralssd aad moonel
The tender virtues of her blameless Ufe,
Bright in the daughter, brighter ia the wife ;
And in the oheerful mother brightest shona—
That light hath past awi^y^the wiU of God be doae

Prom the church-yard I transcribed the
following inscriptions :^

HxBS Livra
The body of Tbomas, the son of William aad Mam

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WoRDiwomTH. He di«d oo the 1st of December, ▲. »•

Jan.

Six mooths to aiz jeare added, be remained
Upon this einfol earth bjma anstained.
O blessed Lord, whose merof then reau>Ted
A ehild whom erery ejr« that looked on loved,
Sapport as, teach ns calmlf to reeiga
What we possessed, and now is wholly thine.

Sac BSD TO thk Mxuobt or
W1U.1AM Oehw, the last S3 years of whoee life were
lasoed IB the neighboarhood, where, by lus skill and
adnstry as aa art'ist, he prodaoed faithful represeata^
Cons of the oonnty, aad lasting memorials of its more
perishable featores.

He was bora at Manchester,

And died at Ambleside,

On the 89 Day of April, 1833, in the 63 year of

his age, deeply lameated by a nnmenns family,

and unirersally respected.

His ▲rruoTKD Widow

Oaosed this stone to be erected.

Green was a surprising man, and his
sketches of mountain scenes are correctly
executed, though I never liked his manner
of drawing; and in his colouring there is
something glaring and unnatural- But Uie
fame of Green does not rest on his abilities
as an artist. As the historian of the Eng-
lish maintains, his descriptive talents were
of the first order. His entertaining and in-
valuable " Guide " will be perused by pos-
terity with increased admiration. There is
a charm about it wh'ch I have not found in
any other of the numerous publications of
a similar nature. I have been informed,
however, that notwithstanding its excel-
.ence its sale was limited, and the author
was out of pocket by it.

July 23. Ascended SUvertop 01 Silver-
howy a hill at Grassmere. It is not very
high, but from iu unevenness it is not easy
to reach the summit. The view from it is
rather extensive, considering its very mode-
rate height. When I ascended there was a
considerable mist, yet I could distinguish
Windermere, Rydal lake and church, and
the surrounding objects. To day I leave
Grassmere ; I do it with regret, but with
hopes of once more visiting it, and seeing
Jonathan Bell again. He is one of the
pleasantest fellows I ever met with, and I
shall recommend the Grassmere inn to all
my friends who may visit the lakes.

Jufy 24. Walked to Keswick. The road
from Grassmere is so well described in
Mr. Otley's small guide, (which has been
of the greatest use to me,) that it would be
only a waste of time and paper to paiticu-
lirixe its numerous interesting objects. The

road passes by Thulmere, or eoniraeted
Lake, (so called from its sudden contraction
in the middle, where there is a neat bridge,)
through the greatest part of Saint John's
Vale, so celebrated by fir Walter Scott's
poem, the " Bridal of Triermain.*' Oppo->
site Wythebum chapel, (which is the small-
est I ever saw,) I entered into conveisation
with a labouring man, who was well ac-
quainted with the late Charles Gouche, the
" gentle pilgrim of nature,** who met an
untimely death by falling over one of the
precipices of Helvellyn. Some time pre-
vious to his deatli he had lodged at the
Cherry Tree, near Wythebum. The man
related many anecdotes of him, but none
particulariy interesting. Mr. Gouche was
an enthusiastic admirer of poetry, which
he would frequently recite to him and
others of his friends.

Keswick is a neat town. The Greta runs
through it ; but, alas 1 its once pure waters
have become polluted by the filthy factories
now on its banks. Having been obliged
to leave Keswick in the a^rnoon of the
day after my arrival, I was unable to see
much of it or its neighbourhood. I paid a
hasty visit to Derwentwater and the tails of
Lowdore. The latter, from the dryness of
the season, much disappointed me. I saw
the Druid's Temple on the old road to
Penrith ; it is a circle formed of rough stones.
The common people pretend these stones
cannot be counted, but 1 found no difficulty
in ascertaining their number to be forty-
eight. A barbarian once recommended
the owner to blast these stones for walling,
but happily for the antiquary 'his suggestion
was not attended to. Green, in his guide,
speaking of this spot, alludes to the very
erroneous opinion that the druidical was a
polytheutic religion. — N.B. Skiddaw has a
majestic appearance when viewed from
Keswick. Seuthey's house is at the foot.

During my residence in the above parts
I collected the following scraps, by whom
written, or whether original^ I know not.

Son NET.

The nimble fhacy of all beanteons Greece
Fabled yonng Love an ererlasting boy.
That thiongh the blithe air, like a pnlse of joy,

Wing'd his bright way^a life that coald not cease.

Nor suffer dimismtion or increase ;

Whose qniver, franght with quaint delidoos woes,

And wonnds that hart not— thorns pinched from th
rose

Ifalunf the fend heart hate its stagnant feae*'

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THS TASLA 1X>61L

Wtt 9f€t f nlL Ok muldal «M^«it

Of old IdokAry, aad yoothful tim*^

Fit emanaHM of ft kappy dia«»
Where bot to Uve, to nore. to bremthc* wit i#mI>
And lore indeed oame floating on tho air,
A irinfed Ood, for erer frwh and Cut t

Soniift*

It mo«t btf no^^mj iofaat Ioto mdit ilad
la my owm breast a eradle aad a |:iiit»f
Like a riok Jewel hkl beaeatk tke waT0»

Or rebel spirit boaad withia tk« rind

Of some old [witker'd] oak— or fast eDibri«*d
In ilie eold daranee of an eehoiag esmn—
Yet better tkw, tkaa eold diadaia tobravt ;

Or woTM, to taint tbe qaiet of tkat niad
That decks its temple with vaearthljr fffaw^

Together mast we dw«U my dream aad I-—

Unknown then live, aad nnlanentod dii
Rather than dim the lostre of that faee^
Or drire tke laughing dimple from its plar^

Or keare tkat wkite breast witk a painful sigk.

SOVNET.

Fetr lor*d the yoatkfal bard, for he ma ofte
Whose face, tho* with intel!i){«ioe it beam'd,
Was ef er sad ; if witk a smile It gl«ira*d

It was bot nomeiitBrj. like tke«iui
Darting oee bright ray tkn»* tbe tlraader doad-^
He loT'd tke secret Tale, aad not tke crowd

And koifl of populous eltie»— soMe would say
There #as a iiecret labouring in bis breast^
Tkat made kim cheerless aad disturb*d hii tcttt

Whose influence sad be oonld not drire away.

What caused the young baid's woe was never knew.
Yet, oaoe, a wanderer deem'd an hapless flame
Consum'd his life away, £»r oar, wbeoe aaaM

He heard kim breathe, upea tke mouataiM Wae I

Song.

She tsnot fair to outward rieir.

As maay maideas be ;
Her loTelineas I nCTer knew.

Until ske smird on me.

0 then I saw her eye was brightt
A well of lore, a spring of light.

But BOW her looks are eoy and coId«

To mine they ne'er reply ;
Aad yet I oeaae not to behold

The k>Te-Iight in her eye^
Her yery frowns are fitirer far.
Than smiles of otker maidens ars.]

SOMO.

1 hare lived, and I have loved.

Hare lived, and loved in vain ;
Some joy, aad many woes, have proved.

Which may not be again.
My heart is old— my eye is sere—
Joj wiae ao smile, aad grief ao tear.

I fvoald hope, if hope I eeiall

Tho* sure to be deoeived t
There's inreetaees in a thou|{bt af fndi

If 'tis not quite believed
But faney ae'er repeate tbe sfrwa
That memory oaoe reprovest far vaiK

Hert endeth my JoamiL

T. Q. M.

G£NDERS.^JAMES HARRIS.

A good translation of Xenophon's Cjro*
pedia is much wanted. That by Atliley it
▼ilely done ; though Mr. Harrta has pro-
nounced a high eologium on it in his Phi-
lological Inquiries.

Mr. Harris was an excellent Greek
scholar, but beyond that he does not seem
to have great merit as a writer. In h!8
" Hermes,*' speaking of the grammatical
genders, he says, they are founded on a
^* reaboning which discovers, even in things
without sex, a distant analogy to that great
distinction, which, according to Milton, ani*
mates the world.'* To this be adds, in a note,
' LinDftus has traced the distinction of sexes
through the vegetable world, and made it
the basis of his botanic method." Shouid
not one be induced to think from this, that
Linneus classed some plants as male, and
others as female, from their form and cha-
racter? when, in feet, they are classed
acoording to the number and form of those
parts on which the fnictification of the
plants actually depends. What becomes
of this supposed analogy in the German
language, where the sun is fieminine, and
the moon masculine?

Lowth, in his graamiar, mentions the
poetical advantage our language derives
from making all inanimate things neater,
by the power it gives of personification by
the mere change of gender.*

For ike Table Book.
WHAT IS LIFE?

What is life ? 'tis like the oceaa.
In ite placid houn of rest.

Sleeping calmly— no emotion
Rising in its traaquil breast

But too seen tbe heavealy sbf
Is obscured by nature's hand.

And the whirlwind passiag by
Leaves a wreck upon the strasi.

■fy-

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I'HE TABLE BOOK,

DOCTOR LETTSOM.
to the Editor.

Sir,— Few inherited better qualities or
were more eccentric than the late Dr.
Lettiom. While he associated with lite-
rary men, communicated with literary
works, and wrote and published his medi-
cal experience, he gare gratuitous aid to
the needy, and apportioned bis leisure to
useful and practical purposes.

In a work, called *' Moods and Tenses,"
lately published, I find anecdotes of the
doctor, which I bad sent to a literary pub-
lication,* reprinted without acknowledg-
ment, and extracted since into other works.
In addition to the printed anecdotes of so
amiable a man, I tiust, sir, you will not be
unwilling further to illustrate his chatacter
by an anecdote or two, until now untold.

The first is of a Lady and her Serirani,
Tlie doctor was once called in to attend a
sick lady and her maid -servant. On enter-
ing the passage, he was asked by the nurse
into the lady's chamber. " Very well,*'
said he mildly, " but is there not a senrant
ill also." ** Yes, sir/' was the reply. "The»
let me prescribe for her first," ne rejoined,
'* as her services will be first wanted.'* His
request was complied with; and as he
predicted so it proved, — by the second
visit the servant was convalescent. " I
generally find this the case,*' observed the
doctor, good^humou redly, to his friend ;
'* Seivants want physic only, but their mis-
tresses require more skill than physic. This
IS owing to the diflercnce between scrub-
birg the stairs and scrubbing the teeth."

Tlie second anecdote refers to boohe.
Whenever a friend borrowed a book fiom
the doctor's library, he larelv lent it but
with this stipulation, that the supposed
value of the book should be deposited, with
the name of the borrower, and the title of
the volume with date, in the vacant place
till the book was restored. " Thougn at-
tended with some pains, I find this a good
plan,*' said the doctor ; " many of my sets
would otherwise be imperfect. I feel plea-
sure in lending my books, (many I give
away,) but I like to see my library, like my
practice, as regularly conducted as possi-
ble."

The third anecdote relates to the cure of
filehitig. The doctor had a favourite ser-
vant, who manifested the frailty of taking
that which did not belong to him. John
had abstracted a loaf of sugar from the
store closet, and sold it to a person that

« Litormrjr Chronicle. 1819, p. 3M.

kept a shop. Shortly ifVerWards, on tlm
carriage passing the shop, the docior de»
sired John to »> in ana order a loaf ot
lump sugar, and to pay for it, which was
accordingly done; but when they returned
homC) John suspecting his masfer^s motive,
made a full confession of the ^me, fell 6ti
his knees, implored forgiveWres, and was
pardoned on nis solemn promise of future
honesty.

The fourth anecdote is worthy of the
consideration of medical practitioners. The
doctor having been called to a poor ** lone
woman," pitied her desolate situation so
much, that he shed tears. Her person and
room were squalid ; her language and de-
portment indicated that she had seen better
days; he took a slip of paper out of his
pocket, and wrote with his pencil the fol-
lowing very rare prescriptioti to the over-
seers of the parish in which she resided : —

'' A shilling per dtem for Mrs. Maxton :
Money, not Physic, will cure her.

LetUom,**

That the doctor was not a rich man may
be easily accounted for, when it is con-
sidered that at the houses of the neoessitotis
he gave more fees than he took. At public
medical dinners, anniversaries, and lectures,
he must be well remembered by many »
truly vivacious companion, with a tru!y
benevolent heart and good understanding.

nPL

For the Table Book.
A FAREWELL.

Oot ^, tibj heart it atiU thbe owa,
Oo. taste of joy rad grladneas t

I fondly dreamt that heart mine ei#ii|
To hop* no now wera madaei*.

Maay a mortat yefr will woo thee.
Many a lover trust that smile,

Bot. if well as I they knew thee.
Few thy beanty would begnilr.

like the merehaat who has ventnftd

All his fortune on the sea.
So b thee my hopes were ceater'd,

Destin'd soon a wreck to be.

l%en fan-fhee-well, we meet ■• ttr^

Ketter had we nev^r met ;
Thtn hast many Joys in store,

I have MM— ray snn is tec.

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THE TABLE.BOOK.

-PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE."
EzTKMPORAirEorH Lines, written to

OBLIGE A YOUNG Fa I END, WHO 8U0GBST-

£D THE Topic.

The FAST, which onet wu preunt, thtn did Mem,
As doth tkit preeent, b«t ** a eiok man** dreAm.**
Nawt the nraembranoe of that past appears.
Throagh the dim dittanoe ef reoeding jean*
A lovely risioB of fAir foras t aad jet.
How dtfferint it wae 1 Fool I to regret
What had no beiag I Time, that faithfal tntor.
Were I bat teaohaUe, might ehow the wruas
As the FAceBNT is ; and jet I paint it
Teeming with Joj : and mj hope doth eaiat it.
With haloes ronnd the fond imagination.
And so thnMgh Ufe I paes— without a station
Whenoe I eaa see the present, a rralitj
To be enjoj'd-^liring bn idmility,
^tC51i«/25, 1827. *

Fw the Table Book.
TOMMY MITCHESON, OF DURHAM.

The above is a well-knowa character in
Durham, called *'the philosopher:" and
were his literary attainments to be mea-
sured bj the books he peruses, they would
far exceed those ol any gentleman in the
place. Tommy reads every thing that he
can borrow — legal, medical, theological,
hutorical — ^true nanative, or romance, it
matters little to him ; — but Tommy has no
recollection. On arriving at the last page
of a work he is just as wise as before be
commenced. A friend of mine once lent
him Gibbon's " Decline and Fall ;" and
when Tommy returned the last volume,
asked him how he liked it. *' It is a nice
work."—" Well, how did you like that part
about the boxing match between Crib and
Molineuxr— «*Oh,"8aid he, " it was the
ideeet part in the whole bookl" Poor
Tommy 1 I can say this of thee ; I have lent
thee many a book, and have always had
them returned clean and unsoiled 1 I can-
not say this of some of my book borrowers.
T. Q.M.

A MAN-LIRINO BIRD.

«' I have read of a bird," says Dr. Ful-
ler, in his Worthies of England, *' which
hath a face Uke^ and yet will prey upony a
man, who coming to the water to drink,
and finding there, bv reflection, that he
had killed one like himself, pineth away
by demesy and never afterwards enjoyeth

For ike Table Book.
PENNY A LOT.

A Schoolboy's yhitt^Mt Ramble throoov
Town.

The montag is wana, and ^e weather is ftae,
Tis too late for sehool, and too earlj to dine ;
Throvgh the streets as I go for refreshment, or ao^
All the dainties to sell are, a— Pesay « JLel/

Fine pcan, by their eheeka, are inriting to taster
With their tails earliag round, like bashaws ia the

east I
Red applee in heape, on a wieker>work spoC,^
How d*7e sell them ?— These lore, are, »— Peasy e

LotI

But yoor pinms— are the/ cheap ? Bj their Oileaa

hues
Thej beloag to the Indigo Warehonse,— Ihe Bloee ;
Aad jonr gages, so grsea I — are thej fresh fiom the

eot?—
From Um Qarden this moning, air.— Peaj^ a Lo< /

Bareeloaas in sssaU woodea sseasnrss an piled ;
How attraetiTe they look to the one*eopper ehild.
With his treasure to spend 1 "Bat what tktn hmw jm

got?
Add Drops I eries a Jew Poy, a— Peajqf a let t

Nioe slicss of eoeoa*ant, white as the saow«
Branl>aats and almoad-nats all in a row t
NapoleoaVnbsr-braady-baUs for the eot,
Aad awcet ea*as— what are CAesef Sir, a— Psn^g m
Lot,

Oroocdsel, ehiekweed, eaaee, posies, beads, srtsess, and

Currants sodden'd with rains, raistas prssiTd ia their

shapes I
Seaweeds, shells, aad oraameata, fit for a Grot,
Are all sold at the rate oC a— Peaiy « Lof /

What ehanoe has the Far-thing to bnm a hole trough ?
What ehanoe has the Half-peany, though it were new "*
UaUessM with a purehase, though thirsty aad hot.
All the order of sals is. a— Peaay o loL

P.

FISH.

Philip II. of Spain, the consort of our
queen Mary, save a whimsical reason for
not eating fish. ''They are," said he,
" nothing out element congealed, or a jelly
ofwater.'^

It is related of a queen Aterbatis, that
she forbad her subjects ever to touch fish,
** lest," said she, with calculating forecast,
" there should not be enough left to regale
their sovereign.''

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HOGABTH EMBABKING AT THE ISLE OF GRAIN.

- on luadf And knees we envl,
JjidaogviiafeontKwzdtlieTftwL OotUing,

This iheet is dediosted lo the five dayaT printed by Mr, Nichols. It was a party o'*
trarelsy in 1732, of him pleasure down the river into Kent, under-

taken by Mr. Hogarth, Mr. Soott, and three
of their friends, in which they intended to
bare more homoor than they accomplished,
and four of his fHends. ** Some few copies as is commonly the case in such meditated
of the Tour," says Horace Walpole, *' were attempts. The Tour was described in verse

That drew th* ewentfal form of grtoe^
Thst nw the nunnexi In the fsoe.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

by one of the company, and the drawings
executed by the painters, but with little merit,
except the views taken by Mr. .Scott."

Walpole's account is an incorrect and
contemptuous flout of " a merry, and a very
merry" party, consisting — besides Hogarth,
and his friend Scott, a landscape painter —
of Thornhill, (son of sir James, whose
daughter Hogarth married ;) Tothall, a wooU
lendraper at the corner of Tavistock-court,
CovenUgarden, who, being a member of the
club at the Bedford coffee-house, became
intimate with Hogarth; and Forrest, ano-
ther of Hoffarth*s friends. They " ac-
complished much "humour," as their
journal shows; though not to the under-
standing of Walpole, who was only a fine
gentleman, a wit, and an adept in artificial
knowledge.

A few months ago, I heard from the lip
of the kindest and toost exquisite humourist
of the age, what seems to me a perfect
definition — ** Humour is Wit steeped in
Mannerism." Walpole could never say,
because he never thought, or felt, any thing
like it. He was skilled in imitative mat-
ters alone : he brought himself up to Art,
and there stopped; his good breeding
would not permit him to deviate towards
Nature. He talked of it as people of
fashion do of trade^a vulgar thine, which
they are obliged to hear something about,
«nd cannot help being influenced by.

The ** some few copies of the Tour,"
which Horace Walpole says " were printed
by Mr. Nichols," and which be represents
as having been ** described in verse by one
of the company," Mr. Nichols certainly

printed in 1781 ; but that gentleman ac-
quaints us, that it " was the production of
the ingenious Mr. W. Gostling, of Canter-
bury," who was not of the party. Mr
Nichols reprinted it at the request of some
friends, on account of its rarity, in his
** Biographical Anecdotes of Hogarth." The
account of the ** Tour," really written " by
one of the company," was in prose ; and
this, which certainly Walpole had not seen,
was edited, and given to the world, by Mr.
R. Livesay, in 1782, on nine oblong folio
pages, with etchings of the same siz^.

The Tour in question was not *' medi-
tated." The party set out at midnight, at
a moment's warning, from the Bedford
Arms tavern, each with a shirt in his
pocket. They had particular departments
to attend to. Hogarth and Scott made the
drawings; Thomhill (Hogarth's brother-in-
law) the map; Tothall faithfully discharged
the joint office of treasurer and caterer ; and
Forrest wrote the journal. They were out
five days only; and on the second night
after their return, the book was produced,
bound, gilt, and lettered, and read at the
same tavern to the members of the club
then present. A copy of the journal having
been left in the hands of the Rev. Mr.
Gostling, (author of ** A Walk in and about
Canterbury,") he wrote an imitation of it
in Hudibrastic verse, of which Mr. Nichols
printed twenty copies as a literary curiosity.*

The original Tour by Mr. Forrest, and
the versified version of it, are plaeed on
the ensuing pages, from the before-men-
tioned editions; beginning with Forrest's
from the title-page, viz.

AN ACCOUNT or what sEEiiEn most remariable in thb FIVE DAYS' PERE-
GRINATION OP THE FIVE FOLLOWING Persohs ; viz. Messrs. TOTHALL*
SCOTT, HOGARTH, THORNHILL, and FORREST. Begun on Saturday
May 27th, 1732, and finished on the 31st of the same Month. " Abi tu, et fac
SIM I LITER.'' — Irucription on Dulwieh College Porch. London : Printed for R
Livesay, 1 78Z

Saturday, May the 27th, we set out with
the morning, and took our departure from
the Bedford Arms Tavern, in Covent Gar^
den, to the tune of " Why should we quar-
rel for riches?'' The first land we made
was Billingsgate, where we dropped anchor
at the Dark House.

There Hogarth made a caracatura of a
porter, who called himself the Duke of
Puddle Dock.* The drawing was (by his
grace) pasted on the cellar door. We were
tigreeably entertained with the humours of

* It u to be mrrectaa tAat a» rrace't pictan WM
iMl wtftwA in tU« ooUtetioB

the place, particulariy an explanation of a
Gafier and Gammer, a little gross, though
in presence of two of the feir sex. Here
we continued till the clock struck one.

Then set sail in a Gravesend boat we
had hired for ourselves. Straw was our
bed, and a tilt our covering. The wind
blew hard at S.E. and by £. We had
much rain and no sleep for about three
hours. At Cuckold s Point we sung St.
John, at Deptford Pishoken ; and in Black-
wall Reach eat hung beef and biscuit, and
drank right Hollands.

* Mx. Nichok's aeoooBt of Uogank

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At Purfleet Mre had a view of the Gib-
altar, the Dursley (rallev, and Tartar
Piiik, men of war, from the last of which
we took on board the pilot who brought .
ler up the channel. He entertained us
with a lieutenant's account of an insult
offered him by the Spaniards, and other
affairs of consequence, whion naturally
made as drowsy; and then Hogarth feU
asleep, but soon a waxing, was going to
relate a dream he had, but falling asleep
tgain, when he awaked forgot he had
Ireamed at all.

We soon arrived at Gravesend, and
found some difficulty in getting ashore,
occasioned by an unlucky boys having
placed his boat between us and the land-
mg-place, and refusing us passage over his
vessel ; but, as virtue surmounts all obsta-
cles, we happily accomplished this adven-
ture, and arrived at Mr. Bramble's at six.
There we washed our faces and hands, and
had our wigs powdered ; then drank coffee,
eat toast and butter, paid our reckoning,
and set out at eight.

We took a view of the building of the
New Church, the unknown person's tomb
and epitaph, and the Market place, and
then proceeded on foot to Rochester.

Nothing remarkable happened in that
joi "ney, except our calling and drinking
th.ct puts of Deer at an evil house, (as we
were afterwards informed,) known by the
sign of the Dover Castle, and some small
distress Scott suffered in travelling through
some clay ground moistened by the rain ;
but the country being extremely pleasant
alleviated his distress, and made him
jocund, and about ten we arrived at Ro-
chester.

There we surveyed the fine Bridge, the
cathedral, and the Castle; the last well
worth observing. It is a very high build-
ing, situate on the river Medway, strong
built, but almost demolished. With some
difficulty we ascended to the top of the
battlements, and took a view of a most
beautiful country, a fine river, and some of
the noblest ships in the world. There is a
very curious well cut in the middle wall
from the top of the Castle, a considerable
depth below its foundation, as we believed :
we saw a little boy ro down towards the
bottom of it by small holes cut in the sides,
wherein he placed his hands and feet, and
soon returned, bringing up with him a
young daw he had taken out of a nest
there.

We afterwards traversed the city, saw
the Town-Viouse, Watts's Hospital for relief
of tiz travelling persons, by entertaining

them with one nignt's lodging, and giving
to each fourpence in the morning, pro-
vided they are not persons contagiously
diseased, rogues, or proctors.

We saw on the front of a house four
figures in basso relievo after the antique,
done by some modem hand, representing
the Seasons ; and then came to the Crown
inn a» twelve. From that time till dinner
most of our company slept on several chairs
in the dining-room. From one o'clock till
three we were at dinner on a dish of soles
and flounders, with crab sauce, a calfs
heart stuffed and roasted, the liver fried,
and the other appurtenances minced, a
leg of mutton roasted, and some green
peas, all very good and well drest, with
good small b!eer and excellent port The
'hoy of the house cleaned all our shoes, and
we again set out to seek adventures.

Hogarth and Scott stopped and played
at hop-scotch in the colonnade under the
Town-hall; and then we walked on to
Chatham, bought shrimps and eat them,
and proceeded by a round-about way to
the king's store-houses and dock-yard,
which are very noble. We went on board
the Marlborough and the Royal Sovereign,
which last is reckoned one of the finest
ships in the navy. We saw the London,
the Royal George, and Royal Anne, a?,
first-rate men of war. At six we returned
to our quarters at Rochester, and passed
the time agreeably till nine, and then, quite
fatigued with pleasure, we went to bed.

Sunday at seven awaked. Hogarth and
Thornhill related their dreams, and we en-
tered into a conversation on that subject in
bed, and left off no wiser than we begun.
We arose and missed Scott, who soon
came, and acquainted us that he had been on
the bridge drawing a view of some part of
the river, (vide Drawing the 2d,) and won-
dered at the people staring at him, till he
recollected it was Sunday. We askefl him
to produce the drawing ; and he told us he
had not drawn any thing. We were all
desirous to have him reconcile this contra-
diction ; but other affairs iutervening, pse*
vented our further inquiry.

At nine we breakfasted, and set out over
the bridge, through part of Stroud, and by
the Medway side. Going through the
fields, we were attacked by a severe shower
of rain ; to escape which Scott retired under
a hedge, and lymg down had the misfortune

to soil tbe back of his coat , Uneasy

at this, and requiring assistance to be
cleaned ■ ■ , he missed a white cambric
handkerchief, which he declared was lent
him by his spouse; and thojgh he sood

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THE TABLE BOOK.

fouDd It, ^er was his joy at that success
again abated by his fear that it was torn ;
bLt being soon convinced that he was more
afraid than hurt, we all proceeded merrily
to Frendsbury.

We there viewed the church and church-
yard, pleasantly situated. There are some
bad epitaphs, and in the church is hung up
a list of benefactions to the parish, at the
bottom of which there is wrote, *' Witness
our hands," and subscribed with the name
of «* William Gibbons, Vicar," only. This
seemed a Little odd ; but being in such a
place we imagined there might be some
mystery in it, so inquired no further.

At ten we walked on, and calling a
council among ourselves, it was proposed,
that if any one was dissatisfied witn our
past proceedings, or intended progress, he
might depatriate, and be allowed money to
bear his charges. It was unanimously re-
jected, and resolved to proceed to Upnor.

We viewed, and Hogarth made a draw-
ing of the castle, and Scott of some ship-
ping riding near it (vide Drawing the 3a).
The castle is not very large, but strong,
garrisoned with twenty-four men, and the
like number of guns, though no more than
eight are mounted. I went and bought
cockles of an old blind man and woman,
who were in a little cock-boat on the river.
We made a hurry-scurry dinner at the
Smack at the ten-gun battery, and had a
battle-royal with sticks, pebbles, and hog's
dung. In this fight Totnall was the great-
est sufferer, and his cloaths carried the
marks of his disgrace. Some time this
occasioned much laughter, and we marched
on to the birdVnest battery ; and, keeping
the river and shipping still in view, passed
over the hills, and came to Hoo church-
yard, where, on a wooden rail over a grave,
is an epitaph, supposed to be wrote by a
maid-servant on her master, which, being
something extraordinary, I shall here tran-
scribe verbatim :

Aad. wHen. ke. Died. yon. pUtnLy. sra.
Hee. freely. gRTu al. to. Sanu pMsa. Wee.
Aad. ia. Doing, m. if. DoTk. prevaiL
tbftt. Ion. him. ona. Well. besTow. tbie RnyeL
On. Year. I. sarred. him. it u. weU. None.
BaT. Thanks, beto. God. it. u. aL my. One.

At four we left Hoo and an agreeable
widow landlady, who had buried four hus-
bands. As we travelled along this charm-
ing country, the weather was exceeding
pleasant, and Scott (according to custom)
msd us laugh by attempting to prove, a

man might go over but not thioujri the
world; and, for example, pointed to the
earthy and asked us to go through that ele-
ment. Our fixed opinion was, that his
argument had less weight than his coat- .
pockets, which were, by some of the com-
pany, filled with pebble-stones, unperoeived
by him, and he carried them some time ; j
but at last discovering the trick, and beings
thereby in a condition to knock down all
opposition to his argument, we acquiesced . I

At five we took a view of Stoke Church, |
and passed through the church-yard, but
saw nothing worth observation till we
came to a farm-house not far distant; where,
on an elm-tree at the door was placed a
high pole, with a board that moved with
the wnid, painted in form of a cock, over
which was a fane weather-cock, and above
that a shuttle-cock. This variety of cocks
afforded much speculation.

Ar North-street, a little village we passed
through, we all agreed to quarrel ; and be-
ing near a well of water full to the brim,
we dealt about that ammunition for some
time, till the cloaths and courage of the
combatants were sufficiently cooled ; and
then, all pleased, travelled on to the town
of Stock, and took up our quarters at the
Nag*s Head.

At six, whilst supper was getting ready,
we walked out to take a view of the low
countries thereabouts ; and, on an adjacent
plain, another sharp engagement happened,
in which Tothall and Scott both suffered,
by their cloaths being daubed with soft
cow-dung.

At seven we returned back and cleaned
ourselves; supped, and adjourned to the
door ; drank punch, stood and sat for our

Eictures drawn by Hogarth, for which see
drawing the 3d. Night coming on, we
drew cuts who should lie single, there
being bat three beds, and no night-caps.
The lot fell to Tothall, and he had the satis-
faction of lying alone.

At ten went to bed, and had much
laughter at Scott and I being forced to lie
together. They threw the ;itocking, fought
perukes, and did a great many pretty tricks
m a horn, and then left us. At eleven we
arose again, without a candle, and dressed
ourselves, our sheets being very damp ; then
went to bed again in our cloaths, and slept
till three.

Monday at three, awaked and cursed om
day ; our eyes, lips, and hands, being tor-
mented and swelled by the biting of gnats,
r^otwithstanding this, the God of Sleep
being powerful, we soon forgot our miseries,
and submitted to be bound fast again in his

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lca<Ieii chains, in which condition we re-
mainea liil six ; then arose, had our shoes
cleaned, were shaved, and had our wigs
flowered, by a ftsherman in his boots and
shock hair, without coat or waistcoat, vide
Drawing the 4th. We had milk and toast
for breakfast, paid our reckoning, and set
out for Sheerness at eight.

We passed down Slock Marshes, being
directed to keep the road-way, which being
heavy walking (much rain having fallen the
preceding night) I prevailed on the com-
pany to follow me over a style, which led
along the beach by a creek side, imagining
it as near and a better way ; but was de-
ceived, and led the company about two
miles astray ; bn* getting into the right
road, we soon entered the Isle of Grain, (so
called from its fruitfulness, as I conjecture,)
and near the ohurch there, we stopped at
the Chequer ale-house, kept by Goody
Hubbard, who entertained us with salt pork,
bread, butter, and buns, and good malt
liquor. Here Scott left and lost his pen-
knife, value five shillings. We expected
to have got a boat here to carry us over to
Sheerness ; but the ferry-man did not care
to go, and another person we would have
employed for that purpose sent us word,
that the wind blew too hard. But our
landlady put us into a method by which
we might possibly get a passage; and that
was, to go down the marshes towards the
salt-houses, and endeavour to hail the shit)«
in ordinary, and by that means get one of
their boats. We accordingly went down
to the shore, which was covered with variety
of shells, and accidenUlly espied a little
boat coming on our side the water below
us, which Thornhill and Tothall went down
to meet, and brought up to us, and with
some difficulty took us in (the manner of
our embarking is delitieated in the 5th
drawing); and we set sail for Sheerness.
The sea ran high the wind blowing hard
at S.W, and by S. In our passage we had
the pleasure of seeing and hearins the guns
fireofrom the fort and the men of war, and
about twelve we landed. We traversed the
fort, went round the lines, saw all the for-
tifications and batteries, and had a delight-
ful prospect of the sea and the island of
Sheppy. Scott was laughed at for smelling
to the touch-holes of some of the guns
lately discharged ; and so was Hogarth,
for sitting down to cut his toe-nails in the
earrison. At one we set out for Queen-
borough, to which place we walked along
the beachf which the spray flew over in many

E laces. Tbomhill fell down, and slightly
urt his leg; yet we all perambulated

merrily, and arrived at Queenborougti about
two.

The town is but one street. Situate on
the east side of a cieek, called after thp
town's name, and branching out of the
Med way near the town. The street is clean
and well paved (for a more exact descrip-
tion see the 6th drawing), and answers the
description I have had of a Spanish town,
viz. there is no sign of any trade, nor were
many human creatures to be seen at our
first arrival. The church is low and ill
built : among many tomb-stones there are
but few epitaphs worth noting, and the
most material I take to be the following
one, viz.

Henry Kmgkt Matter of » Sbipp to Greenland aad

Herpooner 24 Voyages
Ik Greenland I whales Sea horses Bears dkl SUj
Thongh Now my Body is Intombe in Clay

The town-house or clock-house (as it is
called) stanas in tne middle of the street,
supported by four piers, which form four
arches, and (it being holiday) was decorated
with a flag, m which is delineated the arms
of the corporation. We took up our quar-
ters at the Red Lion (which the people call
tlie Swans) fronting the river, and met with
a civil, prating landlady; but she being
unprovided with beds, we applied to a
merry woman at a private house, who fur-
nished us with what we wanted. We then
took another walk up the town, had a view
of the inside of the church, and a con-
ference with the grave-digger, who informed
us of the state of the corporation. Among
other things we were told, that the mayor
is a custom-house officer, and the parson a
sad dog. We found, to our sorrow, that
although the town has two market-days,
yet there was not one piece of fresh meat of
any sort, nor any poultry or fish, except
lobsters, to be got ; with which, and some
eggs and bacon, we made our supper.

We walked up the hill behind the town,
to a well of very good water; over which
(we were informed) a palace formerly stood,
built by King Edward the Third for his
Queen Philippa. Whilst we were at the
well, two sailors came and drew a bucket
of water to drink, and told us, that they
and four more, belonging to the Rose man
of war, were obliged the day before to at-
tend one of their midshipmen, a son of

General S , in a yawl up the creek, and

run the vessel ashore, where the midship-
man left them, (without any sustenance,
but a few cockles, or one penny of money
to buy any,) and went to Sheerness, and
was not yet returned, and they half-sUrved.

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Vf e gave the fello ^rs six-pence, who were
rery thankful, and ran towards the town to
Duy victuals for themselves and their com-
panions, who lay asleep at some distance.
We going to view their boat that stuck fast
In the mud, one of the sailors returned
hastily, and kindly offered us some cockles ;
this seemed an act of so much gratitude
that we followed the fellows into the town,
and gave them another sixpence ; and they
fetched their companions, and all refreshed
themselves, and were very thankful and
merry.

About seven we passed through the town,
and saw and conversed with several pretty
women, which we did not expect, not hav-
ing seen any at our arrival, and returned to
our quarters. We got a wooden chair, and
placed Hogarth in it in the street, where
lie made the Drawing No. 6, and gathered
a great many men, women, and children,
about him, to see his performance. Having
finished his drawing, we again walked up
town, and at the mayor's door saw all the
sailors before mentioned, who informed me,
(with •• your worship" at every word) that
the midshipman was lately returned from
Sheerness, and had been up the creek to
see how the boat lay ; and coming back,
had met a sailor in company with a woman
whom the midshipman wanted to be free
with, and the sailor opposed, insisting she
was his wife, and hinaered him from being
rude; which the midshipman resenting,
was gone to the mayor to redress his griev-
ance. We thought this a very odd affair,
but did not stay to see the result of it.

About nine we returned to our quarters,
drank to our friends as usual, and emptied
several cans of good flip, and all sung
merrily ; but were quite put out of counte-
nance by some Harwich men, who came
with lobsters, and were drinking in the
next room. They suns several sea-songs
so agreeably, that our SL John could not
come in competition, nor could Pishoken
save us from disgrace ; so that after finish-
ing the evening as pleasantly as possible,
we went out of the house the back-way to
our lodgings, at near eleven.

When we came there, our landlady had
provided a bed for Scott in the garret,
which made him grumble, and us laugh :
this provoked him so far, that he absolutely
refused to lie there; and Tothall, out of
pure good-nature, offered him his bed at
the house we came from, and that he would
lie in the garret. This Scott accepted,
and went away ; and Tothall going up
ttairs, found he was to lie on a flock bea,
without curtains; so came down again

immediately, and went after Scott, at whicr
we were very merrv- and slept upon it tiT
six in the morning.

Tuesday morning, -at six, Hogartli called
me up, and told me, the good woman in-
sisted on being paid for her bed, or havinc
Scott before the mayor ; which last we did
all in our power to promote, but to no
effect; so coming to the public-house
where Scott and Tothall lay, we found the
doors open (a thing common in this town,)
and noDody up. However, Hogarth soon
roused them ; and then Scott related ano-
ther distress he had the last night, vis. when
he left us, and was going to bed, he per
ceived something stir under die bed-
doaths, which he (collecting all his cou-
rage) was resolved to feel ; at which some<
thing cried out, (seemingly affrighted,) and
scared him out of his wits ; but, resuming
courage enough to inquire into the nature
of affairs, he round it to be a little boy of
the house, who had mistook the bed. Tliis
relation, according to custom, made os very
merry, and Tothall provided some break-
out ; after which we left the Swans, and
went up town, where our shirts were sent
to be washed ; but not having time to dry,
we took them wet, and had them dried and
ironed at the next town.

About ten we quitted Queenborough :
the morning was delightful, the country
very pleasant, through which we passed
▼ery agreeably up to Minster, a little vil-
lage on the highest part of the island. We
laboured hard to climb the bill to the
church.yard, it being veiy steep. We saw
there, on a wooden rail over the grave, the
following epitaph in verse :

Rer* ItttoT'd QmrfB AwUnom Doth hf
By fallen « an Aaobor he did Dy
In dhccnMM Yard on Good Fridaj
fa <Hh of April, I do mj
AUjM tkatRaadmjAUenr: BaalwaiM
Raadj far to Djr»-Ag«d 4S Yean

Our landlord at the George procared as
a key of the church, which we entered, and
saw there the monuments of Lord Chevne,
of a Spanish Ambassador, and of the £ord
Shorland. Soott made a drawing of the
Ambassador, (vide Drawing the 7th,) and
Hogarth of Lord Shorland (see Drawing
the 8th). The legend of the last being re-
markable, I shall relate it with all its cir
cumstances. In the reign of Queen Eli-
sabeth, this lord having been to visiC a
friend on this island, und passing by ^is
church in his way home to shorland, about
two miles off, he saw a concontse of people
gathered together in the church-yard; sum)

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inquiring the reason, nvas informed, that the
parson who stood by there, refused to bury
the corpse brought for that purpose, be-
cause there was no money to pay the burial
feet. His lordship, being extremely moved
at the parson, orclered the people to thiow
him into the grave, and bury him quick ;
which they accordingly did, and he died.
My lord went home; and tbeie reflecting
on what he had done, aod fearing to forfeit
his life for the offence, he wrote a petition,
setting forth the nature of his ofience ; and
hearing the queen was on board one of the
ships at the Nore, (to which place she came
to take a view of her fleet designed to
oppose the Spanish armada,) he took a
horse, and rode directly into the sea, and
swam to the Nore, above three miles off,
and coming to the ship's side, begged to
see her majesty ; who came immediately,
and he presented his petition. The queen
received, read, and granted it; and he,
without quitting his horse, swam back
again to the island ; and coming on the
shore met an old woman, who told him,
that though the horse had then saved his
life, he would be the cause of his death,
tiis lordship fearing (and in order to pre-
vent) the accomplishment of the old wo-
man's prophecy, alighted from his horse,
drew his. sword and killed him, and leA
him there; and his carcass was, by the
force of the sea, thrown some little way on
the land.

Some years after this, my lord, walking
with some of his friends near the sea-side,
espied the skull and some other bones of
the horse lying there, and relating the fore-
going account, happened to kick the skull
and hurt one of nis toes, which mortifled
and killed him; and he lies in Minster
Church, and a monument is erected over
his grave, on which he is figured with a
horse's head (supposed to be in the waves)
placed by him. (Vide Drawing the 8th.)
This story is so firmly believed in that
parish, Chat a horse's head, finely gilt, is
placed as a weather-cock on the church
steeple, and the figure of a horse is struck
upon the spindle above that weather-cock,
and the church is commonly called the
Horse Church. We were so well satisfied
of the people's belief that all they told us
was true, that we did not dare to declare
our disbelief of one tittle of the story.

We dined at the George, staid till four,
then left Minster, and walked to Sheemess ;
hired a small vessel, (vulgarly called a
bomb-boat,) and about five set sail for
Grave«end.

The wind Uew a fresh gale at £. aad by

S. Scott grew very sea-sick, tnd did what
was natural in such cases. Soon after,
Hogarth grew sick, and was consequently
uneasy, which was augmented by our stop-
ping ; aod Tothall going on board Captain
Kobinson, in one of the custom-house
sloops, riding in Holy Haven, who furnished
him with some milk punch, and us with
some fire to light our pipes, which was
greatly wanted.

It rained hard all the voyage. We saw
several porpoises rolling in pursuit of their
prey; and one in particular was got so
near shore, that we thought he must remain
there; but he deceived our expectatioL,
and got off again.*

About seven, our sick passengers being
recovered, we sailed merrily, and sung St.
John, Pishoken, and several other songs
and tunes ourselves, and our cockswain
entertained os with several sailors' songs ;
but our notes were soon changed by our
vessel running on, and sticking fast in, the
Blye sand, though we were almost in the
middle of the channel. It was the tide of
ebb, and within about an hour of flood,
which gave us some concetn, believing we
should be forced to continue there some
time, and bear the beating of the wind and
waves ; vet, by the industry of our mari-
ners, and the skilful assistance of Tothall,
we got off again in a little time (though
with some difficulty) ; and the wind prov-
ing favourable, we arrived safe at Graves-
end about ten.

We supped, and drank good wine, and
thought our adventures and extraordinary
mirth ended, but found otherwise : 4or a
great coat Scott had borrowed for tliis,
journey, and left. at Gravesend, and tra-
velled without it, we found, on our arrival
here, could not be found. This, though
grief to him, was sport to us ; and he soon
got the better of his uneasiness, and grew
as merry as we. Thus we continued till
pretty late, and then went to bed.

Wednesday, at eight, we arose, break-
fasted, and walked about the town. At
ten went into a boat we had hired, with a
truss of clean straw, a bottle of goc^i wine,
pipes, tobacco, and a match. The wind
was favourable at S.£. and a mackerel gale.
Our passage was very pleasant to all till
we came into £riff Reach, when Scott, be-
ing without his great coat, (for the reason
above-mentioned,) taking a drawing of some
shipping, a flurry of wind caused our vessel
to snip a sea, which washed him from
head to foot, and nobody else. He, greatly
surprised, got up, and drawing the fore-
tail of his shirt from out of Lis breeches^

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^which were also well ftoojied with salt
vratei,) he held it in both hands opposed
to the windward ; apd the sun shining
warm, he was soon dry; and, recovering
his surprise, joined wi(h us in laughing at
the accident.

We came merrily up the river; and
quitting our boat at Billingsgate, got into
a wherrv that carried us through bridge,
and landed at Somerset Water-gate ; from
whence we walked all together, and arrived
at about two at the Bedford Arms, Co vent
Garden, in the same good-humour we left
it to set out on this very pleasant expedition.

I think I cannot better conclude than
with taking notice, that not one of the com-
pany was unemployed ; for Mr. Thomhill
made the map, Mr. Hogarth and Mr. Scott
the drawings, Mr. Tothall was our trea-
surer, which (though a place of the greatest
trust) he faithfully discharged; and the
foregoing Memoir was the work of

£. Forrest.

rhe veracity of thU manweript U atteited

Wm. Hooarth. Wm. Tothall.
Sam L. ScoTT. Jno. Thorhhill.

London, May 27, 1732. Aceompt of Di9-
burtemetUs for Messieurt Hogmrih and
Co. vix.

£. t. 4.

ToI»ldBtt]leDaT1c•h<ra•^Bimnfagate 0 0 8^
To paid for a |rfiit of Oenorm HolUiida - 0 1 0
To |Bid watermma to GniTMind - -050
To paid barbur ditto • • • • 0 0 10
To paid for breakfast at ^tto - 0 9 S

Carriodap 0 9 8|

Bronrbt oo
To paid for beer oa tba road to Rooaestar
To paid for shrimps at Chatham •
To paid at the gnanerj and doek •
To pud bill at Rochester ...

98, To fare at Upnor for informatiOB - •
To paid at the Smaek at ditto
TopaidatHoo • • • • •
To paid at Stoka • . - -

99. To paid at Mother Hubbard's at Orala •
To paid for passage orer to Sheeraess -
To paid for lobsters at Qaeeaboroagh •
To paid for two pots of beer to treat the

sextoa -
Xopaidfordinasr, &e. -
To eharitj gave the saibn -
U. To paid for lodgings aad maid
A o pdd for breakfast •

paid for washmg shirts -
To pud at hiinster
To paid at Sheemeos -
To paid for a boat to Graresend
To paid barber at ditto
. o (Htid for sandrj at ditto - • -
for passage to Somerwt Hbose •

£% 6

FweherM prodtteed, examined, and aUowed,
Per £. Forrest. Saml. Scott.
Wm. Hogarth. Jno. Thorhhill.

T^e Rey. Mr. Gostling*s version bore
the same title and motto as the prose Tour,
with this addition,— ** Imitated in Hudi-
braeiieki, by one well acquainted with
some of the Travellersy and of the placet
here celebrated, with liberty of some addi-
tions.'' It is subjoined ; yiz.

MR. GOSTLING'S ACCOUNT OF HOGARTH'S TOUIU

'TWAS first of morn on Saiurd^^
The sereiMUid-twentieth day of A^4«|^
When Hogarth, ThonhOt^ Tothali, Mcott,
Aod Forrettf who this joamal wrote.
From Covtnt'Oardeu took departiire»
To see the worU by laad aad water.
Oor march we with a long beicia t
Oar hearts were light, oar braeehee thia
We meet with aothing of adveatore
Till BilUngsfttU^t Jkuk-haut9 we enter.
Where we direrted were, while baiting,
With ribaldrj, not worth relating
(Qaite suited to the dirtj plaee) •
Bnt what most pleas'd as was hw Graoa
Of PMdie IMk, a porter gnm.
Whoaa portnit if «f«til^ a a whUa,

Presented him ra caneatnre.
He pasted oa the cellar door *

Bat hark 1 the Watehmaa ones ** Past oae .**
*Tis time that we on board were gone.
Cleaa straw we find laid for oar bed,
A tilt for shelter oTor head.
The boat u sooo got aadcr sail.
Wind aoar S. E. a maek'rel gala.
Attended bj a hearj raia ;
Wt try to sleep, bat trj ia tub.
So ring a ooag, and then begin
To feast oa biscait, beef, and gn.

At Fm:fleet find three men ol war,
The Dara/sy gallej, Oikraltar,

* TUa drawisf onlaekil/ haa notbatt pnsmoi.

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lad Tartar fnnk^ i«d of this last
Tl« pUol besfd of ni a cMt
To Omtmend^ wbioli ha freadj wanted,
Aad TMMlilj bj ot was granted,
rue frataf al maa, to make amcadA,
Told how tbe officen aad frieade
Of Engkmd were by SpanUardt treated,
Aad ibaBiefal iaataaeee repeated.

While he theie insalte was deploring.
JSogartk, like Preaier, fell to moring.
Bat waking crj'd, ** I dreamM'*— and then
Fell fast aeleep, and eaoi'd agaia.

Tbe mora eleai'd op, aad after fire
At port of Oranattmd we arrire,
Bnt feoad it hard to g9t on shore.
Hie boat a young ion of a whore
Had fiz*d jnet at oar laading-plaee,
Aad Bwore we ehoold not o'er it paes ;
Bat, epite of all the raw^'e tricka.
We made a shift to laad by tlj^
Aad ap to Un. BrambU*t go
[A hooae that we Aall better know].
There get a barber (br oar wigs,
Wash hands and faoea. stretch onr legs,
Had toast and batter, and a pot
Of eolEw (oar third breakfast) got t
Then, payiag what we had to pay.
For Roekaater we took oar way,
Viewing the new eharoh as wo w«t.
And th* unknown peraon^s monnmant

The beaateons prospects Ibond ns tsUr,
sJdA shorten'd mneh oar two hooia walk*
Thoogh by the way we did not fail

To stop ard Uke three pots of ala,

Aad this enabled as by ten

At JUaknUr to drink again.
Now, Mnse, assist, while I doelaft

(Uka n trae B»gli»k trareller)

What vast variety we sarrey

In the short oompaas of oae day.
We scarce had kMt the sight of T%am§».

When the fiur Medm tjft windii^ streaaub
'' And far-extending JtocAcitMr,

Before oar loogiog eyes appear.

The Castle and Cathedral grace

Oao prospect, so we mend oar paeai

Impatient for a nearer Tiew,

Bat first mast Stroo^i roagh street trndge fhrongh,

Aad thu oar feet no short one find ;

Howeter, with a cheerful mind,

AH dilBealties we get (^,

And soon are on the MathM^i shore.

New objeeta here before os rise,

And more than eatisfy our eyes.

The stately Bridge from side to side,
rhe foanag cataracts of the tide.

Deafen oar ears, and charm our sight.

And terrify while they delight.

ThcM we pass over to the Town,

And taM oar Qtarters at Tka Cromn,

To which the Caatle u so near.

That we aU in a hurry were

The grand remains on*t to be TMWttgS
It k Indeed nnoUanlB.

Moat kaTO been Tory strong, bat Isngtk
Of tUM hae much irapati'd its etifogti I
The Mfty fewer as high or higher
Seems thar the old Cathedral's spift;
Tet we determin*d were to gau
Its top. which cost eome care aad pain ;
Wheo there arriT'd, we found a well.
The depth of which I cannot tell ;
SmaU holes cut in on erery side
Some hold for hands and feet pronde.
By which a little boy we saw
Go down, and bring np a jack>daw.
All rouad about us then we gase,
Oboenring, not without amase.
How towns here nadistinguish'd join.
And one Test One to form combine
Ckatham with JRocAeifer seems bat one,
Ualsos we*re shewn the boundary stone.
That and its yards eoatignous lie
To pleasaat Brtmpto* standing high ;
The Bridge across the ragmg flood
Which Boehattr divides from Stroodt
Kxtensire Strood, on t'other side.
To FHaithwrjf quite cloee ally'd.
The oouatry round, and river fair,
Onr proipects made beyond eomparob
Whtdh quite in raptures we admire ;
Then down to face of earth retire.

Up the Street walking, first of all
Wa take a view of the Town-Hall.
Pracoeding farther oa, we spy
A honatb dasign*d to cateh the eye,
Witk front eo nch, by plastick skill,
Aa made ns for a while stead still :
Fanr huge Hobgoblins grace (he wall,
WUdi wo fon^ Bas RelieTo*s call ;
They the four Seasons repreeent.
At least were form*d for that atent.

Than ^«tt**« B—pUai we eee
(No common cuiiooity) s
Kndow'd (as oa the front appeaia)
la iiaTOur of poor traTcUers ;
Six aaeh it every night receives.
Supper and lodging gratU gives.
And to each maa aext mora does pay
A groat, to keep aim oa his way :
Bat the coatagiously lofected,
Aad roguee and proctors, are njected.

It gave us too >ome enterteinment
To find out what this bouateous man meant,
Tet were we aot so highly feasted,
Bnt that we back to dinner hasted.

By twelve again we reach Th9 Crowa,
But find our meat aot yet laid down.
Bo (spite of *• Gentlemen, d'ye call ?**)
Oa chairs quite fast asleep we fall.
And with dos'd eyee again survey
In dreams what we have seen to'day i
Till dinner's coming up. when wa
Aa ready are as that caa be.

If we deecribe it not, we*re onaena,
Tonll eearoe bebeve we came ftom X^enie^
With due atteatioA then prepaia
Toorsalf W hoar onr biH of Cam

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THE TABLE BOOK.

For o«r AtfC eoarif • ^tfe thtn wm
Of mIm Md flowadcra with erab-MMOt^
A ftvr d ud roMt «art-hMut besid«,
Witk 'p«rt*MaeB miae'd, aad Htot fry'd t
Aad far a Mooad eoana^ tiMjr pat oe
Gfwa feaM aad roattad 1^ of mattoa.
TIm cook wat niick ooniaeadod for*! ;
Fmli was th« berr, aad loaad tb« port ,
So tkat mm cm. wt all agree
(Whatrrsr aiora we ha?e to ift)
From table w«*U aot rise till tkne.
Oar iboee art ekaa'd, 'tie tbree i/dorK
Come kt*B awaj tc OkathamrDoek i
We ekaa*! get tbere till alowet foar.
To iee*t will take at letet aa hoar ;
Tet S€oit aad Eoparth aeede matt ttof '
At the Coort-Hall to play Sntth hop.

To Chatham got, ooTMlvee wa treat
Wkh Sbrimpe, whieh ea wo walk we oat.
For fpoed wo take a roaad-aboot-
wajTi ■• we aflcrwafde foaad oot :
At leagth reach tho Kiag^t yard* aad decke
AdoMio tho ehipi there oa tho etoekak
The Bioa of war lAoat we tiow,
Fiad aeaaato get aboard of two;*
Bat hare I naet aot bo proUzt
For wo weat homo agua at tia.
There emoak'd oar pipee, aad dtaik Mff waa,
Aad eoiafortablj sat till aiao,
Thea^ with oor trarob maeh iaprg^d.
To oor wopeotito bode wo iaoT*d.

Snadaif at aeroo we nb oar 0701^
Bot are too lasy yet to rieo»
Hogarth aad TAoraMU teU thoir dtnma,
Aad, reaeoaiag deeply oa thoeo thooMi^
Alter nach leaned ipoealatioa,
Qaite eaiUble to the ooeadoo,
l«ft off ae wise ae they begna,
WUch Blade for ae ia bed good fnau

Bat by aad by, whea op we got,
;Saii SeoU was mieeiog, ** Where's Sam Sevtt r*
•* Oh I hire ho comes. WeUt whebco oome yoa
«* Why from Iho bridge, takiog a Tiew
Of somelhiag that did highly please mo,
Bot peoi^e passiag by woald tease ma
With * Do yoo work oa Suaiagt, ffiead T
80 that I coold aot make aa oad.**

At this we laagh*d, for *twas oar wlU
Like mea of taste that day to kilL
80 after breakfast we thoaght good
To eross tho bridge agaia to Stroadt
Thsaoo eastward we resolTo to go.
Aad throagh the Haadrfd aiareh of AtfOi
Wash'd OB tho aorth nde by tho Thaam^
Aad oa tho soath by Medma^t streamak
Which to each other he>e iaeliae^
Till at the Nart ia oae they joia.

Bolore we FViadi^aiy coald gaitt,
There fcU a hoavy shower of raio.
When eeally Soott a shelter foaad
Uodor a badge apoa tho groond,

* 2^ JUjftl 8§mni§M aad

There of h» fricads a Joko ho mae%.

Bat rase OMOt woefally bewrayM 2

How agaiast him tho Uagh was tora*d,

Aad ho tho Tile disastor moora'd 1

We work, all haads, to make him cleaa,

Aad fitter to be>lt/y eeea.

Bat, while we eerap'd his baA aad nde^

All oa a soddea, oot he cried,

** I're lost my cambriok haadkerehei;

*Twas leat mo by my wife so doar :

What I shsll do I oaa't dense,

I've aothiag loft to wipe my eyes.**

At last ths haadkorehief was foaad.
To his great comfort, safe aad soaad,
H«'s aow rocover'd aad alire ;
80 ia high spirits all arrire
At Frimdshaiy^ fam*d for prospects fair.
Bat wo maeh mors ^rerted were
With what the parish ehareh did grsco,
« A list of some who toVd the plaee,
la BMoiory of their good aetioos.
Aad gratitade for their beaofhetioBs.
Witaes oar haads— ITt//. Oihbont^ Vtcar— **
Aad ao OM also.— This made as nicker •
At kagth, with oooateaaaoes serioos.
Wo all agnod it was mystoriovs,
Kat gMssiag that the reasoa might
Bi. thoCharehwardeas eoold aot wnte.

At tea, ia oooaeil it was mot*d.
Whoe'er was th'd, or disapprov'd
Of oar prooeediagB, might go back,
Aad cash to boar his ehargos take.
With iadigaatioa this was hoard .
Each was for all ov«ttts preplu'd.
80 an with oae ooaseat agread
To UfaoT'CaUU to piooeed,
Aad at the saaer's thoro wo diaM
Oa sach coarse faro as wo oooM fiad.

Tho Castle was aot largo, bat stnmg;
Aad soems to bo of Staadiag loag.
Tweaty^ar men its garrisoo,
Aad jast for orory maa a goa :
Eight gaas wen mooatod, eight mea aetivi^
Tho mt were rated Boa*eiheti?e.
Hero aa old coaple, who had brought
8ome cookies m their boat, besoaght
That oae of as woaM boy a few.
For they were rery fresh aad aew.
I did so, aad 'twas charity;
He was qaito bliad, aad half bHnd she.

Now growiag frolicksoo^ aad gay,
like boys, we after diaaer play.
Bat, as tLe seeoe lay ia a fort,
Somethiag Uke war mast bo oar sport :
Sticks, stoaeo, aad hogs-daag wore oar waap—
Aad, as la saeh frays oft it happeas,
Poor Tathaff» doaths here went to pot,
80 that he coald aot laagh at SeeO.

Prom hence all eoaqaerors wo go
To visit the charch-yard at JEToow
At Ho9 we foaad aa Epitaph,
Which made as (ss 'twill make yea) toot* *
A sorraat maid, tora'd poetaster,
Wioto it ia hoBoar of lier maottri

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f OMTefore g!rc yw (aaA I liope ycm

WiU Take it well) a r«f« I7o]»te f
«• Aad . wHen . \t . IK«d . Ton pUialy . feM
Hee . freely . gave . kl . to . Sum . paaesWoe.
Aad . in . Doing . so . it Wth . pfremil .
that . loQ . him . can .well .bet . Tow. tUa Rajrfl.
On . Year . I tarred . him . it it wdl . B0n4 .
BttT Thaakt . beto . Qod . it. is . tU my . One.*

hong at oae place we mutt not it*jr«
*Tia almoet foar, let*i haste awaj.
Bttt here^ a kign ; *tis rash, we tMak,
To leave the place befcn we drink.
We meet with liqnor to ovr mind,
Onr hotteit eoviplaitaat and Idftd «
She wat a widow. Who, we found.
Had (at the phrase it) been Aod ttyttad,
That is, had baried hmbaiidi Ctot,
And had no want of ehamw for mores
Yet her we leate, and, at we gOi
SM»tt bravely naderteok to ehew
That thnmgh the world WO oottld not pati.
How thin toe»er oar biMohM Wat ;
•* rrit true, indeed, we may go rmfid,
Bnt through"— than poitflod t» thi gtOMd.
Bo weU he managed the dabM%
We own'd he wat a man of woightt
Aad to indeed ho wat Ait oaofs
Hit pockett we had flllM with tbMtb
Bat here we*d lenr'd oanelvea a trick.
Of which ho might hsvo made «e tiek •
We*d famtih*d him with amavaitioa
ru to knock down aU oppooiiioa i
And, knowing woU hie warmth of Umpor,
Oat of hit roach began to teampet,
Till, growing oeoler, he pntendt
Hit pattion feiga*d, to all an I'lifiaib.
Our danger now booomea a jokOk
And peaceably wo go to Atafeo.
About the chnroh we nothing ean tto
To ttrike cr entertain onr fancy :
Bnt near a farm, or an elm tvte^
A long pole dx*d vpright wo teoi
And low*rd the top of it wat plae*d
A weathercock, qnite ia high tatte.
Which all of nt, on we go fiuthor,
Prononaeo of tho Conpoeite order.

ruet, on a board tarn'd by tho wiai,
A painter had a cook desigtt'd,
A eommon weathoreoek wat aboro i^
Thit tan'd too at tho wind did move n i
Then on tho tpindl^t poiftt to tmall
A thntUeoocAc ttnok o^ortopp'd them all.

Thit triple nlUoMO gavo tttatioa
To much improving tpoonlatioa.

Alaa I we no*er know whoa wo an well,
60 at Jir«rt%lttC again matt qaarnl <
Bat fought not hen with ttickt aad ttooet
(For thoto, yoa know, might bnak oar boaet)
A well Jutt by, foH to the brim.
Did fitter for onr purpete toem I
80 fuxiontly wo went to dathiag,
TiU oar ooata waattd BO mon washiag t

Bat thit oar beat and eoirago eoMinr,
Twat toon lugh time tt leave eoeh fooHigk
To The N9^$B^&i we thoMfon Mi,
To drink, and to be torn d adry.

At six, while tapper wao pnpariSf,
Aad we about the manh-laado tUring,
Our two game eoekt, TMftalT aad fMlt
To battliog oace agala w«ro got :
But hon BO weapont ooaU tlMy iid.
Save what tho eowt drapp*d from behind 1
With then they peHed. tiU wo foaey
Their doatht look*d tomotyag lihe a thasgr.

At tevea we all come home again,
nthaU and Sattt their garmentt elean t
Sapper we get, and, whoa «hat*t o'or,
A tiff of punch drink at thOdoort
Then, at the bedt wen only throe.
Draw euU who thaU to laeky bo
At hen to tleep without a chum 1
To TtktWt ihan the priae did oomoi
irefarf A and ZlornJItU, Scott and J
In pairt, like ama aad wife, mutt Uo,
Then mighty froBekawne they grow.
At 8eoU and me the ttocking throw,
fight with their wigi, m which perbape
They eltop, for hero we fauad ao cape.

Up at elevea agaia wo got.
Our theett wen to eoafouaded wets
Wo drett, and lie down in our eloaihti
JVoutfqr, at three, awak'daad rote,
Aad of the ourted gnatt complaiis
Yo* makea shift to tltop agaia.
liB six o'clock wc quiet lay,
Aad then got out for tho whole day t
To fetch a barber out we tend :
Stripp'd, aad ia boots, he doet atttod*
For he*t a fisherman by trade ;
Taaa'd wat hit face, shock was hit headi
Ho flowen our wigi and trimt our focee,
Aad the top barber of the place it.
The cloth it for onr lireakfaot tpread,
A bowl of milk und toatted bread
An brought, of which while Forres eatt.
To draw our picturet Eoparth sits ;
TkornhiU is in the barber's hands,
Shaviag himself fFUl TatkM staads :
While Seott is in a coner sitting.
And an anfinish*d piece completing.

Onr reckoning about eight we pay.
And take for Isle of OrtoMt our way ;
To keep the road we wen directed.
But, at *twat bad, this rule neglected,
A tempting path over a stile
Led us astray above a mils ;
Yet the right road at last we gaia.
And Joy to find ouTtclves at Gream* |
When my Dame Buthtmds, at Tke CkeftfTt
Refreth*d ut with some good BMlt liquor ;
Into her larder then sho runt,
Briagt out salt poik, butter, aad buae,
Aad eoarte black bread, but thalTt no matlCT-
TwIE fortify ut for the water.
Bero Soott to eafefoUy laid down
Hit peakaifo which had oott a enwa.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

that all m tain we aovglit to fiad it,

Amd, finr kit ooafort, mj, - Ne'er aad it :**

P«r to Skmntn we aow meet go t

To this the ferrjmM says, ** No.**

We to aaother man repair'd :

He too sajrt, •• Ko-it blows too bard.**

Bat. while we stodj how to get there,

la spite of this tempestaoas weather.

Oar laadladjr a sdiene propoi^d.

With whieh we fortaaataljr elos'd.

Wae to the shore to go. aad trj

To hail the ships ia ordiaarj.

So wa might get, for ao great matter,

A boat to take as c*er the water. '

We haste, aad sooa the shors we tread.

With Tarioas kiads of shells besprsad,

Aad ia a little line we spjr'd '

A boat approaehiag oa oar ride i

The maa to take as ia agreed.

Bat that was diOealt tadeed.

Till, holdiag ia each head aa oar.

Me made a sort of bridge to shore,

0*er whieh oa haads aad kaeeo we erawl,

Aad so get safe oa board the jawL

la little tine we seated were,
Aad BOW to Shepe^i coast draw aear i
Whea saddealj, anth load report.
The eaaaoas loar froa ships aad fort,
Aad, like tall fellows, we impato
To oar approach thb graad salate .
Bat sooa, alas I oar pride was hanibled,
Aad from this faaej'd height we tamUed,
Oa reoolleetiog that the daj
The aiae aad tweatieth was of May,
The iriag had aot loaf beea eadad.
Before at tf Aeeraets we were leaded.
Where oa the battery while we walk,
Aad of the ehanaiag prospeet talk,
fieott from as ia a harry roas,
Aad, gettiag to the aew-fii'd goas*
Uato thrir toacfa-holcs elapp*d his aosa i
Hogarth sito dowa, aad trims his toes t
These whims whea we had made oar sport.
Oar tan we fiauh rooad the fort,
Aad are at oae for Qaeeubonngk goiag :
Bleak was the walk, the wiad fierce blowtag,
Aad dririag o'er oar heads the spray ;
Oa loose beach stoaes, oar pebbly way.
Bat TkonhiU only got a fall.
Which hart him little, if at all :
So merrily aloof we go,
Aad reach that famous towa by two.

Qaenborowgk ooasists of oae short street.
Broad, aad weU-paT*d, and very aeat ;
Mathiag like dirt offeads the eye,
ScavBC any people eoald we spy :
The towB-hoase^ for the better show
la moBsted oa a portico
Of piers aad arches, aamber foar,
Aad arowa'd at top with a clock tower i
Bat bL this did aot reach so high
As a iag^Ufl^ that stood jast by,
Oa whaca a staadard hage was fiyiag
fTk9 ooroagh's arms, the kiag's aaprlylv)

Which oa hith ftsfiTBis «ht3r dM^f
To do the hcaoars of the day.
As for salateo, excas'd they are.
Beeaase they have ao caaaoa there.
To the chareh-yard we first repair,
Aad haat for choice lascriptions there.
Search stones aad rails, till almost weaiy all
la hopes to find somethiag material.
Whea oae at last, of pyebald style
(Thoagh grare the sahjeet) made as smile •
TelliBg as first, la hamble prose,
* That Hemry Knxgkt doth hers repose,
A Onvafaatf Trader twice twelre year.
As master aad as harpooaer ;**
Thea, la ae hamble Terse, we read
TAs by himself ia person said)
**IaOrfvafaa4 1 whaIes,sea-horse,aad bears did sla\
Thoagh BOW my body is iatombed u day.**

The hoase at which we were to qaarter
Is eaU'd Tku Smmu ; this rais d oar laoghtor,
Beeaaee the siga is like Red IJom,
So otraage a blaader we cry *• Fie oa T
Bat, goiag ia, all aeat we see
Aad deaa ; so was oar landlady •
With freat dTility she told aa,
She had aot beds eaoogh to bold as.
Bat a good aaghboar had jast by.
Where sooie of aa perhaps might lie.
She seads to ask. The merry dame
Away to aa dirsctljr eaaie,
Qaito ready oar desim to graat,
Aad faiaish as with what we want.

Back to the charch again we go.
Which la bat email, iU baUt, aad bw,
▼iew*d the laride. bat atiU wa aea
NolhiBf of eariouty,
Daleas wa saffer the gTBTa-digger
la this oar work to make a figane.
Whom Jast beride as bow we haTo,
BsBp]oy*d ia openiof of a grsTe.

A pratiag spark iadeed he was,
Kb«w all the scaadal of the place,
Aad of tea rested from hislaboars.
To gita the history of his aeighboars :
Told who was who, aad what was what.
Till oa htm we bestow'd a pot.
(For he forgot aot, yon may thiak,
* Hasten, I hope yoa*ll make me dnak **)
At this his scarriloas tongae rdii faster,
TiU - a sad dog" he call*d his master.
Told as the woishipfal the Mayor
Was bat a castom- hoase ofloer,
StiU ntUiag oa till we departed.
Not oaly with hb teles diverted.
Bat so mach wisdom we had got.
We treated him with father pot.

Ratara we bow to the towa-hall.
That, like the boroogh, is bat amaU,
Uadar ite porticos a space.
Which yoa may call the market place,
Jast bif eaoagh to hold the stocks,
Aad oae, if aot two, batohen* blocks,
Emblems of pleaty aad exoesa,
Thoai^ JOB eaa ao when meet with JMei

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for tkoagn *ti.» aalTd a 1nar1Ee^toWB

(As ttey xn not aaham'd to own)

Tet wt saw neither botehei't meat.

Nor fish, Bor fowl, aor aught to eaL

Once in sereD year^ they saj, there's pleaty,

Whea ttranf ere oome to repreeeat ye.

Hard at TAe Smuu had beea our fitre.
But that eome Harmiek mea were there.
iVho lately had aome lobeten taken.
With which, and eke aome eggs and bacoa.
Our belliee we desicn to fiU :
Bat first will elamber op the hill,
A meet delightful spot of grovnd,
O'erlookiag all the oountry roand ;
On whteh there formerly has beea
The palace of Phiiippa, qaeea
To the third Edwardt as they tell.
Now Boaght remains OB*t hat a well i
Bat 'tis from henee, says oommon fsm^
The boroagh gets its royal name.

Two tailors at this well we meet^
And do each other kindly greet t
** What brings you here, my lads T* cry we.
* Thirst, plsaac yoar hononn, ss you see i
For (adds the spokesman) w« are here
Waiting for oar young oiSoer,
A mkbhipmaa on board TAs BoMf

(Tot Oeneral S 't son he goes)

We and our meesmatei, six m all.
Yesterday brought him in ou^ yawl.
And when, as we had been commanded.
Quite safe and dry we had him landed.
By running of her £ut aground
At tide of ebb, he quickly found
That he might go aad see SAeemew,
So here he left us peanylen.
To feast on Qmeenbarougk air aad water.
Or ttarrc. to him 'tis no great matter.
While he among his friends at ease is.
And will retnin just when he pleases ;
Perhaps he may come back to-day.
If not, he knows that we must nUy."

So one of us gave him a tester.
When both cried out, ** God blees you, master i**
Then raa to rouse their deeping fellow*.
To share theit fortune at the alehouse.
Heaee to the creek-side, oae sad all.
We go to see 7^ Rot^i yBwl,
And found her bedded in the mud,
Immorable till tide of flood.

The sailors here had cockles got
Which gratefully to us they brought,
*Tw8s all with which they could regale us.
This t' other sixpence sent to th' alehouse .
So merrily they wcat their way.
And we were ao lees pleas'd than theyi

At scTea about the towa we walk,
Aad with some pretty damsels talk.
Beaatifnl aymphs indeed, I ween.
Who came to see, aad to be seen.

Then to our Swant retamiag, there
We bonow'd a grsat woodea chair
And plae'd it ia ihe open street,
WUn, IB much staU did Hogaith sit

T» draw the towahonse, dioreh^ and staeplsb
Bammnded by a crowd of people i
Tftgt nc> <uid bobtail, stood quite thick theie.
And cry*d, •* What a sweet pretty piotare t**

This was not flaish'd loag before
We saw. about the Mayor's fore-door.
Our honest sailors ia a throng t
We eall'd oae of them from among
The net, to tell us the oeoasioB {
Of which he gave us this reladoa :

« Our midahipmaa is just cobm back,
Aad chaao'd to meet or overtake
A sailor walking with a womaa
(May be she's honest, may he common) t
He thought her handsome, so his hoooar
Would aeeds be very sweet upoa her t
Bat this the seamaa would not suf-
•fer. aad this put him in a huft

• Lubber, arast.' says sturdy Jokn^

• Avast. I say, let her aioae ;

Yob ehall act board her, she's my wife.
Sheer ofli; Sir, if you love your life:
r TO a great miad your back to lick i'
Aad up he held his oakeo stick.

•• Oar asidship hero this did scare :
rn swear the peaoe before the Mayor,**
Says he, so to the Mayor's thry tradgei
How such a case by such a judge
Determia'd was I caaaot say.
We thought it aot worth while to stay :
for it strikes aiae, ** How th' ereoiag speeds
•* Come, let us driak to all our frieads
A ehearful glaee, aad eat a bit."
So to our supper dowa we sit.
When something merry cheek'd our mirth :
The Hanfich men had got a birth
Ctoeely a^foiaiag to our room.
And were to spend their evening come t
The wsll was thin, aad they sO near.
That all they say, or siag, we hear.
We snag our soags, we craek'd our jok*e.
Their emulation this provokes;
And they perform'd so joyously.
As distsB^d hollow all our glee i
So (were it aot a bull) Td say.
This Bight they fsirly woa the day.
Now pleateously we dnak of flip,
la hopes we shall the better sleep ;
Some rest the loag day's work requiresi
SeoU to his lodgiag first retires ;
Bis landlady is waitiag for him,
Aad to his chamber walks before him ;
la her fair haad a light she bears.
And shows him up the garret-etairs;
Away comes he giBaUy aironted.
And hb disgrace to us reoonatcd.
This makes us game, we roast him for u,
•* Seotfi too high-miaded for a garret. '
But TotkaU more humaaely said,
- Come, SeotU bs easy, Uke my bed,
Aad to your garret I will go."
(Thie great good-aature sure did show)
Then finding nought him to eBtenau
But a iock-bed without a enrtata.

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N# tM m lictte ctuM %mIi. aad ««l
Awuj to thsrt bit bed widi AmM*
Aad at elcTta Mek goM l» Mst.
Till r«MAiy Mm ID tote hU ntt.

At riz ooam HofmftK ** Kaie, Sin, riMb*"
Ssjrt b«h wttk rofuny n his •/•■,

- Scotfi ladUdj u below ttMn ;
Aad rooadly tbo good wottM oweftn,
Tkat for kU lodg^off be shatt poy,
(Wbere his tiv'd boMs h« soeni'd to Uy)
Or be sboold 00 before the Af •fsr.**
She's IB the right oaTt. we deelorii

Vor this woold eat the matter short,
(At least 'tiroald oiabo as spseial sport)}
Bat bora sbe baMi'd as, aad, ao doabc
Had wit eaoagh to ftad as oat.
Oar mark Ikas miss*d, we kiadlj f«
To see how he aad To&att^
We fiad the doors all efMa were^
(It seome tkat's aoi aaaaaal keve)
Tbey'ia rery well, bat «eoM last aigkt
Had beea ia a moat draadfta frigbt :
•• Wbea to kU n»m be got," ke said,
** Aad jusi was stcpfiag tato ked,
Hetkoagkt ke saw tke ked elotia atir.
So back ke flew ia mortal fcart
Bat, Ukii« keart of graoe, ke liy'4
To feol wkat 'twas, wkea oat it wft |
Agaia ke starts, kat to kis jof
it proir'd a little karmlees kof
Who bj mistake bad tkitker eiapC
Aad sooadl/ (tiU k« wak'd kirn) aligt.
So from kb fears reooTer*d q|oita,
He got to sleep, aad slept aU aigkt.*
We laogk at tkis, aad ko laagkt taew
For, praj, wkat better eoald be do f

At tea we leave oar liowJuaae^
Aad to the higbor lands adraaoe.
Call oa oar laaadreso bj flte waf
For the led shirts left yootevdaj
To wash ; •* She's sorry, they're aat pH
Qoite dry t"--** Why thea we'U teka them i
Theyll dry aad ina'd be, we hope^
At iViatter, whora we anct shall stop.**

Tke way was good, tho wsatker fair,
Tho pniepeots most delightful were.
To itftatter got, with laboar hard
We elimVd the bill to the ebaiab-yard*
Bat, wbea arrir'd tkem, did aot fail '
To read soom Teiaee ea a rail
Well worth traaseiibiag, we agiaa^
Whether yoo thiak so, yoa may sea.

- Hers »l«rr*d Oeovy* Jmdermm dotb lyib
By fallea ea aa aaehar he did dye

la MMraew yard ea Chod Fridt^

The6tbof^pr«,Idosay,

All yoo that road my allegy be alwaioi

Ready for to dyo— aged iS years.**

Of moaameats that here they shew
Withia the cbareh, wo drew bat two a
Oae aa smbsssador of 9fm»\
T'other Lord Slgpiaad's daat aoatmw,
or whom (key hare a waadraaa stary*
WkMbCMtheytoU)r)li»fblf»y«b.

• Tke Lord of flttdaad. f a day»
Ckaaciag to taka a ride thm way,
Aooat a ooxpee obecrr'd » orawd,
jl gaiast tkau priest oomptaiaiag load.
Tkat ke woald not the serrioe say
Till somebody his fees shoald pay

Oa this his lordship loa did rars^
Aad threw tho priest iato the graviw
» Make haste aad iU it ap,** said ha,
- We^U bary both wilhoat a fea.**
Bnt wbea got home, aad oeol, reieeHaf
Oa the strange part ho had beea aotrng.
Ho drew a state ap of tho oaea,
Hnmbly petilioa»g for graea,
Aad to the sea gaUop'd away.
Where, at that timo,a frigate lay;
With Qaeea AisafteM oa board.
Whoa (straaga to tell I) this baredwaia'd Uod
Oa horsebaek swam to tke skip's side;
And there to seo the Q«eca apply'd.
His ease she reads I bar royal biaast
Is aioT'd to great him bis irgaest.
His pardon thaakffUy ko takes,
Aad, swimmiag still, to laad ha makas!
Bat oa kis ridiag ap tko baaeh,
Bs aa old woman met, a witoh :
** Tkis korsa, wkiek aow yoar Lfb doth saaa.
Says ske, ** wiU briag yoa lo tke grave."
* Yoa'll prove a Uar," sa>s my lord,
** Ton agly kagl" aad witk km sword
(Aatiag a most aagtatalnl part)
Hia paatiag sCssd stabb'd to tke keaiC

It kappea'd, alter maay a day.
That witk soom frieM* be straUM thai way.
Aad this strange story, as they walk,
Beeaaiothesubjcotof their talk:
Wkea, •• Tkerc tko eareaee lies,** keary*d,
** UpoB the beaohby the sea sido.**
As 'twas aot tar, ha Isd them to't,
/ nd kiek'd tke skall up with kis loot,
When a sharp bone piere'd thioagh his Am*
And woaaded griofoasly bis too.
Which mortify»d ; so he was kiU*d,
Aad the hag's propheoy faldU'd.
See there kis oroas-kgg'd Ugara Uid.
Aad near his leet the borie'a hofdl

The tombt is of too old a toshioa
To tally well with this aarratioB s
Bat of the troth wf woald pot doabt
Nor put oar Ciocrf«# pat :

• This story is qaoted by Mr. OfM ia hvi Aatiqai-
ties. Vol. II. art Minster Mmuutery. ** The legend."
says Mr. Oroie, ** has, by a worthy friend of mine,
been bitched into doggnd rhyme. It woald be paying
the reader but a bad pomplimeat tp aitpept forkiosly
to examine the credibility of the story."

f A oross-lMg'd figore ia armour, witk a skidd orar
bis left arm, like ikat of a Rnigkt Templar, said tc
represent Sir ilobert ds Shmkmd^ who by JMisard I.
was created a Kaight hAnaeret (or bis gallaat behi»
▼lonr at the siege of Cwrlaotrock in $cotkMd. He lies
ander a OofAk ardi in the sonth wall, haviaf aa
armed pa«re at his limt, aad on his Btgbt side the hoad
of a horse emergiag oat of tha wavfp pf the laa, as ia
tha aotloa of awimmiag.— <3»osi.

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MONUMENT IN MINSTER CHURCH TO LORD 8H0RLAND.

Of whom tkej hKW % wondrous ttorr,
Wbloh (M ib^ too) rU laj before yo.

«ct<NV.

It gives ft monl hiat ftt Iststi
Tbfte fTfttitvde's das to a beut.
So far itfs (ood, whoever made it,
Aad that it may not fail of credit,
A hoTsehead vaae adoras the steeple^
And if s HoTU-ckmnh eall*d by the people.

Oar shirts dry*d at tht Q^orgt we get.
We dine there, aad till fear we sit •
And now in earnest think of home \
So to Sketrneu ^gain we oome.
Where for a boai*boat we agree,
And aboat five pat off to sea.
We presently were nnder sul.
The tide oar friend, sonth-east the gale, '
Quite wind enoagh, aad some to spare.
Bat we to that aecastom'd were.

When we had now got past Th9 Non,
And lost the sight of Sheptj^i shore.
The ebbing tide of riosMS we B«et,
The wind against it fiercely set ;
Thu made a short and tambliag sea,
Aad finely tou*d indeed were we.

The porpoiaes in stormy weather
Art oltco seen in shoals together
Aboat OS while they nltaad play
One ia hit gambols miss'd hb way.

And threw himself no Car ea ehofe^
We thought he would get off ao mors :
Bat with grsat stregf Uag^ aad some paia.
He did, aad went to play agaia.
On this we moraliaiaf say,
•• How thovghtlsse is the loreof play f*
When we onrselTes with sonow find
Our pleasurss tso with paia ooi^oia'd.
For troablss crowd npaa «a thick |
Onr hero, Slcott, grows very sick ;
Poor IfcforM makes wry daces toa
(Worse faesB thaa he ercr drew).
Tou'ir guess what were the eqaseyiSBsqv
Not orerpleasiag toour fcaess;
And this misfortune was aagmcnlcd
By Master Ttltmirt beinff acquaiatcd
With the commander of a sloop,
At Holy Hamu near Thg Hope.
** There's Captain AefriaJea,** says he,
** A friend, whom I must eaU aad see.**
Up tie ship's side he nimbly goes.
While we lie orerv.* alm'd with «oes,
8iek« aad of winds and waTcs the spirt.
But thea he made his Tisit short,
Aad when a sup of puneb he'd gol^
SoBe lighted match B^tch to OS be

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A M?«Kig« • vdial thu, m doabt,

na eat aad draak, he drank and eat.

To mea wkoM pip«t had kvg baa aal.

80 we did all, aad sat so lati^

And aU an f lad this tnmbVt aTcr.

That ITerfassi^morB «• Uf tiU ogafc

Now joTiaUy w« aaU aloag.

Enough lo serre us for this tide.

Bat Moa oar notes an ekaog'd; Wcfroad

Oct Inuakfaet, aad oar luehoaii^ pay.

And next prepare for Lndom hey |

Jut ia the middle of the river s

So, hirmg to oarselres a whaiy.

We put off, all abre aad merry.

Aad, kaowiaf we Boet elM abida

The tide was stioag, fair was the wiad.

TiU lilted bj the flowing tide.

Work'd without skippers till the boa

Under the tUt oa straw ws lay.

Was oaee more happUj afloat

Obsemng what a charming day.

We aU appUnd his care and skill.

ThoM stretch*d at ease ws smoke and dna«»

So do the boatmen hb good-wilL

Londoatn like, aad bow we thiak

Ere loag the tide made upward, eo

Our croes adreaturus all ars past.

With that before tht wiad we go.

And, disembarking about ten.

But ofuel Fate to that says bo ;

Oae yet shaU Fortuae fiad his foe.

Whila we (with TBrioas prospects cfoy'd)

How glnd she U to SCO as weUt

Into the foroeaetlo had got.

But. when Ibr what wo want we oaU,

Some ships which right ahead he saw.

Whea wo our travels first begaa

Ihors sat ho. oa his work ialsar.

Seott (who's a rtrj prudent man)

Whea, to iacrease our BMRuneat,

Thoqght agreat eoat oould do no har«.

■olaokUyweshipp'dasea,

Aad ia the boat might keep him warmi

That ho got sous'd, aad only he

80 far perhaps 70a thiak him fight.

This hriagiag to his mind a thought

As we took water ia the nighti

■owmach he wanted his great coat.

Bat whea from hmm we took ow vaf

Riwir'd his aagar and hisgriof ;

Ob loot, the Utter ead of Jf^

Hooai^d Oivossead; the eoat. end thief 1

Ho. qaite as reaeoaablx, thought

And. stiU to heighten his Rgret

Twoald be too heaTj or too hoc c

His shirt was ia his breechee weti

• ru leave it here," sajrs ho. « a^ tnho

Ho drMva it out Bad lets it fly.

lika a iVeadb easigB, till 'tis dry.

And ho most eertaialj desiga'd it.

Thea. oreeptng into shelter safe.

Bat BOW the thing was, how to fiad it r

iaias with the company aad laugh.

Wo told him he hod beeo miatakaa.

At BiUiMg§gaU we change our boat.

To him it was bo jest ; he swore^

Ha left it then thcae days befon.

By two, to Stairs of SmmtmC.

' This Mrs. BnmbU ean'tdeay."

Welcome each othe^ to the shora.

- Sir, wo shall flad it bjr aad by :*•

To Cooeat Oardtu walk oaoo more.

80 out she goes, aad reads her throat

Aad, as from B«d/M[ Arm we started.

With ** Jfo0, go flad the gem*maa*s eoat*

There wet our whistles ere we parted.

The houss Jfott searehee round aad rouad.

With pleasurs I obserru, aoae idle

At laet. with muoh ado. 'twas fouad—

Were ia our travels, or employ*d UL

Twasfouad, that, to the owaer's cost.

Tdthatt, our treasurer, was just,

Or Seott'j, the borrowed eoat was lost

• Coat lost r sajs ho, stampug and ktaripg.

( We aU sigB*d his aocouats aa foir :)

Then stood Uke dumb, thea feU to swearing t

The prospects of the sea aad laad didi

As TAoraAttf of our tour the plan did 1

But, while his rage he thus sxpreee'd.

Aad we his aager made our jest.

rOl wrath had almoet got the upper

-hand of his reaioa, ia eaoM supper 4

Vis. ThonKiU, HogartK StetW tai TMA

Nt loMW U with fury bura'd.

But hanger took the place of rftff**

THB BVD.

Aad seipi mill did both aesaajs

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THE DIET OF AUGSBURG COMMEMORATION MEDAL.

To the Editor.

Sir, — Tliis engraving is from a tiiver
nedal, of the same size, which commemo*
rules two events — ^The first is that of the
late of June 1530, which is calLd the
Confession of Augsburgh, to settle the re-
ligious disputes, in a Diet, or Assembly of
Princes between the Lutherans and the
Catholics — ^The second relates to the cele-
bration of the Centenary of the Diet.

The inscription *' Johannes ** on the side
of the medal dated 1530, is for John
Elector of Saxony. The inscription << Job.
Geor.** on the side dated 1630, is for the
Elector John George III. The escutcheon
with swords saltierwise, accompanying
their arms, denotes the dignity ot Grand
Marshal of the Empire.

The medal is in the possession of John
Burrell Vaux, Esq. of Thetford, in Norfolk,
who obligingly lent it to me, with permis-
sion to have a drawing taken from it for
any purpose I pleased, together with a
memorandum accompanying it, to the pre-
ceding effect. As a friend to the compo-
sure of differences, I deemed it suitable to
tne peacefol columns of the Table Book; and
I shall be happy if so striking a memorial^

and the events it refers to, receive furtUe
illustration from other correspondents.
1 am, &c.

H. B.

[By a mistake of the eofrarer, Ihe present la t)»e ool}
ngn^nfi in the present sheet of the TabU Btwk.—
EoiTon.]

HIGHLAND EMIGRATION.

Son of the OaQ, how many a wierie change

The wing of time has brought across thy hills I
How many a deed unoooth, and custom strange.

The lofty spirit of thy fathers chills I

The nsage of thy foes thy region fills.
And low thy head is bowed their hand l>eaeath.

And driven by innnmerable ills.
Thy olden race is gone from hill and heath,
To live a homeless life, and die a stranger's death.

The preceding stanza is the first in the
poem entitled *' The Last Deer of Beano
Doran." On the last two lines its author
Mr. James Hay Allan, appends a note as
follows :— ^

In consequence of the enormous advance
of rents, and the system of throwing the
small crofts into extensive shtep-farms, the

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liighlaDdn have been so depopulated in the
last sefenty-seven year*,* that the inhabit-
ants do not now amount to above one-
third of their number at the commence-
ment of that period. An instance of this
melancholy fact is very striking in Glen
Urcha: in 1745 the east half only of the
straith from Dalmallie to Strone sent out
a hundred fighting men: at the present
day there are not in the same space above
thirty. This proportion of decrease is
general. During the last twenty years
nfteen hundred persons have gone from
Argyleshire; three thousand from Inver-
ness; the same number from Ross and
Caithness ; and five thousand from Suther-
land. The desertions have been equal in
the isles. Pennant, speaking of the inha-
bitants of Skie, says : " Migrations and
depression of spirit, the last a common
cause of depopulation, have since tlie year
1750 reduced the number from fifteen
thousand to between twelve and thirteen :
one thousand having crossed the Atlantic ;
others, sunk beneath poverty, or in despair,
ceased to obey the first great command.
Increase and multiply.*' These olM^rva-
tions were written m 1774; so that the
depopulation which is mentioned, took
place in twenty-four years.

It b impossible to paint the first depart-
ing* of a people who held the memory of
their ancestors, and the love of their soil, a
part of (heir soul. Unacquainted with any
mechanical art, and unable to obtain for
their overflowing numbers an agricultural
or pastoral employment in their own coun-
try, they were obliged to abandon their
native land, and seek an asylum in the un-
peopled deserto of the western world. The
departing inhabitants of each straith and
hamlet gathered into bands, and marched
out of their glens with the piper playing
before them the death lament, «Cba pill!
cha pilll cha pill me tulle T—'' Never I
never I never shall I return P Upon the
spot where they were to lose sight of their
native place, and T>art from those who
were to remain behind, they threw them-
selves upon the ground in an agony of de-
spair, embracmg the earth, moistening the
heather with their tears, and clinging with
hopeless anguish to the necks and plaids
of the friends whom they were to see no
more. When the hour of separation was
past, they went forth upon the world a
lonely, sad, expatriated race, rent from all

^'^ LmI Dwr of Bcmui Vonmr Ac. vtte poblisSd

which bound them to the earth, and lost
amid the tide of mankind: none mixed
with them in character, none blended with
them in sympathy. They were left in
their simplicity to struggle with fraud,
ignorance, and distress, a divided people
set apart to misfortune.

In the third stanza of the poem on
** Beann Doran," its author says.

There wu a tine— alat I full loDf afo,
Wide forests waved opoa tkj mooataias' eide.

On these lines Mr. Allan remarks as
follows :—

Almost every district of the Highlands
bears the trace of the vast forests with
which at no very distant period the hills
and heaths were covered : some have de-
cayed with age, but large tracts were pur-
posely destroyed in the latter end of llie
sixteenth and the early part of the seven-
teenth century. On the south side of
Beann Nevis a large pine forest, which
extended from the western braes of Loch-
abar to the black water and the mosses of
Ranach, was burned to expel the wolves.
In the neighbourhood of Loch Sloi a tract
of woods, nearly twenty miles in extent,
was consumed for the same purpose; and
at a later period a considerable part of the
forests adjoining to Lochiel was laid waste
by the soldiers of Oliver Cromwell, in their
attempts to subdue the Clan Cameron.
Nothing of late years has tended more to
the destruction of the small woods than the
pasturage of sheep. AVherever these ani-
mals have access to a copse-wood which
has been cut down, they entirely stunt its
growtli, and sometimes destrov it altoge-
ther, by continually eating off the young
shoots as soon as they appear. A consi-
derable quantity of the yet remaining
woods is also too frequently sacrificed
to the avarice of the proprietors. On
the west bank of Loch Catrine, near the
Trossachs, a ground which ought now to
have been as sacred as the vale of Tempe,
a beautiful copse-wood has been cut and
sold within a recent period ; and there ap-
pears in its place only the desolate side of
a naked hiather hill. It is not above sixty
years since Glen Urcha has been divested
of a superb forest of firs some miles in
extent. The timber was bought by a com-
pany of Irish adventurers, who paid at the
rate of sixpence a tree for such as would
now have been valued at five guineas
After having felled the whole of the forest

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the purchasers became bankrapty Bod ilis-
nened : the oveiseer of the woikroen vas
hanged at Inverara, for assassinating one
of his men. The laird never rfcei?ed the
purchase of his timber, and a considerable
number of the trees Dvere left upon the spot
where they fell, or by the shores of Loch
Awe, where they were carried for convey-
ance, and gradually consumed by the
action of the weather. Those mosses where
the ancient forests formerly stood, are over-
spread with the short stocks of trees still
standing where they grew. Age has re-
duced them almost to the core, and the
rains and decay of the earth have cleared
them of the soil : yet their wasted stumps,
and the fangs of their roots, retain their
original shape, and stand amid the hol-
lows, the realization of the skeletons of
trees in the romance of Leonora. Abun-
dance of these remains of an older world
are to be seen in Glen Urcha and its neigh-
bourhood. In Corrai Fhuar, Glen.Phin-
glass, and Glen Eitive, they are met at every
step. In the first, a few livins firs are yet
thriving ; but they are surrounded on every
side by the shattered stumps, fallen trunks,
and blasted limbs of a departed forest.

It is difficult to conceive the sad emotions
which are excited by this picture of an aged
existence falling without notice, and con-
suming in the deepest solitude and silence:
on every side lie different stages of decay,
from the mouldered and bark less stock,
half overgrown with grass and moss, to
the overturned tree, yet bearing on iU
crashed limbs the withered leaves of iU
last summer. In Glen Phinglass there is
no longer any living timber; but the re-
mains of that which it once produced are
of greater magnitude than those in Corrai
Fhuar. In this tract the trees were chiefly
oak ; firs were, however, intermixed among
them, and in the upper part of the glen is
the stump of one six feet in diameter. At
intervals are stocks of oak from five to
seven or eight feet in height ; they are all
of a great size and age : some are still
covered with bark, and yet bear a few
stunted shoots ; but many are so old, that
I the mossy earth has grown on one side to
their top, and the heath has begun to tuft
them over like ivy. In Glen Eitive the
I remains are less obliterated : many of the
scathed and knotted stumns yet bear a thin
I head of wreathed and dwarfish boughs,
and in some places tnmks of immense
oaks, straight as a mast, yet lie at the foot
of the stump from which they were snap-
ped. I know not how to describe the feel-
ngs with which I have gaied upon these

relics of the ancient forests which onoe
covered the hills, and looked up to the
little feathery copse-wood which is all that
DOW remains upon the side of the moun-
tain. What must be the soul of that man
who can look upon the change without a
thought? who hears the taunts of the
stranger revile the nakedness of his land, ,
and who can stand upon his hill and !
stretch his eye for an hundred miles over
the traces of eigantic woods, and say,
^ This is mine ; and yet ask not the neg*
lected earth for its produce, nor strive to
revive the perished glory of his country,
and which to be reanimated needs but to
besought?

The success of those who have possessed
this patriotism ought to be a source of
emulation, and it a monument of reproach
to those who do not follow their example.
The princely avenues of Inverara, the beau-
tiful woods of Glengarrie, the plantations
of Duntroon, and the groves of Athol, must
excite in a stranger, admiration ; in a na-
tive, pride and gratitude^^pride in the pro-
duce of his country, and gratitude to thr
noble possessors who have preserved and
cherished that which every Scottish pro-
prietor ought to support, the honour and
the interest of his fiBithers* land.

Mr. Allan's elegant poem is a '^ lament"
on the desertion of the Highlands by its
ancient inhabitants. He says :—

Fall of tcB In Ch« rmUeju still and Uma,

Tbe nh» ofdettrttd hmU sppov.

And h«n and then grown o^er far jbabj a jMr,
Balf-AidUm HdffM is the kMtk arc ■eea.
Where oaee the ddviiig plosfk aad waviag eore had

In a note on this stanza, Mr. Allan elo-
quently depicts the depopulated districts,
viz. :—

Upon the nanow banks of lonely streams,
amia tlie solitude of waste moors, in the
bosom of desolate glens, and on the emi-
nences of hills given to tbe foxes and the
sheep, are seen the half-mouldered walls or
ruined huts, and the mossy furrows d
abandoned fields, which tell the existence
of a people once numerous and rich. In
these melancholy traces of desolation art
sometimes seen tbe romains of eight oi
twelve houses bereft of their roofs, and
mouldering into a promiscuous heap. Upor
one farm in the straith of Glen Urcha
there were " i^xtv years since" thirty-seven
** smokes ;" at this day they are all ex*
tinguished, except four. A less extensive

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bat more striking instance of thb Ming
away of the people will still forther illu»^
irate the lines in the poem. I was one
evening passing up a solitary ^len between
Glen Phinglass and Loch Bhoile; the da/
was fast closing, and wearied with hunting,
and at a distance from the inhabited straiths,
I wished to discorer some house where I
might obtain refreshment As I turned the
shoulder of the hill, I came upon a small
level plain where f;>ur glens met. In the
midst stood two cotUges, and I hastened
forward in the hopes of obtaining a stoup
of milk and a barley scone/ As I drew
near I remarked that no smoke issued from
the chimney, no cattle stood in the straith,
nor was there any sign of the little green
kale yard, which is now found in the pre-
cincts of a highland cottage. I was some-
thing discouraged by the auiet and desolsh.
tion which reigned around ; but knowing
the solitude and pcverty of the shepherds
of the ootward bounds, I was not sur-
prised. At length, however, as I drew
near, I saw the heath growing in the walls
of the huts, the doors were removed, and
the apertures of the windows had ^llen
into chasms. As I stopped and looked
round, I observed a level space which had
been once a field: it was yet green and
smooth, and the grass-grown ridges of long-
neglected furrows were perceivable, retiring
beneath the encroaching heather. Famili-
ariw with such objects prevented surprise
and almost reflection ; but hunger and
weariness reminded me not to linger, and
I pursued my way towards Loch Bhoile.
As I turned into the north-west glen, I
again discovered beibre me a small house
by the side of the bum, and the compacti-
tude of its walls and the freshness of its
^rey roof as the setting sun glinted upon
Its ridge, assured me that it was not desert-
ed. I hastened onward, but again I was
deceived. When I came near, I found thai
although it had not been so long unin-
habited, it was forsaken like the rest : the
small wooden windows were half-closed ;
the door stood open, and moss had crept
upon the sill ; tne roof was grown over
with a thick and high crop of long-withered
grass : a few half-burnt peats lay in a cor-
ner of the hearth, and the smoke of its last
fire was yet hanging on the walls. In the
narrow sandy path near the door was a
worn space, which yet seemed smoothened
by the tread of little feet, and showed the
half-deranged remains of children's play-
houses built with pebbles and fragments of
broken china: the row of stepping^tones
vet stood as thqr had been placed in toe

brook, but no foot-mark was upon them,
and it was doubtless many a day since
they had been crossed, save by the foxes o'

thehUl.

No. xxxni.

[From the ''True Trojans, or Fuimus
Troes,** an Historical Play, Author un-
known, 1633.]

Imfocation of the Druidi to the Oods of
Britainf on the invaeum of Ctuar.

Dnw Dear, jt HMT*Bl]r Powers,

Who dwdl \m tttrry boweni

And ]r«,irlwbth« deep

Ob Bumy (nllows tleep \

Aad ]re who hoop th« eaitra,

Whtre Boror light did oater \ \

Aad yo whoM hBUtetioBa

An ttiU BiooBf tho aatiou.

To M6 mad hear oor dobfi,

Oor Urtht, oor wan, oor wooiagi t

Behold oar preteat priif •

BeUef doth beg reUeC

Bjr the Tenraia aad Isaary,

By fen leed planetary.

By Che dnadfal Bieletoe

Whieh doth oa holy oak grow,

Dnw Bear, dnw aear, dnw aear

Help as beset with daager,
Aad tan away yoar aagor ;
Help as begirt with tioable.
And BOW yoor merojr doable |
Help as opprest with sorrow
Aad fight for as ti^aiomw.
Let fin ooosnme the foemaa,
Let air iafiest the Roo&aa,
Let seas iatomb their f orj.
Let gapiag earth them bary.
Let fire, aad air, aad water,
Aad earth eoaspire their slaaghtei.

Bjr the verraia, &o.
We'll praise thea joor gnat power
Eaoh month, each day, eaeh Iioar,
Aad blase ia lasting story
Toar liOBoar Bad joar glory.
High altan lost m npoar,
Yoaag heifen free from laboar,
Wbite lambs for seek stall oryuif ,
Shall Buke jroar masie djiag.
The boys aad girls aroand.
With honey sackles erowB*d ;
The bards with harp aad rhimiag
Gnea bajs their brows eatwiaiaf.
Sweet toae aad sweeter ditty.
Shall ehaont yonr graoKras pity.

Bjt

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Another, to the Moon,

Thn Qneec of IIeay*B, Commaadress of Oke deep,
Ladjr of lakes, R^eat of woods and deer ;
A Lamp, dispelling irkaomo night; the Soana
Of generaUa motstare ; at whoee feet
Walt twentj thonsand Naiades !— thj ereaeent
Brute elephants adore, and man doth feel
Thj foroe mn tiirongh the xodiae of his limhs.
O thou first Ooide of Bmtns to this isle,
DriTe back these prond nsnrpers fxom this isle.
Whether the name of Cjmthia*s sihrer globe.
Or chnete Diaan with a gilded qnirer.
Or drend Proeerpiaa, stem I>is*s spovse^
Or soft Lndna, imll'd in child-bed throes.
Doth thee delight : rise with a glorious fao«
Oreen drops of Kerens triokling down tkj eheeki.
And with bright horns onited in foil orb
Toss high the seas, with billows beat the banks.
Conjure up Neptune, and th* Aoliaa slares.
Protract both night and winter in a storm.
That Romans lose their waj, and sooner land
At sad Aremus* than at Albion's stmnd.
3o mny'st thon shun the Dragon's head and tail f
So maj Endymion snort on Lntmiaa bed I
So may the fair game fall before thj bow I^
Shed light on ns, but light'ning on our foe.

[From the "Twins," a Comedy, by W.
Rider, A.M. 1655.]

Irreeohition.

{ am » heary stone.

Rolled np a hill by a weak child t I more

A little np, and tumble back again.

ReeohUionfor Innocence,

hi J noble mind has not yet lost all shame.
I will desist. My lote, that will not senre m«
As n tme snbjeet, 1*11 conquer as an enemy.
O Fame, I will not add another epot
To thy pure robe. I'll keep my ermine honour
Pure and aliTe in death ; and with my end
111 end my sin and shame : like Chnrides,
Who liring to a hundred years of age
Free from the least disease, foaring a sickness.
To kill It killed himself, and made his death
The period of his health.

From «* Sir Giles Goosecap," a Comedy,
Author Unknown, 1 606.]

Friendehip in a Lord; modesty in a
Oeniieman.

C/arvnee, (t9 tome WMiiekauy. Thanks, gentle

Oar, My Loid—

Afosi. Nor yet, thon sole dinder of my Lordship

Clar, That were a most unfit diririon«
And far abore the pitch of my low plumes.
I am your bold and ooastaat guest, my Lord.

Mom, Far, far from held, for thou hast known mi
long,
AlsBost these twenty years, and half those yean
Hast been my bedfellow, long time before
This unseen thing, this thing of nought indeed.
Or atom, oall'd my LoriMp, shined in me ;
And yet thou mak'st thyself as little bold
To take such Undnesa, as becomes the aga
And truth of our indissoluble lore.
As our acquaintance sprang but yesterday t
Such is thy gentle and too tender spirit.

Clar. My Lord, my want of oonrtship makes me
fear
I should be rude ; and this my mean estate
Meets with such enry and dotractioo,
Snch misooBstmctions and noci^d misdoomt
or my poor worth, that shonlb I bs advaaced
Beyond my unseen lowneas but one hair,
I should be torn in pieoee by the ofintM
That fiy ia ill-lung'd tempests throP the world.
Tearing the hend of virtue horn her shoulders,
If she but look out of the ground of glory t
"Twist whom, and me, and erery worldlj fiortnae,
There fights such sour and curst aatipatky,
So waspish and so petulaat a star.
That aU things tending to my grace and good
Are rarish'd from their object, as I were
A thing ereated for a wilderness.
And must not think of any place with men.

fs yoor good lord, and mme, gone up to bed yet.

Uomford, I do assure yon not. Sir, not yet, nor yet,
■7 deep aad ttidioas friead, not yet, mnaical Clatenoe.

[From the '' English Monsieur," a Comedy
by the Hon. James Howard, 1674.]

The humour of a conceited Jhrneller,
who is tahen with every thing that it
French,

Snglith Montiowt, GeoHemen, if yon please, let ns
dine togeUter.

VatMe, I know a cook's shop, has the best boiled and
roast beef in town.

Sng, Mont. Sir, since yon are a straager to me, I
only Ask yon what yon mean ; but, were you acquaint-
ed with me, I should take your greasy propoeitioa as
an aflivnt to my palate.

Toine. Sir, I only meaat, hj the eoasent of this eom-
pany, to dine well together.

Bmg, Mont, Do yon eall diaiag well, to eat oat ef a
Frendi house.

Foiae. Sir, I nndentaad yon ae litOe as yo« do
beef.

Bug. Mont, Why then, to interpret my meearag
plainly, if erer you make me such oiler apUn, expeel
to hear from me next mominf—

Foino, What, that you would not dine with me—

Bng, Mont, No, Sir ; that I wiU fight with yon. In
short. Sir, I can only tdl yon, that I had oace a dispute
with a certain person in this kind, who defended the

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Bngluk Wftjr of efttinf i wkerrapon I Mnt hia » ohml-
.enge. m anj man that hM been m Franot would haro
done. Wa fought ; I killed him t and whcreaboaU do
jon ihmk I hit him f
Faing. I warrant jon, u the imall f[uti~
f «^. Mont. I run him through his mistaken palate {
which made mt think the hand of justice guided mj
sword.

• • • • •

S»g. Mont. Madam, leading your Lad/«hijs puts ■#
in mind of France.

JLoify. Why. Sir?

Sag, Mons, Because jon lead so like French ladiea.

Lady, Sir, why look jou so eamestl/ on the ground ?

S»g. MoMt. I'll lay n hundred pounds, here haa been
three English ladies walking up before na.

Cnftjf, How can yon tell. Sir?

Bug. Mam. By being in Fmnoe.

Crafty. What a deril can he mean ?

Smg. Momt. I hare often in France obeerred in gni^
dens, when the company need to walk after a small
shower of rata, the impreseioa of tho French ladiea*
feet. I have seen sttch ten mien in their feotetepctkat
the King of Francois A/attr«de/JlwaMeon]d not hare
foand fault with any one tread amoafst them alL In
this walk I find the toee of theEoffliih ladies ready to
tread one upon another.

Tofne. Monrieur Frenchlove, well met—

Sag. Mom. I cannot say the like to yon. Sir, sinet
I'm told you're done a damn'd English trick.

Faine, In what ?

Bng. Mont. In finding fault with a' pair of tope I
wore yesterday ; and, upoo my parol, I nerer had a
pair eat better in my life. My Iq; look'd in 'em not nt
all like an En^Uh leg.

Foiae. Str, all that I said of your tops was, that
they made snch a rushing noise as you walk'd, that my
mistress could not hear one word of the lore I made to
ner.

Bng. Mont. Sir, I cnncot help thnt ; for I shall
justify my tops in the noise they were guilty oC since
' twae Alamod§ of France. Can yon say 'twas an Eng-
lish noise.

Faine, I can say, though jour tops were made in
Fmnee, they made a noise in Eogland.

Eng. Mont. But still. Sir, 'twas a French noiso-^

Faim. Bnt ennnot » French noise hinder a maa
from hearing?

Eng. Mont. No, cerUinly, that's a demonstmtioa ,
for, look yon« Sir, a French noise is agreeable to the
air, and therefore not unagreeable, and therefore not
prejndioial, to the hearing ; that is to say, to a pexMO
that has seen the world.

The Monsieur comforts nimself, when his
mistress rejects him, that <* 'twas a denial
witn a French tone of voice, so that 'twas
agreeable:" and, at her final departure,
« Do you see, Sir, how she leaves us ? she
walks away with a French step."

CL.

THOU AND YOU, IN POETRY.

The promiscuous use of thou and jpov i^
a common error among all our poets, uo!
the best or most accurate excepted.

The cause of this anomaly is notof diffi>
cult investigation. The second person
singular not being colloquial with us, (for
we never use it to our familiar friends like
the French,) it at once elevates our lan-
guage above the level of common disoourse
— a most essential object to the poet, and
therefore he readily adopts it ; but when it
comes to govern a verb, the combination
of 9t is so harsh that he as readily aban-
dons it.

In Pope*s Bloisa to Abelard, the singu-
lar pronoun u constantly used till verse 65 :

** ^Heaven Ibten'd while yon tnng ;**

for Moil 9ung9t (without considering the
rhyme) would have been intolerable.

In lines 107, 109, the verb eamt tk<m
has a good effect ; as by lengthening the
syllable by position it becomes more em-
phatic, and the harshness is amply com-
pensated by the superior force of canst thou
to can you. Tlie fastidious critic therefore
would do well, before he passes his sen-
tence, to consider whether an inaccuracy,
which is never discovered eioept it be
sought after, is not fairly entitled to the
favour Aristotle grants to those deviations
from strict propriety, which tend to height-
en the interest of a poem.

This change however is absolutely inde»
fensible when used for the sake of rhyme
only. Many instances of this ocsur in the
same poem; the most striking will be
found in two succeeding couplets :

O eomet O I teach me natnre to sobdne.
Renonnoe my love, my life, myaelfr-and jfonf
Fill my fond henrt with Ood alone ; for he
Alone can rival, can soceeed to thm.

In some cases this chang:e is strictly iusti-
fiable ; as, when a person is addressed in a
different style. For example, in Thom-
son's Tancred and Sigismunda, when Sif-
fredi discloses to Tancred that he is the
king, he says,

Forfi ve me, sir I thu trial of jronr heart.

For the respectful appellation sir demands
the more colloquial term of address, but
he immediately adds with animation,
ThomI tiami art he I

And so in Tancred's subsequent speech f.
Siffredi, he first says,

I thmk, my lord I yon said the king intmeted
To jfon hit. Willi—

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out looQ after adds, in a more impassioned not nnirequently happens at the heel of an
tone, ereningy he incurs a similar penalty.

Oi this aloiM I vill not bear dispoto,
Nat even from tkt*, Hiffredi I

The same distinction will, in general, be
found in the speeches of Sigismunda to
Tancred.*

AJter the mittres* the nuuter ;—

Hare's boalth to o«r muter, the lord <d the feast*
God Ueai hm endaaTonra, and gite him iacreato.
And send him good orops, that wo may moot aaothei

Here's oar master's good health, bojrt— Come drink

half jnur b^er.
Ood send him good crops, &c.— Coma drink iff jont

HARVEST.CATCH IN NORFOLK.
To the Editor.

Sir,— Your Every^Day Book contains
seferal interesting accounts relating to the
present joyous season of the year. Amongst
others, a correspondent d. jk* %• 0^ vol* u*
col. 1168,) has furnished us with some
amusing particulars of the old customs of
the harvest supper. It should seem, how-
ever, that he is but imperfectly acquainted
with the old ** catch*' of this country. That
which he has given is evidently compounded
of two different songs in use on these occa^
sions, and I have no doubt when you have
."ead and compared them you will be of
my opinion. A few years more, and pro*
bably (but for your notioe of them) they
will be entirely forgotten.

The health-drinking catch, which is
always the last thing before parting, is as
follows :~^

Firaf the ndatreae .•-—

Mow supper is orer, and all things are past.

Here's onr mistress's good health in a fall flowing

glMs;
She is a good mistress, she prorides ns good cheer.
Here's oar mistress's good health, bojs— Come drink

htdf yoar beei^-
^e is a good mistress, she prorides as good cheer,
Here's oar mistress's good health, boys— Come drink

t^f joar beer.

Dnring the time the catch is going round
the whole party are standing, and, with the
exception of the drinker, they join in
chorus. The glass circulates, beginning
with the **Lord'' in regular succession
through the ^ company :*' after that it is
handed to the visitors,— the harvestmen of
gone-by days, — who are not, or ought not
to be, forgotten on the occasion. If the
drinker be uken off his guard, and should
drink off his beer at the pause in the catch,
ne is liable to a forfeit : if one of the chorus
misplaces the words Aa{f and offy which

Where the beer flows very freely, and
there is a family, it is sometimes usual to
carry on the catch, through the different
branches, with variations composed for the
purpose, perhaps at the spur of the mo-
ment: some or these I have known very
happily conceived. The other glee to
which I alluded in the beginning of my
letter, and which I conceive d* Ik* 9* ^
have had in view, b this :—

Hers's health onto oar master, the foander of the feast
Ood grant, wheneror ha shaU die, his so«l majr go te

rest,
And that nil things maj prosper whate'ar he has b

For we
So

are all his servants, and are at hiaoommand '
bojs, drink, and mind jroa do none spill
For if jToa do
Yon shall drink two.
For 'ds oar master's will I

If the foregoing be acceptable, it will be
a satisfaction to have contributed a trifle to
a miscellany, which has afforded a fund ol
instruction and amusement to

Your constant reader and admirer,
C. ». ft.

Norfolk^ Auguet 20, 1827.

POTTED VENISON.

Sir Kenelm Digby, in a fLncifhl discourse
on ** Sympathy," affirms, that the venison
which* is in July and Auffust put into
earthem pots, to last the whole year, is very
diflicult to be preserved during the space
of those particular months whi<£ are called
the fence-months; but that, when that
period is passed, nothing is so easy as to
Keep it guHful (as he words it) during th€
whole year after. This he endeavours to
find a cause for from the ^ sympathy** be
tween the potted meat, and its friends and
relations, courting and capering about in
its native park.

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For the Table Book,
THE DEFEAT OF TIME;

OR A

TALE OF THE FAIRIES.

liTANiAy and her moonlight Elfes, were
assembled under the canopy of a huge oak,
that served to shelter them from the moon's
radiance, which, being now at her full
noon, shot forth intolerable rays — intolera-
ble, I mean, to the subtil texture of their
little shadowy bodies — ^but dispensing an
agreeable coolness to us grosser mortab.
An air of discomfort sate opon the Queen,
and upon her Courtiers. Their tiny frisk-
ings and gambols were forgot; and even
Robin Good fellow, for the first time in his
little airy life, looked prrave. For the Queen
had had melancholy forebodings of late,
founded upon an ancient Prophecy, laid up
in the records of Fairy Land, that the date
of Fairy existence should be then extinct,
when men should cease to believe in them.
And she knew how that the race of the
Nymphs, which were her predecessors, and
had been the Guardians of the sacred
floods, and of the silver fountains, and of
the consecrated hills and woods, had utterly
disappeared before the chilling touch of
man s incredulity ; and she sighed bitterly
It the approaching fate of herself and of
her subjects, which was dependent upon so
fickle a lease, as the capricious ana ever
mutable faith of man. When, as if to
realise her fears, a melancholy shape came
gliding in, and that was — ^Tiue, who with
his intolerable scythe mows down Kings
and Kingdoms ; at whose dread approach
the Fays huddled together, as a flock of
timorous sheep, and the most courageous
among them crept into acorn cups, not en-
during the sight of that ancientest of Mo-
narchs. Titania's first impulse was to wish
the presence of her felse Lord, King Obe-
ron, who was far away, in the pursuit of a
strange Beauty, a Fay of Indian Land^
that with his good lance and sword, like a
faithful knight and husband, he might de-
fend her against Time. But she soon
checked that thought as vain, for what
could the prowess of the mighty Oberon
himself, albeit the stoutest Champion in
Fairy Land, have availed against so huge a
Giant, whose bald top touched the skies.
So in the mildest tone she besought the
Spectre, that in his mercy he would over-
look, and pass by, her small subjects, as
too diminutive and powerless to add any
worthy trophy to his renown. And she
besought him to employ his resistless

fftrength against the ambitious Children o
Men, and to lay waste their aspiring works
to tumble down their towers and turrets,
and the Babels of their pride, fit objects of
his devouring Scythe, but to spare her and
her harmless race, who had no existencf-
beyond a dream ; frail objects of a creed ;
that lived but in the faith of tlie believer.
And with her little arms, as well as she
could, she grasped the stem knees of Time,
and waxing speechless with fear, she beck-
oned to her chief attendants, and Maids of
Honour, to come forth- from their hiding
places, and to plead the Plea of the Fairies.
And one of those small delicate creatures
came forth at her bidding, clad all in white
like a Chorister, and in a low melodious
tone, not louder than the hum of a pretty
bee— when it seems to be demurring whe-
ther it shall settle upon this sweet flower
or that, before it settles— set forth her hum-
ble Petition. <' We Fairies," she said,
^ are the most inoffensive race that live,
and least deserving to perish. It is we that
have the care of ail sweet melodies, that no
discords may offend the Sun, who is the
great Soul of Music. We rouse the lark at
mom ; and the pretty Echos, which respond
to all the twittering quire, are of our mak-
ing. Wherefore, great King of Years, as
ever yon have loved the music which is
raining from a morning cloud, sent from
the messenger of day, the Lark, as he
mounts to Heaven's gate, beyond the ken
of mortals ; or if ever you have listened
with a charmed ear to the Night Bird, tliat

is tha ^wery tprinj?, .
Amidst the Imtm set, makes the thickctB ring
Of her Mur sorrovs, sweeten*d with her MDf :

spare our tender tribes ; and we will muffle
up the sheep-bell for thee, that thy pleasure
take no intermption, whenever thou shall
listen unto Philomel.*'

And Time answered, that **he had heard
that song too long; and he was even wea-
ried with that ancient strain, that recorded
the wrongs of Tereus. But if she would
know in what music Time delighted, it
was, when sleep and darkness la^r upon
crowded cities, to hark to the midnight
chime, which is tolling from a hundred
clocks, like the last knell over the soul of a
dead world ; or to the crush of the fall o*
some age-wom edifice, which is as the
voice of himself when he disparteth king-
doms.''

A second female Fay took up the Plea,
and said, ** We be the handmaids of tht
Spring, and tend upon the birth of all
sweet buds ; and the pastoral cowslips are

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our friends, and the pansies ; and the Tio-
ets, like nuns ; and the quaking hare-b^U
B in our wardship ; and the Hyacinth, once
a fair youth, and dear to Phoebus/'

Then Time made answer, in his wrath
striking the harmless ground with his hurt-
ful scythe, that << they must not think that
he was one that cared for flowers, except to
see them wither, aud to take her beauty
from the rose."

And a third Fairy took up the Plea, and
said, '* We are kindly Things ; and it is
we that sit at evening, and shake rich
odours from sweet bowers upon discoursing
lovers, that seem to each other to be their
own sighs ; and we keep off the bat, and
the owl, from their pnvacy, and the ill-
boding whistler; and we flit in sweet
dreams across the brains of infancy, and
conjure up a smile upon its soft lips to
beguile the careful mother, while its little
soul is fled for a brief miuute or two to
sport with our youngest Fairies.'*

Then Saturn (which is Time) made
answer, that " they should not think that
he delighted in tender Babes, that had de*
▼oured his own, till foolish Rhea cheated
him with a Stone, which he swallowed,
thinking it to be the infant Jupiter." And
thereat in token he disclosed to view his
enormous tooth, in which appeared mon-
strous dints, left by that unnatural meal ;
and his great throat, that seemed capable
of devouring up the earth and all its in-
habitants at one meal. *' And for Lovers,"
he continued, " my delight is, with a hurry-
ing hand to snatch them away from their
love-meetings by stealth at nights, and to
ravish away hours from them like minutes
whilst they are together, and in absence to
stand like a motionless statue, or their
leaden Planet of mishap (whence I had my
name), till I make their minutes seem ages. '

Next stood up a male fairy, clad all in
green, like a forester, or one of Robin
Hood's mates, and doffing his tiny cap,
said, ** We are small foresters, that live in
woods, training the young boughs in grace-
ful intricacies, with blue snatches of the
sky between; we frame all shady roo6i
and arches rude ; and sometimes, when we
are plying our tender hatches, men say,
diat the tapping woodpecker is nigh : and
ft is we that scoop the hollow cell of the
squirrel ; and carve quaint letters upon
:he rinds of trees, which in sylvan soli-
tudes sweetly recall to the mind of the
heat-oppressed swain, ere he lies down to
slumber, the name of his Fair One, Dainty
Aminta, Gentle Rosalind, or Chastest Laura,
as It may happen,*'

Saturn, nothing moved with this courte-
ous address, bade him be gone, or ** if he
would be a woodman, to go forth, and fell
oak for the Fairies* coffins, which would
forthwith be wanting. For himself, he
took no delight in haunting the woods,
till their golden plumage (the yellow
leaves) were beginnmg to fall, and leave
the brown black limbs bare, like Nature in
her skeleton dress."

Then stood up one of those gentle
Fairies, that are good to Mau, and blushed
red as any rose, while he told a modest
story of one of his own good deeds. ** It
chanced upon a time," he said, "that while
we were looking cowslips in the meads,
while yet the dew was hanging on the
l>uds, like beads, we found a babe left in
its swathing dothes-Hi little sorrowful de*
serted Thing ; begot of Love, but begetting
no love in others ; guiltless of shame, but
doomed to shame for its parents' offence
in bringing it by indirect courses into the
world. It was pity to see the abandoned
little orphan, left to the world's care by an
unnatural mother, how the cold dew kept
wetting its childish coats; and its little
hair, how it was bedabbled, that was like
gossamer. Its pouting mouth, unknowing
how to speak, lay half opened like a rose-
lipt shell, and its cheek was softer than
any peach, upon which the tears, for rery
roundness, could not long dwell, but fell
off, in clearness like pearls, some on the
grass, and some on his little hand, and some
haply wandered to the little dimpled well
under his mouth, which Love himself
seemed to have planned out, but less for
tears than for smilings. Pity ii was, too,
to see how the burning sun scorched its
helpless limbs, for it lay without shade, or
shelter, or mother's breast, for foul weather
or fair. So having compassion on its sad
plight, my fellows and t turned ourselves
into grasshoppers, and swarmed about the
babe, making such shrill cries, as that
pretty little chirping creature makes in its
mirth, till with our noise we attracted the
attention of a passing rustic, a tender-
hearted hind, who wondering at our small
but loud concert, strayed aside curiously,
and found the babe, where it lay on the
remote grass, and taking it up, lapt it in
his russet coat, and bore it to his cottage,
where his wife kindly nurtured it, till it
grew up a goodlv personage. How this
Babe prospered afterwards, let proud Lon-
don tell. This was that famous Sir Thomas
Gresham, who was the chiefest of her MeN
chants, the richest, the wisest Witneu
his many goodly vessels on the Tnimes,

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freighted with cofti) merchandise, jewels
from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, and
silks of Saraarcand. And witness more
than all, that sutely Bourse (or £xchange)
which he caused to be built, a mart for
merchants from £ast and West, whose grace-
ful summit still bears, in token of the
Fairies' favours, his chosen crest, the Grass-
hopper. And, like the Grasshopper, may
it please you, great King, to suffer us also
to live, partakers of the green earth !"

The Fairy had scarce ended his Plea,
when a shrill cry, not unlike the Grass-
hopper's, was heard. Poor Puck — or
Robin Goodfellow, as he is sometimes
called — had recovered a little from his
first fright, and in one of his mad freaks
had perched upon the beard of old Time,
which was flowing, ample, and majestic,
and was amusing himself with plucking at
a hair, which was indeed so massy, that it
seemed to him that he was removing some
huge beam of timber rather than a hair ;
which Time by some ill chance perceiving,
snatched up the Impish Mischief with his
great hand, and asked *' What it was f

'< Alas \" quoth Puck, << A little random
Elf am 1, born in one of Nature's sports, a
▼ery weed, created for the simple sweet
enjoyment of myself but for no other pur-
pose, worth, or need, that ever I could
learn. Tis I, that bob the Angler's idle
cork, till the patient man is ready to
breathe a curse. I steal the morsel from
the Gossip's fork, or stop the sneeiing
Chanter in mid Psalm ; and when an in-
fant has been born with hard or homely
features, mothers say, that I changed the
child at nurse; but to fulfil any graver
purpose I have not wit enough, and hsurdly
the will. I am a pinch of lively dust to
frisk upon the wind, a tear would make a
puddle of me, and so I tickle myself with
the lightest straw, and shun all griefii that
might make me stagnant. This is my small
philosophy.''

Then Time, dropping him on the ground,
as a thing too inconsiderable for his ven-
geance, grasped fost his mighty Scythe;
and now not Puck alone, but the whole
State of Fairies had gone to inevitable
wreck and destruction, had not a timely
Apparition interposed, at whose boldness
Time was astounded, for he came not
with the habit, or the forces, of a Deity,
who alone might cope with Time, but as a
simple Mortal, clad as you might see a
Forester, that hunts after wild coneys by
the cold moonshine ; or a Sulker of stray
deer, stealthy and bold. But by the golden
lustra in. his eye, and the passionate wannest

in his cheek, and by the hiv and ample
space of his foiehood, which seemed a
palace framed for the habitation of all
glorious thoughts, he knew that this was>
his great Rival, who had power given him
to rescue whatsoever victims Time should
clutch, and to cause them to live for ever
in his immortal verse And muttering the
name of Shakspeare, Time spread hii
Roo-like wings, and fled the controuling
presence. And the liberated Court of the
Fairies, with Titania at their head, flocked
around the gentle Ghost, giving him thanks,
nodding to him, and doing him curtesies,
who had crowned them henceforth with a
permanent existence, to live in the minds
of men, while verse shall have power to
charm, or Midsummer moons shall brighten

What particular endearments passed
between the Fairies and their Poet, passes
my pencil to delineate; but if you are
curious to be informed, I must refer you,
gentle reader, to the '' Plea of the Fairies,'*
a most agreeable Poem, lately put forth by
my friend, Thomas Hood : of the first half
of which the above is nothing but a meagre,
and a harsh, prose-abstract. Farewell.

Elia.

The word* of Mercury are kareh afte-
tike Monge of ApoUo.

PARODIES ON HORACE

Mr. James Petit Andrews, the continua-
tor of Dr. Henry*s History of England
mentions a whimsical instance of literary
caprice—a parody of Horace, by a German
David Hoppius, who had interest enougl
to have his nook printed at Brunswick, ii
1568, under the particular protection o
the elector of Saxony. Hoppms, with in
finite labour, transformed the odes anc
epodes of Horace into pious hymns, pre
serving the original measure, and, as fiir as
possible, the words of the Roman poet
^ The classical reader," Mr. Andrews says,
^ will, at one glance, comprehend the
amazing difficulties which such a parodist
must undergo, and will be surprised to
find these productions not wanting in pure
Latinity." A specimen or two are annexed

Ad Pyfrham, Ode v. lib. 1.
Quit malU i^nisUia te poer in nwA
Perfarai liqaidti nrfet odoiibos
OratOt Pyrrha, sob antro ?
Goi isTMm rvligtt ooouub
SiupUi MHidiliat r *«.

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Ad Marwm Deiparam. Parodia 7. UD. 1 .

Qui* foMo reeulMia, a grae II tmc*
Inaexns tanerii te, fna, fatdu
Blandns* Vii^ pveUas ?
Cai primM adhib«s ciboi.
Dtrea naaditiia ? tE«.

In Julum Bturinen, Ode tuu lib 8.

UUa n jvria tibt pqenti

Pgna, Barine. noeouMt hbq^mh

Ddte u aigro fiem, rel dbo

Tarpior vii^vi.
Cradeniii-8«d ta ilaal oblif Mtl
Ptrftdom yotb eaimt, cnitMoU
Palohnor malto, jiTcnanqM pvodit

Pabliea eara, Ate.

(Ipfpnufif ChrUti ad Peccatorem. Parodia
ijL lib. 2.

CTlla ai juris tibi pajerati

Calpa, peoeator, dolaiawt maqaaa

lieBta«ii taatom fteiaa vd, aoA

Triatior hora
Plaaderem— Sad ta, atmal oblt(a»U
Parfidnip voda caput, iagamiicia
Ob acalaa aaaquaai* aeaUruau|«« pntdia

Publieaa autor, Ate.

In Baechum, Ode xxiii. lib. 3.

Quo me, Bacehe, rapia tui
Plenam, Qua ia aemora, ant quod agor ia apeeuf,

Velox mente aovft ; quibui
Autria, egregie Cmaria audiar

iBteruttm aieditaaa deona
BtelUa iaacrere et eoasilio Jons, fte.

Ad ChrUium, Parodia ziiii. lib. 3.

Quo mr, Cbnste, feram ma]i
PloBuni, Qua ia aemora, ant quoa fugiam ia spceus,
' Preasas mole grari? Quibua
Aatris ob mamlarn erimiais oeeultar

JEteTaaa meditans facen
f afemuai elfogere, et simpliciam 8t jgis ? fte.

A GENTLEMAN'S FASHION.

Id the reisn of Henry VII. sir Philip
Calthrope, a Norfolk knight, sent as much
cloth, of fine French tauney, as would
make him a gown, to a tailor in Norwich.
It happened one John Drakes, a shoe-
maker, coming into the shop, liked it so
well, that he went and bought of the same
as much for himself, enjoining the tailor to
make it of the same fuhion. The knight
was informed of this, and therefore com-
.nanded the tailor to cut his gown as full
of holes as his sheers could make. John
Drakes'i iias made '* of the same fashion ,''
?ut he TOwed he never would be of the
gentleman** fashion agaio.

OF THI

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

No. VIL

In the present stage of the ioquinr will
be adduced examples of the kaowledge oi
the ancients, respecting the essential prin^
ciples that ^ uphold the world."

Gkatitt, Attraction — thb Law of
Squariko the Distances — Cemtrips-

TAL AND CeNTRIFVOAL FoRCE.

The modenis, who imagine that they
were the first to discover uniFersal gravita-
tion, have only trod in the paths of the an-
cients. It is tme, that they have demon-
strated the laws of gravitation, but this is all.

Besides universal gravitation, the an-
cients knew that the circular motion de-
scribed by the planets in their courses, is
the result of two moving forces combined —
a rectilinear and a perpendicular ; which,
united together, form a curve. They knew
also why these two contraiy forces retain
the planets in their orbs; and explained
themselves, as the modems do, excepting
only the terms of ^ centripetar* and ^ cen-
trifugal ;" instead of which, however, they
used what was altogether equivalent.

They also knew the inequality of the
course of the planets, ascribing it to the
▼ariety of their weights reciprocally consi-
dered, and of their proportional distances ;
or, which is the same thmg, in more modem
terms, they knew the ^ law of the inverse
ratio of the square of the distance from the
centre of the revolution."

Some have thought, that in Empedocles^s
system the foundation of Newton's was to
he found ; imagining, that under the name
of '* love," he intended to intimate a law,
or power, which separated the parts oi
matter, in order to jom itself to them, and
to which nothing was wanting but the name
of attraction ; and that by the term '* dis-
cord,'^ he intended to describe another
force, which obliged the same parts to
recede from one another, and which New-
ton calls a repelling /orce.

The Pythagoreans and Platonics per
ceived the necessity of admitting the force
of two powers, viz. projection and gravity,
in order to account for the revolution of the
planets. Timaeus, speak mg of the soU ol
the world, which animates all nature, says,
that <*God hath endowed it with two

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powers, which, in combinatiooy act accord-
ing to certain numeric proportions."

Plato clearly asserts, that God had im-
pressed opon the planets *' a motion which
was the most proper for them." This
could be nothing else than that perpendi-
cular motion, which has a tendency to the
centre of the universe, that is, gravity ; and
what coincides with it, a lateral impulse,
rendering the whole circular

Diogei^ies Laertius says, that at the be-
ginning, the bodies of the universe were
agitated tumuUuously, and with a disor-
derly movement ; but that Grod afterwards
regulated their course, by laws natural and
proportional.

Anaxagoras being asked what it was
that retained the heavenly bodies in their
orbit, notwithstanding their graTity, re-
markably answered, uat " the rapidity of
their course preserved them in their sta-
tions ; and that should the celerity of their
motions abate, the equilibrium of the world
being broken, the whole machine would
fall to ruin."

Plutarch, who knew almost all the shin-
ing truths of astronomy, in explaining what
it was that made bodies tend towards the
earth, attributes it to ^ a reciprocal attrac-
tion, whereby all terrestrial bodies have
this tendency, and which collects into one
(he parts constituting the sun and moon,
and retains them in their spheres.'' He
afterwards applies these particular pheno-
mena to others more general; and, from
what happens in our globe, deduces, ac-
cording to the same principle, whatever
must thence happen respectively in each
celestial body ; and then considers them in
their relative connections one tovrards ano-
ther. He illustrates this general relation-
ship and connection, by instancing what
happens to our moon in its revolution
round the earth, comparing it to ** a stone
in a sling, which is impressed by two
powers at once ;** that of projection, which
would carry it avray, were it not retained
by the embrace of the sling ; which, like
the central force, keeps it from wandering,
whilst the combination of the two moves it
in a circle. In another place, he speaks
*' of an inherent power in bodies, that is,
in the earth, and other planets, of attract-
ing to themselves whatever is within their
reach." In these two passages, there is a
plain reference to the centripetal force,
which binds the planets to their proper, or
common centres; and to the centrifugal,
Tvhich makes them roll in circles at a dis-
tance.

The ancients, then, attribute to the celes-

tial bodies a tendenqr towards one commoa
centre, and a reciprocal attractive power.
It appears also, that they knew, as well at
the moderns, that the cause of gravitation,
that attracted all things, did not reside
solely in the centre of the earth. Their
ideas were even more philosophic; foi
they taught, that *' this power was diffused
through every particle of the terrestrial
globe, and compounded of the Tarious
energy residing in each.**

It remains to inquire, whether they knew
the law by which gravity acts upon the
celestial bodies, that it was in an inverse
proportion of their quantity of matter, and
the square of their distance. Certainly
they were not ignorant, that the planets in
their courses observed a constant and in-
variable proportion; though some sought
for it in the difference of the quantity of
matter contained in the masses, of which
the planets were composed; and others,
in the difference of their distances. Lucre-
tius, after Democritus and Aristotle, thought
that <' the gravity of bodies was in propor-
tion to the quantity of matter of which they
were composed.** It is true, that the
penetration and sagacity of a Newton, a
Gregory, and a Maclaurin, were requisite
to perceive and discover, in the few frag-
ments of the ancients now remaining, the
inverse law respecting the squares of the
distances, a doctrine which Pythagoras had
taught ; but they acknowledge that it vras
contained in those writings; and they
avail themselves of ihe authority of Pytha-
goras, to give weight to their system.

Plutarch, of all the philosophers who
have spoken of Pythagoras, had a better
opportunity of entering into the ideas of
that great man, and has explained them
better than any one besides. Pliny, Ma-
crobius, and Censorinus, have also spoken
of the harmony which Pythagoras observed
to reign in the course of the planets ; but
Plutarch makes him say, that it is probable
that the bodies of the planets, their dis-
tances, the intervals between their spheres,
the celerity of their courses and revolutions,
are not only proportionable among tiiem-
selves, but to the whole of the universe.
Dr. Gregory declares it to be evident, tha
Pvthagoras understood, that the gravitation
of the planets towards the sun vras in a
reciprocal ratio of their distance from thai
luminary; and that illustrious modem,
followed herein by Maclaurin, manes tha*
ancient philosopher speak thus : ^

" A musical string, says Pythago'^s,
yields the very same tone with any other
of twice its length, because the tension ol

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the latter, or the force whereby it b ex-
tendedy is quadruple to that of the former ;
•m/ the gravity of one planet ie quadruple
to thai of any other y which is at double the
distance. In general, to bring a musical
string into unison with one of the same
kind, shorter than itself, its tension ought
to be increased in proportion as the square
of its length exceeas that of the other ; and
that the gravity of any planet may become
equal to that of any other nearer the ran,
it ought to be increased in proportion as
the square of its distance exceeds that of
the other. If, therefore, we should suppose
musical strings stretched from the sun to
each of the planets^ it would be necessary^
in order to bring them all to unison, to
augment or diminish their tensions, in the
very same proportion as would be requisite
to render the planets themselves equal in
gravity. This, in all likelihood, gave
foundation for the repcits, that Pythagoras
drew his doctrine of harmony from the
spheres."*

Galileo duly honours Plato, by acknow-
ledging that he is indebted to him for his
first idea of the method of determining, how
the different degrees of velocity ought to
produce that uniformity of motion discern-
ible in the revolutions of the heavenly
bodies. His account is, that " Plato being
of opinion that no movable thing could

5asi> from a state of rest to any determinate
egree of velocity, so as perpetually and
equably to remain in it, without first pass-
ing through all the inferior degrees of cele-
rity or retardation; he thence concludes,
that God, after having created the celestial
bodies, determining to assign to each a
particular degree of celerity, in which they
should always move, impressed upon them,
when he drew them from a state of rest,
such a force as made them run through
their assigned spaces, in that natural and
direct way wherein we see the bodies
around us pass from rest into motion, by a
continual and successive acceleration. And
ne adds, that having brought them to that
degree of motion, wherein he intended
they should perpetually remain, he after-
wards changed the perpendicular into a
tirculary direction, that being the only
course that can preserve itself uniform, and
make a body without ceasing k^ep at an
equal distance from its proper centre."

This acknowledgment of Galileo is re-
markable. It is a homage to antiquity

* Orcforii Astronomis Elementa ; and Maolanria's
Srstema of tlM Philoaophen, in a diacoane prefiznd to
hM philoMphy of Newton, p. 38. WaUiit, toL iii. p. ]38.
and JcO.

from an inventive genius, who least of anj
owes his eminence to the aid of the an.
cienU. It is the disposition of noble minds
to arrogate to themselves as little as pos-
sible any merit, but what they have the
utmost claim to; and thus Galileo and
Newton, the greatest of modem philoso-
phers, set an example, which will never be
imitated but by men of distinguished
greatness.

AVON MILL, WILTS,

TsE Glean IMO oa Leasino Caie.

To the Editor,

Sir, — It may not be deemed an intrusion
to inform your readers, that when Avon
Mill was devoted to the grinding of coin
it was very centrally situated for the con-
venience of the poor gleaners.. This mill
then kept by a hmily of the name of Tan-
ner, (the sons were renowned swimmers,)
had also much business with the neighbour-
ing farmers and maltsters. At the time,
dame Tanner, one of the best-hearted wo-
men then living, had a custom of her own,
(perhaps to discharge the dictates of a good
conscience for the double toll imken by the
millers.) She made after the harvest-season
a cake, somewhat after the manner of the
Jews* passover cakes, given to their Gentile
friends, which she called the '* Gleaning
cake," and gave it to every poor person that
brought gleaned com to be ground at the
mill. A few years after her death the mill
was purchased (I think a chancery suit was
pending) for a clothing manufactory, (one
pair of stones only being kept,) which it
still remains. When the shearing machines
were here first introduced to cut and dress
cloth by water, detachments of troops were
nightly stationed in the lanes and mill to
prevent large bodies of the shearmen, then
out of employ, from setting fire to the pre-
mises. At subsequent periods much busi-
ness has been done here in the manufacture
of superfine broadcloth, but owing to the
fluctuation of trade Avon Mill has not
generally done half the work of its vrater
power.

A neighbouring mill, once aUo a great
com mill, at Christian Malford, but which
is now a spacious edifice, has shared nearly
the same rate and devotedness. The water-
wheels being partly undershot on this beaa-
tiful river, the water in autumn is often
insufficient to the demand ; but when afte.
heavy rains the floods are out, the meadows

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preient a tneet of blue expanse truly pic-
turesque, and the bridges, by the depth and
rapidity of the current near the mills, are
pearly impassable. Many peasants return-
ing home, and fiirmers riding from market,
nave by their adventure missed their way
and been drowned.

A «* pretty considerable number ** of
ghost stories are floating in the memories
of the aged cottagers, of persons appearing
after death on the Avon and its oanks in
this part of the country.

I am, &ir,

Yours respectfully,

Am Old Correspomdekt.

T n, T ff,

AugU9t 21, 1827.

SONG.

[ lonf to forget tbeel bat every nraet ntfot
Reminds me too ttnmgly of daft thai have beet {
YThere caa I look roand me, bat aomethiiy reeaUi
Our friendnhip, onr lore,— and my spirit eathralk f
Each nook of the monntain— each eoC of the giU^
The rneh of the river^the flo«r of the fill—
The trees of the forest^the gems of the le*—
All whisper of ohildhood, of virtae, aid ths«.

When in spring-time the riolets and primroses bloom.
When in snmmer the wild thyme is wafting perfnae }
When aatama is mellowly tinging the trees,
And in winter's cold blast when the moaatain streams

freeze;
When bright glows the san-ray— when soft moon-light

shines
On the aged chnreh tower, and dark waving pines—
Kaeh season shall tell of some erei^lled bliss.
Of the press of thine hand, or the balm of thy kiss.

rhoa wert long the sole theme of my earliest lays.
And my wild harp's Ant braathiaga wei« all in thy

praise I
When in faaey that wild harp I hvag on the yew,
[ Ihonght not the faaey would e*er prove natme.
I (leem'd not the form that beside me reclia'd
la the haunt of the greenwood woold e'er pnvt aa-

kind—
Unkind to a heart that but liv*d for thy love,
Aad has pray'd for thy weal to the spirit above.

'Tis evening I the hues of the san-set ara fed^
A deep sombre mist o'er the valley is spreud—
The tall cliffB are wrappM ia the shades of the night,
Ind Uemebrook no longer is lapsing in light :
Tne turst of the momiag the gloom shall dispel,
Ano « haio of glory gtld valley aad fell—
Yet a shade o'er my destiny ever wiU b^

•_^_ I g^^ ^1^^^ Is— femembrauce of thee I

T.aM.

TRASHING,

A Bridal Custom in Yorkshire.
To the Editor.
Motley f near Leedi, Jtily 2t, 1627

Sir, — There is a custom prevalent lu
various parts of Yorkshire, which I do not
remember to have seen noticed in the
works of Strutt, Brand, Fosbroke, or any
other learned writer upon such subjects.
It is called <' trashing,*' which signifies pelt-
ing people with old shoes on their return
from church on the wedding-day. There
were certain offences which subjected the
parties formerly to this disagreeable lia-
Dility; such as refusing to contribute to
scholars' *< potations,** or other eonvivi-
alities; but in process of time the reason
of the thing became forgotten, and ** trash
ing** was indiscriminately practised among
the lower orders. Turf-soas or mud being
substituted for lack of old shoes, and gene- |
rally thrown in jest and fi:ood-humour rather !
than in anffer or ill-will.

Although it is true that an old shoe is to
tius aay called « a trash," yet it did not,
ce/tniniy, give the name to the nuisance. ,
To ^Mrash" originally signified, to clog I
incumber, or impede the progress of any
one ; (see Todd's Johnson ;) and agreeably
to this explanation we find the rope tied by
sportsmen round the necks of fleet pointers
to tire them well, and check their speed, is
hereabouts universally called the ** trash-
cord,'' oi dog trash. But why old shoes
in particular were selected as the mis-
siles most proper for impeding the pro-
gress of new married persons, it is novi
perhaps impossible to discover.

Yours respectfully,

N.S.

BILBOCQUET.

In 1585, Henry III. of France diverted
himself, when passing through the streets
of Paris, by playing with a •* bilbocquet,"
a cup and ball. The dukes d*Epemon and
de Joyeuse accompanied him in his child-
ish frolic, which, by this example, became
so general, that gentlemen, pages, lackeys,
and all sorts of people, great and small,
made the management of the " bilbocquet*^
a serious and perpetual study. The same
king traversed his capital with a basket
hanging by a girdle fiom his neck, out of
which peeped the heads of half a doien
puppies.

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REMARKABLE CHARACTERS,
i.— Erasmus.

ErasmuSy vhile a schoolboy, compofled
a panegyric on king Philip, (&ther of
Charles V.,) on his coining out of Spain
into Germany. His majesty took such
notice of his early wit, that he honoured
him with a yearly pension durinff his life.

King Henry Vill. of England wrote to
him with his own hand, ordered him sereral
very valuable presents, offered him a house
and land, with six hundred florins a year,
, if he would reside in England.
I Francis I., king of France, also wrote to
him, offering him a bishopric, and one
thousand florins a year, if he would liye in
France.

I The emperor Charles V. offered him a
! bishopric m Sicily, made him one of his
priyy council, allowed him a pension of
tour hundred florins a year, and promised
to make it five hundred, if he would ooca-
sionally reside in his court.

Siffismond, king of Poland, and Ferdi-
, nand, king of Hungary, were yery bcsinti-
I All to him, and repeatedly in? ited him to
dwell in their dommions.

Ann, pnncess of Verona, allowed him a
pension of one hundred florins a year.

Frederick, duke of Ssxony, and William,
duke of Gulick, made him several presents.

Pope Adrian VI. wrote to him three
times with his own hand ; and pope Cle-
ment VII., on being raised to the purple,
sent him five hundred florins, and invited
iiim to Rome.

Pope Paul ITT. :-*-'ded to have raised
him to the rank oi c«.dinal, if death had
not prevented him*

William Warham, archbishop of Canter-
bury, gave him an exhibition.

Cardinal Wolsey allowed him a pension
out of a prebend at York.

The bishops of Lincoln and Rochester
^^'berally supplied him with money, 8cc. on
aji occasions.

Polidore Virgil sent him money to buy
a horse, and the lord Cromwell sent him
thirty angels.

Lord Mountjoy, sir Thomas More, bishop
Tonstall, and dean Collet, were bis constant
benefactors.

Cardinal Mattheo offered him a pension
of five hundred a year to live in Rome,
and sent him a cup of pure gold.

Albertus, archbishop, cardinal, and elec-
tor of Meots, sent him also a cup of gold,
richly ornamented with precious sliiies.

Cardinal Campegius, among other pre>
scnts, sent him a ring of great value.

Stanislaus Oimucensis sent him a silvet
bowl, double gilt, with four pieces of gold
ancient coin.

The bishop of Basil offered him half tb i
fevenue of his bishopric

Thurxo, bishop of Uratislavo^ went six
days* journey out of his way to see him.

William, earl of Eyrenberg, gave him a
^i^s^i'f which by the inscription " he
wished in the hearU of all his enemies.**

II.— Nicholas Wood, the Glutton,

One Nicholas Wood, of Harrison, in the
county of Kent, yeoman, did eat with ease
a whole sheep of sixteen shillings price,
and that raw, at one meal. Another time
be eat thirty dozen of pigeons. At sir
William Sedley*s he eat as much as would
have sufficed thirty men. At lord Wot-
ton*s in Kent, he devoured in one meal
eighty-four rabbits ; another time eighteen
yards of black pudding, London measure.
He once eat sixty pounds of cherries, and
said they were but wastemeat. He eat a
whole hog, and afterwards swallowed three
peck of damsons : this was after breakfest,
at which he had taken a pottle of milk and
pottage, with bread, butter, and cheese.

•* He eat in my presence," saith Taylor,
the water-poet, " six penny wheaten loaves,
three sixpenny veal-pies, one pound of
fresh butter, one gooa dish of thomback,
and a sliver of a peck household loaf, an
inch thick, all within the space of an hour :
the house yielding no more he retired un-
satisfied."

One John Dale, at Lenham, laid him a
wager, he could fill his belly for him with
goMl wholesome victuals for two shillings.
He took this wager and said, when he had
finished the two shillings worth, he would
eat up a sirloin of beef. Dale, however,
brought six pots of mighty ale and twelve
new penny white loaves, which be sopped
therem, the powerful fume whereof con-
quered this gluttonous conqueror, and laid
him asleep l^fore he had finished his meal,
whereby the roast beef was preserved and
the wager lost.

Wo^ spent all his estate in provender
for his enormous stomach, and, although a
landed man and a true labouiery he oind
very poor in 1630.

Sam Bam^s 8o)r.

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JUST JUDGMENT,

A GOOD JuDOEy AMD A GOOD JURT.

It is of most essential impoitance to the
iue administratioQ of iustice that juries
should be sensible of their own dignity ;
and, when occasion requires, that they
should not implicitly and servilely bow to
he opinion or any judge, however high he
may oe held in estimation. Ad instance of
the beneficial result of a jury asserting, in
a respectful manner, the privilege of having
an opinion of their own, occurred, not at
the assizes now holding, but not very long
ago. Two men were indicted for a bur-
glary : after the counsel for the prosecution
had opened, the amiable and learned judge
who presided, addressing the jury, said,
** Gentlemen, there does not appear to me
any probability that a case of burglary can
be made out against the prisoners, it is
therefore needless to occupy your time any
further." The juiy having, however, con-
ferred for a short time, the foreman replied,
'< With perfect deference to your lordship's
opinion we should rather prefer bearing
the evidence.** To this his lordship readily
assented : the case went on, and the guilt
of the prisoners was proved beyond the
possibility of a doubt. After the verdict
was returned, the learned judge said,
" Well, gentHsmen of the jury, I will not
say that you are better lawyers than I am,
but I am quite sure that in the present in-
stance you have proved yourself to be
heiier judges/'*

OLD ENGLISH ALE.

About 1620 some doctors and surgeons,
during their attendance on an English
gentleman, who was diseased at Paris,
discoursed on wines and other beverages ;
and one physician, who had been in Eng^
land, said, ** The English had a drink whic(
they call ale, and which he thought the
wholesomest liquor that could be drank ;
for whereas the body of man is supported
by natural heat and radical moisture, there
is no drink conduceth more to the preser-
vation of the one, and the increase of the
»ther, than ale : for, while the Englishmen
drank only ale, they were strong, brawny,
able men, and could draw an arrow an ell
«ng; but when they fell to wine and
beer, they are found to be much impaired
in their strength and age :'' and so tne ale
bore away the bell among the doctors.f

* TlOMt,

Aiiffut S7, 1887*

A SOLDIER'S AGE.

Napoleon, in his Italian successes, took
a Hungarian battalion prisoners. The
colonel, an old man, complained bitteily of
the French mode of fighting — ^by rapid and
desultory attacks, on the .flank, the rear,
the lines of communication, &c., concluding
by saying, ** that he fought in the army of
Maria Theresa."

** You must be oldV* said Napoleon.

" Yes, I am either sixty or seventy."

" Why, colonel, you have certainly lived
long enough to know how to count years a
little more closely V

''General,*' said the Hungarian, " I
reckon my money, my shirts, and my horses ;
but as for my years, I know that nobody
will want to steal them, and that I shall
never lose one of them V

COUNSELS AND CAUTIONS

Bt Dr. a. Hujtter.

Beware !

Leave year purse and watch at home
when you go to the playhouse or an auction
room.

Tratelling.

When yoa take a journey in winter put
on two shirts; you will find them much
warmer than an additional waistcoat.

Building Repairs.

If you mean to buy a house that you
intend to alter and improve, be sure to
double the tradesman's estimate.

Your Staircase.

Paint the steps a stone colour; it will
save scouring and soap.

Housekeeping.

If you are in trade keep no more houses
than you can support ; a summer-house and
a winter-house have forced many a man
into a poor-house.

Enough should suffice.

A man who has obtained a competency,
and ventures upon a speculation that may
be capable of consuming all that he has
alreadfy got, stakes ease and comfoit against
beggary and disgrace.

LoQUACITT.

A gossip has no home*

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THE TA.BLE BOOK.

THE NOTED JOHN COOKE OF EXETER.
"DRAWN FROM NATURE."

To the Editor.

CorporadoDB in old timeB kept fools,
and there are still traces of the cnstom.
The antiquary admires the carving of a

fool, " a motley fool," at the porchway of
the King John tavern at Exeter, and con-
templates it as probably the faithfal repre-
sentation of an obsolete servant of that
andent city ; while the traveller endeavours

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to obtain a fight of the "noted Captain
Cooke, all alive ! alive l"— the most public,
and not the least important officer of its
lively corporation.

A tract, published without a title-page,
yet Rymbolically, as it were, bearing a son
of half-head, whereby it is denominated
<< A Pamphlet called Old £ng:land for
Ever !** is the production of captain Cooke
himself; and a lithographed print represenu
that " noted " personage ** arawn from na-
ture,** in his full costume, as ^ Captain of
the Sheriffs troop at 74 assiies for the
county of Devon." An engraving from
the print is at the head of this article ; the
original is '' published by George Rowe,
38, Paris-street, Exeter," price only a
shilling. The present representation is
merely to give tne reader some notion of
the person of the captain, previously to in-
troducing so much of his " particular con-
fession, life, character, and behaviour,'* as
can be extracted from his aforesaid printed
narrative.

The tract referred to, though denomi-
nated '' Old England for Ever," seems in-
tended to memorialize '* Captain Cooke — for
ever." Aspiring to ecliroe the celebrated
autobiography of <* P. P. Clerk of this
Parish," the captain calls his literary
production ** a pamphlet of patriotic home
achievements durine the late direful war
from 1793 to 1815;^ «ind, accordingly, it
is a series, to adopt his own words, of
''twenty-two years multifarious but abridged
memoirs, novelties, anecdotes, genealogy,
and bulletins, by the author's natural in-
stinct.'*

The first most important information re-
sulting from the captain's " natural in-
stinct," is this :— that " the duke of Welling-
ton, marshal Blucher, the allied officers,
and armies, defeated the atheist, the enemy
of the Sabbath and of peace to the world,
on Sunday, 18tb of June 1815, at half after
eight o'clock in the evenii^ :** which day
the captain, therefore, calls ** an indelible
day ;" and says, '' I built a cottage that
year, and have a tablet over my door —
fFaterloo Cottage, in memory ofEurope'e
victory, Sunday, IBtk June, 1815; and I
went to Wellington-hill to see the founda^-
tion-stone laid for a Wellington column,
in honour of the duke. So much for Buo-
naparte's fanfaronade 1 —At daybreak of
the 15th of July, he (Buonaparte) surren-
dered himself to the Englbh captain Mait-
hud, of the Bellerophon ^- an appropo
name to the refugee.-—! was called up tne
next morning at one o'clock; I wrote
twenty letters to country gentlemen of the

0 !-be-joyful news, by the same morning*
post. 1 have been often called np on
express news."

From hence may be deduced the Talne
of the captain and his opinions in the city
of Exeter; and, no doubt, due importance
will be attached to his proposition, thsk
'* parliament should always meet of a Fri-
day or Saturday, and prorogue of a Mon-
day, to prevent sabbath-breaking as little
as possible ;" and that '' the mails should
be prohibited from blowing their horns in
the dead of the night or morning, in towns
or villages." It was contemplated to carry
these measures into effect oy joint stock
companies, wherein all the captain's friends
were shareholders, when the ** panic" came
down from London by an opposition coach,
and destroyed public confidence in the
captain's plans. They are noticed here in
the order wherein he states them himself;
and, pursuing the like order, it is proper to
state, in the first place, something of the
house wherein this self-eminent person
was born; then, something resf^ecting
** Ashburton Pop ;" and, lastly, something
respecting his apprenticeship, and his ser-
vices as a loyal man and a saddler to " the
city of Exeter, and the corporation and
trade thereof."

''I was bom,"says the captain,'' at the Rose
and Crown public-house on the old bridge,
in the borough town of Ashburton, 1765;
where a good woollen-man ufeictory has
been carried on ; and it has produced a
great character, or so, for learning :" and
** has been as famous for a beverage, called
Aehburton Pop, as London is for porter.

1 recollect its sharp feeding good taste, hx
richer than the best small beer, more of
the champaign taste, and what was termed
a good sharp bottle. When you untied
and hand-drew the cork, it gave a report
louder than a pop-gun, to which I attribute
its name ; its contents would fly up to the
ceiling ; if you did not mind to keep the
mouth of the stone bottle into the white
quart cup, it filled it with froth, but not
over a pint of clear liquor. Three old
cronies would sit an afternoon six hours,
smoke and drink a dozen bottles, theii
reckoning but eight-pence each, and a
penny for tobacco. The pop was but two-
pence a bottle. It is a great novel loss to
the town ; because its receipe died with its
brewer about 1785."

From the never-enough-sufficiently to be
*amented and for-ever-departed ^ Pop,"
the captain -Returns to himself. « My mo-
ther," says he, *' put me apprentice at fif-
teen to the hpad saddler in Exeter, the late

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Mr. Charier, whom I succeeded vhen I
tame of age, and have lived in the same
nouse thirty-seven years, up to 1817, where
my son now lives, under the firm of Cooke
and Son/' He evidently takes great
pleasure in setting forth the names of his
customers ; and he especially relates, " I
sot to be saddler, through the late Charles
Fanshawe, recorder of Exeter, to the late
lord Elliott Heathfield, colonel of dragoons.
His lordship was allowed to be one of the
first iudffes of horses and definer of saddlery
in the kingdom; his lordship's saddle-
house consisted from the full bnsted to the
demy pick, shafto, Hanoverian, to the
Dutch pad-saddles ; and from the snafiey
Pelham, Weymouth, Pembroke, Elliott,
Mameluke, and Chifney bridles. Chifnej
was groom to the prince regent. Besides
all this, the vast manage horse-tackling,
tomies, dumb-jockies, hobbles, lunging;,
lifting, and side reins. His lordshin's sad«
die and riding- house was a school for a
saddler and dragoon. And I had the
honour of being saddler to other colonels
of dragoons, connoisseurs of saddlery, when
they were at Exeter quarters.*'

Here the captain*s enthusiasm increases ;
' I could write," says he, •* a treatise on
all the parts of the beanngs and the utility
of all the kinds of saddles, bridles, stirrups,
and harness-collars, made for the last thirty
years, for the benefit of horse or rider;
from the bullock-back horse to the finest
withered.** With just judgment, while on
the saddle, the captain expatiates on the
mode of riding to the best advantage. " As
•s said, keep your head cool, feet warm,
and live temperate, and you won*t need
the doctor, without something is amiss ; so
let your saddle clear your finger with all
your weight in the stirrups going down
hill ; the same on the hind part with all
your weight on the seat going up hill ; you
won't need the saddler without some-
thing is amiss/' A miss is as good as a
mile, and the captam diverges to a " great
mystery,'' which must be related in his
own words:—

•* The great mystery to know a horse*s
age is between five and eight years old.
A horse may live to thirty ; but not one
out of a thousand but what are worked out
of their lives at fifteen. From their sucking
first teeth, they loose, and get their perma-
nent teeth at five years old; at six they
have a small pit-hole, a bean's eye, a cavity
in two of theiT outer lower teeth ; at seven
they have this mark but in one, the out-
side tooth ; at eight years old the teeth are
"ill filled up ; then the mark is out of the

mouth. But dealers and judges look to the
upper teeth; there is a niaik to twelve
years old, but no vestige afterward. An
old horse has long large teeth, worn off on
the top edge. The prime of a horse i>
between six and twelve years of age. Hi
is weak and faint before six, and stiff ami
dull after twelve. Some say a horse is out
of mark at seven ; but it is at eight Tin
average age of horses is at twelve years-
the average of man not at the half of \i\>
time appointed on earth 1**

To a posey of poesy, occupying nearl>
a page in this part of the pamphlet, it '»
impossible to do justice with equal satis
faction to the reader and the captain ; yet,
in courtesy, it is proper to cull

————— a twif ,
Or two, to stick aboat hb wig.

As a specimen of the materials whereon
he relies for a laurel crown, the following
lines are drawn out from his ** snarl " of
versifyings :—

At few hegtin the world, to I malriplied.

Plaia, ftt tweBtj-ooe, I did begin

Which in mj mannteript was seen.

Tho* I did not know the oso of grammar,

I was well supported by my hammer.

I stioked to mj King, leather, and tools ;

And, for order, wrote a set of shop rales.

Working with the hands only is but part.

The head's the essential to make the work smart.

After this poetical effusion the captain
rises to ** the height of his great argument,"
his undying doings. •< Now," says tlie
captain, *< now for my nsty home achieve-
menu during the late war for my king and
country." Alas 1 the captain seems to have
disdained the " uee of numbers," except
when inspired by the muses, or the '< sweet
voices *• of the people of Exeter, when they
honoured him with a << Skimmington,**
which he passes over with a modesty equal
to that of the Roman general who nevei
mentioned his great ovation. The captain*8
*' sixty achievements " are doubtless in his
pamphlet ; but they in «• wrong order go,**
and are past the arithmetician's art to enu-
merate. The chief of them must be
gathered from his own account. Foremost
stands '' the labour I took in pleasing and
accommodating my customers;" and almost
next. ^ the many hours I have knocked
my head, as it were, against Samuel John«
son, to find words for handbills and adver-
tisements all at my own expense, to avoid
inflammatory pamphlets. 1 gloried in the
name of * John Bull,' and shiSl to my life*s
end. I went into the pot-houses at Exeter,

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and Ireate**! with mugs round. And gare
loyal toasts and sentiments. I became a
▼olunteer in the infantry, before the cavalry
were equipped by my brother tradesmen,
that they snould not say my loyalty was
for trade. After this, I joined the second
troop of the first Devon Royal Cavalry.
One of my advertisements in the difficult
times, at a guinea each, m the Exeter,
Sherborne, and Sun, which was then the
ministerial paper, was reprinted for its loy-
alty and novelty in Philadelphia, and in
tv"o miscellaneous Tolumes of Literary Lei-
sure, by Solomon Sumpter, Esq.; and
from the attention I paid to the nobility,
gentry, dragoon and militia officers, &c.
when they tarried at Exeter or its neigh-
bourhood, it was a pleasure and an honour
mixed with fatigue. Besides my own
business, I procured for them, gratis, ma-
nors, estates, houses, lodgings, carriages,
horses, servants, fish, fowl, hunting, shoot-
ing, and trout fishins. I may say John
Cooke, the saddler of Exeter, is known from
England to the Indies ; on the Continent,
Ireland, in Scotland, by the lord chief
baron Dundas, from Berwick-upon-Tweed
to Penzance. I had two direction-posts at
my door during the war, that no one had
in the kingdom beside ; one to the various
places and distances, from Exeter to Lon-
don 170 miles, &c. &c.; the other a large
sheet of paper written as a daily monitor
gratis, a Dulletin of nevrs, to cheer people
in the worst of times, to guide them m the
constitutional road. / even made myself a
direetion-poet, and wore a conspicuous
breastplate painted with this motto, * Fear
God, honour the king, and revere his mi^
nisters ;* which made not only the auditory,
but the judges, sheriff*, and counsel stare at
me. I went from Exeter to London, to
the funeral of lord Nelson, the late hero of
ihe Nile, in 1805." The truth of the latter
of the captain's achievements '' nobody can
deny." He did ^o to the funeral, and sat
on a wall in solemn silence, fast asleep,
while it passed, and then returned to Exe-
ter, great as the great Bourbon, who

- witk forty UMMsaad m«n.
Went «p the kil^ ud then eame dows afmin.

From hence the captain diverges to other
df his achievements. '* I used to rise, be-
fore we had firemen, at the dead of night
or morning with my apprentices at any
alarm of fire, desiring all women, children,
and lookers on, if they did not help they
were of harm, being in the way. I put in
mj bulletins, you are to take the left

of all you meet in riding, and tne ri^ht in
walking. I was the means of<the watering
cart to lay the dust of the streets in sum-
mer. I have subscribed to all the institu*
tions at Exeter, and at rejoicings of news I
was not behindhand. When I saw the
allied sovereigns in London, I compared
colonel Hain of the North Devon, if he
wore mustachios, to marshal Blucher, who
came forward to his window at signals;
Mr. Chubb, of St. Thomas, Exeter, and
Mr. Gribble, attorn ies, of Newton Bushel,
to the emperor Alexander in face ; the king
of Prussia and his sons like healthy Eng^
lish country esquires in their best clothes.
I saw the duke of Wellington, who looked
thinner than his picture. I saw Buonaparte
at Torbay, exact like his picture ; a huge
itifi* broad back, strong neck, big calf U>
his legs, he looked about fifty, and about
five feet eight, resembling a country master
builder, a sturdy one, full of thought as
about a building. — I end this pamphlet.
Four words : thought is the quickest ; time
the wisest ; the laws of necessity the strong-
est; truth the most durable.

^ This from a Devonshire Jog-trot, who
has done enough to be termed a public
character in his way ; a John Bull trades-
man.

" John Cookb."

** Waterloo Cottage,

l8MFe6. 1819."

So end the achievements of the chief ot
the javelin -men of Exeter, written by him-
self, concerning whom, give me leave, Mr.
Editor, to inquire, if there be any thing
more to be told than b set down in his
book. I think that captain Cooke*8
** Skimmington " took place after he fa-
voured the public with appearinff in print ;
and I remember to have heard that the
procession was highly ludicrous, and ho-
noured by every shop in the High-street of
Exeter being closea, and every window
above being filled. I may venture to affirm
in behalf of your readers, that an account
of it would be highly amusing; and if it be
agreeable to your inclination, as I think it
may, that such a narrative of the recent
celebration of a very ancient custom should
be permanently recorded, do roe the favour
to let me express an earnest hope that some
of your Exeter readers will enable you to
give particulars in the Table Book

L V

[ConuBiiBieatioiii reipedting tke eeremonj rderred U
m Uke preeeding letter will be rtrj aeoepuhk, ai^
are tkerefore eoUdted.—KonoB.'l

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No. XXXIV,

f From the ** Antipodes^'' farther extracts :
see No. XX ]

A Doctor hamottr* Ms patient, who ia
crazed with reading lying booke of traveU,
by pretending that he himeelf hoe been a
great traveller m Ait time.

Peregrine^ the patient. Doctor, Lady,

Peregrine, All the world orer hart jon been ?

Doctor, Orer and nnder too.

Per, In the Antipodes ?

Doet. Yes, throng Ii and throng h.
Nor isle nor angle in the other world
Bnt I hare made disoorery of. Do jon
Think, Sir, to the Antipodes sneh a jonraej ?

Per, I think there^s none beycad it, aad that Maa-
deril
Was the only man came near it.

DocL Mandevil went far.

Per, Beyond all English legs that I eaa read of.

DoeL What think yoo. Sir, of Drake, oar uunons
countryman ?

Per, Drake was a Didapper to Maaderil.
Candish and Hawkins, Frobisher, all oar Toyagen
Weat short of Manderil : bnt had he reacVd
To this plaoo— her*— yes herfr—thii wilderaess ;
And seen the trees of the sna and moon, that ipeoi^,
And told King Alexander of his death ;
He then

Had left a passage ope for trarellers.
That now is kept and guarded by wild beasts :
Dragons aad serpents, elephants white and bine ;
Uniooms aad lions, of many oolonrs ;
And monsters more, as numberless as nameless.

DoeL Stay there^

Per. Read here else: can yon read?
b it not tme ?

Doct. No truer, than I have seen it
Yon hear me not deny that all is true.
That Maaderil deliTers of his traTels;
Yet I myself may be as well beUered.

Per, Since yon speak roTerently of him, say on.

DoeL Of Europe I'll not speak, 'tis too near home ;
Who's not familiar with the Spanish gari\
Th' Italian cringe, French shrug, and German hug ?
Nor will I trouble you with my obsenrations
Feteh'd from Arabia, Paphlagonia,
Mesopotamia, Mauritania,
Syria, Thessalia, Persia, India ;
AU still is too near home ; tho' I have toneh'd
The clouds upon the Pyrenean mountains ;
And been on Papbos hill, where I have kiss'd
The image of bright Veaus ; all is still
Too Bear home to be boasted. They sound
la alar traTeller's ear,
lilie the reports of those, that beggingly
Have p«t out on retaras from Edinbnigb.
Paris, or Venice ; or perhaps Madrid,

Whither a Millaaer may jnth half a noee
Smell oot his way; and is not near so difficul'^
As ibr some maa in debt, and unprotected.
To walk from Chariag Cross to the Old E&ehaage.
No, I will pitch BO neare thaa Ihe Antipodes j
That which is furthest distant s foot to foot
Against our region.

Lady, What, with thdr heeb upwaids?
Bless us, how *scape they breaking of their neeas ?

Doct. They walk upon firm earth, as we do kete ;
Aad have the firmamcat over their heads.
Am we hare here.

Lady, And yet just under us I
Where is HeU then ? if they, whose feet are toward u.
At the lower part of the world, hare HeaTen too
Beyond their heads, where's Hell ?

Doet, You may find that
Without enquiry.

Scetie, at the Antipodet.

N,B, In the Antipodes, every thing goes
contrary to our manners: wives rule
their husbands; servants govern their
masters ; old men go to school again^&c.

^n. Servant, Gentleman, and Lady, nth
tivee, English Traveller,

Sereaat (ta hU yomg Matter.) How well you saw
Your father to school to day, knowing how apt
He is to play the truant

San. Bnt is he not
Yet gone to school?

Seroant, Stand by, and yoa shall see.

Enter three old men with satchels,

AU l^ree, (tinging) Domine, domi^e, duster :
Three kaares in a cluster.

Jlim. C Jhis IS gallant pastime. Nay, come on .
Is t!*is your school ? was that your lesson, ha ?

lit oU man. Pray now, good son, indeed, indeed—

Son, Indeed
Yon shall to schooL Away with Kim ; and take
Their wagships with him, the whole dniiter of *em.

9d old man. Yon sba*nt send us now, so yon sha'Bt-'

8<f o/Jsum. We be none of your father, so we be'nt—

Son. kftny with 'em, I say ; and tell their school
mistrtss
What trusts they are, aad bid her pay *em soundly.

AU three. Oh, oh, oh 1

Ladg. Alas 1 will nobody beg pardon for
The poor old boys ?

Snglieh TraeeUer, Do men of such fair years hen
go to school?

Osntieman, They would die duneee else.
These were great scholars in their youth , Vit when
Age grows upon men here, their leamiag wastes,
Aad so decays, that if they Uto vntil
Threescore, their sons send them to school igau ;
They'd die aa speeehless else as new>-bora ehildr«.

BngtiA TraoeUer, Tis a wise aatioa ; ., sd the pitt>
Of the TOUBg mea most rare and commendable.
Yet give me, as a stranger, leave to btg
Thfix liberty this dav.

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Stm. Tis granted. .
Hold up joar head*, and thank the gei.tIemao,
'ike Mcholan, with your heels now

AU three, OnUiat^ groHoi. gntiat. (exewU tinging.)

[From the " Asparagus Garden, " a
Comedy, by the same Author, 1634.]

Private Conference,

Father-tn-Law. Yoa'U not assault me in my own
house, nor urge me beyond my patience with yoar
liorrowing attempts.

Spendthrift A %{ght. I hare not nied the word of
loan or borrowing;
Only some private oonferenoe 1 requested.

Fath. Prirate conference 1 a new-eoined word Ibr
Imrrowing of money. I tell you, your rery face, your
muntenanoe, tho* it be gloesed with knighthood, looks
to borrowingly, that the best words yon giro ma ai« as
•Ireadful as Stand and Delirer.— Your riotonness
abroad, and her long night-watchings at home, short-
•ned my daughter*s days, and cast her into her grare ;
and 'twas not long before all her estate was bvied
too.

Spend. I wish my life might have excused
l.'er*s far more precious ; aerer had a man
A j aster cause to mourn.

Fath, Nor monm*d more justly, it is your only
«r<«nDg; yon hare just none other ; nor hare had any
meant, to purchase better any time these seven yean,
I take it ; by which means yon have got the name of
the Mourning Knight

Timothy Hoyden, the Yeofoan'e Son, de-
niree to be made a Gentleman, He conndte
with hie friends,
Moneylack. Well, Sir, we will take the speediest

conm with you.
Hvyd, But must I bleed ?

AfoH. Yes, you must bleed; your father's blood
muHt out.
He was but a Yeoman, was he ? '
Hifyd, As rank a Clown (none dispraised) as any in

Somersetshire.
Afon. His foul rank blood of bacon and pease posw
ritch
Must out of you to the last drant—

Springe. Fear nothing. Sir.
Your blood shaU be taken out by degrees; and your
veins replenished with pure blood still, as yon lose the
puddle.

Heyd, I was bewitched, I think, Ufore I was begot,
to have a Clown to my father. Yet my mother said
she was a Gentlewoman.
Spr. Said I what will not women say ?
Mim. Be content, Sir; here's half a labour saved:
you shall bleed but of one side. The Mother vein shall
not be pricked.

Old Striher, after a quarrelling bout
with old Touchwood,

Tomehwood, I have put him into these fits this forty
fMfs, sad hope to choke him at last (oiidei and

RlrOer, Huh, huh, huh ! so he i^ gonf, tne villain*!
gone m hopes that he has killed me, when my comfort
is he has re't>vered me. I was heartsick with a coo
oeit which lay so mingled with my flegm, that I had
perished if I had not broke it, and made me spit it out :
hem, he is gone, and I'll home merrily. 1 would not
he should know the good he has done me for half my
estate; nor wouU I be at peace with him to save it
alL I would net lose hU hatred for aU the good
aeighbouihood of the parish.
His malice works upon me
Past all the drugs and all the Doctors* '^tu'^Bflt^
That e'er I copea with ; he has been my vexation
E'er since my wife died ; if the rascal knew it.
He would be friends, and I were instantly
But a dead maa ; I oould not get another
To anger me so handsomely.

C. L,

BEAR AND TENTER.

To the Editor.
Morley, near Leedt, July, 1827.
Sir,— On surveying the plays and pas-
times of children, in these northern parts
especially, it has often struck me with re-
•peer to some of them, that if traced up to
their origin, they would be round to have
been « political satires to ridicule such
follies and corruptions of the times, as it
was, perhaps, unsafe to do in any other
manner.'' In this conjecture I have lately
been confirmed, by meeting with a curious
paper, copied from another periodical woiJ
by a contributor to the old London Man-
wne, vol. for 1738, p. .59. It is an article
which many would doubtless be glad to
find in the Table Book, and nobody more
so than myself, as it would be a capital
accompaniment to my present remarks.

To come at once to the point ; we have,
<>^,ra>l^e»" had, a few years ago, a game
wiled the « bear and tenter," (or bear and
bear warden, as it would be called in the
south,) which seems, certainly, to have
been one of the sort alluded to. A boy is
made to crawl as a bear upon his hands
and knees, round whose neck is tied a rope
which the keeper holds at a few yards* dwi
tance. The bystanders then buffet the
bear, who is protected only by his keeper,
who, by touching any of the assailants'

becomes liberated; the other is then the
bear, and the buffeted bear becomes the
keeper, and so on. If the "tenter" is
sluggish or negligent in defence of his
charge, it is then that the bear growls, and
the blows are turned upon the guardian
wholly or partially, as the bearbaiters elect.
Now, my conjecture as to the origin ©•

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the garoe of " bear and tenter" is this. —
Our English youths and their tutors, or
companions, were formerly distinguished
in foreign countries by the names of the
bear and the bear leader, from the ab!<urd
custom of sending out the former, (a bois-
terous, ungovernable set,) and putting them
under the care of persons unnt to accom*
pany them. These bears were at first
generally sprigs of royalty or nobility, as
headstrong as need be ; and the tutor was
often some needy scholar, a Scotsman, or a
courtier, who knew little more of the world
than his pupil ; but who, when he had put
on his bag-wig and sword, was one of the
most awkward and ridiculous figures ima-
ginable. While these people were abroad,
there can be no doubt that they were for-
merly the dupes and laughingstocks of
those who dealt with them ; and that, in
exchange for the cash out of which they
were cheated, they brought home a stock
of exotic follies, sufficient to render them
completely preposterous characters in the
eyes of their own countrymen. Consider-
ing therefore how much good English gold
was wasted and lost in these travels, how
1 urtful to the national pride the practice
was, and how altered for the worse were
both guardian and ward, it is not to be
wondered at if the middling and lower
classes of Englishmen were highly in-
censed or disgusted. But as complaints
would, at least, be unavailing when such
persons as *• Baby Charles" and " Stenny**
Buckingham were the '* bear and tenter,*'
the people revenged themselves, as far as
they dared, by the institution of this game,
in which they displayed pretty well what
hard knocks, ill treatment, derision, and
scorn, awaited those who forsook their
homes to wander in a land of strangers.
And not only so, but they illustrated, at
the same time, the contamination which
ensued the touch of bad tutors, and the
general character of the parties ridiculed.

I am well aware, Mr. Editor, that there
was formerly a pagtime of buffeting tne
bear ; but that, as I apprehend, was a very
different sport from that of " bear and
tenter,*" and had not a political origin.
That this had, I am well assured, from the
game being kept up in these parts, where
the Stuarts were ever almost universally
execrated ; where patriotism once shone
forth in meridian splendour, and the finest
soldiers that the world ever saw, were ar-
ranged under the banners of Cromwell, of
Fairfax, or of J^mbert.

I remain, yours respectfully,
N. S.

GLANCES AT BOOKS ON MY TABLE.
The History and Antiquities o/" Weston
Favell, in the County of Northamp-
ton, By John Cole, Editor of^Her^
veiana/ &c. Scarborough : Printed
(only 50 cojt'ies) and publithed hy John
Cole s and Longman and Co, London,
18-27.— 8vo. pp. 74.
According to Mr. Cole, Weston Favell is
entered in Domesday book as " Westone,'*
and the addition of Favell was derivo<l
from a family of that name, who formerly
possessed the manor. From each of three
mansions standing there at the commence-
ment of the last century, but not one of
which remained at its close, the important
equipage of a ** coach and six " formerly
issued to the admiration of the villagers.
The church is dedicated to St. Peter, '' and
consists of a body, south porch, and chan-
cel, with a coped tower at the west end, con-
taining five bells." Mr. C. remarks, on
the authority of tradition, that the tower
had once a spire to it, which was many
years ago destroyed by lightning ; and this
observation induces him to cite, by way of
note, that " Tradition is a very poetical, a
very pleasing personage ; we like to meet
him in our travels, and always ask him a
question. You will find him grey and
blind, sitting among old ruins, and < Death
standing, dim, behind.' "

Mr. Cole copies several monumental in-
scriptions within the church, chiefly in
memory of the Hervey family, and one
especially on his favourite, viz. :—

HERE LIE THE REMAINS

OF THE REV. JAM^S HERVEY, A. M.

LATE RECTOR OF THIS PARISH .*

THAT VERY PIOUS MAN
AND MUCH ADMIRED AUTHOR I

WHO DIED DEC. 25TH J 758
IN THE 45th YEAR OF HIS AGE.

Render expect no more to make him known
Vain the fond Elegy and firnr'd Stone,
A name more laating vhall his Writings fpv^:
There view displayed his hesTenly Soul, and live

Such are the lines on the tomb of the
author of the <* Meditations among the
Tombs ; Reflections on a Flower Garden ;
and Contemplations on the Night, and on
the Starry Heavens.*' He was buried under
the middle of the communion-table in the
chancel : when his body was conveyed to
the church it was covered, according to his
express desire, with the poor's pall. He
was the most popular rector of Weston
Favell, of which living he was the patron
and incumbent, as his father had been.
Hervey was not born in that parish, but in
the neighbouring one of Hardingston.

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HERVEY'S BIRTH-PLACE AT HABDINQSTON.

In this house (the representation of which
IS derived from Mr. Cole*s History of Wes-
ton Favell) the author of the ^ Meditations'*
first saw light He was instructed by his
mother in reading till the age of seven,
and then sent to the free grammar-school
at Northampton, where he remained till
seventeen, at which age his father placed
him at Lincoln college, Oxford, and there
he resided seven years, and gained an ex-
hibition of twenty pounds. In 1736 he
returned to his father, who was then rector
of Weston Favell, and became his curate.
In May, 1737, he succeeded the celebrated
George Whitefield in the curacy of Dum-
mer, Hampshire, and in about a twelve-
month removed to Stoke Abbey, Devon,
where he lived with his friend, Mr. Orchard,
upwards of two years. In 1739 he ac-
cepted the curacy of Bideford, which he
retained till his final settlement at Weston
Favell, where he

To ampltr plewtnde and svteter dftjrs
ProcMdad hoarly.

It was in Hervey*f native narish, Hard-
lugston, that the battle of Northampton
v;as fought on the 10th of July, 1460, and
king Henry VI. taken prisoner by the earl
nf Warwick: the duke of Buckingham,

the earl of Shrewsbury, and other noble
men were killed : and many of the slaii.
were buried in the convent of Delapre, and
at St. John*s hospital, Northampton. In
Hardingston parish is a military work, 8up>
posed to have been raised by the Danes,
and therefore called the Danes camp.

The wake of Weston Favell is held on the
next Sunday after St. Peter's day. In the
afternoon the rector preaches an appropri-
ate sermon, the choristers prepare suitable
psalms, and throngs of visitants from the
neighbouring villages attend the service in
the church. During the first three or four
days of the feast-week there are dances at
the inns, with games at bowls and ouoits.
and throughout the week there are dinner
and tea-parties from the environs, whose
meetings usually conclude with a ball. On
St. Valentine's day the village lads and
lasses assemble, and go round vrith a wish
of " Good morrow, morrow, Valentine T
to the principal inhabitants, who give mo-
ney to the juvenile minstrels. On Shrove
Tuesday, at noon, it is the custom to riug
one of the church-bells, called the ** Pan-
cake bell ;'' its sound intimates a holiday
and allowance of sport to the village young-
sters. The fifth of November is joviall)
celebrated with a bonfue, v^hich may b(

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viewed throughout a circuit of many miles.
Christmas is kept merrily, but the ancient
isages of the season have passed away, ex-
cept the singing by the church-choir, of
«rhose carob Mr. Cole produces three,
' which may serve/' he says, <' as an ad-
dition to Mr. Gilbert's collection."

In this ** history ** there is an engravin?
of two '^ figures on bricks, near the pulpit :^
the other engravings are from a former
work by Mr. Cole, entitled « Ueryeiana,"
(2 vols, foolscap 8vo. 1823,) wherein is
collected a large number of particulars
concerning Uervey from various sources.
The latter work enumerates from Uervey 's
*' Theron and Aspasio,'' the plants of the
parish, and agreeably describes the common
but beautiful plant, called Cuckoo-pint, or
Wake Robin, which abounds under the
hedge-rows. It is spoken of by its scientific
name: ** Arum — a wild herb, which un-
folds but one leaf, formed after a very sin-
gular pattern, bearing some resemblance to
the hare's ear. It is really one of the pret-
tiest fancies in Nature's vrardrobe, and is
so much admired bv the country-people,
that they have dignified it with the appel-
Mtion of lords and ladies ; because it looks,
I suppose, somewhat like a person of qua-
lity, sitting with an air of ease and dignity
in his open sedan. In autumn, after both
flowers have vanished, a spike of scarlet
berries, on a simple stalk, is all that re-
mains."

On the first publication of Hervey*s
'* Meditations and Contemplations," and
for several years afterwards, they were
highlv popular, and are still greatly ad-
mired by young persons, and others who
are delighted by a florid interjectional man-
ner of writing. Hervey's work occurs in
Mr. Bohn*s '* Catalogue of the Library of
the late reverend and learned Samuel Parr,
LL.D." with the following remarkable note
attached to the volume — *' This book was
the delight of Dr. Parr, when he was a
boy ; and, for some time, was the model
on which he endeavoured to form a style."

ARUM— CUCKOO- PINT— STARCH-
WORT.

Old John Gerard, who was some time
gardener to Cecil lord Burleigh, in the
reign of queen Elizabeth, says, in his
** Herbal,** that <' beares, after they have
Iter .n their dens forty dayes without any
manner of sustenance, but what they get

with licking and sucking their owne feet,
do, as soon as they come forth, eate the
herbe Cuckoo-pint, through the windie na-
ture whereof the hungry gut is opened, and
made fit againe to receive sustenance.**

Gerard further tells, that ** the most pure
and white staich is made of the roots of
Cuckow-pint; but is most hurtful to the
hands of the laundresse that hath the hand-
ling of it, for it choppeth, blistereth, and
maketh the hands rough and rugged, and
withall smarting.'' From this ancient do-
mestic use of the arum^ it was called
" Starch- wort :^ it bore other and homelier
names, some of them displeasing to a mo-
dern ear.

Gerard likewise relates of the arum,
medically, that after being sodden in two
or three waters, whereby it may lose its
acrimony, and fresh put to, being so eaten,
it will cut thick and tough humours in the.
chest and lungs ; " but, then, that Cuckow-
pint is best that biteth most — but Dragon*s
is better for the same purpose."

I know not whether I have fallen in with
the sort of arum " that biteth most,'' but, a
summer or two ago, walking early in the
afternoon through the green lanes to Wills-
den, and so to Harrow on the Hill, its
scarlet granulations among the way-side
browse and herbage, occasioned me to re-
collect the former importance of its root to
the housewife, and from curiosity I dug up
one to taste. The piece I bit off was
scarcely the size of half a split pea, yet it
gave out so much acrid milk, that, for more
than an houi, my lips and tongue were in-
flamed and continued to burn, as if cau-
terized by hoC iron ; nor did the sensation
wholly cease till after breakfast the next
morning. Gerard says that, according to
Dioscorides, ** the root hath a peculiar vir-
tue against the gout,** by way of cataplasm,
blister-wise.

Hervey introduces the flower of the
Cuckoo-pint as one of the beautiful pro-
ducts of^ the spring. ** The hawthorn in
every hedge is partly turgid with silken
gems, partly difiused into a milk-white
bloom. Not a strangling furze, nor a soli-
tary thicket on the heath, but wears a rural
nosegay. Even amidst that neglected dike
the arum rises in humble state ; most ca-
riously shrouded in her leafy tabernacle,
and surrounded with luxuriant families,
each distinguished by a peculiar livery of
green.'* I am almost persuaded that I ,
have seen the fruited arum among the or-
naments of gothic architecture, surmount-
ing pinnacles of delicate shrine-work.

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MEM0RIAU5 OF JOHN KEATS.
To the Editor.

Sir,— The anecdote of Keats, which ap-
peared in a late number of your Table
Booky* recalled his image to my *' mind's
eye" as vividly, through the tear of regret,
as the long-buried pictures on the walls of
Pompeii appear when water is thrown over
them ; and I turned to reperuse the writ-
ten record of my feelings, at hearing him
spoken of a few months since. These lines
I trouble you with, thinking thev may gra-
tify the feelings of some one of bis friends,
and trusting their homeliness may be par-
doned for the sake of the feeling which
dictated them.

I should also be glad of this opportunity
to express the wishes of many or his ad-
mirers for a portrait of Keats. There are
two in existence; one, a spirited profile
sketch by Haydon ; the other, a beautiful
miniature by his friend Severn ; but nei-
ther have been engraved. Mr. Severn's
return to England will probably produce
some memorial of his " span of life, and a
more satisfactory account of his last mo-
ments than can be gleaned from report.
The opportunity that would thus be afforded
of giving to the world the posthumous
remains of his genius, will, it is to be
hoped, not be neglected. Such a volume
would be incomplete without a portrait;
which, if seen by the most prejudiced of
his literary opponents, would turn the
laugh of contempt into a look of thoughtful
regret. Hoping my rhymes will not frus-
trate my wishes, I remain, sir.

Your obliged correspondent,
and humble servant,
Sept. 13,1827. Gaston.

Extemporaneous Lines, shogcsted bt
some thoughts and recollections of
John Keats, the Poet.

Thj name, dear Keats, b not forgotten quite

B*en in this dreary pante— Fame's dark twilight—

The space betwixt death's starry* ranlted sky.

And the hright dawn of immortality.

That time when tear and elegy lie eold

Upon the barren tomb, and ere enrolled

Thy name npon the Ust of hononred men,

fn the world's rolnme writ with History's lasting pen.

No ! there are some who in their bosom's haren

Cherish thy mem'ry— on whose hearts are graven

The living recollections of thy worth—

Thy frank sincerity, thine aident mirth ;

That nobleness of spirit, so allisd

To those hi|fh qualities it qnick descried

• Col. 949.

«n others' astnres, th^t by sympatfeMs

It knit with them in friendship's stioagsst t

Th* enthasiasm which thy sool pervaded—

The deep poetic feeling, which inraded

The narrow channel of thy stream of life.

And wrottgfat therein eonsamiag, inward strifsw-*

All these and other kindred excellencies

Do those who knew thee dwell npon, and thence is

Derived a cordial, fresh remembraaoe

Of thee, as though thon wert bat in a tnaca.

I, too, can think ofthee, with friendship's glow.
Who bat at distance only didst thee know ;
And oft thy gentle form flits past my sight
In transient day dreams, and a traaqail light,
like that of warm Italian skies, oomes o'er
My sorrowing heart-~I feel thon art no morfr— >
Those mild, pare skies thoa long'st to look apoo.
Till friends, in kindness, bade thee oft ** Begone
To that more genial clime, and breathe the air
Of soathem shores ; thy wasted strength repair."
Then all the Patriot barst npon thy sonl ;
Thy love of oonntry made thee shan the goal
(As thoQ prophetically felt 'twould be.)
Of thy last pilgrimage. Thoa erass'd the se^
Leaving thy heart and hopes in England h»e
And went as doth a corpse apon its bier I

Still do I see thee on the river's strand
Take thy last step upon thy native land-
Still feel the last kind preunre of thy hand.
A calm dejection in thy youthful face.
To which e'en sickness lent a tender grace
A hectic bloom— the sacrificial flower.
Which marks th' approach of Death's all-wither.s«

Oft do my thoughts keep rigils at thy tomb

Across the sea, beneath the walls of Rome;

And even now a tear will find its way.

Heralding pensive thoughts which thither stray. —

How most they mourn who/eef what I but kmm f

What can assuage their poignancy of woe,

If I, a stranger, (save that I had been

Where thon wast, and thy gentleness had seen,)

Now feel mild sorrow and a welcome sadness

As then I felt, whene'er I saw thee, gladness ?—

Mine was a friendship all upon one side ;

Thon fcnewest me by name and nought beside.

la humble station, I but shar'd the smile

Of which some trivial thought might thee beguile 1

Happy in that— proud but to hear thy vo>oe

Accost me : inwardly did I xvjoiee

To gain a word from thee, and if a thought

Stray'd into utterance, quick the words I caught

I laid in wait to catch a glimpse of thee.

And plsan'd where'er thou wert that I might be.

I look'd on thee as a superior being.

Whom I felt sweet content in merely sedng

With thy fine qualities I stor'd my mind ;

And now thoo'rt gone, their mem'ry stays behind.

Mixt admiration fills my heart, nor can

I tell which most to love— the Poet or the Man.

Gastoit

lfovmb€r, 18S6.

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FUNERALS IN CUMBERLAND.

To the Editor.

Sir, — It is usual at the funeral of a per-
ion, especially of a householder, to invite
persons to attend the ceremony ; and in
Carlisle, for instance, this is done on the
day of interment by the bellman, who, in
a solemn and subdued tone of voice, an-
nounces, that ** all friends and neighbours

of , deceased, are requested to

take notice, that the body will be lifted at

— ^ o*clock, to be interred at

church/' On this occasion the relatives
and pnersons, invited by note, repair to the
dwelling of the deceased, where tney usually
partake of a cold collation, with wine, &c. ;
and at the outside of the door a table is
set out, bountifully replenished with bread
and cheese, ale and spirits, when ^ all
friends and neighbours ' partake as they
think proper. When the preparations for
moving are completed, the procession is'
accompanied by those persons who are
disposed to pay their last mark of respect
to the memory of the deceased. This
custom, it has been remarked, gives an
opportunity for "that indulgence which
ought to belong to the marriage feast, and
that it is a practice savouring of the gothic
and barbarous manners of our unpolished
ancestors." With deference to the writer's
opinion, I would say that the custom is
worthy of imitation, and that the assem-
bling together of persons who have only
this opportunity of expressing their respect
for the memory of the deceased, cannot fail
to engage the mind to useful reflections,
and is a great contrast to the heartless
mode of conducting interments in many
other places, where the attendants frequently
do not exceed half a dozen.

The procession used often to be preceded
by the parish clerk and singers, who sang
a portion of the Psalms until they arrived
at the church. This part of the ceremony
is now, I understand, seldom performed.

I am,
Newctutle upon Tyne^ Yours, &c.
August, 1827. W. C.

BIDDEN WEDDINGS
In Cumberland.

Sir, — ^It was a prevalent custom to have
< hidden weddings *' when a couple of re-
spectability and of slender means were on
the eve of marriage ; in this case they gave

publicity to their intentions throuj^h the
medium of the '* Cumberland Pacauet," a
paper published at Whitehaven, ana which
about twenty-nine years ago was the only
newspaper printed in the county. l*he
editor, Mr. John Ware, used to set off the
invitation in a novel and amusing manner,
which never failed to ensure a large meet-
ing, and frequently the contributions made
on the occasion, by the visitors, were of so
much importance to the new married cou-
ple, that by care and industry tbey were
enabled to make so good '< a fend at niver
to look ahint them:**

A long absence from the county pre-
cludes me from stating whether this ** good
old custom" continues to be practised : per-
haps some of your readers will favour you
with additional information on this subject,
and if they would also describe any other
customs peculiar to this county, it would to
me, at least, be acceptable.

The following is a copy of an advertise-
ment, as it appeared in the Cumberland
Pacquet in a number for June, 1803 : —

A PUBUC BRIDAL,

JONATHAN and GRACE MUS-
GRAVE purpose having a PUBLIC
BRIDAL, at Low Lorton Bridge End,
near Cockermouth, on THURSDAY, the
16th of June, 1803; when they will be
glad to see their Friends, and all who may
please to favour them with their Company ;
— for whose Amusement there will be
various RACES, for Prizes of different
Kinds; and amongst others, a Saddle, and
Bridle; and a Silver-tipt Hunting Horn,
for Hounds to run for. — ^There will also be
Leaping, Wrestling, &c. &c.

f^* Commodious ROOMS are likewise
engaged for DANCING PARTIES, in the
Evening.

Come, hast« to tlie BRIDAL I— to Joys we iovite Yon.
Which, help*d by the SeaMn, to please Yoa cuiM
fail:
Bat thoald LOVE, MIRTH, and SPRING ttrire in
rain to delight Yoo,
You're stiU the mild Comfbrte of LomToVs eweet
Yale.

And wnere doet the OoDOUi more coanning.y rere. ?
Where, ZxpBTa dispenle a more healtb-cheanng
Gale,
Than where the pure Cocker^ meandnng the Lerel,
Adorn* the calm Prospects of Loatov's sweet
Vaw?

* An endeaTonr as to render any addiUonal iaiM»
anee unnecessary.

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ro the BRIDAL then eome ;— Uate the Sweets of oar

Your Vi»it, good Cheer and kind fFelcome ahall kail.
Rjdnd the Standard of Old KNaLi»H Custom* we'll
raUy.—
And be ble«t in Love, Friendthip, and Lobton's
sweet Vali.

With this, the conclusion of the bridal
bidding,'' I conclude. Sir,

Your constant reader,
W.C.
NetPcahtU upon Tyne,
Augtut, 1827.

the ancients, and founded on the mos*
solid reasonings of astronomical science
The elegant work of Fontenelle, on thf
" Plurality of Worlds," first rendered the
conception familiar to common minds.

This notion of a plurality of worlds was
generally inculcated by ih

OF THE

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. VIII.
The Milky Way, '

That lucid whitish zone in the firmament
among the fixed stars, which we call the
** Milky Way," was supposed by the Py-
thagoreans to have once been the sun's
path, wherein he had left that trace of
white, which we now observe there. The
Peripatetics asserted, after Aristotle, that
it was formed of exhalations, suspended
high in air. These were gross mistakes ;
but all the ancienU were not mistaken.
Democritus, without the aid of a telescope,
preceded Galileo in remarking, that " what
we call the milky way, contained in it an
innumerable quantity of fixed stars, the
mixture of whose distant rays occasioned
the whiteness which we thus denominate ;"
or, to express it in Plutarch's words, it was
*' the united brightness of an immense
number of stars."

The Fixed Stars — Plurality of
Worlds.

The conceptions of the ancients respect-
ing the fixed stars were not less clear than
ours. Indeed, the opinions of the moderns
3n this subject have been adopted within a
century from those great masters, after
laving been rejected during many ages.
It would be reckoned almost an absurdity
at present, to doubt of those stars being
suns like ours, each respectively having
planets of their own, revolving around
them, and forming various solar systems,
more or less resembling ours. Philosophy,
at present, admits this theory, derived from

, le Greek philo-
sophers. Plutarch, after giving an account
of it, says, that ** he was so far from find-
ing fault with it, that he thought it highly
probable there had been, and were, like
this of ours, an innumerable, though not
absolutely infinite, multitude of worlds ;
wherein, as well as here, were land and
water, invested by sky."

Anasimenes was one of the first who
taught, that " the stars were immense
masses of fire, around which certain ter-
restrial globes, imperceptible to us, ao-
complished their periodic revolutions."
By these terrestrial globes, turning round
those masses of fire, he evidently meant
planets, such as ours, subordinate to their
own sun, and forming a solar system.

Anaximenes agre^ with Thales in this
opinion, which passed from the Ionic to
the Italic sect ; who held, that every star
was a world, containing in itself a sun and
planets, all fixed in that immense space,
which they called ether.

Heraclides, and all the Pythagoreans
likewise taught, that " every star was a
world, or solary system, having, like thb
of ours, its sun and planeU, invested with
an atmosphere of air, and moving in ihe
fluid ether, by which they were sustained."
Tliis opinion seems to have been of still
more ancient origin. There are traces of
it in the verses of Orpheus, who lived in
the time of the Trojan war, and taught
that there was a plurality of worlds; a
doctrine which Epicurus also deemed very
probable.

Origen treate amply of the opinion of
Democritus, saying, that •* he taught, that
there was an innumerable multitude of
worids, of unequal size, and differing in
the number of their planets; that some of
them were as large as ours, and placed at
uneoual distances ; that some were inha-
bited by animals, which he could not take
upon him to describe ; and that some had
neither animals, nor plants, nor any thing
like what appeared among us." The phi-
losophic genius of the illustrious ancient
discerned, that the different nature of those
spheres necessarily required inhabitants of
different kinds.

This opinion of Democritus sarpnsed
Alexander into a sudden declaration of his
unbounded ambition. JElian reports, that

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this young pnnce, upon hearing Democri-
tus*a doctrine of a plurality of worlds,
burst into tears, upon reflecting that he
had not yet so much as conquered one of
them.

It appears, that Aristotle also held this
opinion, as did likewise Alcinoiis,- the
Platonist. It is also ascribed to Plotinus ;
who held besides, that the earth, compared
^o the rest of the universe, was one of the
meanest globes in it.

Satellites. — Voetices.

In eonsequence of the ancient doctrine
of the plurality of worlds, Phavorinus re-
markably conjectured the possibility of the
existence of other planets, besides those
known to us. " He was astonished how it
I came to be admitted as certain, that there
were no other waiuiering stars, or planets,
but those observed by the Chaldeans. As
for his part, he thought that their number
was more considerable than was vulgarly
given out, though they had hitherto escaped
our notice. ** Here he probably alludes to
the satellites, which have since been mani-
fested by means of the telescope; but it
required singular penetration to be capable
of forming the supposition, and of having,
as it were, predicted this discovery. Seneca
mentions a similar notion of Democritus ;
who supposed, that there were many more
of them, than had yet come within our
view.

However unfounded may be the system
of vortices promulgated by Descartes, yet,
as there is much of genius and fancy in it,
the notion obtained great applause, and
ranks among those theories which do
honour to the moderns, or rather to the
ancients, from whom it seems to have been
drawn, notwithstanding its apparent no-
velty. In fact, Leucippus taught, and
after him Democritus, that " the celestial
bodies derived their formation and motion
from an itifinite number of atoms, of every
sort of figure; which encountering one
another, and clinging together, threw them-
selves into vortices; which being tbo-
roughly agitated and circumvolved on all
sides, the most subtile of those particles
that went to the composition of the whole
mass, made towards the utmost skirts of
the circumferences of those vortices ; whilst
the less subtile, or those of a coarser ele-
ment, subsided towards the centre, forming
themselves into those spherical concretions,
which compose the planets, the earth, and
the sun." They said, that ** those vortices
were actuated by the rapidity of a fluid

matter, having he. earth at the centie nf
it ; and that the planets were moved, each
of them, with more or less violence, in pro-
portion to their respective distance from
that centre." They affirmed also, that the
celerity with which those vortices moved,
was occasionally the cause of their carrying
off one another; the most powerful and
rapid attracting, and drawing into itse'^
whatever was less so, whether planet or
whatever else.

Leucippus seems also to have known
that grana principle of Descartes, that ** all
revolving bodies endeavour to withdraw
from their centre, and fly ofl* in a tangeuL**

RELIQUI^ THOMSONIANA.
To thg Editor,

Sir,— The article relating to Thomson, in
a recent number of the TAle Book, cannot
fail to have deeply interested many of your
readers, and in the hope that further similar
communications may be elicited, I beg to
offer the little I can contribute.

The biographical memoranda, the sub-
ject of the conversation in the article refer-
red to, are said to have been transmitted to
the earl of Buchan by Mr. Park. It is not
singular that no part of it appears in his
lordship's *' Essays on the Lives and Writ-
ings of Fletcher of Saltoun, and the Poet
Thomson, 1792.'' 8vo. Mr. Park's commu-
nication was clearly too late for the noble
author's purpose. The conversation pro-
fesses tQ have been in October, 1791 ; to
my own knowledge the volume was finished
and ready for publication late in the pre-
ceding September, although the date 1792
is affixed to the title.

Thomson, it is believed, first tuned his
Doric reed in the porler's lodge at Drv-
burgh, more recently the residence of David
Stuart Erskine, earl of Buchan ; hence the
partiality which his lordship evinced for
the memory of the poet. At p. 194 of the
Essays are verses to Dr. De (la) Cour, in
Ireland, on his Prospect of Poetry, which
are there ascribed to Thomson, and ad-
mitted as such by Dr. Thomson, who
directed the volume through the press;
although it is certain that Thomson m bis
lifetime disavowed them. The verses to
Dr. De la Cour appeared in the Daily
Journal for November 1734; and Cave, the
proprietor and editor of the Gentleman's
Magazine, at the end of the poetical de-
partment in that, miscellany for August,
1736, states himself '< assured* from Mr

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Thomson, that, though the fertes to Dr. De
*'» Cour have some lines from his Setuont,
be knew nothing of the piece till he saw it
in the Daily Journal."

The appellation of the "oily man of
God/' in the Essays, p. 258, was intended
by the earl of Buchan for Dr. Murdoch,
who was subsequently a biographer of
Thomson. Such designations would puizle
a conjuror to elucidate, did not oontempo-
ranr persons eiist to afford a clue to them.

The recent number of the Table Book is
not at hand, but from some MS. papers
now before me,— James Robertson, sur-
geon to the household at Kew, who mar*
rted the sister of Amanda, was the bosom
friend of Thomson for more than twenty
Tears. His conversation is said to have
been facetious and intelligent, and his
character exemplarily respectable. Ue died
at his residence on Richmond Green after
four days' illness, 28th October, 1791, in
his eighty-fourth year.

The original MS. of the verses to Miss
Young, the poet's Amanda, on presenting
her with his " Seasons,*' printed in the
Essays, p. 280, were communicated by a
Mr. Ramsay, of Ocherlyne, to his lordship.
Some other presentation lines, with the
Seasons, to the poet Lyttleton, were tran*
scribed from a blank leaf of the book mi
Hagley, by Johnstone, bishop of Worow*
ter, and transmitted by his son to the earl
of Buchan in 1 793 or 1794, consequently too
late for publication. They follow here :«—

Go, little book, and find oar friend.

Who Nature and the Muses loves t
Whose cares the publio virtuek blend.

With all the softness of the f roves.

A fitter time thou ean*st not ebooM
Hi* fostering friendship to rppaj :—

Go then, and try, mj mrml muse.
To steal his widowed hours away.

Among the autograph papers which I
possess of Ogle, who published certain ver*
sifications of Chaucer, as also a work on
the Gems of the Ancients, are some verses
by Thomson, never yet piinted ; and their
transcripts, Mr. Editor, make their obei-
sance before you : —

Come, gentle god of soft desire I
Come and possess mj happy breut ;

Kot fury like, in flam « and firs.
In rapture, rage and nonsense drest

These are the ram disguise of lore,

And, or bespeak dissembled pains.
Or else a fleeting ferer prove,

Tha fraatie paasion of tko veist.

But come in Pneadahip^s aagtl^guiaeb
Yet dearer thou than frieadsbip art,

Mofe tender splnt at thine eyes.
More sweet emotions at thy heart

Oh come I with goodnees in thy trala ;

With peace and transport, void of
And would'st thou me for erer gain?

Pat on Amanda's waning fonn.

The foUowmg, also original, were written
by Thomson in commendation of his much
loved Amanda :—

Sweet tyrant Love, but hear me now I
And enre while young this pleasing smnrt.

Or rather aid my trembling vow.
And teach me to reveal my heart.

TeU her, whose goodness u my bsae.
Whose looks have smird my peace away.

Oh ! whisper how she gives me pain.
Whilst undesigning, frank, and gay.

'Tis not for common charms I sigh.

For what the vulgar, beauty call ;
rris not a cheek, a lip, aa eye.

Bat 'tis the soul that lights them all.

For that I drop the trader tear,
Kor that I make this artle:^ moan ;

Oh I sigh it. Love, into her ear.
And make the bashful lover kaowa.

In the hope that the present may draw
fiirih further reliquitB of the poet of the
*- Seasons '' in your excellent publication, 1
beg leave to subscribe myself,
Sir, &c.

Will o* THE Wisp.
Sept. 17, 18*27.

THE BEIlKSlllRE MISER.

The economy and parsimony of the Rev
Morgan Jones, late curate of Blewbury, a
parish about six miles from Wallingford,
were almost beyond credibility ; he baring
outdone, in many insunces, the celebrated
Elwes, of Marcham.

For many of ibe last years of Mr. Jones's
ministerial labours, he had no servant to
attend anv of his domestic concerns ; and
he never had even the assistance of a fe-
male within his doors for the last twelve
years. The offices of housemaid, chamber*
maid, cook, and scullion, and even most
part of his washing and mending. Mere
performed by himself; he was frequently
Known to beg needles and thread at some
of the farm-houses, to tack together hb
tattered garments, at which, from practire,

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he bad become very expert. He was curate
of Blewbury upwards of forty-three years ;
aod the same hat and coat served him for
his every-day dress during the whole of
that period. The brim of his hat had» on
one side, (by much handling,) been worn
off quite to the crown, but on coming one
day from the hamlet of Upton across the
fields, he luckily met with an old left-off
hat, stuck up for a scarecrow. He imme-
diately secured the prize, and with some
tar-twine, substituted as thread, and a
piece of the brim, quite repaired the defi-
ciencies of his beloved old one, and ever
after wore it in common, although the old
one was of a russet brown, and the new
brim nearly as black as jet. His coat,
when he first came from Ashton Keyns in
1781, was a surtout much the worse for
wear ; after some time he had it turned in»
^ide out, and made up into a common one.
Whenever it became rent or torn, it was as
speedily tacked together with his own
hands: at length pieces fell out and were
lost, and, as he found it necessary, he
cut pieces off the tail to make good the
upper part, until the coat was reduced to a
jacket, stuck about with patches of his own
applying. In this hat and coat, when at
home on woiking days, he was constantly
decorated, but he never wore it abroad or
before strangers, except he forgot himself,
as he several times had been much vexed
at the ridicule his grotesque appearance
had excited when seen by those with whom
he was not much acquainted. This extra-
ordinary coat (or more properiy jacket) ii
now in the possession of one of the parish-
ioners, and prized as a curiosity. His
stockings were washed and mended by
himself, and some of them had scarcely a
vestige of the original worsted. He had a
great store of new shirts, which had never
been worn, but for many years his stock
became reduced to one in use ; his parsi*
mony would not permit him to have this
washed more than once in two or tiiree
months, for which he reluctantly paid a
poor woman fourpence. He always slept
without his shirt, that it might not want
washing too often, and by that means be
worn out ; and he always went without one
while it was washed, and very frequently
at other times. This solitary shirt he
mend«d himself, and as fast as it required
CO be patched in the body he ingeniously
supplied it by cutting off the tail ; but, as
nothing will last for ever, by this constant
clipping it unfortunately became too short
to reach down his small-clothes. This, of
course, vas a sad disaster^ and there was

some fear least otie of the neW oftes muni
be brought into use; but, after a diligent
search, he fortunately found in one of hii
drawers the top part of a shirt with a fril
on, which had probably lain by ever since
his youthful and more gay days. This
with his usual sagacity, he tacked on» to the
tail of the old one, with the frill down-
wards, and it was thus worn until the day
before he left Blewbury. Latterly hi's
memory became impaired. He severa*
times forgot to change his dress, and was
more than once seen at the burial of a
corpse dressed in this ludicrous and curious
manner, with scarcely a button on any part
of his clothes, but tied together in various
parts with string. In this state he was by
strangers mistaken for a beggar, and barely
escaped being offered their charity.

His diet was as singular as his dress, fur
he cooked his pot only once a week, which
was always on a Sunday. For his sub-
sistence he purchased but three articles,
which he denominated two necessaries and
a luxury :** — the necessaries were bread
and bacon, the luxury was tea. For many
years his weekly allowance of bread was
half a gallon per week ; and in the season,
when his garden produced fruit, or when
he once or twice a week procured a meal at
his neighbours*, his half-gallon loaf lasted
him a day or two of the following week ;
so that in five weeks he often had no more
than four half-gallon loaves. He was also
equally abstemious in his other two arti-
cles. He frequently ate with his parish-
ioners ; yet for the last ten years there was
but a solitary instance of a person eating
with him in return, and that a particular
friend, who obtained only a bit of bread
with much difficulty and importunity. For
the last fifteen years there was never within
his doors any kind of spirits, beer, butcher's
meat, butter, sugar, lard, cheese, or milk ;
nor any niceties, of which he was particu-
larly food when they came free of expense,
but which he could never find the heart to
purchase. His beverage was cold water;
and at morning and evening weak tea,
without milk or sugar.

However cold the weather, he seldom
had a fire, except to cook with, and that
was so small that it might easily have
been hid under a half-gallon measure.
He was often seen roving the churchyard
to pick up bits of stick, or busily lopping
his shrubs or fruit-trees to make this fire^
while his woodhouse was crammed with
wood and coal, which he could not prevai'
upon himself to use. In very cold weather
he would frequently get by some of bii

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neighbours* fires to warm his sliivenng
limbs; and, when cveDing came, retire to
bed for warmth, but generally without a
candle, as he allowed himself only the
small bits left of those provided for dirine
service in the church by the parish.

He was never known to keep dog, cat, or
any other living creature : and it b certain
I the whole expenses of his house did not
I amount to half a crown a week for the last
twenty years; and, as the fees exceeded
that sum, he always saved the whole of
his yearly salary, which never was more
than fifty pounds per annum. Bv con-
stantly placing this sum in the fiinds, and
the interest, with about thirty pounds per
annum more, (the rent of two small estates
left by some relations,) be, in the course of
forty-three years, amassed many thousand
pounds, as his bankers, Messrs. Child and
to., of Fleet-street, can testify.

In his youthful days he made free with
the good things of this life ; and when he
first came to Blewbury, he for some time
boarded with a person by the week, and
during that time was quite corpulent : but,
as soon as he boarded and lived by himself,
his parsimony overcame his appetite, so
that Ht las^ he became reduced almost to a
living skeleton. He was always an early
nser, being seldom in bed after break of
day; and, like all other early risers, he
enjoyed an excellent state of health ; so
that for the long space of forty-three
years he omitted preaching only two Sun-
days.

His industry was such, that he composed
with his own hand upwaids of one thousand
sermons; but for the last few years his
hand became tremulous, and he wrote but
little; he therefore only made alterations
and additions to his former discourses, and
this generally on the back of old marriage
licenses, or across old letters, as it would
have been nearly death to him to have
purchased paper. His sermons were usually
plain and practical, and his funeral dis-
courses were generally admired; but the
fear of being noticed, and the dread of ex-
pense, was an absolute prohibition to his
sending any thing to the press, although he
was fully capable, being well skilled in the
English and Latin languages. The ex-
pense of a penny in the postage of a letter
nas been known to deprive him of a night's
rest! and yet, at times, pounds did not
grieve him. He was a reeular and liberal
subscriber to the Bible, Missionary, and
♦.he other societies for the propagation of
the Gospel and the conversion of the Jews;
and more than onoc he was srenerous

enough to ei^e a pound or tnu to assist a
distressed rellow-creature.

Although very fond of ale, he spent only
one sixpence on that liquor during the
forty-three years he was curate of Blew-
bury ; but h must be confessed he ased to
partake of it too freely when he could have
It without cost, until about ten years ago,
when at a neighbour's wedding, having
taken too much of this his fiivourite beve-
rage, it was noticed and talked of by some
of the persons present. Being hurt by
this, he made a vow never more to taste a
drop of that or any other strong liquor;
and his promise he scrupulously and
honestly kept, although contrary to his
natural desires, and exposed to many
temptations.*

A BALLAD.
For the Table Book.

*■ A rtrj fine featlemu treadi tke jawb.

He pauee oar eottafe dalj ;
We met ia the frore the ocker non,

Aad be Tow*d to lore me trnlj ;
He oiOl'd me hie dear, kia lore, hb Mfe.

And told me bu lieart was bmniof ;
But be never once eaid— will yoa be my wife?

So I left him bis offtrt ■paraiag.'*

** And what were bis offers to thee, my ebUd ^

Old Woodland said to Naacj—
«• Ob many tbingi, wbieb almoet begna*d

Vovr simple daofhter's faaej ;
He talk'd of jewels, laees, aad goU,

Of a eastle, serranta, and carriage ;
And I eonld have loVd the joath so bold.

Bat be aerer talk'd of marriage.

■* So I drew back my band, aad saTcd my bpi^

For I eared not for bis money ;
And I tbottgbt he was like the beewUcb aipa

From er'ry flower its honey •
Yet I think bis heart is a little beat

Towards me," said Nancy, ** aad marriage :
For last night, as soon as to sleep I weat,

I dream'd of a eastle aad carriage."

** *Twere wxwg, my child,** old Woodland said.

** Sneb idle dream to cherish
The loees of life foU aooa wiU fade.

They nerer sboold timeless perish ;
The flower that's plaek'd wiU briefly die.

Tho* placed oa a peerless bosom ;
And ere yon look with a loriag eye,

Think, think on a fadiag bloesom.**

Attgutt 22^^927.

C. Cou.

• Devisee Gaartti^ Sept. 18S7.

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VIEW IN HAGBUSH LANE, ISLINGTON,

A HUT, BBBCTED BT WILLIAM COBBALL, A POOB AND AGED LABOUBEB,

AFTEB THE YIOIJBin? AND LAWLESS DESTBUCTION OF mS COTTAGE,

EABLT IN THE MOBNING OF THE SIXTH OF 8EPTEUBEB, 1827.

'Twu Btnnge; 'twu iMudng strange I

TwM pitiful 1 'twu wond'xtras pitiful 1 "

I

I thoaght, in the Every-Day Book, that I
had done with '^Hagbosh-lane" altogether —
the tale of the poor man's wrongs, when
«the proud man's contumely" grew into
open aggression, had passed from me ; and
I presumed that, for hb little whUe on this

side the graTe, the oppressed might "go
free," and '* hear not the voice of the op-
pressor " — but when selfishness is unwatch-
ed it has a natural tendency to break forth,
and a sudden and recent renewal of an out-
rage, which every honest mind had con-

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demned, fonushes a fresh story. It is well
related in the following letter :^

To the Editor,

Sir,— In the first volume of the Enery-
Day Book you have favoured the lovers of
rural scenery with an historical and descrip-
tive notice of Hagbush-lane, Islington,
accompanied with an engraving of the
'* mud edifice" which formerly 8t<K)d there ;
of which you have given " the simple an»
nals :*'— its erection by a poor labourer who,
else, had no shelter for himself, wife, and
child, to " shrink into,** when ** pierced
by wintry winds ;**— its demolition by the
wealthy occupants of the neighbouring
fields; — the again-houseless man's endea-
vour to rebuild his hovel ;'4he rich man's
repetition of the destruction of his half-
finished hut;*-and finally, the labourer's
succeeding in the erection of a cottage,
more commodious than the first, where be
continued unmolested to sell small beer to
|>oor workmen and way fiairers.— Allow me,
sir, the melancholy task of informing you
of the " final destruction " of this sample
of rusticity.— Hagbush-lane is despoiled of
its appropriate ornament.

I nave ever been an admirer of the beau-
tiful scenery that is to be met with on that
side of the metropolis ; and never, since
reading your interesting narrative and de*
icription, have I strolled that way, without
passing through Hagbush-lone. On enter-
mg the wide part from the field by Copen-
hagen-house, one day last week, I was sadly
astonished at the change— ^he cottage, with
its garden-rails and benches, had disap-
peared ; and the garden was entirely laid
waste : trees, bushes, and vegetables rudely
torn up by the roots, lay withering where
they had flourished. Upon the site of his
demolished dwelling stood tlie poor old
man, bent by afi^iction as much as by age,
.eaning on his stick. From the heart-
broken expression of his features, it did
not take me a moment to guess the cause
of this devastation : -* the opulent land-
holder has, for the third time, taken this
ungentle expedient to rid his pastures of a
neighbouring ** nuisance " — the hut of
cheerless poverty.

The distressed old rustic stated, that on
Thursday, (which was the sixth of Septem-
ber,) at about six o'clock in the morning,
before the inmates had arisen, a party of
workmen came to the cottage ; and, merely
informing them that ** they must disturb
them/' instantly commenced the work of
destruction. His dwelling was soon level-
l«i with the ground; and the growth of

nis garden torn up, and thrown in a heap
into the lane. lie declared, with a tear,
that '< it had ruined him for ever, and
would be the death of him." I did not
ask him many questions : it had been a sin
to probe his too deeply wounded feelings.

Proceeding up the lane, to where it is
crossed by the new road, I perceived that,
in the open space by the road-side, at the
entrance into the narrow part of the lane,
the old man had managed to botch up, with
pieces of board and old canvass, a misera-
Die shed to shelter him. It was surrounded
with househcdd utensils, and what materials
he had saved from the ruins of his cottage
— ^ most wretched sty — but little larger
than the dog-kennel that vras erected near
it, from which a faithful cur barked loudly
at the intruder's footstep.

Being a stranger in the neighbourhood, I
cannot pretend to know any thing of the
motives that have induced his rich neigh-
bours thus to distress the poor and aged
man; — ^perhaps they are best known to
themselves, and it is well if they can justify
them to any but themselves 1 — ^but surely,
surely he will not be suffered to remain
thus exposed in the approaching season,

** — «U amid the rifrrara of the jesr.

In Am wild depth of winter, while withoat

The ceaseleM winds blow ice.**— —

Perhaps, sir, T give too much room to
my feelings. My intention was but to in-
form you of a regretted change in a scene
which you have noticed and admired in the
Bvtrtf'Day Book, Should you consider it
worthy of further notice in the Table Book^
you will oblige me by putting it forward in
what fonn best pleases yourself.
I remain, &c.

Sept, 19, 1827. So amd So.

This communication, accompanied by
the real name and address of its warm-
hearted writer, revived, my recollections
and kindled my feelings. I immediately
wrote to a friend, who lives in the vicinage
of Hagbush-lane, requesting him to hasten
to the site «f the old cottage, which was
quite as well known to him as to me, and
bring me a drawing of the place in its pre-
sent state, with such particulars of the
razing of the edifice as he could obtaia
His account, as I collect it from verbal nar
ration, corroborates that of my correspond-
ent.

So complete has been the devastation,
that a drawing of the spot whereon the
cottage stood would merely be a view of
the level earth. My friend walked over it

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and along Hagbush^lane, till he came into
the new road, (leading from the King's
[lead at UoUoway to the lower road from
London to Kentish Town.) Immediately at
ihe comer of the continuation of Hagbush*
.ane, which begins on the opposite side of the
lew road, he perceived a new hul, and near
t the expelled occupant of the cottage,
which had been laid waste in the other
part of the lane. On asking the old man
•especting the occasion and manner of his
ejectment, he cried. It was a wet and
ireary day ; and the poor fellow in tears, and
lis hastily thrown up tenement, presented
I cheerless and desolate scene. His story
was short. On the Thursday, (mentioned
n the letter,) so early as five in the morning,
some men brought a ladder, a barrow, and
A pickaxe, and ascending the ladder began
to untile the roof, while the old man and
»iis wife were in bed. He hastily rose;
J)ey demanded of him to unlock the door ;
on bis refusing they burst it open with the
pick-axe, and having thus forced an en«
trance compelled his wife to get up. They
then wantonly threw out and broke the few
household utensils, and hewed down the
walls of the dwelling. In the little garden,
they rooted up and destroyed every tree,
shrub, and vegetable; and finally, they
levelled all vestiges which could mark the
place, as having been used or cultivated for
the abode and sustenance of human beingiu
Some of the less destructible requisites of
the cottage they trundled in the barrow
up the lane, across the road, whither the
old man and his wife followed, and were
left with the few remnants of their miser-
able property by the housebreakers. On
that spot they put together their, present
hut with a few old boards and canvass, as
represented in the engraving, and there
<hey remain to tell the story of their un-
redressed wrongs to all who desire the par-
ticulars.

The old man represents the ^ ringlead-
er," as he calls him, in this last work of
ruin, to be the foreman of a great cow-
keeping landholder and speculator, to
whose field-possessions the cottage on the
waste was adjacent. Who employed this
'* ringleader'' and his followers? Who
was the instigating and protecting accessary
before and after this brutal housebreaking,
and wilful waste ?

The helpless man got his living by sell-
ing small beer, and a little meat, cooked
by his wife, to others as poor and helpless
as themselves; and they eked out their
existence by their garden produce. In the
summer of 1825 I beard it said, that their

cottage was the resort and drinking-place
of idle and disorderly persons. I took some
pains to ascertain the nict ; but could never
trace it be}«ond — the most dubitable autho-
rity^—general report. It is quite true, that
I saw persons there whom 1 preferred not
to sit down with, because their manners
aiid habits were different from my own ;
yet I not unfrequently took a cup of the
old nan's beer among them, and silently
watdied them, and sometimes talked with
them ; and, for any thing that I could ob-
serve—and I know myself to be a close
observer — ^they were quite as honourable
and moral, as persons of more refined lan-
guage and dress, who frequent respectable
coffee-houses* I had been, too, withinside
the cottage, which was a place of rude ac-
commodation for no more than its settled
occupants. It was on the outside that the
poor couple entertained their customers,
who usually sat on the turf seat against the
foot-path side of the hut, or on an empty
barrel or two, or a three-legged milking-
stool. On the hedge side of the cottage
was a small low lean-to, wherein the old
man kept a pig to fatten. At the front end
was an enclosure of a few feet of ground,
with domestic fowls and their callow
broods, which ran about cackling, and
routine the earth for their living. In the
rear of the cottage was a rod or two of
ground banked off, and well planted with
potatoes, cabbages, and other garden stuff,
where I have often seen the old man fully
employed in weeding and cultivating;
digging up old, or preparing for new crops,
or plashing and mending his little fences.
Between his vegetables, and his live stock,
and his few customers, he had enough to
do ; and I never saw him idle. I never
saw him sitting down to drink with them ;
and if he had, there was nothing among
them but the small beer. From the early
part of the spring to the end of the year just
mentioned,! have been past and loitered
near the cottage at all hours of the day,
from the early dawn, before even the sun,
or the inmates had risen, till after they had
gone to rest, and the moon was high, and
the stars were in their courses. Never in
the hours I spent around the place by
day or night, did I see or hear any persons
or practices that would be termed disor-
deriy by any but the worst judges of human
nature and morals — the underbred overp>-
lite, and vulgarly overdressed. There I have
seen a brickmaker or two with their wives
and daughters sitting and regaling, as much
at home, and as sober and innocent, as parties
of French Uidies and gendemen atChedron'f

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in Letoeater -square; and from these peo-
ple, if spoken to civilly, there was lan-
niage as civil. Tliere I have seen a com-
lortably dressed man, in a clean shirt, and
a coat and hat as good as a Fleet-street
tradesman's, with a jug of tmaU '< entire **
before him, leisurely at worlc on a pair of
shoes, joining in the homely conversation,
and in choruses of old English songs, raised
by his compeers. There, too, I have heard
a company of merry-hearted labourers and
holiday -mailing journeymen, who had
straggled away from their smithies and
fur aces in the lanes of London, to breathe
the fresh air, pealing out loud laughter,
while the birds whistled over their heads
from the slender branches of the green
elms. In the old man I saw nothing but
unremitting industry ; and ic his customers
nothing but rude yet inoffensive good-nature.
He was getting his bread by the sweat of
nis brow, and his brow was daily moistened
by labour.

When I before relate<l something of this
poor man's origin,* and his former endur-
ances, I little suspected that I should have
to tell that, after the parochial officers of Is-
lington had declined to receive him into the
poor-house, the parish would suffer him to
be molested as a labourer on its waste. He
has been hunted as a wild beast ; and, per-
haps, had he been a younger man, and with
vindictive feelings, he might have turned
round upon his enemies, and lawlessly
avenged nimselCfor the lawless injuries in-
flicted on him. Vagrancy is easily tempted
to criminality, and the step is short.

It is scarcely three weeks since the old
cottager was in a snug abode of his own
hand male ing, with a ga^en that had yielded
support to him and his wife through the
summer, and roots growing in it for their
winter consumption. These have been
mercilessly laid waste at the cominff-in of
the inclement season. Will no one rarther
investij^te the (acts, and aid him in obtain-
ing " indemnity for the past, and security
for the future r

Respecting the rights of the parish of
Islington in Hagbusb-Jane, as the ancient
and long disused north road into London,
I do not pretend to determine; because,
after the warm discussioiis and strong reso-
lutions of its vestries, K>metime ago, re-
specting a part of this roid which had been
partially appropriated to private use, the
parish may have thoroughly good reasons
tor acquiescing in the entire stopping up

• In tke ftnt Tidiime of tlie £twiy>I>ay BooJ^Vo,
88, whkb Matamt the aooout «f U«fbosli-UM tmd
iU viciBi^(«(ML 867 tQ 878.

of a carriage thoroughfare, between the hsLck
road to Holloway and Islington upper
street, which, if now open, woutd be of great
use. Many of the inhabitants, however
may not be so easily satisfied as a few
that the individual, who has at length
wholly enclosed it, and shut it against the
public, has any more right to stop up, and
take the ground of this highway to himself
than to enclose so much of the road to
Holloway through which the mails pass.

I have often perambulated Uagbush-lane,
as the old London north road, from Old-
street across the City-road, the Lower and
Upper Islington, and Holloway roads, by
the Islington workhouse, on to the Boll ring
field ; Twhich is in private hands, no one
knows now ;) from thence, over the site of
the destroyed cottage to tlie old man's pre-
sent hut ; then along the meadows; across
the Hiehgate«archway-cut into other mea-
dows, through which it winds back again,
and recrosses the archway-cut, and after-
wards crosses the London road, between
stately elms, towards Hornsey*

Perhaps the Commissioners of Crown
Lands, or Woods and Forests, may find it
convenient and easy to institute an inquiry
into the encroachments of Ilagbusb-lane,
as a disused public road; and devise a
method of obtaining its worth, in aid of
the public service.

Meantime, the aggression on the old cot-
tager must not be forgotten. The private
wrong he has sustained is in the nature of
a public wrong ; and it is open to every
one to consider of the means by whici
these repeated breaches of the peace may
be prevented, and redress be obtained fo
the poor man's injuries. «

0wcritk $laps(^

No. XXXV.

J From the ''Hectors,** a Comedy; by
mund Prestwick, 1641.]

A WoMttng Mold wkeedkf an old Justice
into a beHef, that her Lady ie in love with
Jdm.

AToliK. I think there oerer wu Woman of w ttranfe
a hnmour as th« it for tho world ; for from her infaaof
she erer doted on old men. I hare heard her laj, thai
in these her late law tronblee, it has been no sma
comfort to her, that she hath been eoBTcrtant with
fraTO eoanseUors and seijeaats ; and what a happincn
she had sometimes to look an hoar together apon the
Jndges. She will go and walk a whole afternoon in
Charter Hoote Qarden« on purpose to Tiew the aaei««i
Oentlemen there. Not long ago there was a jonaf
QeadMua here abo«t tia town who. hearing of he*

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rehvtt ap'l Vaowng fliis h^r hnmonr. Iiad almost gut
Mr, by «rwint«ifeitiBg himMlf to be aa old maa.

Jnstiee. Aod how came be to miss hrr ?

Maid. The strangllest that eve ■ yos heard ; for all
things were agreed, the rerf writings drawn, and whea
he eaoM to seal them, beeanse he set his naote withont
asing a paii of npeetaeles, nhe would never see him more.

Jmstiet, Na/, if she san lore an old maa so— well—

The Waiting Maid place9 the Juetiee^
where he can overhear a sham dieeouree of
the La4fy with a pretended Brother.

Brother, What is the matter. Sister ? joa do not
nse to be so strange to mo.

Ladg. I do not indeed ; but now methinlu I cannot
conceal anjr thing ; jet T eoald wish 700 oonld now
guess mj thonghts, and look into mj mind ; and see
what 8tra«ige passions hare roled there of late, without
fsreing me to strain mj modesty.

Broth. What, are jon in lore with anybody ? Come^
let me know the party ; a brother's adrioe may do yoa
no harm.

Sut. Did you not see an ancient gentleman with me,
when yon same in ?

BrvfA. What, Is it any son or kinsman of his?

Siit, No, nob (She weepe.)

Broth. Who then ?

Si$t. I haTo told yon—

Broth, What, that feeble and deerepit piece of age—

Siit. Nay, brother—

Broth. That sad effect of some threeseore years and
ten— that aatie rcdlqne of the last oentary—

Siit. Alas, dear brother, it is bat too tme.

Broth. It is impossible.

Sist. One would think so indeed.

Broth, I grant, yon may bear a rerercaee and re*
gard, as to your father's ashes, or yoor graadsire*s tomb.

Siit. Alas, brother, yoo know I nerer did aflbet
rhose Tain though pleasing braTeries of youth, but still
hare set my mind on the more noble part of man,
which age doth more refine and elaborate, than it doth
lepress and ^k this same contemptible elod.

JuiHce. 1 see, she loves me.

[From ** Hey for Honesty,** a Comedy,
7 T.Randolph, 1651.]

To PhdHS,
Did not Will Summers break hb wbd for thre ?
And Shakespeare therefine writ his comedy ?
All thnigs acknowledge thy rast power dirine.
Great God of Money, whose most powerful shiae
GiTOS motion* life ; day rises from thy sight,"
Thy setting though at noon makes pitdiy night
Sole catholie cause of what we fiwl and see.
All in this all aro but the effects of thee.

Rickee above Povertff g aigUogiem.
—My mejor^ That which is meet noble, is most
boiK|rabk. But Porerty is more adb\e. My miwr I
prafre thus. Whose houses are most aadeat, those are
amstnoblei Bat Poverty's houses aremoet aadeat i
i»r some of then are so old, like Viearagc houses, they
era ereiy hoar ia danger of falling.

Stationer e Preface before the Play.
Reader, this is a pleasant Comedy, though soae
nay Judge it satirical, *tis the mora like Aristophaacs.
the father; besides, if it be biting, 'tis a biting age we
live la I then biting for biting. Agaia, Tom Raadal,
the adopted sob of Ben Jonsoa, being the Translator
hereof; followed his father's stepe. Tkey both of them
lored Sack, and harmless mirth, and hero they shew
it; and I, that kaow myself, am not averse from it
neither. This I thought good to acquaint thee with.
Farowell. Thine, F. J.

[From the " Example," aTragi-Comedy,
by Jas. Shirley, 1638.J

The humonr of a wary Knighty who eleepe
all day, and wake* all night, for eecurity.^^
He calli up hie Honechold at midnight.

PleL Dormant, why Dormant, thou eternal sleeper
Who would be troubled with these lethaifies
About him ? an yon come, dreamer ?

BormoMt (entering.) Would I were so happy.
There's less nmse in a steeple upon a Conmation-day.
O sleep, sleep, tho* it were a dead one, would be com-
fortablei Your Worship might be pleased to let my
fellow Old-rat watch as weU as I.

Plot. OU-rat 1 that fellow is a drone.

Dona. He has slept thi« half hour on the iron chest
Would I were b my grave to talce a nap ; death would
^ me a ooortesy ; I should be at rest, and hear ao
aoise of** Dormant."

Plot. Hah 1 what's the matter?

Jhrm. Nothing but a yawn. Sir, I do all I can to
keep myself wakiag.

Plot 'Tis done considerately This heavy dulness
Is the disease of souls. Sleep in the night I

Jhrm. Shall I wake my feUow Old-rat? he is re^
freehed.

Plot Do I but return yoa with him : I have business
with both—

Dorm, To hear us join ia opinion of what's a dock I
They talk of Endymion : now could I sleep three Hves.

(OMit.)

Plot. When other men measure the houn with sleep,
Careless of where they are aad whom they trust,
Expoemg their condition to danger
Of plots, I wake aad wisely think preveatioa.
Ki^t wae aot made to snore ia : but so calm.
For our imaginatioas to be stirring
About the world t this subtls world, this world
Of plots aad dose eoaspiraey. There is
No faith ia maa aor womaa. Where's this Dormaat ?

Dona, (re-entering with Oid-rat) Here is the sleepy
▼ermia.

Old. It has beea day thb two houn.

Plot Thea *tis time Ibr om to go to bed.

Borm, Would my hour were once eome 1

PteL Keep out daylight, aad set up a fresh taper.

Bern. By that time we have diaed, he will have
slept out hb first deep.

Old. And after supper call for his braakfast

Plot. Yon are sure 'tis laoraing ?

Borm. Am sure as I an sleepy.

C L.

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Fvr thi Table Book.
IMPERIAL FATE.

- Let as ait npon the grottsd^

And tell sad stories of the desth of Kioga :—
How eoae have been depoe'd, some slain in war ;
Some haonted bj the ghoits they hare deposd :
Some poisoa'd bj their wires, some sleeping killed ;
All mqrder'd :— For within the hollow crown.
That xonnds the mortal temples of a king.
Keeps Death his oonrt^

RicHAao II.

Does any man envy the situation of
monarchs? Let him peruse tlie following
statement, which particularizes the deaths
of the forty-seven Roman emperors, from
Julius Ceesar to Constantine the Great;
only thirteen of whom encountered ** the
last enemy " in the ordinary course of na-
ture:—

B.C.

42.

A.D.

15.
39.

Juthu C<g»arw2a murdered by Brutus
and others in the senate-house.

Augustus Casab died a naturul
death,

Tiberhu was smothered with pillows,
at the instigation of Macro, the
friend of Caligula.

42. Caligula was stabbed by Cherea and
other conspirators, when retiring
from the celebiation of the Pala-
tine games.

55. Clauditu was poisoned by the artifice

of his wife Aggrippina.
*
69. Nero in the midst of a general revolt
was condemned to death by the
senate. Upon hearing of which
he killed himself with a dagger.

69. Sergiue Gatba conspired against by

Otho, by whose partisans he was
beheaded.

70. Otho destroyed himself, to avoid fur<*

ther contest with his competitor
Vitellius.

70. Fitelliui was massacred by the popu-
lace, who threw his dead body
into the Tiber.

79. Vbsp ASIAN died a natural death.

81. Titue. It is suspected that his death
was hastened by his brother Do*
mitian.

96. Oofliffkfi was murdered by Stephanui
and other oonspirators.

98. Nekva ^Ueda natural deatL
117. Trajan ditto.
138. Adrian ditto,

161. Titus Antoninus, called Antoninus
Pius, ditto.

180. Marcus AuRELius, called Antoninus
the Philosopher, ditto.

192. Commodut was strangled by Narcissus
and other conspirators.

192. Pertinax was murdered by the sdl«
diers.

195. Didiue Julian was beheaded by the
soldiers.

211* Septimus Sevebvs died a Motural
death.

217. Caraealla and Geta, joint emperors.

Geta was killed by his brother
Caraealla, who was afterwards
killed by Martial.

218. Opilliue Macrinue yifia killed by the

partisans of Heliogabalus.

222. Heliogabahv was murdered by the
sold IP ' Ho threw his dead body
into lub 4.iuer.

235. Alexander was beheaded by the fc»l-
diers.

238. Maximin was murdered by his omn
guards.

238. Maximua and Balbinue, ioint einpe
rors, were both murdered by the
prKtorian guards.

243. Gordian was murdered by order of
Phi'ip, whom he had associated
with him in the command of the
empire.

248. PhiUp was murdered by the soldiers.

251. Deeiue destroyed himself, after having
been defeated by the Goths.

253. Gallue was slain in battle, with his
competitor Emilianus.

259. Valerian was taken prisoner by Sapo%
king of Persia, who caused iurn
to be cruelly murdered.

268. Galienui was slain by his own sol-
diers.

270. Claudius died a natural death.

275. AureUan was murdered by Menesthui
and other conspirators.

275. Tacitus died a natural death.

282. Protet was murdered by his&olliers

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284. CafUB and his 8oa% Carinm and
Nwnerian, joint emperors. The
father was struck dead by lights
ning, and both his sons were
murdered.

304. Diocletian and Maxkniany joint em-
perors. Dioclestan resigned the
empire, and died either by poison
or madness. Maximian also re-
signed, but was afterwards con-
demned to death by Constantine.

306. CoNSTANTius and
311. Galerius,

t joint emperors,
both died a no-
tural death.

343. Constantine the Great died a no'
tural death*

Where did these events occur? Among
the savage tribes of interior Africa, or the
rude bart>arians of modem Eluropet No :
but in Rome— imperial Rome— in her
" high and palmy state,'' when she was
mistress of tne world, and held within her
dominion all the science and literature of
which the earth conid boast. Surely we
may with reason doubt, whether the moral
improvement of mankind invariably keeps
pace with their intellectual advancement.

O.Z.

ILLFATED ROYAL FAMILIES.

The Line of Charleuaohb.

The successors of Charlemagne in bis
French dominions, were examples of a
melancholy destiny.

His son, Louis le Debonnaire^ died for
want of food, in consequence of a supersti-
tious panic.

His successor, Charles the Bald, was
poisoned by his physician.

The son of Charles, Louis the Stutterer,
fell also by poison.

Charles, King of Aquitaine, brother to
Louis, was fatally wounded in the head by
a lord, named Albuin, whom he was en-
deavouring, by way of frolic, to terrify, in
disguise.

Louis III., successor to Louis the Stut-
terer, riding through the streets of Tours,
pursued the handsome daughter of a citizen
named Germond, till the tenifted girl took
refuge in a house ; and the king, thinking
more of her charms than of the size of the
sateway, attempting ^o for^e h^a hgrs^ s^ter
her, broke bis badi^ 9ifA ^vA%

His successor, Carloman, fell by an ill
directed spear, thrown, by his own servant,
at a wild boar.

Charles the Fat perished of want, grief,
and poison, all together.

His successor, Charles the Simple, died
in prison of penury and despair.

Louis the Stranger, who succeeded him,
was bruised to death as he was hunting.

Lotharius and Louis V., the two last
kings of the race of Charlemagne, were
both poisoned by their wives.

After a revolution of two hundred and
thirty years, there remained of the whole
line of Charlemagne, onlv Charles, duke
of Lorrain; and he, after ineffectually
struggling in defence of his rights against
Hugh Capet, sunk beneath the fortune of
his antagonist, and ended his life and race
in solitary confinement.

The French historians observe, that the
epithets given to the princes of the line of
Charlemagne, were, almost all, eicpressive
of the contemptuous light in which that
family was held by the people over whom
it reigned.

The Stvabts.

The royal line of Stuart was as steadily
unfortunate as any ever recorded in history.
Their misfortunes eontinoed with unabated
succession, daring three hundred and ninety
years.

Robert III. broke his heart, because his
eldest son Robert was starved to death,
and his youngest, James, was made a cap-
tive.

James I., after having beheaded three of
his nearest kinded, was assassinated bv his
own uncle, who was tortured to death
for it.

James IL was slain by the bursting of a
piece of ordnance.

James III., when flying from the field
of battle, was thrown from his horse, and
murdered in a cottage, into which he had
been carried for assistance.

James IV. fell in Flodden field.

James V. died of grief for the wilful ruin
of his army at Solway Moss.

Henry Stuart, lord Darnley, was as-
sassinated, and then blown up in his pa-
lace

Mary Stuart was beheaded in England.

James I. (and VL of Scotland) died,
not without suspicion of being poisoned
by lord Buckingham.

Charles I. was beheaded at Whitehall.

Charles II. was exiled for many yean;
and when he ascended the throne becan

r*'*r""

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IHE jTABLE book.

A slave to his pleasures : he lived a sen-
sualist, and diea miserably.

James II. abdicated the crown, and died
in banishment.

Anne, after a reign, which though glo-
rious, was rendered unhappy by party dis-
putes, died of a broken heart, occasioned
oy the quarrels of her favoured servants.

The posterity of James II. remain pro-
scribed and exiled.

^rffffnal ^ottrp*

For the Table Booh.
TALES OF TINMOUTHE PRIORIE.
No. I.
THE MAIDEN OF THE SEA.

** Al maner Mynstnlcje,
** That aa/ man kaa specifje^
• • • •

** And manj ankonth notyt Beir»
** Offe swiche folke ab lovid trewe.**

JOHH LlB04TS.

O load howlt the wiad o'er the blae, blae deep^
And loud on the shore the dashing waves sweeps
And merk is the night bjr land and bj sea.
And woe to the stranger that's oat on the lea.

Closed fast is the gate of the priory hall,*
UnseatAed stand the towers of the castle* so tall.
High flare the flames on the hearth-stane so wide.
Bat woe to the stranger that crosses the tide.

Hark I hark t at the portal who's Toice is so bold-
It cannot be opened for silrer or gold—
The foemaa Is near with his harrjing brand.
And brent are the homes of Norlhamberland.

I'm no foeman, no Soot, ia sooth now to sajr.
Bat a minstral who weareth the peaceful la/ 1
Wjrnken de Mowbraf the Prior doth know,
Then open the gate, for the north winds blew.

Who hath not heard De Mowbraj's song ?
The softest harp in the minstrel throng ;
O many a trae lo?e tale can he sing.
And toach the heart with his melting string.

Now while the welkin with tempest rares.
And the angry ocean maddens hb warea,
Arooad tha hearth-staae we'll listen to thee.
And bsgoiie the long night with miastraleye.

• TTnemooth castle and priory, which stand together
an t Mcak pitMBootonr.

O fwaaC and wUd is the barpei^ atndn.
As its magic steals o'er the raptar'd braia«
And hash'd is the crowd of hearers all.
As thronged they sat b the priory haU.

** O what is sweeter and softer than thott

** Heather-bell on the mountain brow ?

** And what is more purs than the sparkliiy ^v

** That kisses that heather4)eU so Uae ?

** Yes 1 far far sweeter and purer is shs^

** The dark-eyed Maidea of the Sea.

■* What is more sweet in the leafy grove

* Than the ntghtbgale's plaintiTe song of lore ?
** And what is mors gay than the lark of spring,
** As he carrots lightly on heaven-bent wing?

** O yes, more sweet and more gay is she,
« The dark-eyed Maiden of the Sea.

** Her raTen-tresses in nngleta flow,
*■ Her step is more light than the forest doe,
** Her dark eyes shine 'aeath their silken lash.
** like the bright but lambent light'ning fla^h
** Of a summer eve, as noiseless it plays
M 'Midst a miUioa stars of yet softer rays.

** The beauteous Eltha's evening song
** Is wafted o'er tlie swelUng wave,

** And it catches the ear, as it steals along,
** Of wondering seamen, while billows lave

** la gentle mnrmnrs his vessel's prow,

** As he voyages to where die cedars grow.

** A shallop is riding upon the sea,
•* With her broad sail furl'd to the mast :

** A pennon brave floats fair and free
** On the breese, as it whispers past:

** And who is that stranger of lofty mien
** Who is TOck'd on the salt, salt tide ?

** He is from a foreign land I ween,

** A stranger of meikle pride.

•* He has heard the beauteous Eltha's aotea
** Borne far on the eventide breese^

** Like the eastern perfume that distant floats
** O'er the silver snrfisc'd seas.

** The stranger hath seen dark Eltha^ eya,

** As it glanc'd o'er the wave so gvsen i
** And mark'd her tresses of ravea-dye»

** (More beauteous than golden sheen,)
** Interwoven with sea-flowers of whitca'd hne^
« Such flowers as never in garden grew,
** But pluck'd from the eavens of oceaa deep

* By the last stormy waves' fast rashing sweeps

* And left on the strand aa a tribute to thesb
«• Thou dark-eyed Maiden of the Sea.

* The stranger lov'd dark Eltha's lay,

* And he lov'd her bright, bright eye;
'^ And he sued for the lore of that maidta ga/,
•• As she wander'd the oeeaa aigU

** He gain'd her love, for his form had (twot^
" Aad stately was hb strida I

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flu gendcfw ■how'd Urn of noble rseo^
** Tbo' HMunlnf ob biUowt widt :—
*■ But fair tkimt th« breoia o'er tht placid ten,

* And tko fltran^ miut hit to a far oottBtrie.

•« Dark Eltka sUU liagt bat her mo; it doir,

* And tbo west wind eatehet ito monrafal
** Tbo mariner* woader the chaoged lay,

** Ab their elothfol barks calm lingering stay s
** The eongetiMi* cheek it wan and pak,
■* And her treeses neglected float on (he gale t
*■ The tea flower ie thrown on iti rockj bed,
** The once gaj Eliha'i peace it fled,
** The eye of the Maiden ia dark aad bright,
*« Bat it rirals no more the diamond*i light

** Now many a day thon hast gas*d o^er the sea

** For the bark of thy loTer in vain,
'* Aad many a stem thon hast shndder'd to see

** Spread Its wings o'er the aager^d main t
— *• Is he faithless the stranger N-JbigetfU of thee r
•• Thon beantoons Maiden of the Sea.

- On many a whiten'd sail hast thon gas*d,
■* TiU the lasy breen bore it on.

Bat they pais, and thy weary eyes are glas'd,

** As they trace the bark jost gone :
, None hare the pennon, so free and fair,
** As the stranger ship which once tarried then

On yea tall cliff to whose broken base
* Load snrgiag waree for erer race,

- A form u bent o^er the fearfol height,
*• So eager, that a feather's weight

•« Wonld cast its poised balaaoe o*er.
And leaTe a maagled corse on the shore.

" Tis Eltha*s form, that with eager glance,

** Scans the wide world of waTcs, as they dance,
*• Uprsis'd by the sigh of the east wind ohiU,
*« Which wafts to the ear the sersam so shriU
** Of the whirling sea mews, as landward they fly,
'* —To seamen a mark that the storm is nigh.

■« And what is yon ^tant speck on the ssa,

*• That seems bat a floating beam,
*■ Sa?e that a pennon fair and fiee

** Wares in the son's bright gleam ?

*« A bark is driren with rapid sail,

'* Its pennon Car spread on flie moaning gale,

** A foamy track at its angry keel,

** And the billows aroand it maddening reel ;

*« The white friag'd snrges dash OTsr its prow

** As its masts to the pressing caarass bow—

** Bat 0 with rapid, flend'likfl^ haste,
** The breese rolls o'er (he watery wasts^
** Aad looder is heard the deafnlng roar

* Of Om waves dashing fleree on the trembling shoit,

* Ten thonsaad eddyiag billows rscsde,

* Aad ratan again with aa arrow's speed,

* Till the flaky foam on the wind is spread,
» Far, far abore their oeean bed,

* And boom oTer the eUff when Sltha*s farm

* li seen to await the deadly storm.

** Keep to the wind with a tanghten'd nheeU*

** Thon bark ttom a stianger land,
** No daring aorthem pibt would meet

** A storm like this near the strand {
** No kindly haTen of shelter is here^
** Then whilst thon may,— to seaward steer ;
^ Bat thoa com'st, with a wide aad flowing saiX

To a rock bonnd coaet in an eastern gale,
• Thoa wilt sse the danger around thee at last,
** Whea the hour of safety for ever is past ;

* And 0 it is past, thou an now embay'd,

** And around thee gathers the evening shade,
•* Tky last sua has sst in a red, red sky,
•• Thy last Vesper hyma is the fearful cry
** Of the ominous sea bird shrieking oa high.

* The Bight aad the storm have hidden from riev
«* The fated ship sad her gallaat erew,

** And the last sight seea on the foamy sea
** W«a a peanoB broad streaming fair and free.

•* The morrow is come aad the storm is o'er.

** And the billows more slowly dash,
** But shatter'd timben are spread on the shore

** Beyond the ebb-wares' wash i
•• StiU are the hearts of the gallaat band

«• Which erst did beat so trust
** They'll never more lee their fktherlaad,

*• Where their pUyful chiUhood grew.

•• And on a shelving rock is seen,

** Enwrapp'd in a shroud of sea-weed green,

** A noble corse, whose marble brow

** Is duster'd with locks of auburn hue ;

** And eren in death, his manly form

** Seems to mock the rage of the aorthern storm.

* In his hsad is elasp'd a Jewel rare

•• Eashriaing a lock of black, black hair ;

** And on his cold breast, near his heart, is display'd

«• A golden gift of the dark-ey'd maid.

* The lovely Eltha's smiles are fled,

«• Aad she wildly looks o'er the ocean-bed

«• With sunken glance and a pale, pale cheek,

** And her oace^bonnding step is slow and weak i

«* On the wave she launches the blue sea-shell

*■ Which swims for a moment then sinks in the swell

«• And wilder'd she bends o'er the chrystal billow

•* Aa it eddying whirls to its eoial pillow s

** She faacys a fairy bark is sped

** To bring her cold lore from the land of the dead }

** But no tears on her sunken eye-lids quiver,

** Her reaeon is fled for ever !— for ever 1—^

De Mowbray's soft harp oeas'd the mooraful stnun

But awakea'd the brokea notes once agaia,

like the throb of the heart strings when dying they

sever.
They stop— thrillr-stop— aad are silent for ever.

Alpba.
SepfMB&M', 1897.

• Kmp to th9 wind, 9m, This line is a technics
description of the sails of a vessel when eontsBdiiq
against the wind.— ax^

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For the Table Book.

MY POCKET-BOOK.

I crave good Mr. Du B 'a pardon

for my '< flat burglary '' with regard to the
title of the present little paper. It is very
:ar from my intention to endeavour in any
way to place myself in competition with
that great satirical genius, of whose very
superior talents and brilliant wit I am
pleased to be thus afforded an opportunity
of avowing myself an ardent admirer : but
as this title suits my purpose, I must en-
treat his permission to appropriate it, and
merely remind Him of the poet Puffs ex-
cuse on a somewhat similar occasion — -
** All that can be said is— that two people
happened to hit upon the same thought,
(title,) and Shakspeare ^Du B—^— ) made
use of it first, that is all.

Pocket-books (as implied by their name)
were originally intended as portable recep-
tacles for our different memoranda, remarks
and communications. But now . it is no
longer honoured by an immediate attend*
ance on our person ; its station at present
is confined to the bureau, desk, or private
drawer. What man who can boast ot being
flf*iin OMsez bon air would consent to injure
his exquisite adonUation of coat, by wear-
ing a pocket-book in his side-breast pocket,
and thus ungratefully frustrate alt poor
Mr. Stultz's efforts at an exact and perfect
Ht, The ladies, for some reason, concern-
ing which I do not so much as venture
even a surmise, (for Heaven forefend that
I should attempt to dive into these sacred
mysteries, or, as " Uncle Selby" would call
them, femalitietj have entirely given up
the use ot pockets, therefore I would ad-
vise that memorandum-books .destined for
the use of the fair sex should in future be
styled^reljctile-books.

Old pocket-books are like some old la-
dies' cnests of drawers-— delightful things
to rummage and recur to. Looking over
an old pocket-book b like revisiting scenes
of past happiness after a lapse of years.
Recollections and associations of lioth a
painful and pleasurable nature are vividly
recalled, or forcibly present themselves to
our mind. Treasured letters, private re-
marks, favourite quotations, dates of days
spent in peculiar enjoyment, all these meet
our eye, and rise up like the shadows of
those past realities connected with them,
whose memory they are intended to per-
petuate to us.

Pocket-books are indexes to their

owner's mind — were it an allowable ac-

tion to inspect another s pocket-book,
me might form a tolerably shrewd guess at
the character and disposition of its pos-
sessor. On picking up a lost pocket-book
by chance in the streets, one can be at u«
loss to divine the quality of its former pro-
prietor. A large rusty black leather pockets
book, looking more like a portmanteau than
a memorandum book, stuffed with paper?
half printed, half written, blank stamp re-
ceipts, churchwarden's orders and direc-
tions, long lists of parishioners, with a
small ink-horn in one corner — denotes the
property of a tax-gatherer. The ser^^ant-
maid's is an old greasy red morocco one —
in the blank leaf is written in straggling
characters reaching from the top of one
side to the bottom of the other—

Sarah Price her book,

Ood give her fraee therein to look.

In the part designated ^ cash account" are
various items, for the most part concerning
tea, sugar, and ribbon. Among the me-
moranda are the following : — <* Spent last
Easter Monday was a twel'month with Tom
Had ley, at Greenwich^— in great hopes 1
shall get leave to go again this year. M)
next wages comes due 4tk August, 18—
Jane Thompson says she pays only 4s. foi
the best eowtchong tea ; and I pay 4s. 6d. —
to speak to Mr. Ilfoid the grocer about it.'*
— ^The pockets are eramm«l full of soDg»
and ballads, of which her favourites are
" Black eyed Susan," «* Auld Robin Gray,'
and ** Lord William and Fair Margaret.*'
Perhaps a letter from Tom Had ley, an old
silver coin, hb gif^, and a lucky penn)
with a hole in it. — The younjr lady's i>
elegantly bound in red and gilt. In th«
blank leaf is written in a little nimin}
piminy hand-writing — ** To my sweei
friend Ellen Woodmere, from her affection-
ate Maria Tillotson.'* Quotations fron*
Pope, Young, Thomson, Lord Byron, and
Tom Moore, occupy the blank pa^fes—
" Memoranda. June 16th saw Mrs. Sid-
dons riding in her chariot in Hyde Park.
Mem. Wonder why pa* won*t let me read
dear lord Byron*s new work the * Dor
Juan ' — there must be somethinflr odd in it.
Mem. To remember and ask Maria what
she paid a yard for thkt beautiful lace round
her collar. Mem. What a horrid wretd-
that Robespierre must have been I I*m glad
he was killed himself at last. Mem. Tc
tell pa' that it is quite impossible for me t<
go to the ball next Tuesday without a ne«
lutstring dress. Mem. How I wish I had
been Joan of Arc l*-But I would not have
put on the men's clothes again in prison—

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r wonder why alie did so— How silly I"—
Id the pockets »re some of her dear Ma*
ria's letters — a k>08e leaf torn out of sir
Charles GraDdisoo describing Miss Harriet
Byron's dress at the masquerade — and
several copies of verses and sonnets, the
productions of some of her former schooU
fellows.

The old bachelor's pockeUbook is of
russia leather, glossy with use, yet still re-
taining its grateful and long-enduring odour.
The memoranda chiefly consist of the dates
of those days on which he had seen or
spoken to remarkable or celebrated people.
Opposite the prognostics concerning wea-
ther, which be has since found incorrect, are
to be seen the words : ** No such thing ^ —
"Pshaw, the fellow talks about what he
does not understand** — ** Absurd folly," &c,
— In the pockets are sundry square scraps
of paper cut out at different periods from
old newspapers— a copy of ^^ The Means
to be used for the recovery of persons ap-
parently drowned'*—^ watch-paper cut out
for him by his little grana -niece — and^
(wrapped up in several folds of silver pa-
per,) a long ringlet of auburn hair with its
wavy drop, and springy relapse as you hold
it at full-length between your finger and
thumb. Among the leaves is a small sprig
of jasmin which 9ke had worn in ker bosom
a whole evening at a party, and which he
had gently possessed himself ot, on taking
leave of her for the nights

M.H.

WOMEN.

That venerable people — who were the
ancients to those whom we call the an-
cients— the wise Egyptians, in the disposi-
tion which they allotted to the genders of
their nouns, paid a singular and delicate
compliment to the fair sex. In the four
elements, beginning with water, they ap-
pointed the ocean, as a rough boisterous
existence, to the male sex; but streams
ind fountains they left to the more gentle
icmales. As to earth, they made rocks
and stones male ; but arable and meadow
lands female. Air they divided thus : to
the masculine gender, rough winds and
hurricanes of every kind; to the female,
the sky and the zephyrs. Fire, when of a
consuming nature, they made male, but
artificial and harmless flames they rendered
feminine.

OF TBI

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. IX.

Co tj^e XlraUm

In the present Tolome haa been coinir.enoed, and will
be oonelnded, a leries of Articlei aader this title
vUeh to aome readers nay not hate been suffi*
eiently attraetivew It is therefore now rettated,
that they present Teryenriona partienlart eoneem-
iag the extent to which the aadenti were ao>
qnainted with aereral popular systems and theo-
ries, vsoally snppoaed to have oripnalad b modem

Sir Isaae Newton's Theory of Colonn appean, by
the sooeaedtBf paper, to have been imafined above
two thoasand years ago. The History of Aaelent
Philosophy is pref naat with similar iastaaoeo of
disdriminatioa. It is hoped that this may jnstify
the present attempt to familiarise the reader with
the knowledf e of the Ancients in Tarions brancheK
of Natural Philoeophy, and the ElemenU of the
Human Mind. Saooeeding papers will be found
to relate to their aeqaaintanee with the Motion of
the Barth—the Antipodes— Planetar][ Revelation*
— Comets— the Moon— Air— Air-gunt—Thnnder-
Earthqoakes-— the Magnet— the Tides— tite Circu
lation of the Blood — Chimrgery— Chemistry-
Malleability of Qlafl»-PaintiDg on Glass— Gun-
powder—the Sexes of Plants— the Pendulum^
Light— Perspectire— the Quadrature of the Cird?
— Burning Olaases— the Pneessioo of the Equi-
Boxea— Mechanics — Arehiteeture— Sculpture —
Painting— Music, ke.

Sir Isaac Newton's Theobt of Colours

INDICATED BY PtTBAOORaS AMD PlaTO.

That wonderful theory, whereby is io-
▼estigated and distinguished from one ano-
ther the variety of colours that constitute
the uniform appearance, called light, esta-
blishes the glory of sir Isaac Newton, and
is an eternal monument of his extraordinary
sagacity. Its discovery was reserved fot
an age when philosophy had arrived at its
fullest maturity ; ana yet it is to be found
in the writings of some of the most eminent
men of ancient times.

Pythagoras, and his disciples after him.
entertained sufficiently just conceptions of
the formation of colours. They taue-ht that
^they resulted solely from the different
modification of reflected light;*' or, as a
modem author, in explaining the seuli
ments of the Pythagoreans, expresses it

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•* light leflecting itself with more or less
vivacity, forms by that meaos our diflerent
sensations of colour." The tame philoso-
phers, " in assigning the reason of the dif-
ference of colours, ascribe it to a mixture
of the elements of light; and divesting the
atoms, or small |>articles of light, of all
manner of colour, impute erery sensation
of that kind to the motions excited in our
organs of sight.'*

The disciples of Plato contributed not a
little to the advancement of optics, by the
important discorery they made, that light
emits itself in straight lines, and that the
angle of incidence is always equal to the
anffle of reflection.

Plato terms colours ** the effect of light
transmitted from bodies, the small particles
of which were adapted to the organ of sight,'*
This seems precisely what sir Isaac Newton
leaches in his " Optics," viz. that " the
different sensations of each particular colour
are excited in us by the difference of size
in those small particles of light which form
the sereral rays ; those small particles occa*
sioning different images of colour, as the
vibration is more or less lively, with which
they strike our sense." But the ancient
philosopher went further. He entered
into a oetail of the composition of colours ;
ind inquired into ** the visible effects that
must arise from a mixture of the different
rays of which light itself is composed.^' He
advances, however, that ** it is not in the
power of man exactly to determine what
the proportion of this mixture should be in
certain colours.'' This sufficiently shows,
that he had an idea of this theory, though
he judged it almost impossible to unfold it.
He says, that ** should any one arrive at
the knowledee of this proportion, he ought
not to hazard the discovery of it, since it
would be impossible to demonstrate it by
clear and convincing proofs :** and yet he
thought <' certain rules might be laid down
respecting tliis subject, if in following and
imitating nature we could arrive at the art
of forming a diversity of colours, by the
combined intermixture of others.**

It is to be remarked, that Phito adds
what may be regarded as constituting the
noblest tribute that can be offered in praise
of sir Isaac Newton ; << Yea, should ever
any one," exclaims that fine genius of an-
tiquity, ^ attempt by curious research to
account for this admirable mechanism, he
will, in doing so, but manifest how entirely
ignorant he is of the difference between
divine and human power. It is true, that
God can intermingle those things one with
another, »nd then sever them at his plea«

sure, because he is, at the sa<T)e tiroey all-
knowing and all-powerful ; but there it do
man now exists, nor ever will perhaps, who
shall ever be able to accomplish things so
very difficult."

What an eulogium is this from the pen of
Plato 1 How glorious is he who has suc-
cessfully accomplished what appeared im-
practicable to the prince of ancient philoscw
phers I Yet what elevation of genius, what
piercing penetration into the most intimate
secrets of nature, displays itself in thes^
passages concerning the nature and theor}
of colours, at a time when Greek philosophy
was in its infancy 1

LiGHi^— Aristotle and Descartes.

Although the system of Descartes, re-
specting the propagation of light in an
instant, has been discarded since Cassini
discovered that its motion is progressive ;
yet it may not be amiss to show from
whence he obtained the idea. His opinion
was, that light is the mere action of a subtile
matter upon the organs of sight. This
subtile matter he supposes to fill all that
space which lies between the sun and us ;
and that the patticle of it, which is next to
the sun, receiving thence an impulse, in-
stantaneously communicates it to all the
rest, between the sun and the organ of
sight. To evidence this, Descartes intro-
duces the comparison of a stick; which,
by reason of tne continuity of its parts,
cannot in any degree be moved lengthways
at one end, without instantaneously being
put into the same degree of motion at the
other end. Whoever will be at the pains
to read, attentively, what Aristotle hath
written concerning light, will perceive that
he defines it to be the action of a subtile,
pure, and homogeneous matter. Philopo-
nus, explaining the manner in which tnis
action was performed, makes use of the
instance of a long string, which being polled
at one end, will instantaneously be moved
at the other : he resembles the sun, tQ the
man who quills the string; the subtile mal-
ter, to the string itself; and the instantft-
neous action of the one, to the movement
of the other. Simplicius, in his commen-
tary upon this passage of Aristotle, ex-
pressly employs the motion of a stick, tc
intimate how light, acted upon by the sun,
mav instantaneously impress the organs ol
sight. This comparison of a stick seem>
to have been made use of first, by Chiysip
pus— lasUy, by Descartes.

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="

For the Table Book,

WILLEY WALKER AND JOHN
BOLTON.

Willey Walker, a well-known Durham
character, who has discovered a new solar
system different from all otliers, is a beads-
man of the cathedral ; or, as the impudent
boys call a person of his rank, from the
dress he wears, '^ a blue mouse/' It is
Willey's business to toll the curfew : but
to our story. In Durham there are two
clocks, which, if I may so express myself,
are both ojicial ones; viz. the cathedral
clock, and the gaol or county clock. The
admirers of each are about equal : some of
the inhabitants regulating their movements
by one, and some by the other. Three or
four years ago it happened, during the
middle of the winter, that the two docks
varied considerably ; there was only three
quarters of an hour*s difference between
them. The citizens cared very little
about this elight discrepancy, but it was
not at all relished by the guard of the
London and Edinburgh mail, who spoke
on the subject to the late John Bolton,
the regulator of the. county clock. John
immediately posted off to the cathedral,
where he met Willey Walker, and the fol-
lowing dialogue is said to have passed be-
tween them.

Bolton. Willey, why doa'nt ye keept*
abba clock reet— there*s a bit difference
between it and mine?

ff^illey. Why doa'nt ye keep yours so-
il never gans reet?

Bolton, Mine's set by the sun, Willey 1
(Bolton was an astronomer.)

fniley. By the sun! Whew! whew!
whew ! Why, are ye turned fule ? Nebody
would think ye out else I and ye pretend
to be an astronomer, and set clocks by *t'
sun in this windy weather !— ther's ne de-
pending on it : the winds, man, blaw sa,
they whisk the sun about like a whirligig!

Bolton, petrified by the outpouring of
Willey's astronomical knowledge, made no
answer.

Bolton was a very eccentric character,
and a great natural genius : from a very
obscure origin he rose to considerable pro-
vincial celebrity. Such was his contempt
of London artists, that he described himself
on his sign as being ** from Chester-le-
Street, not London.** He was an indefati-
gable collector of curiosities; and bad a

valuable museum, which most strangers
visited. His advertisemciits were curious
compositions, often m doggerel verse. He
was a good astronomer and a believer in
astrology. He is interred in Elvet church-
yard : a plain stone marks the place, with
the following elegant inscription from tlie
classic pen of veterinary doctor Marshall.
I give it as pointed*

Isfeniou Artist I few thy tkil] rarpast
In works of art. Yet d«ath has beat at last.
Tho' oooqnerd. Yet thj deeds will erer shtae,
lime eaat destroy a geaias laiye as tbine 1

Bolton built some excellent organs and
turret clocks. For one of the latter, which he
made for North Shields, he used to say, he
was not paid ; and the following notice in
his shop, in large characters, informed his
customers of the fact — " North Shields
clock never paid for 1'^

R. I. P. Preb, Butt.

A SENSUALIST AND HIS CX)N-
• SCIENCE.

The following lines, written in the yeei
1609, are said, in the ^ Notes of a Book-
worm,'' to have induced Butler to pursue
their manner in his ** Hudibras.**

Dialogue.

aiMttih My beUj I do deify.

Echo. Fie I

OL Who enrbe bis appetite's a fool.

£dko. Ablfooll

OL I do aot like tbis abktiacace.

Echo. Heaee I

01. My joy's a feast, my wish is wiae. '

Echo. Swiae.

01. We epiearcs are bappy tmly.

Eeko. You lie.

OL May I not, Eebo, eat my fill ?

Echo. 111.

Of. Will it bort me if I drink too macb ?

£dlo. Maeb.

OL Tboa moek'at me, nympb, 1*11 not believe iL

Seko. BelieTe it.

OL Do's! tboa condemn, tbea. wbat I do ?

Echo, I do.

OL Is it that wbicb brinp infirmities ?

Eeko. It is.

OL Tben, sweetest Temperance, 1*11 k^c Om.

Echo. I love tbee.

OL If all be tnie wbicb tbov dost tell.

To glattony I bid fareveJ.
£eAo. Farewell I

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THB TABLE BOOK.

PIAYWRIOHT-ING,
To tke Editor.

Sir,— The following short matter-of-fact
narrative, if inserted in your widely circu-
lated miscellany, may in some degree tend
to lessen the number of dramatic aspir«
ants, and afford a little amusement to your
readers.

I was, at the age of sixteen, apprenticed
to a surgeon, and had served but two years
of my apprenticeship, when I began to
conceive that I had talents for something
superior to the profession I had embraced.
I imagined that literature was my forte ;
and accordingly I tried my skill in the
composition of a tale, wherein I was so far
successful, as to obtain its insertion in a
"periodical" of the day. This was suc-
ceeded by others; some of which were
rejected, and some inserted. In a short
time, however, I perceived that I had
gained but little fame, and certainly no
profit. I therefore determined to attempt
dramatic writing, by which I imagined
that I riiould acquire both fame and for-
tune. Accordingly, after much trouble, I
concocted a plot, and in three months com-
pleted a farce 1 I submitted it to my friends,
all of whom declared it to be ** an excellent
thing ;" and that if merit met with its due
reward, my piece would certainly be
brought out. llattered and encouraged by
their good opinion, I offered it, with con-
fidence of success, to the proprietors of
Drury-lane theatre. In the space of a
week, however, my piece was returned,
with a polite note, informing me, that it
was " not in any way calculated for repre-
sentation at thai theatre.'' I concluded
that it could not have been read ; and hav-
ing consoled myself with that idea, I trans-
muted it to the rival theatre. One morn-
ing, after the lapse of a few days, my hopes
were clouded by a neat parcel, which I
found to contain my manuscript, with the
same polite but cutting refusal, added to
which was an assurance, ** that it had been
read most attentively.'' I inwardly exe-
crated the Covent Garden " reader" for a
fool, and determined to persevere. At the
suggestion of my friends I made numerous
alterations, and submitted my farce to the
manager of the Hay market theatre, relying
upon his liberality ; but, after the usual
delay of a week, it was again returned.
At the Lyceum it also met with a similar
fete. I was much hurt by these rejections,
yet determined to persevere. The minor
theatres remained for me, and I applied to

the manager of one of these establishments
who, in the course of time, assured me
that my piece should certainly be produced
I was delighted at the brilliant prospects
which seemed to open to me, and \famidea
that I was fast approaching the summit of
my ambition. Three tedious months en-
sued before I was summoned to attend
the rehearsal ; but I was then much
pleased at the pains the actors appeared to
nave taken in acquiring their parts. The
wished-for night arrived. I never dreamed
of failure ; and I invited a few of my select
friends to witness its first representation —
it was the last: for, notwithstanding the
exertions of the performers, and the ap- i
plause of my wortny friends, so unanimous
was the hostility of the audience, that ray I
piece was damned !— damned, too, at a
tniitor theatre 1 I attributed its failure en- {
tirely to the depraved taste of the audience. ■
I was disgusted; and resolved, from that
time, never more to waste my talents in ,
endeavouring to amuse an unappreciating I
and ungrateful public. I have been firm I
to that resolution. I relinquished the
making up of plays for the m6re profitable
occupation of making up prescriptions, and
am now living in comfort upon the pro-
duce of my profession.

AUCTOB.

EPIGRAM.

A few years ago a sign of one of the
Durham inns was removed, and sent to
Chester-le-Street, by way of a frolic. It
was generally supposed that the feat was
achieved by some of the legal students then
in that city; and a respectable attorney
there was so fully persuaded of it, that he
immediately began to make inquiries cor-
roborative of his suspicions. The circum-
stances drew forth the following epigram
from our friend T. Q. M., which has never
appeared in print

From one of oar tuns was a tigii taken down.
And sent by tome wags to a nnghboaring town.
To a limb of the law the freak cant'd much vezatioo.
And he went throof h the ■treeta makiaf wild lamca^

ation;
And breathing rerenge on the frolieaome aparks,
Whc, he had not a donbt, were the **geaaeaMr

clerks." •
From the prophets methinks we may infereaee draw
To prove how perverse was this man of the ter.
For we find it inserib'd in the pages diTine—
** A perverse generation looks after a sign !**

. • A faTouite aspraanon of the legal gentlamaa al
laded to.

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Tine TABLE BOOK,

THE ROMANS.

The iwhole early part of the Roman his-
tory is very problematical. It is hardly
possible to suppose the Romans could have
made so conspicuous a figure in Italy, and
not be noticed by Herodotus, who finished
his history in Magna Gnecia. Neither is
Rome mentioned by Aristotle, though he
particularly describes the gorernment of
Carthage. Livy, a writer by no means
void of national prejudice, expressly says,
they had never heard of Alexander ; and
here we surely may say in the words of the
poet,

** Not to kaow h{m, argues thenselres anVnovn.**
Pliny, it is true, quotes a passage of Theo-
phrastus, to show that a certain Greek
writer, named CUtarchus, mentions an em-
bassy from the Romans to Alexander ; but
this can never be set against the authority
of Dvy, especially as Quintilian gives no
very favourable opinion of the veracity of
the Greek historian in these words, —
" Clitarchi, probatur ingenium, fides infa-
matur."*

A LITERARY BLUNDER.

When the Utopia of sir Thomas More
was first published, it occasioned a pleasant
mistake. This political romance represents
a perfect, but visionary republic, in an
island supposed to have been newly dis-
covered in America. As this was the age
of discovery, (says Granger,) the learned
Bud«eus,and others, took it for a genuine
history ; and considered it as highly expe-
dient, that missionaries should be sent
thither, in order to convert so wise a nation
to Christianity.

TREASURE DIGGING.

A patent passed the great seal m the
fifteenth year of James I., which is to be
found in Rymer, ** to allow to Mary Mid-
dlemore, one of the maydes of honor to
our deerest consort queen Anne, (of Den-
mark,) and her deputies, power and autho-
rity, to enter into the aboies of Saint Al-
bans, Glassenbuiy, Saint Edmundsbury,
and Ramsay, and into all lands, houses,
and places, within a mile, belonging to said
abbies;" there to dig, and search after
treasure, supposed to be hidden in such
places.

• H. J. Pre.

PERSONAL CHARMS DISCLAIMED.

By a Lady.

If any human being was free from per-
sonal vanity it must have been the second
duchess d'Orleans, Charlotte Eliiabeth of
Bavaria. In one of her letters, (dated 9th
August, 1718,) she says, '* I must certainly
be monstrously ugly. I never had a good
feature. My eyes are small, my nose short
and thick, my lips broad and thin. These
are not materials to form a beautiful face.
Then I have flabby, lank cheeks, and long
features, which suit ill with my low stature.
My waist and my legs are equally clumsy.
Undoubtedly I must appear to be an odious
little wretch; and had I not a tolerably
good character, no creature could enduer
me. I am sure a person must be a con-
juror to judge by my eyes that I have a
grain of wit."

FORCIBLE ABDUCTION.

The following singular circumstance is
related by Dr. Whitaker in his History of
Craven : —

Gilbert Plumpton, in the 21 of Henry II.,
committed something like an Iiish marriage
with the heiress of Richard Warelwas, and
thereby incurred the displeasure of Ranulph
de Glanville, great justiciary, who meant to
have married her to a dependant of his
own. Plumpton was in consequence in-
dicted and convicted of a rape at Worces-
ter ; but at the very moment when the rope
was fixed, and the executioner was drawing
the culprit up to the gallows, Baldwin,
bishop of Worcester, running to the place,
forbaae the officer of justice, in the name
of the Almighty, to proceed : and thus
saved the criminal's life.

POLITENESS.
A polite behaviour can never be long
maintained without a real wish to please ;
and such a wish is a proof of good-nature.
No ill-natured man can be long well-bred.
No good-natured man, however unpolished
in his manners, can ever be essentially ill-
bred. From an absurd prejudice with re-
gard to good-nature, some people affect to
substitute good temper for it ; but no quali-
ties can be more distinct: man) good*
tempered people as well as many fools,
are very ill-natured; and many men oi
first-rate genius — with which perhaps entire
good temper is incompatible — are perfectly
good-natured.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

A FRENCH TRIBUTE TO ENGLISH
INTEGRITY.

The Viscount de Chateaubriand grate-
fully memorializes his respect for the virtue
of a distressed family in London by the
following touching narrative prefixed to
his Indian tale, entitled << The Natchez:"—

When I quitted England in 1800 to
return to France, under a fictitious name,
I durst not encumber myself with too
much baggage. I left, therefore, most of
my manuscripts in London. Among these
manuscripts was that of The Natchez, no
other part of which I brought to Paris but
ReHi^, Atala, and some passages descriptive
of America.

Fourteen years elapsed before the com-
munication with Great Britain was re-
newed. At the first moment of the Re-
storation I scarcely thought of my papers ;
and if I had, how v^as I to find them again ?
They had been left locked up in a trunk
with an Englishwoman, in whose house
I had lodged in London. I had forgot-
ten the name of this woman ; the name of
the street and the number of the houte
bad likewise escaped my memory.

In consequence of some vague and even
contradictory information which I trans-
mitted to London, Messrs. de Thuisy took
the trouble to make inquiries, which they
prosecuted with a zeal and perseverance
rarely equalled. With infinite pains they
at length discovered the house where I
resided at the west end of the town; but
my landlady had been dead several years,
and no one knew what had become of her
children. Pursuing, however, the clue
which they had obtained, Messrs. de Thuisy,
after many fruitless excursions, at last
found out her family in a village several
miles from London.

Had they kept all this time the trunk of
an emigrant, a trunk full of old papers,
which could scarcely be deciphered ? Might
they not have consigned to tne flames such
a useless heap of French manuscripts ? On
the other hand, if my name, bursting from
its obscurity, had attracted, in the London
ioumals, the notice of the children of my
former landlady, might they not have been
disposed to make what profit they could of
those papers, which would then acquire a
certain value?

Nothing of the kind had happened. The
manuscripts had been preserved, the trunk
had not even been opened. A religious
fiddity had been shown by an unfortunate
family towards a child of misfortune. I
had committed with simplicity the result

of the labours ot part of my life to thf
honesty of a foreign trustee, and my trea-
sure was restored to me with the same
simplicity. I know not that I ever met
with any thing in my life which touched
me more than the honesty and integrity ot
this poor English family.

DEVONSHIRE WRESfLING.

For the Table Book.

Abraham Cann, the Devonshire cham
pion, and his brother wrestlers of that I
county, are objected to for their plaj vritb
the foot, called ** showing a toe" in Devon- ,
shire; or, to speak plainly, "kicking."!
Perhaps neither the objectors, nor Abraham <
and his fellow-countrymen, are aware, that j
the Devonshire custom was also the custom
of the Greeks, in the same sport, three
thousand years ago. The English reader
may derive proof of this from Pope's trans-
lation of Homer*s account of the wrestling
match at the funeral of Patroclus, between
Ulysses and Ajax, for prizes offered hy
Achilles : —

Searc«.did the dii«f the rigonma strife propose,

WbcD towtr-like Ajax and UljBsea row.

Amid the ring each aentros riral ttaadi,

Embracing rigid, with implicit hands:

Close lock*d above, their heads and arms are mist ;

Below, their planted feet, at distance fist

Now to the grasp each manly body bends;

The hamid sweat from erery pore descends ;

Their bones resoond with blows; sidea, shoolders

thighs
Swell to each gripe, and bloody tomoars rise.
Nor coold Ulysses, for hi« art renown*d,
0*ertara the strength of Ajax on the ground ;
Nor eooM the strength of Ajax OTcrthrow
The watehfnl eantion of his artful foe.
While the long strife e*en tir'd the lookers on,
Thus to Ulysses spoke great Telamon :
Or let me lift thee, chief, or lift thou me ;
Prove we our force, and Jotc the rest decree ;
He said, and stnTming, heav*d him off the gronnd
With matchless strength ; that time Ulysses found
The strength t* erade, and, when the nenet cem&rne,
HU ancU atrwck the giant fell supine ;
Ulysses following, on his bosom lies ;
Shouts of applause run rattling through the skies.
Ajax to lift, Ulysses next essays ;
He barely stiri^d him but he could not mise t
Hi* He« locked fast, the foe's attempt deny'd.
And grappling close, they tumble side by side.

Here we find not only " the lock," W
that Ulysses,.who is described as renowneo
for his art, attains to the power of throwing
his antagonist by the device of Abrahanr
Cannes favourite kick near the ancle.

I-V.

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PENN AND THE INDIANS.

Ttt thuf conid, in a tavage-ftjlal Und,
A few— reylled, scom'd, lutsd of the whol»~

Stretch forth for PeMe the mux ramoniovft hand.
And stamp Truth, eren on a sealed eerolL

Thej caU'd not God, or men. in proof to itand :
Thej pray'd no vengeance on the perjured soul ;

But Heaven look'd down, and, moved with wonder, saw

A compact fhun'd, where Time might bring no flaw.

Tins Stanza is in a delightful little volume,
entitled ** The Desolation of £yam ; the
Emigrant, a tale of the American Woods ;
and other poems : By William and Mary
llowitt, authors of the Forest Minstrel, &c.
The feeling and beauty of one of the poems,
** Penn and the Indians," suggested the

f>resent engraving, after a celebrated print
rom a picture by the late Benjamin West.
The following particulars are chiefly related
oy Mr. Clarkson, respecting the scene it
represents.

King Charles IT., in consideration of a
considerable sum due from the crown for
the services of admiral sir William Penn,
l^ranted to his son, the ever-memorable

William Penn, and his heirs, in perpetuity
a great tract of land on the river Delaware
in America; with full power to erect a
new colony there, to sell lands, to make
laws, to create magistrates, and to pardon
crimes. In August, 1682, Penn, after hav.
ing written to his wife and children a letter
eminently remarkable for its simplicity and
patriarchal spirit, took an affectionate leave
of them; and, accompanied by severa.
friends, embarked at Deal, on board the
Welcome, a ship of three hundred tons
burthen. The passengers, including him-
self, were not more ^han a hundred. They
were chiefly qiiakers, and most of thenc
from Sussex, in which county his house ct

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>^'anninghurst iwas seated. They sailed
about the first of September, but bad not
proceeded far to sea, when the small-pox
broke out so virulently, that thirty of tneir
number died. In about six weeks from
the time of their leaving the Downs they
came in sight of the American coast, and
shortly afterwards landed at Newcastle, in
the Delaware river.

William Penn*s first business was to ex-
plain to the settlers of Dutch and Swedish
extraction the object of his coming, and
the nature of the government he designed
to establish. His next great movement was
to Upland, where he called the first geneial
assembly, consisting of an equal number,
for the province aud for the territories, of
all such freemen as chose to attend. In
this assembly the frame of government, and
many important regulations, were settled ;
and subsequently he endeavoured to settle
the boundaries of his territory with Charles
lord Baltimore, a catholic nobleman, who
was governor and proprietor of the adjoin-
ing province of Maryland, which had been
settled with persons of his own persuasion.
Penn's religious principles, which led
him to the practice of the most scrupuloas
morality, did not permit him to look upon
the king's patent, or legal possession ac-
cording to the laws of £ngland, as sufficient
to establish his right to the country, without
purchasing it by (air and open bargain of
the natives, to whom, only, it properly be-
longed. He had therefore instructed com-
missioners, who had arrived in America
before him, to buy it of the latter, and to
make with them at the same time a treaty
of eternal friendship. This the commis-
sioners had done ; and this was the time
when, bv mutual agreement between him
and the Indian chiefs, it was to be publicly
ratified. He proceeded, therefore, accom-
panied by his friends, consisting of men,
women, and youns persons of both sexes»
to Coaquatnoc, the Indian name for the
vlace where Philadelphia now stands. On
»i% arrival there he found the Sachems and
their tribes assembling. They were seen
in the woods as far as the eye could carry,
and looked frightful both on account of
their number and their arms. The quakers
are reported to have been but a handful in
comparison, and these without any weapon ;
so that dismay and terror had come upon
them, had they not confided in the righte-
ousness of their cause.

It is much to be regretted, when we have
accounts of minor treaties between William
Penn and the Indians, that there is not in
any historian an account of this, though so

many mention it, and though all concur ic
considering it as the most glorious of an>
in the annals of the world. There are
however, relations in Indian speeches, and
traditions in quaker families, descended
from those who were present on the occa-
sion, from which we may learn something
concerning it. It appears that, though the
parties were to assemble at Coaquannoc,
the treaty was made a little bigher up, at
Shackamaxon. Upon this Kensington now
stands ; the houses of which may be con-
sidered as the suburbs of Philadelphia.
There was at Shackamaxon an elm tree of
a prodigious size. To this the leaders on
both sitks repaired, approaching each other
under its wiaely-spreaaing branches. Wil-
Ham Penn appeared in has usual clothes.
He had no crown, sceptre, mace, sword,
halberd, or any insignia of eminence. He
was distinguished only by wearing a sky-
blue sash* round his waist, whidi was
made of silk net-work, and which was of
no larger apparent dimensions than an
officer's military sash, and mach like it
except in colour. On his right hand
was colonel Markbam, his relation and
•ecretary, and on his \eft his friend
Pearson; after whom followed a train
of quakers. Before him were carried
various articles of merchandise; which,
when they came near the Sachems, were
spread upon the ground. He held a roll
of parchment, containing the confirmation
of the treaty of purchase and amity, in his
hand. One of the Sachems, who was the
chief of them, then put upon his own head
a kind of chaplet, in which appeared a
small horn. This, as among the primitive
eastern nations, and according to Scripture
language, was an emblem of kingly power ;
and whenever the chief, who had a right to
wear it, put it on, it was understood that
the place was made «acred, and the persons
of all present inviolable. Upon putting on
this horn the Indians threw down Uieir
bows and arrows, and seated themselves
round their chiefs in the form of a half-
moon upon the ground. The chief Sachem
then announced to William Penn, by means
of an interpreter, that the nations were
ready to hear him.

Having been thus called upon, he began.
The Great Spirit, he said, who made him
and them, wno ruled the heaven and the
earth, and who knew the innermost thoughts
of man, knew that he and his friends had a
hearty desire to live in peace and friendship

* This hmIi m now in the ponenaion of ThoBM Kea
Eiq. of Soothinff-hall* sear Norwich.

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with them, and to serve them to the utmost
of their power. It was not their custom to
use hostile weapons against their fellow-crea-
tures, for which reason they had come un-
I armed. Their object was not to do injury,
and thus provoke the Great Spirit, but to
do good. They were then met on the broad
pathway of good faith and good will, so
\ that no advantage was to be taken on either
side, but all was to be openness, brother-
hood, and love. After these and other words,
he unrolled the parchment, and by means
of the same interpreter, conveyed to
them, article by article, the conditions of the
purchase, and the words of the compact
then made for their eternal union. Among
other things, they were not to be molested
in their lawAil pursuits even in the territory
they had alienated, for it was to be common
to them and the English. They were to
have the same liberty to do all things
therein relating to the improvement of their
grounds, and providing sustenance for their
fitmilies, which the English had. If any
disputes should arise between the two, they
should be settled by twelve persons, half of
whom should be Enelish and half Indians.
He then paid them for the land, and made
them many presents besides, from the mer-
chandise wnich had been spread before
them. Having done this, he laid the roll
j of parchment on the ground ; observing
again, that the ground should be common
I t> both people. He then added, that he
, would not do as the Marylanders did ; that
I is, call them children or brothers only ; for
I often parents were apt to whip their chil-
dren too severely, and brothers sometimes
would differ: neither would he compare
the friendship between him and them to a
chain ; for the rain might sometimes rust
it, or a tree might fall and break it ; but he
should consider them as the same flesh and
blood with the Christians, and the same as
if one man's body were to be divided into
two parts. He then took up the parchment,
and presented it to the Sachem who wore
the horn in the chaplet, and desired him
and the other Sachems to preserve it care-
fully for three generations ; that their chil-
dren might know what had passed between
them, just as if he had remained himself
with them to repeat it.

That William Penn must have done and
said a great deal more on this interesting
occasion than has now been represented,
there can be no doubt. What has been
related may be depended upon. It is
to be regretted, that the speeches of the
.Indians on this memorable day have not
come down to us* It is only known, that

they solemnly pledged themselves, accord
ing to their country manner, to live in love
with William Penn and bis children as
long as the sun and moon should endure.

Thus ended this famous treaty, of which
more has been said in the way of praise
than of any otlier ever transmitted to pos-
terity. "This," said Voluire, "was the
only treaty between those people and the
Christians that was not ratified by an oath,
and that was never broken.'' '* William
Penn thought it right,'* says the abb^ Ray-
nal, " to obtain an additional right by a
ftur and open purchase from the abori-
gines; and thus he signalised his arrival
by an act of equity, which made his person
and principles equally beloved. Here it is
the mind rests with pleasure upon modem
history, and feels some kind or compensa-
tion for the disgust, melancholy, and hor-
ror, which the whole of it, but particularly
that of the European settlements in Ame-
rica, inspires." Noble, in his Continuation
of Granger, says, " He occupied his domains
by actual bargain and sale with the Indians.
Iliis fact does him infinite honour, as no
blood was shed, and the Christian and the
barbarian met as brothers. Penn has thus
taught us to respect the lives and properties
of the most unenli|htened nations.^ —
" Being now returned,'' says Robert Proud,
in his History of Pennsylvania, " from
Maryland to Coaquanaoc, he purchased
lands of the Indians, whom he treated with
great justice and sincere kindness. It was
at this time when he first entered person-
ally into that friendship with them, which
ever afterwards continued between them,
and which for the space of more than
seventy years was never interrupted, or so
long as the quakers retained power in the
government. His conduct in general to
Uiese people was so engaging, his justice in
particular so conspicuous, and the counsel
and advice which he gave them were so
evidently for their advantage, that he be*
came thereby very much endeared to them ;
and the sense (hereof made such deep im-
pressions on their understandings, that his
name and memory will scarcely ever be
effaced while they continue a people.''

The great elm -tree, under which this
treaty was made, became celebrated from
that day. When in the American war the
British general Simcoe was quartered at
Kensington, he so respected it, that when
his soldiers were cutting down every tree
for fire-wood, he placed a sentinel under it,
that not a branch of it might be touched.
In 1812 it was blown down, wHn its trunk
was split into wood, and cuds and other

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artictef were made of it, to be kept as me-
moriak of it.

LINBS

On reeehing from Dr. Rvih, of Pkiladel'
phia, a piece of the Tree under wkiek
jyuium Penn made hie TretOf wUh the
Jndiane, and which woe blown down in
1812, converted to the purpoee of an

BY WILLIAM EOaCOE, ESQ.

Froa •lime to dine, from iVore to Aon,
Th« waHUad niwdUs h«td«l yell,

Aad midst the ttom tliaC iwlma deplora,
P«a*i hoBoar'd tne of ooaooid feU.

Aad of IkMt tno, that ae'er afam
8b*U Spriag*! rrrtiriBir iaAacBOi kaow,

A ralie^ o*tr th* AUaatie mam*
Was s«l— tht gift of foo to fbsl

Bat ttongli ao sort its amplo shado
WaTO ffMa beaoath GolamUa's sky,

TkoBf ¥ orerj braaeb bo bow doeay'd,
Aad all ilB seattsf^d IsaTosbe dry ;

Tot, midst this rtliePs saiatod i
A hoaUk-ratoriaf flood shall spnaf •

la wKieli Iko aofsl-form of Poaeo
Maj stoop to dip k«r doTt4ikt wiag .

So OBoe the staff the prophet bora.
By woaderiaf eyes agaia was scca

To swell with life through etery pore,
Aad bad afrssh with foliage greea.

The wither'd btaaeh agaia shall grow,
Till o'er the earth its shade eztcad—

Aad this— the gift of foe to foe—
Become the gift of friead to friead.

In the '^ConditioDs'' between William
Penn, as Proprietary and Governor of
Pennsylvania, and the Adventurers and
Purchasers in the same province, ** ii^ be-
half of the Indians it was stipulated, that,
as it had been usual with planters to over-
reach them in Tarious ways, whatever was
sold to them in consideration of their furs
should be sold in the public market-place,
and there suffer the test, whether good or
bad : if good, to pass; if not eood, not to
be sold for good ; that the said native lu'*
dians might neither be abused nor pro-
voked. That no man should by any ways
or means, in word or deed, affront or wrong
any Indian, but he should mcur the same
penalty of the law as if he had committed
It l^(amst his fellow-planter ; and if any
Indian should abuse, in word or deed, any
planter of the province, that the said planter
ihoold not be nis own judge upon the said

Indian, but that he should make his cook
plaint to the governor of the province, or
nis deputy, or some infSerior magistrate near
him, who should to the utmost of his power
take care with the king of the said Indian,
that all reasonable satisfaction should be
made to the said injured planter. And that
an differences between planters and Indians
should be ended by twelve men, that is, by
six planters and six Indians, that so they
might live friendly together, as much as in
them lay, preventmg all occasions of heart-
burnings and mischief These stipulations
in fevour of the poor natives will for ever
immortalize the name of William Penn
for, soaring above the prejudices and cas>
toms of his time, by which navigators and
adventurers thought it right to consider the
inhabitants of the lands they discovered as
their lawful prey, or as mere animals of the
brute-creation, whom they might treat, use,
and take advantage of at their pleasure, he
regarded them as creatures endued with
reason, as men of the like feelings and
passions with himself, as brethren both by
nature and grace, and as persons, there-
fore, to whom tlie great duties of humanity
and justice were to be extended, and who,
in proportion to their ignorance, were the
more entitled to his fatherly protection and
care."*

The identical roll of parchment given by
William Penn to the Indians was shown by
their descendants to some English officers
some Years ago. This information, with
the following passages, will be found in
the "Notes'* to ** Penn and the Indians," ihp
poem, by ** William and Mary Howitt,*
from whence the motto is taken :—

" What shows the scrupulous adherence
of the Indians to their engagements in the
most surprising light is, that long after the
descendants of Penn ceased to possess poli-
tical influence in the state, in compara-
tively recent times, when the Indian cha-
racter was confessedly lowered by their
intercourse with the whites, and they were
instigated both by their own injuries and
the arts of the French to make incursions
into Pennsylvania, the * Friends ' wert
still to them a sacred and inviolable people
While the tomahawk and the scalping
knife were nightly doing their dreadfa
work in every surrounding dwelling-^
theirs were untouched; while the rest cl
the inhabitants abandoned (heir houses and
fled to forts for security,— they found

• Mr. Clarksoa*s Life of W. Ptaa.

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Aore perfect security in that friendship
which the wisdom ani virtue of Penn had
conciliated, and which their own disinter-
ested principles made permanent."

In endeavounng to conclude with a spe-
eitnen of the eleeant poem of ** William
and Mary Hewitt/* an unexpected difficulty
of selection occurs — it is a piece of con-
tinuous beauty that can scarcely be extracted
from, without injury to the stanzas selected ;
and therefore, presuming on the kiud in-
dulgence of the amiable authors, it is here
presented entire :—

PENN AND THE INDIANS.

** I will not oompara onr fntndsliip to m ekab ; for
th« nua miglit ■ometimM nut it, or a tree niglit foU
ud bmk it; but I shall eontidar yoa ai tka noaa
fletk and blood aa the Chriatiaas ; and tba same aa if
one maa*B body were to be diridad ioto two parta."
W. Pxinr*a Sruoa to tbi Ivoiajn.

There waa a atir m PcBaaylTaniaa wooda .

A gathering aa the wap^rj forth had gone s
ind, like the aodden gash of AntniBB flooda,

Stream'd from all pointa the warrior^ribea to one.
ET*n in the fartheat forest aolitndes.

The hunter atopped the battle-ploaia to doa,
A.ad tam'd with knife, with hatchet, aad with bow
Back, aa to bear them on a andden fee.

Swiftly, but ailentlr, each dusky diiof
Sped *neath the shadow of eondnnooa treea ;

And filea whoae feet aearoe atirr*d the trodden leaf {
And infaat-ladea mothers, aeoming eaae ;

And childhood, whoae small footatepa, light aad brief^
Qlanced through the foreat, like a fluttering breese,

Polktwed— a numerona, yet a silent baad«—

Aa to aome deed, high, fateful, aad at hand.

But where the foe? By the broad Delaware,
Where flung a shadowy elm ita brancbea wide,—

In peaceful garmenta, aad with handa that bare
No sign of war,— a little baad they spied.

Conld tAe$e be whom they aonght ? Aad did they fare
Forth from their deaerti, ia their martial pride.

Thus at thtir call ? They did. Ko trumpet's tongue

Had pieroed their wUd-wooda with a Toice ao strong.

Who were they ? Simple pilgrima >-it may be.
Scarce lesa than outcaata from their native islea,—

From Britain,— birth-place of the great aad free.
Where heaTsnly Idi e threw round ita brighteat amilet.

Then why depart ? Oh aeeming mockery !
Were they not here, on this far shore, exiles,

Simply becauae, naawed by power or baa,

I'hey worshipped God bat would not boor to maa ?

^h ! Troth I Immortal Truth T on what wild gronad
Still hast ihou trod Uirough thia naaptritual sphere 1

The strong, the brutiah, aad the Tile surronad
Thy presence, lest thy streamiag glory cheer

The poor, the many, without pries or booad.
Drowning thy Toioa, they fill tiie pqpoiar ear,

la thy high aame, with eaaoaa, ereeds* sad laws,

Feigaing to aenre, that they may mar iky canae.

Aad the great multitude doth crouch, aad bear
The bardea of the sdfish. That smpriasb

That lofty spirit of Tirtoe whioh saa dan
To read the beads of Error fnm all eyes;

Aad from the freed soul pluck each seaaaal eare.
To them b but a fable. Therefore lies

Darkaeaa upoa the meatal deaert atill;

Aad wolves deroar, aad robbers walk at will.

Tet, ever aad anon, from thy bright quirer.
The flaming arrows of thy might are atrown ;

Aad« rnahing forth, thy daontleaa children ahiver
The atreagth of foes who press too aear thy throae

Thea, like the sua, or thy Almighty Oiver,
Thy light ia through the atartled aatioaa showa :

Aad geaerous iadigaatioa tramples dowa ^

The sophist's web» aad the oppressor's erowa.

Oh might it bura for ever! But in vaia—
For rengeaaoe rallies the alarmed hoet.

Who from mea's sooli draw their dishonest pAn,
For thee they smite, andadously they boast,

£vea while thy soas are in thy bosom slain.
Yet this b thy son solaee,~that, not lost.

Each drop of blood, each tearr-Cadmeaa seed,

Hhall send up armed ehampieos ia thy aeed.

Aad these were of that origin. Thy stamp
Was oa their brows, calm, fearless, and sublioM.

And they had held aloft thy hearealy lamp ;
And borne its odium as a fearful crime.

Aad therefore, through their quiet homes the tramp
Of Rata passed,— laying waste all that Time

Oiros as of good ; and, where Quilt fitly dweUs,

Had mads them homes in execrable cells.

We dwell in peace ,*— tAcy purchased it with blood.

We dwell at large ;— 'twas Mey who wore the chain.
And broke it. Like the living rocks tLsy stood.

Till their iaviacible patience did restrain
Tha billows of men's fury. Thea the rude

Shock of the past difftased a mild disdain
Through their pure hearts, and aa intense deaire
For aome ealm Jaad where freedom might respire.

Some land when they oiight reader Ood hla due,
Nor atir the gaU of the bCad sealot's hate.

Some Daad where came Thought's soul-refreshing de>.-
And Faith's snblimer risions. Whsre slate.

Their simplo>hearted children they might view,
Springing in joy,— hein of a blest estate :

And where each worn aad weary miad might some

From every realm, aad fiad a traaquil homa.

Aad th«y sought this. Yet, as thsy now descried
From the aear forest, pouriag, horde oa horde,

Armed, painted, plumed ia all their martial pride,
The dwellen of the wood»-the msa atihorred

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As fierce, perfidievs, nd wilb UmA bed jcd.
Felt ther bo draad I M«,^-«>r tbtir UMrte were
etond
>Vith eoBfideace which pure deiifM iBpvt,
And fiuth iB Him who fnacd thehttMS hewL

Aad tkej-^the childrem of the wild— i;ef eame
They at this tammons ? Swiftly it had Iowa

Far thr^gh their woods, like wind, or wiad-ieat fiame.
Followed by romoars of a stirring toae.

Which told that, all mlike, except in naina,
To those who yM lad on their shores bera known,

Tftese whiu Aen^^wearsrs of the peaieefvl Test,—

CraTsd, in their rales, a bnxhei^s home aad rest

On the red children of the desert, feU
The tidings, like spring's first delicions breath ;

For they had loTsd the strangers all too well ;
Aad still— thoogh reapfiig rain, seom. aad death

For a fraak welcome, and broad nom to dwell,
Oiren to the faithless boasters of pare faith,—

Their wUd, warm feelings kindled at the sight

Of Virtoe arm*d bat with her native might.

What term we ssTage ? The aatatored heart
Of Nature's child is bat a slumbering fire ;

Prompt at each breath, or passing toach, to start
Into quick flame, as quickly to retire :

Ready alike, its pleasanee to impart.
Or scorch the hand which rudely wakss its ire •

Demoattr child, as impulse may impel ;

Warm ia its lore, bat in its rengeaaes fell.

Ard these Columbian wfcrnors to their straad
Had welcomed Europe's sons,— aad rufd it sore^

Mm with smooth tongues, but rudely armed hand ;
Fabling of peace whea meditating gore;

Who, their foul deeds to Teil, ceased not to brand
The Indian name on erery Christlaa shore.

What wonder, on such heads, their fury's flame

Burst, till its terrors gloomed their fhirer fhme.

For they were sot a brutish race, onkaowiag
Eril from good ; their ferreat souls embraced

With virtue's proudest homage to o'erfiowing
The mind's inriolate majesty. The past

To them wae not a darkness ; but was glowing
With splendour which all time had not o'ereast |

Streaming unbroken from creation's birth.

When Qod communed snd walked with men on earth.

Stupid idolatry had never dimmed
The Almighty image ia their lucid thought

Totiim alone their jealous praise was hymned;
And hoar Tradition, from her treasury, brought

Glimpies of far^ff times, in which were limned
His awful glory; and their prophets taught

Precepts sublime^— a solemn ritual given,

la clouds aad thunder, to their sires from heaven.

And, in the boundless solitude which fills,
Svea as a mighty heart, their wild domains ;

la eatveo, aad glens of the onpeopled hills ;
Aad the deep shadow thai C»r ever reigns

Spirit like ia tkar woods ; where, reanag. spilla

The giaat eataraet to the astounded plaias,
Naturer in her snblimcst moods, had givca.
Not man's weak lore,— but a quick flash from hc«v^

Roamtag, in their free lives, by lake aad stream ;

Beaeaih the spleadoar of their gorgeous sky ;
Eaeamping. while shot down night's starry gleam*

In piny glades, where their forefiathcn lie ;
Voices would eome, and breathing whispen seem

To rouse within the life which may not die ;
Begetting valorous deeds, aad thoughts iateaseb
Aad a wild gush of burning eloqaence.

SmA were the men who rooad the pilgnma eaami
Oh I righteous heaveal aad thoa, hoavea^wolfa^

SUB I

How from my heart apnag tears of grief aad shama^
To think how runs— aad quickly diall have ma

O'er earth, ibr twice a thousand years, your flsme^
Siaoe, for maa's weal, Chrbt's rietories were wan |

Siaoe dyiag, to his aoas, love's gift dtviaa

He gavSb the bead of biotheihood aad the sign.—

Where shiaeo the systibol ? Baaopo's mighty malbn.

The brethren of the ewsa from age to age.
Have strivea to quench ia blood their queneUess

Oi^-cease their anaed hoets awhile their rage^
Tis but that Peace may half aaeloae bar gataa

la mockery; that each dipbmatie sage
May treat aad siga, while War rseraiti his power
And grinds the sword fnsh miUioiM to devoar.

Viet that conld, in a savage.et)-led land,
A few,— reviled, seoni'd, hated of the whole.

Stretch forth for peaoe the unceremonious hand.
And stamp Truth, evea upon a sealed scroll.

They called not God, or men, in proof to staad i
They prayed ao vengeaaoe on the perjured sonl t

Bat heavea look'd down, aad moved with wasder sa»

A compact framed, where time might bring no flaw.

Tet, through the laad ao clamorous triumph spraad.

Some bursts of natural eloquence were there :
SoaMwhat of his past wrongs the Indiaa said ;

Of deeds desiga'd which now were given to air.
Some tears the mother o'er her infaat shed.

As through her soul pass'd Hope's depietioas fiur;
Aad they were gone— the guileless scene was o'er ;
Aad the wild woods absorbed their tribea oaee mof.

Ay. years have rolled oa yean, aad loag has Peaa
Pass'd, with his Justice, from the eoil he bought ;

Aad the world's spirit, aad the world's true men
Its native sons with different views have eoaght

Crushing them down till they have risea agaia
With bloodiest retribution; yet have taught,

Evea while their hot revenge spread fire aad aeal^

Their aacieat, firm, inviolable faith.

When bunt the war-whopp at the dead of aight»
Aad the bkiod curdled at the dreadful aoand;

Aad morning brought not its accustomed light
To thousaads slumbaiiag la their gore aioaad g

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Then, h\» ones m the dewrf • blight,

The koines of Poin't peculiar tribe were found :
And still the scroll he gnre. in loTe and prid^
Their hands preserre*— earth has not sach beside.

Yes'; prise it, waainf race, for aerer more

ShaU yonr wild ffladss aaother Fena behold :
Pare, dauntless legislator, who did soar

Higher thaa dared sublimest thought of old.
That aatique lie which bent the great of jore.

And mleth stiU—Expedieaoe stem and cold, .
He pluck'd with scon from its usurped car
And showed Truth strongs and glorious as a star.
The Tast, the ebbless, the engulphiag tide

Of the white population still rolls on I
And quaird has your romantio heart of pnde,—

The kinglj spirit of the woods is gone.
Farther, and farther do ye wend to hide

Your wneting strength ; to mourn jrour glory flown*
And sigh to think how soon shall rrowds pursue
Down the lone stream where glides the still eaaoe.
And ye, a beautiful aonentity, ere long,

ShaU lire but with past marrds, Co adorn
Some fabling theme, some naarailiag song.

But ye hate piled a monument of scorn
F'or trite oppression's sophistry of wrong.

ProTittg, by all your tameless hearts have borne,
What now ye wttght havn been, had ye but met
With lore like yours, and faith nnwavermg yet.

The authors of ** Peon and the Indians''
justly observe in the last note upon their
exalted poem, that " it is William Penn*8
peculiar nonoar to stand alone as a states-
man, in opposing principle to expedience,
in public as well as in pri? ate life. Even
Aristides, the very beau-ideal of virtuous
integrity, failed in this point. The success
of the experiment has been as splendid as
the most philosophic worshipper of abstract
morals could have hoped for or imagined.''
These sentences exempli^ an expression

elseiwhere — " Politics are Morals.''

QUAKERS.
Omonr of tbc Tebm.
On the 30th of October, 1650, the cele-
brated George Fox being at a lecture de-
livered in Derby by a colonel of the par-
liaraenffl army, after the service was over
addressed the congregation, till there came
an officer who took him by the band, and
said, that he, and the other two that were
with him, must go before the magistrates.
They vrere examined for a long time, and
then George Fox, and one John Fretwell
of Staniesbv, a husbandman, were com-
mitted to the house of correction for six
months upon pretence of blasphemous ex*
pressions. Gervas Bennet, one of the two
justices who signed their mittimus, hearing
Uiat Fox bade him, and those about him.

** tremble at the word of the Lord," regarded
this admonition so lightmindedly, that from
that time, he called Fox and his friends
Quakeri. This new and unusual denomi-
nation was taken up so eagerly, that it soon
ran over all England, and from thence to
foreign countries.* It has since remained
their distinctive name, insomuch, tliat to the
present time they are so termed in acts of
parliament ; and in their own declarations
on certain public occasions, and in ad
dresses to the king, they designate them-
selves « the people called QuakereJ' The
community, m its rules and minutes, for
government and discipline, denominates
itself '< The Society of Friende." »

Cf)t WLiXl

OF JOHN KEATS, THE POET.
To the EeUtor.

Sir, — Underneath I send you a copy of
a document which << poor Keats " sent to

Mr. , in August, 1820, just before

his departure for Italy.

This paper was intended by him to
operate as his last will and testament, but
the sages of Doctors' Commons refused to
receive it as such, for reasons which to a
lawyer would be perfecthr satisfactory,
however the rest of tne world might deem
them deficient in cogency :—

Copy.
'^ My share of books divide amongst my
friends. In case of my death this
scrap of paper may be serviceable in
your possession.
** All my estate, real and personal, con-
sists in the hopes of the sale of books,
published or unpublished. Now I

wish and you to be the first

paid creditors — ^the rest is in nubibue —
out, in case it should shower, pay -— »
the few pounds I owe him.'*
Although too late to afford him any
satislaction or comfort, it did *< shower " at
last; and that, too, from a source which,
in its genera] aspect, bears all the gloomi-
ness of a cloud, vrithout any of its refresh-
ing or fertilizing anticipations — I mean the
Court of Chancery. This unexpected
** shower** was sufficiently copious to enable
the fulfilment of all the wishes expressed in
the above note. His friends have therefore
the gratification of knowing that no pecu-
niary loss has been (or need have oeen)
sustained, by any one of those with whom
he was connected, either by friendship oi

otherwise. I am. Sir, fcc O. SL

•SewaL

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Fine Writing Ink ! Buy ao Iron Fork, or a Shovel ?

OLD LONDON CRIES.

These engraviDf^ pretty well describe
tlie occupations of the figures they repre-
-ent. The cry of '* Fine writing-ink " has
ceased long ago ; and the demand for such
a fork as the woman carries is disconti-
nued. They are copied from a set of etch-
ings formerly mentioned — the "Cries of
London," by Lauron. The following of
that series are worth describing, because
they convey some notion of cries which we
hear no longer in the streets of the metro-
polis.

Buy a new Almanack ^

A ^oman bears book-almanacks before
her, displayed in a round basket.

London** Gazette here
A woman holds one in her hand, and
seems to have odiers in her lapped-up
apron.

Buy any fVax or JFafere f
A womao carries these requisites for

correspondence m a small hand -basket, or
frail, with papers open in the other hand.

My Name^ and your Name^ your Father^i
Name, and Mother* e Name.

A man bears before him a squara box,
slung from his shoulders, containing type-
founders' letters, in small cases, eadi on a
stick; he holds one in his hand. I well
remember to have heard this very cry when
a boy. The type-seller composed my owr
name for me, wnich I was thereby enabled
to imprint on paper with common writing
ink. I think it has become wholly eitinct
within the last ten years.

Old Shoeefor eome Broome

A man with birch-brooms suspended be-
hind him on a stick. His cry intimates,
that he is willing to exchange them for old
shoes ; for which a wallet at his bacx, de^
pending from his waist, seems a reoept.«cie

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RemeuAer the poor Prisonen I

A man, with a capacious covered basket
suspended at his back by leather handles,
through which his arms pass ; he holds in
nis right hand a small, round, deep box with
a slit in the top, through which money may
be put : in his left hand is a short walking-
staff for his support. In former times the
prisoners in dinerent gaols, without allow-
ance, deputed persons to walk the streets ani
solicit alms for their support, of passengers
and at dwelling-houses. The basket was
for broken-ficiuals.

Fritterty piping hot Frittert.

A woman seated, frying the fritters on
an iron with four legs, over an open fire
lighted on bricks ; a pan of batter by her
side : two urchins, with a small piece of
money between them, evidently desire to
fritter it.

Bujf my Dutch Buheti?

A woman carries them open in a large,
round, shallow arm-basket on her right
arm; a smaller and deeper one, covered
with a cloth, is on her left.

IVho^tfor a Mutton Pfe, or a Christwuu

A woman carries them in a basket hang-
ing on her left arm, iinder her cloak ; she
rings a bell with her right hand.

LiUy white FinegoTy Threepence a Quart.

The vinegar is in two barrels, slung
across the back of a donkey ; pewter mea*
sures are on the saddle in the space between
hem. The proprietor walks behind — he is
I jaunty youth, and wears flowers on the left
lide of his hat, and a lilly white apron ; he
tracks a whip with his left hand ; and
his right fingers play with his apron strings.

Old Satinf old Taffe% or Vehet.

A smart, prett> -looking lass, in a high-
peaked crowned-hat, a black hood care-
lessly tied under her chin, handsomely
stomachered and rulBed, trips along in
'ligh-heeled shoes, with bows of ribbons on
the insteps ; a light basket is on her right
arm, ana her hands are crossed with a
quality air,

Scotch or Rtuiia Clothe

A comfortably clothed, stout, substantial-
looking, middle-aged man, in a cocked hat,
(the fashion of those days,) supporting with
liis left hand a pack as large as his body.

slung at his back ; his right hand holds his
yard measure, and is tucked into the open
bosom of his buttoned coat ; a specimen
of his cloth hangs across his arm. Irish
and Holland linen have superseded Scotch
and Russia.

Four pair for a Shillings Holland Socke.

A woman cries them, with a shilling's-
worth in her hand ; the bulk of her ware is
in an open box before her. Our ancestor;
took great precautions against wet fi'on:
without — they took much within. The}
were soakers and sockers.

Long Thread Lactty long and etrong.

A miserably tattered *clothed girl and
boy carry long sticks with laces depending
from the ends, like cats-o*-nine tails. This
cry was extinct in London for a few years,
while the females dressed naturally— now,
when some are resuming the old fashion of
stiff stays and tight-lacing, and pinching
their bowels to inversion, looking unmo-
therly and bodiless, the cry has been par-
tially revived.

Pretty Maidtf pretty Pine, pretty fFomen.

A man, with a square box sideways
tinder his left arm, holds in his right hand
a paper of pins opened. He retails
ha'p'orths and penn*orths, which he cuts ofi
from his paper. I remember when pins
were disposed of in this manner in the
streets by women — their cry was a musical
distich-—

ThrBa>rowB'»*peDnj', pint.
Short whites, and mid^dl — tag* I

Fine Tie, or a fine Boh, sir I

A wig-seller stands with one on his hand,
combing it, and talks to a customer at his
door, which is denoted by an inscription to
be in ^ Middle-row, Holboum.'' Wigs on
blocks stand on a bracketed board outside
his window. This was when every body,
old and young, wore wigs — when the price
for a common one was a guinea, and a
journeyman had a new one* every year—
when it was an article in every apprentice's
indenture that his master shoula find him
in^'one good and sufficient wig, yearly, and
every year, for, and during, and unto the ex-
piration, of the full end, and term, of his
apprenticeship.'*

Buy my fine Singing Glaetee I

The^ were tn2mpet>formed glass tubes,
of vanous lengths. The crier blows odc

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of bi^f his own height. He holds others
•D bis left hand, and has a little box, and
two Of three baskets, slung about his waist.

JapafK yonr Shoes, your honour I

A shoeblack. A boy, with a small
basket beside him, brushes a shoe on a
stone, and addresses himself to a wigged
beau, who carries his cocked-hat under his
left arm, with a crooked-headed walking-
stick in his left hand, as was the iashion
amoDff the dandies of old times. I recol-
lect sboehlacks formerly at the comer of
almost every street, especially in great
thoroughfares. Tliere were several every
morning on the steps of St. Andrew's church
Holbora, till late in the forenoon. But the
greatest exhibition of these artists was on
the site of Finsbury-square, when it was
an open Held, and a depository for the
stones used in paving ana street-masonry.
There, a whole army of shoeblacks inter-
cepted the citizens and their clerks, on their
way from Islington and Hoxton to the
counting houses and shops in the city, with
** Shoeblack, your honour V ** Black your
shoes, sir I"

Each of them had a large, old tin-kettle,
containing his apparatus, viz. a capacious
ipkin, or other large earthen-pot, contain-
mg the blacking, which was made of ivory
black, the coarsest moist sugar, and pure
water with a little vinegar — a knife — two or
three brushes — and an old wig. The old
wig was an indispensable requisite to a
shoeblack ; it whisked away the dust, or
thoroughly wiped off the wet dirt, which
his knife and brushes could not entirely
detach ; a rag tied to the end of a stick
smeared his viscid blacking on the shoe,
and if the blacking was '* real japan,** it
shone. The old experienced shoe-wearers
preferred an oleaginous, lustreless blacking.
A more liquid blacking, which took a
polish from the brush, was of later use and
mvention. Nobody, at that time, wore
boots, except on horseback; and every
body wore breeches and stockings : panta-
loons or trousers were unheard of. The
old shoeblacks operated on the shoes while
they were on the feet, and so dexterously
as not to soil the fine white cotton stocking,
which was at one time the extreme of
&shion, or to smear the buckles, which were
universally worn. Latterly, you were ac-
commodated with an old pair of shoes to
stand in, ani the yesterda/s paper to read,
while your shoes were cleaning and polish-
ing, and yoor buckles were whitened and
brushed. When shoestrings first came

into vogue, the prince of Wales (now the
king) appeared with them in his shoes, and
a deputed body of the buckle-makers of
Birmingham presented a petition to his
royal highness to resume the wearing ot
bockles, which was good-naturedly com-
plied with. Yet in a short time shoestrings
entirely superseded buckles. The first in-
cursion on the shoeblacks was by the
makers of ** patent cake-blacking," on
sticks formed with a handle, like a small
battledoor; they suffered a more fearful
invasion from the makers of liquid blacking
in bottles. Soon afterwards, when *' Day
and Martin " manu^tured the ne piu*
ultra of blacking, private shoeblacking
became general, public shoeblacks rapidly
disappeared, and now they are extinct*
The last shoeblack that I remember in
London, sat under the covered entrance of
Red Lion-c(>urt, Fleet-street, within the
last six yesis.

ANTIQUARIAN MEMORANDUM.

For the Table Book.

Chair at Page's Lock.

At a little alehouse on the Lea, neat
Hoddesdon, called « Page's Lock,*' there is
a curious antique chair of oak, richly carved.
It has a high, narrow back inlaid with cane,
and had a seat of the same, which last is
replaced by the more durable substitute of
oak. The framework is beautifully carved
in foliage, and the top rail of the back, as
also the front rail between the legs, have
the imperial crown in the centre. The
supports of the back are twisted pillars,
surmounted with crowns, by way of knobs,
and the fore-legs are shaped like beasts*
paws.

The date is generally supposed to be thai
of Elizabeth ; and this is confirmed by the
circumstance of the chairs in the long gal-
lery of Hatfield-house, in Hertfordshire,
being of similar construction, but wUhomt
the crowns. The date of these latter chairs
is unquestionably that of Elizabeth, who
visited her treasurer, Burleigh, whose seat
it was. The circumstance of the crowns
being carved on *the chair above-named,
and their omission in those at Hatfield
would seem to imply a regal distinction
and we may fairly infer, that it once formed
part of the furniture of queen Elizabeth's
hunting-lodge situate on Epping foreeu
not many miles from Hoddesaon.

Ctastok*

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MINISTER Of KIRKBY LONSDALE,
KIRKBY KENDAL.— LUNE BRIDGE.

To the Editor.

Sir, — ^The Tenth Part of your interesting
publication, the Table Booky has been lent
to me by one of your constant readers;
who, aware of the interest which I take in
every thing connected with Westmoreland,

Pointed out the Notes of T. Q. M. on a
edestrian Tour from Skipton to Keswick.*
It is not my intention to review thoM
notes, or to point out the whole of his in-
accuracies ; but I shall select one, which)
in my humble judgment, is quite inexcus^/
able. After stating that the Rev. Mr.
Hunt was once the curate of KirAby (not
Kirby, as your correspondent spells it)
Lonsdale, he adds, ''I believe tne well-
known Cams Wilson is tlie officiating
minister at present." What your narrator
means by the appellation ** well known, "
he alone can determine — and to which of
the family he would affix the term, I can*
not possibly imagine. The eldest son is
rector of Whittington, an adjoining parish;
the second son of the same family is vicar
of Preston, in Lancashire ; the third is the
curate of Tunstal, in the same county.
These are all the gentlemen of that family
who are, or ever were, *' officiating mini-
sters :^ and I can safely assure your cop-
respondent, that not one of them eoer wtu
the officiating minister of Kirkby Lonsdale.
The vicar is the Rev. Mr. Sharp ; who the
curate is I forget, but an inquirer could
nave easily ascertained it ; and an inquiry
would have furnished him with some very
curious details respecting the actual incum-
bent.

By the way, let me mention the curious
fact of this town retaining its ancient name,
while Kendal, a neighbouring town, has
lost, in common parlance, a moiety of its
name. In all legal documents Kendal is
described as Kir&y Kendal, as the former
is Kirkby Lons-dale ; and tlie orthography
is important, as it shows at once tne deri-
vation of these names. Kirk-by'Lon't-^Uile,
and Kirk-by-Ken or Kent-dale^ evidently
show, that the prominent object, ilk
chuidies of those towns on the banks of
their respective nver, the Irtttttf, Loynef
or IfOfi, as it is variously written, and the
KetU or Keny and their daUif or vallies,
furnished the cognomen.

I should be much obliged to T. Q. M. il
he would point out the house where my
friend Bamabee

- viewed

An kaU, which like a tareme shewed
Neate fates, white walls, noof ht was spariDf ,
Pots brimful, ao thovfht of caring.

If a very curious tradition respecting the
very fine and remarkable bridge over the
river Lune, together with a painting of it
done for me by a cobbler at Lancaster,
would be at all interesting to you, I shall
be happy to send them to your publishers.
The picture is very creditable to the artbt;
and after seeing it, I am sure you will say,
that however (if ever) just, in former days,
the modems furnish exceptions to the well>
known maxim—

Ne sotoT tiltra ci«indani.

I am, sir,

your obedient servant,
Lt/rndtntf SepL 25, 1827. Bob Smobt.

OF ins
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

No.X.

The Copebhican System tbat op thf
Ahcirkts.

Copernicus places the sun in the centre
of our system, the fixed stars at the circum-
ference, and the earth and other planets
in the intervening space ; and he ascribes
to the earth not only a diurnal motion
around its axis, but an annual motion round
the sun. This simple system, which ex-
plains all the appearances of the planets
and their situations, whether processional,
stationary, or retrograde, was so fully and
distinctly inculcated by the ancients, that
it is matter of surprise it should derive itr
name from a modern philosopher.

Pythagoras thought that tne earth was a
movable body, and, so far from being the
centre of the world, performed its revolu^
tions around the region of fire, that is the
sun, and thereby formed day and night.
He is said to have obtained this knowl^ge
among the Egyptians, who represented the
sun emblematically by a beetle, because
that insect keeps itself six months undet

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jround, and six above ; or, rather, because
hnving formed its dung into a ball, it after-
ivards lays itself on its back, and by means
of its feet whirls that ball round in a circle.

Philolaiis, the disciple of Pythagoras,
was the first publisher of that and several
other opinions belonging to the Pythago-
rean school. He added, that the earth
moved in an oblique circle, by which, no
doubt, he meant the zodiac.

Plutarch intimates, that Timarus Locren-
sis, another disciple of Pythagoras, held
the same opinion ; and that when he said
the planets were animated, and called them
the different measures of time, he meant no
other than that they served by their revolu-
tions to render time commensurable; and
that the earth was not fixed to a spot, but
was carried about by a circular motion, as
\ristarchus of Samos, and Seleucus after*
wards taught.

This Aristarchus of Samos, who lived
iboat three centuries before Jesus Christ,
was one of the principal defenders of the
doctrine of the earth*s motion. Archimedes
inibrms us, *' That Aristarchus, writing on
this subject against some of the philoso-
phers of his own age, placed the sun im-
movable in the centre of an orbit, described
by the earth in its circuit." Sextus Empi-
ricus cites him, as one of the principal
supporters of this opinion.

From a passage m Plutarch it appears,
that Clean thes accused Aristarchus of im-
piety and irreligion, by troubling the repose
of Vesta and the Larian gods ; when, in
•giving an account of the phenomena of the
planets in their courses, he taught that
heaven, or the firmament of the fixed stars,
was immovable, and that the earth moved
in an oblique circle, revolving at the same
lime around its own axis.

TheopKrastus, as quoted by Plutarch,
says in his History of Astronomy, which
has not reached our times, that Plato, when
advanced in years, gave up the error he
had been in, of making the sun turn round
the earth ; and lamented that he had not
placed it in the centre, as it deserved, in-
stead of the earth, which he had put there
contrary to the order of nature. Nor is it
at all strange that Plato should reassume an
opinion which he had early imbibed in the
schools of the two celebrated Pythagoreans,
&rchytas of Tarentum, and Timseus the
Locrian, as we see in St. Jerome*s Christian
apology against Rufinus. In Cicero we
find, that Heradides of Pontus, who was a
Pythagorean, taught the same doctrine. It
may be added, that Tycho Brache*s system
was kqown to Vitruvius, as well as were

the motions of Venus and Mercury about
the sun.

That the earth is round, and inhabited on
all sides, and of course that there are Anti-
podes, or (hose whose feet are directly op-
Sosite to ours, is one of the most ancient
octrines inculcated by philosophy. Dio-
genes I^ertius, in one part of nis history,
says, that Plato was the first who called the
inhabitants of the earth opposite to us
^ Antipodes." He does not mean that Plato
was the first who taught tfiis opinion, but
only the first who made use of the term
" Antipodes;" for, in another place, he
mentions Pythagoras as the first wno taught
of When Plutarch wrote, it was a point
in controversy; and Lucietius and Pliny,
were oppose this notion, us well as St. Au
gustine, serve as witnesses that it must have
prevailed in their time.*

The proofs which the ancients brought
of the sphericalness of the earth, were the
same that the moderns use. Pliny on this
subject observes, that the land which retires
out of sight to persons on the deck of a
ship, appears still in view to those who are
upon the mast. He thence concludes, that
the earth is round. Aristotle drew this
consequence not only from the circular
shadow of the earth on the disk of the
moon in eclipse, but also from this, that,
in travelling south, we discover other stars,
and that those which we saw before, whether
in the zenith or elsewhere, change their
situation with respect to us.

On whatever arguments the ancients
founded their theory, it is certain they
clearly apprehended that the planets re-
volved upon their own axis. Heradides of
Pontus, and Ecphantus, two celebrated
Pythagoreans, said, that the earth turned
from west to east, just as a wheel does upon
its axis or centre. According to Atticus,
the platonist, Plato extended this observa
tion from the earth to the sun and other
planets. '* To that general motion which
makes the planets describe a circular course,
he added another, resulting from theii
spherical shape, which made each of them
move about its own centre, whilst they per-
formed the general revolution of theii
course.'' Piotinus also ascribes this senti-
ment to Plato; for speaking of him he
says, that besides the grand circular course
observed by all the stars in general, Plate
thought " they each performed another
about their own centre.''

The same notion is ascribed to Niceta;
of Syracuse by Cicero, who quotes Theo-
phrastus to warrant what he advances
This Nicetas is ht whom Diogenes Laertius

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names Hycetas, whose opinion, he says,
was, that *^ the celerity of the earth's mo-
tion about its own axis, and otherwise, was
the onlY cause and reason of the apparent
revolutions of the heavenly bodies/^

How useful the invention of telescopes
has been to the astronomical observations
of the moderns is particularly evident from
their discovery, that the planets revolve on
their axis, a discovery founded on the
periodical revolution of the spots observed
on their disks ; so that every planet per-
forms two revolutions,' by one of whicn it
b carried with others about a common cen-
tre ; and, by the other, moves upon its axis
round its own. Yet all that the moderns
have advanced in this respect, serves only
to confirm to the ancients the glory of being
the first discoverers, by the aid of reason
alone. The modems in this are to the an-
cients, as the French philosophers to sir
Isaac Newton ; all whose labours and tra-
vail, in visiting the poles and equator to
determine the figure of the earth, served
onl^ to confirm what sir Isaac had thought
of It, without so much as stirring from his
closet.

GRAVESEND.
A Mother and her Childrbv.

To the Editor.

tion this afternoon through an mcident on the
roof of a stage-coach, by which I was tra-
velling to Itochester with several passen-
gers ; an of whom, except myself, alighted
at Gravesend. One of them, a Londoner,
a young man of facetious remark, let an
expression Or two fall, from whence 1
strongly suspected he was the husband of
Lobski's mother. He had sat next to me
at the back of the coach, and had been
particularly anxious respecting the safety
of a goose^ whereon, as I learned, he an-
ticipated to regale with hfs wife in honour
of Michaelmas. Being left to pursue the
short remainder of my journey alone, I was
proceeding to change my place in the rear,
tor the box-seat, when I perceived a letier,
with the direction so obliterated by friction,
as to be undecipherable. There could not
be a doubt that it had escaped from my
late fellow-traveller's pocket; and as it
seemed to have been left to me as an air-
loom, I took the liberty to examine the
contents. It was from his wife; and in
connection with my surmise, and with my
beach-story, it furnished the strongest pre-
sumptive evidence that I had rightly con-
jectured his identity. He was an entire
stranger to thedri?er; and I am scarcely
sorry that the absence of all clue to his ad-
dress at Gravesend, or in London, allows
me a fair opportunity of laying before the
readers of tne Table Book a sprightly epis-
tle, from a mother who leaves her home in
the metropolis to visit Gravesend, as a

Rocheeter, Sept, 29, 1827. ^^^^^ng place, with a couple of 'young

Sir,— On the beach at Gravesend yesterday
morning, I saw a gaily dressed young female
walking and fondling an infant in her arms,
whom she called Henry ; with a fine, lively,
bluff boy of about three years old running
before, who suddenly venturing to interrupt
the gravity of a goat, by tickling his beard
with a switch, became in immediate
danger of over-punishment from the pro-
voked animal. I ran to " the rescue,'^ and
received warm thanks for its achievement.
After the manner of mothers she kissed and
scolded her " dear Lobski,'' as she called
the little rogue; and I involuntarily and
inquisitively repeated the appellation. "Sir,"
said she, — and she smiled — *^ it is perfectly
ridiculous; but his father and I so frequently
give him that name in joke, that we some-
times let it fall when in earnest — his
real Chrittian name is Robert,'^ I laughed
at the whim, shook hands with young
** Lobski,'* wished his moth^ good morning,
set off by the first conveyance to London,
and wholly forgot my little adventure.

— It was brought to my recollec-

children whom she loves, and with the
pleasure of expecting and receivinj^ an
occasional pop-visit from her good man.

Copt of the Letter.

Oraveeend, Thursday aft.

Dear Henry, — We arrived here after
a very pleasant voyage in one of the
Calais steamers. Lobski, as usual, was,
and is, quite at home. He really appears
to be the flower of Gravesend. He spars
with all the sailors who notice him, which
are not a few — nods to the old women—
halloes at the boys, and runs off with their
hoops — knocks at the windows with hia
stick— hunts the fowls and pigs, because
they run away from him — and admires the
goats, because they are something new
As we walk on the beach he looks out for
'* anoner great ship*' — kisses the little girls
— thumps Mary — and torments me. The
young ones in the road call him ** Cock
Robin." He is, indeed^ what £. D. calif
" a tainted jne."

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Upon firet coming down I immediately

commenced inquiries about the bathing,

and found some who talked oimmd-rublnng.

I Ko one gave it such a character as Mrs. £•

1 ^I met with a lady on the beach, who

I told me she had brought a little boy of hers

down last year to be mittUrtibbed i but after

a month's stay his legs were no way im-

' proved-^she tlien bathed him for a month,

and the boy is a fine little fellow. I con«

sideredy as LobtkPt legs really brought us

here, it was best to bathe him at once ; and

accordingly paid 59, 3d, for a month, other-

wise it is 1«. each time. Since going in,

, which he took pretty well, considering the

I instantaneous plunge, he calls to me when

he looks at the sea, '' There is my tub, Ma.*'

I lie was rather frightened, and thought he

I fell into the water, but not near so much,

; the guide says, as most children are.

I Harry is getting fatter every day, and Tery

jealous of Bob when with me— but, out of

doors, the little fellow glories in seeing

Lobski run on before. They grow very

fond of each other.

I Monday will be a grand day here in
choosing the mayor, and at night a mock
I election takes place, with fireworks, &c.—
and this day month Greenwich-fiur is held
I in the fields. The people here are any
thine but sociable, and ** keep themseWes
I to themselves/' The sailors are the most
I obliging, and very communicatire— they
I usually canr Bob over any dirty place or so
I for me — and, to tell the tnith, I have almost
changed my mind from a parson to asailoi.
If you can, do come down on Sunday ;
but, by no means, empty-handed, or rather,
empty-pocketed — my cash is now very low,
though I have been as saving as possible.
1 find no alteration in the price of provi-
sions except potatoes and milk— every thing
else I think is as in London. I should like
some pens, paper, and a book or two— for
one, the Duchess D*Orleans' Court of Louis
the XIV., I think it is — and any thing, as
poor Mrs. ■ says, irery amusing ; for

the evenmgs are " cursedly " dull — stop-
it's your own word— and as I have said it,
it may relieve a little of thU evening's
ennui. Whatever you bring you can put
into the little portmanteau, which I shall
find very useful when we return. Bob
and Harry send you a kiss apiece, and
mine " I will twist up in a piece of paper,
and bring with me when I come to town."
Tliis is a scribble — ^but Bob is asleep on
my lap.

I km, my dear Harry,

Yours, very affectionately.

N.B. Please to send jm word the day of
the roomh, and what's o*clock.

Can you, Mr. Editor, imagine any thing
more expressive of loneliness, and desire m
intelligence, than this young wife's capital
N.B., with the execratory citation from her
husband's vocabulary-*-«r more sportively
affectionate than the ** twist up '^ of het
kiss, with *' Bob" Lobski asleep on her lap. '
I like a letter, and a letter writer of Ibis
sort mightily: one with a fearless and
strong expression of feeling — as in the
epithet about the dull evenings, which
a female can scarcely extenuate, except
by such a confession and assignment to
Us right owner, implying its impropriety, i
as this female makes. How oadly, and
yet how well, her fondness for rnKling
and her domestic management collocate—
the Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV.
and the price of provisions. How natural
is her roomenta|^ hesitation between mud-
nibbing and bathing. Then the instant
determination, so essential when there is
no time to spare, marks such ** decision
of character 1' — even the author of the
excellent essay on that noble quality would
admire it. I presume that *< Lobski " may
be rickety ; and I take this opportunity of
observing, on the authority ot a medical
friend, that town-bred children, who eat
profusely of sugar, and are pamper/^ with
sweets, usually are. Sugar has the tit-cl
of softening the bones, and causes the rick-
ets : it should form no part of the food of
rickety children, or only in a small degree ;
and such children should be allowed and
encouraged to eat common salt freely.

To return however to the letter. — I
should really like to know the secret of the
allusion respecting the " parson " and the
'^ sailor," so naturally called forth by fhe
playful services of the tars ; which, I have
observed, are ever exerted on such occa-
sions, and remind one of the labours of
Hercules with the distaff. Her account of
Lobski's '* animated nature*' is so pretty
and true a sketch of bovish infancy, that
you may perceive the hand of the mo»
ther in every line. In the anticipation
of the mayoralty show and the fair, and
the unsociableness of Gravesend society, I
think I can trace something of the woman.
I hope she may live to see her boys ** good
men and true,*' gladdening her heart by
fearless well-doing. She must look well to
Lobski:— he's a "Pickle." It is in the
power of a mother to effect more in the
formation of a child's early 'dispositioa
than the fether.

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l^tly, that YOU may be assured of the
^DuineDess of the letter 1 found, and
have copied, the original accompanies this
communication to your publishers; with
authority, if its ownership be claimed, to
deliver it to the claimant, on the production
of a line in the handwriting of the epistle

itselL

I am, Sir, 8cc.

Curio So.

« POOR BILLY W .*•

Far the Table Book,

Some years ago my pen was employed to
attempt the sketch of a Character, but ap-
prehending that the identity might be too
strong and catch his eye,— he was my
friend, and a great reader of " periodicals"—
I desisted. I meant to say nothing ill-
natured, yet I feared to offend a harmless
and inoffensive man, and I destroyed what
had given me an hour's amusement. The
reason no longer exist*— death has re-
moved him. Disease and a broken spirit,
occasioned by commercial misfortunes and
imprudences, weighed him down, and the
little sphere in which he used to shine has
lost its chief attraction.

What a man he was !— of the pure,

real London cut. Saint Paul's was stamped
on his forehead. He was the great oracle
of a certain coffee-house, not a hundred
miles from Gray's Inn; where he never
dined but in one box, nor placed himself
but in one situation. His tavern dignities
were astounding — the waiters trembled at
his approach — ^his orders were obeyed with
the nicest precision. For some years he
was the king of the room — he was never
deposed, nor did he ever abdicate. His
mode of calling for his pint of wine, and
the bankrupt part of the Gazette, had a
peculiar character past describing. I have
now and then seen a " rural," in the same
coffee-ioom, attempt the Min^^— but my

friend was " Hyperion to a satyr."

1 have him in my eye bow— tra-
versing to the city and back— regulating
his watch by the Royal Exchange clock
daily ; and daily boasting he had the best
** goer " in England. Like his watch, he
was a curious piece of mechanism. He
seldom quitted London, for he was per-
suaded every thing would ** stand stil. "
in his absence. It seemed, as though he
imagined that St. Paul's clock would not
stride— that the letters by the general post
would not be delivered. — Was he not

right? To me, the dty wa« a **void *
without him.

— ^-* What a referee be was 1 He would
tell you the price of stocks on any past
day ; and dilate for hours on the interesting
details in the charters of the twelve city
companies. He had a peculiar mode of
silencing an antagonist who ventured to
obtrude an opinion — ^by adducing a scriptu*
ral maxim, '* Study to be quiet,** and ^ mind
your own business ;" and now and then a
few Latin mottos, obtained from the Tablet
of Memory, would be used with great feli-
city. His observations were made in an
elevated tone, they commanded attention-
he used to declare that '* money was mo-
ney;'* that ** many people were great
fools ;" and that <* bankrupts could not be
expected to pay much." After a remark of
this kind he would take a pinch of snuff,
with rrave self^^mplacency, and throw his
snuff-box on the table with inimitable im-
portance— a species of dignified ingenuity
that lived and died with him. His medical
panacea was a certain '* vegetable sirup,"
whereon he would descant, by the hour
together, as a specific for all human mala-
dies, and affirm ^' your physicians and
apothecaries — mere humbugs r— —

Then, he would astound the coffee-room
bv declaring he once bid the king of Spain
£700,000 for the island of Porto Rico—
this was his grandest effort, and if his ear
ever caught the question ** Who is he V*
uttered by a country listener, his thrown*
back shoulders and expansion of chest be-
trayed the delight he felt, that his bounce
had been overheard.

Now and then, on a Saturday, he would
break his city chains, and travel to ** The
Spaniard " at Hampstead for a dinner ; but
no argument or persuasion could get him
to Richmond. His reply vras always the
same — *' the hotels at Richmond employ
too much capital." He was an economist.
In his pleasantest humours, and he had
few unpleasant ones, after dining with him
I have sometimes impoituLed him to pay
the whole bill ; his answer was peculiar and
conclusive ; " My good friend," said he,
*< if I had adopt^ Sue plan of paying for
others, I might have kept company with all
the princes and nobles in the land, instead
of plebeians like you.**

His Sunday, till one o'clock, was passed
in ** spelling the newspapers ;** after that
he walked on the north side of Lincoln's
Inn Fields, with his hands behind him, till
three— he then entered Lincoln's Inn cha-
pel, and returned to boiled beef and suet
pudding at five, which were always brought

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to him ftret.— If an old friend or two drop*
ped in. his happiness was complete.

He was a philosopher too, at least he in-
dulged in a tart or philosophy, and I am
not sore that it was not a gooa sort, although
not a Tery elevated or poetical one. He
erinced a disregard for life. The sooner
** we are all dead the better'' was one of
his favourite phrases. And now he ii dead,
— Peace to his ashes!

This is the oplj tablet raised to his me-
moiy ; the inscription is feeble, but it has
; the novelty of truth, and may occasion
9ome of his many acquaintances to remem-
ber the quaintness and eccentricities of

" Poor Billt W ."

W.H-

ABORIGENES.

This word is explained in every diction-
ary, English, Latin, or French, as a general
name foj the indigenous inhabitants of a
country; when in reality it is the proper
name of a peculiar people of Italy, who
were not incfigenou^, but supposed to have
been a colony of Arcadians. The error
has been founded chiefly on the supposed
derivation of the word from ab origine*
Never (except in Swift's ludicrous work)
was a more eccentric etymology— a prepo-
sition, with its governed case, made plural
by the modem final s I The university of
Oxford, some years ago, added to this sole-
cism by a public prise poem on the Abo-
riginal Britons.

The most rational etymology of the word
seems to be a compound of the Greek
words ^#, l^tt, and ^iMf, a race of moun-
taineers. So Virgil calls them,

**— G«a«s Udoeilt m ditperram montibas sltis.**

It seems more probable, that the name of
the oldest settlers in Italy should have a
Greek than a Latin derivation.

The preceding remarks are by a late
poet-laureate, Mr. Pye, who concludes by
inquiring, what should we say of the ety-
mologist T*ho were to deduce the name of
an ancient British tribe from the modem
English?

TASTING DAYS.
To the Editor,

Sir,— .Few men enjoy, or deserve better
living than the citizens of London. When

they are fiir on the journey of life, and have
acquired a useful fame in their respective
companies, their elevation is delightful
and complacent. Not a subject is pro-
posed, nor a matter of reference considered^
but, as a living author has observed, ** k
must begin or finish with a dinner.** Thoi
originated a most exquisite anticipation to
the eeleei few, the ^* Tasting Day,''— a
day which precedes all good general taxing
and drinking days. Mr. Aberaethy (who, by
the by, is not afraid of dish or glass) may
lecture profitably on abstinence, and the
** Lancet** may breathe a satirical vein, yet,
in compliance with social fellowship and
hqmane gourmanderie, London atizens
proudly patronise the preceding and suc-
oeeding engagements oO^ Tasting Days."
I am, sir.

Your brother cit.

Am ()ldT4Ster.

CURIOUS SIGN.
For the litble Booh.

** A littlt iMtminf u » dmafnou thiaf ."

So said Pope, and so say I. At Haltoo
East, near Skipton-in Craven, the following
inscription arrests the attention of every
passer-by :—

Watkinson's

ACAOAMI

JThatever man hoe done man mojf do

Also

Dealeb in Grocekies,

kc

Tim. T ,

ORDERS TO MARCH.

The following parody, on a stanza of the
** Blue Bonnets over the Border,** is put
forth, as an advertisement, by a hatter, at
Brighton, named March.

Marob I Mareh I hu tht best bate to tell.

Try bim, yoall find bim no wily doceivor;
Mareb I— marob 1 go and bt'U qm 700 ircll.
Hit u tbe warebottte for hayiixg a beavor.
Cone tben, mj mastera.
Doff ymr old eaaton,
RagfM and ton, or bowe'er ia dnorder :
For a sew topper, a
Round bat or opera,
Marob ia tbe bub, ao give bim aa'order.
Marebl Marrbl baa tbebeslUts l»aiU.ft«i

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THE BROOM-MAKERS AT SHIRLEY COMMON, SURREY.

A bomeljr piciun of m homely pl«06,
Where nutio Ubonr plief iU honett toil.
And gains a compeWnot.

On a fine sumroei i 'lay I alighted, with
my friend W ^ from ihe roof of a stage-
coach at Croydon, for a by-way walk, in
a pait unknown to both. We struck to
the eastward through Addiscombe — it
IS scarcely a village, and only remarkable
for the East India Company having seated
it with a military establishment ; which, as
peaceable persons, we had no desire to
see, though we could not help observing
some cannon in a meadow, as smooth-
shaven, and with as little of nature-like
aspect, as a drill-sergeant's face. Further
onward we net a well-mounted horseman,
whom some of my old readers may easily
magiue 1 could uol fiail to remember—

^ mine host " of the " Swan *" at West
VVickham-^the recognition was mutual
and being in search of an adventure, 1
asked him for a direction to any little pub-
lic-house within a mile or two, tliat was
worth looking at on account of its antiquity
and rustic appearance. lie despaired oi
any thing '' aosolutely '* of the kind in the
neighbourhood; but, from his description
of what he thought might be ^* something *'
ftcar it, we took a lane to the left, and sooq
came to the house. Like too many of our
ancient churches it had been ^ repaired
and beautified "—deprived of every thing
venerable— and was as unpicturesque as
the overseers of the reparations could make

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I

it We found better entertainment within
than without^a cheerful invitation to the
bar, where we had a cool glass of good ale
with a biscuit, and the sight of a fine healthy
family as they successively entered for
something or other that was wanted. Having
refreshed and exchanged '< good-morning '
with the good-natured proveditors of " good
entertainment for man and horse/' we
turned to the left, and at a 8tone*s throw
crossed into a lane, having a few labourers'
cottages a little way along on the right, and
soon came to the Broom-maker's, represented
in the engraving.

We had a constant view all the way up
the lane, from beyond the man climbing
the ladder, of the flickering linen at the
point of the rod waving on the broom-
6Uck. The flag was erect^ by the labourers
on the carrying of the last shoulder-load
of the rustic pile — an achievement quite as
important to the interests of the Broom-
maker, as the carrying of Seringapatam to
the interests of the ** Honourable Com*
pany."

Having passed the Broom-maker's, which
stands at the comer of the lane we had
come up, and being then in the roa^ across
Shirley Common towards Addingion, we
interchanged expressions of regret that we
had not fallen in with any thing worth no-
tice. A look-back induced a halt; we
returned a few steps, and taking seats at
the angle on the bank, I thought I perceived
''capabilities,'' in the home-view before our
eyes, for a Table Book notice. The loaded
man, near the pile of poling, is represented
proceeding towards a spot at some thirty
yards distance, wher^ a teaaied waggon-
frame was standing. It belonged to the
master of the place — a tall, square-shoul-
dered, middle-aged, active man, who looked
as one having authority — who laboured,
and was a master of labourers. He, and
another man, and a lad, were employed,
" all without hurry or care,** in loading
the wain with poling. As I stood observ-
ing their progress he gave me a frank
** Good-dav, sir 1" and I obtained some in-
formation from him respecting his business.
His name is on his carts '' John Bennett,
Shirley Common." He calls himself a
** Broom-maker and Wood-dealer," and he
has more the character of a Wood-cutter
than the figure of the Wood-man in the
popular print. He and his men cut the
materials for broom-making chiefly from
the neighbouring common, and the wood
he deals in from adjacent woods and copses.
He sells the greater part of his brooms to
thopkeepen and other consumers in Streat-

ham and Camberwell. Much of his poling
is sent fairther off. A good deal, he told
me, had gone to the duke of Devonshire '
for fencing ; the load then preparing was
for like use on a farm at Streatham, belong-
ing to Mr. Hoare, of the Golden Cross,

Cbarinff Cross. He eyed W seated

on the bank, sketching the spot, and said,
that as soon as he had finished loading the
wain, he would show us what was ** going
on in-doors." Accordingly when he had
concluded he walked with me to W — ^,
who, by that time, had nearly finished.
Seeing what had been effected in that way,
be had ** a sort of notion that the gentleman
might like, perhaps, to take off an old
broom-maker, 4hen at work, inside-^ as
euriaue an old chap as a man might vralk
a summer's day without seeing — one that
nobody could make either head or tail of —
what you call an ortginaV*

W and I were as desirous of some-
thing new as were the ancient inhabitants
of Athens ; and in search of it we entered
the broom-manufactory — a small, warm,
comfortable barn, with a grateful odour in
it from the heath and birch-wood. Four or
five persons were busy ai work. Foremost
within the door was the unmistakeable old
^ origioaL'* Like his fellow-workmen be
wore a leathern apron, and a heavy leathern
sleeve on the left arm.; and with that hand
and arm he firmly held and compressed the
heath into round bundles, of proper con-
sistency and size, and strongly Dound them
with the other. He was apparently between
sixty and seventy years of age, and hb
labour, which to a young man seemed light,
was to him heavy, for it required muscular
strength. There was some difiScuUy in
getting hini to converse. He was evidently
suspicious ; and, as he worked, his appre-
hensions quickened him to restlessness and
over-exertion. To ** take him off" while
thus excited, and almost constantly in a
bending posture, was out of the question.
I therefore handed him a jug of bis master's
home-brewed, and told him our wish. His
countenance lighted up, and I begged him
to converse with me for a few minutes,
and to look roe full in the face; I also
assured him of the '' wherewithal " for a
jug of ale at night. He willingly entered
into the compact, but the inquietude naturaj
to his features was baffling to the hand that
held the pencil. By this time the rumour
that " Old Davy " was bavins; his head
'' taken off" brought his master s wife, and
her daughters itnd sons, from the cottage^
and several workmen from another out*
house, to witness the execution. Oppo-

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lite to him was W— with his sketcli-
book ; his desire for a " three-qaartcr "
view of the " original " occasioned me to
seat myself on a heap of btrch sideways,
that the old man*s face might be directed
to me in the required position. The group
around us was numerous and differently
interested : some kept their eyes upon " Old
Davy ;" others upon me, while I talked to
him ; as many as could command a view of
the sketch-book were intent upon the pro-
gress of the portrait ; and a few, who were
excluded, endeavoured on tiptoe, and with
outstretched necks, to obtain peeps at what
was going on. W. steadily employed on
the likeness— the old man *' sitting," cun-
ningly smiling, looking unutterably wise at
me, while W— ^ was steadily endeavour-
ing for the likeness — the surrounding speo-
I tators, and the varied expressions of tneir
I various fiices — ^the gleams of broken light
, from the only openiuff that admitted it,
: the door-way— the broad masses of shadow,
and the rich browns of the shining birch
I and spreading heath, rudely and unequally
I piled, formed a picture which I regretted
that W-^— was a prominent figure in,
because, engaged as he was, he could nei-
ther see nor sketch it.
I This old labourer's eccentricity was ex-
\ ceedingly amusing. He slid his name was
I David Boxall ; he knew not, or would not
know, either where he was bom, or where
he had worked, or any thing more of him-
self, than that there he was ; " and now/'
said he, "make of me what you can.''
" Ah r* said his master, in a whisper, " if
you can make anything of him, sir, it*s more
than we have been able to do." The old
fellow had a dissenting ** humph ^ for every
thing advanced towaras him— except the
ale-jug. The burthen of his talk was — he
thought about nothing, cared about nothing
—not he — ^why should he ? Yet he was a
perpetual inquirer. Craftily leering his
quick-glancing eye while he asked a ques-
tion, he waited, with a sarcastic smile, for an
answer; and when given, out came his
usual gruff " humph," and ** how do you
know ^" He affected to listen to explaoar
tions, while he assumed a knowing grin, to
persuade his hearers that he knew better.
His knowledge, however, was incommuni-
cable, and past all finding out. He conti-
nually indulged in ** hum l** and ** ha !" and
a sly look ; and these, to his rustic auditors,
were signs of wisdom. He was what they
called a "knowing old chap.*' He had
been the best broom-maker in the manu-
factory, and had earned excellent wages^
When I law him he was infirm, and did

uut get more than fourteen or sixteen shil-
lings a week. Mr. Bennett's men are paid
piece-work, and can easily earn a guinea
week. After the sketching was over, and
his people had retired to their labour, we
walked with him through his little gardec
of fruit-trees and vegetables to another shed,
where they fashioned broom-handles, and
some common husbandry implements of
wood. On recrossing the garden he ga-
thered us cherries from the trees, and dis-
coursed on his hives of bees by the hedge-
side. Having ffiven something to his men
to spend in driox, and to *' Old Davv*' some-
thing especially, we brought off his head,
which would cost more to exhibit than a
better subject, and therefore it has since
rested without disturbance.

From the Broom-maker's at Shirley
Common, we had a pleasant walk into Ad-
dington, where there is a modem-built
palace of the archbishop of Canterbury,
with extensive old gardens and large hot-
houses, and several good houses. We had
passed Mr. Maberly^s seat atid grounds on
our way. A turn in the road gave us a
view of Addington church in a retired
spot, beyond a row of town-built dwellings,
with litUe gardens in front, and a shop or
two. The pansh clerk lives in one of
them. Upon request he accompanied us,
with the keys, to the church, of ancient struc-
ture, lately trimmed up, and enclosed by a
high wall and gates. There was nothing
within worth seeing, except a tomb with
disfigured effigies, and a mutilated ill-kept
register-book, which, as it belonged to the
immediate parish of the archbishop, seem-
ed very discreditable. The " Cricketers/*
nearly opposite to the church, accommo-
dated us with as good refreshment as the
village afforded, in a capacious parlour. The
house is old, with a thatchea roof. We
found it an excellent resting-place ; every
way better, as an inn, than we could have
expected in a spot so secluded. We had
rambled and loitered towards it, and felt
ourselves more wearied when about to de-
part than we wished ; and, as a farmer's
family cart stood atthe door, with the farmer
himself in it, I proposed to W. to attempt
gaining a lift. Tne farmer's son, who drove
it, said, that it was going our way, and that
a ride was at our service. The driver got
tip in front, W. followed, and when I had
achieved the climbing, I found him in con
flict with a young calf, which persisted in
licking his clothes. He was soon relieved
firom the inconvenience, by its attentions, in
like manner, being shifted to me. The ola
&rmer was a little more tfa*ji ** fresh,*' aiie

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husonalitdelesf. We had a laughable jolt
upstanding, along a little frequented road ;
and during our progress I managed to bind
the calf to good behaviour. Leaving West
Wickham on our left, and its pleasant
church and manor-house on the right, we
ascended Keston Common, and passed over
it, as we had nearly all the way, in merry
conversation with the old former, who
dwelt with great glee on his youthful feme,
as one of the best cricket-players in Kent.
We alighted before we came to the << Fox **
public-house, where our companions ac-
cepted of a magnum of stiff grog in recom-
pense for their civility. From thence we
skirted Holwood, till we arrived at my old
** head-quarters, the << Cross " at Keston ;
and there we were welcomed by '^ mine
host,^ Mr. Young, and took tea. A walk to
Bromley, and a stage from thence, brought
us to '* the Elephant" — and so home. «

THE WOOD FEAST.
To the Editor.

Sir, — ^In the autumn it is customary at
Templecoomb, a small village in Somerset-
shire^ and its neighbourhood, for the stew-
ard of the manor to give a feast, called the
** Wood feast,'' to farmers and other con-
sumers that buy their wood for hurdles,
rick-iasts in thatching, poles, spikes, and
sundry other uses.

When the lots are drawn in the copses,
and each person has paid down his money,
the feast is provided ^ of the best,'' and
few attend it out go home with the hilarity
which good cheer inspire. This annual
treat has its uses ; for the very recollection
of the meeting of old friends and keeping
of old customs gives an impetus to industry
which generally secures for his lordship his
tenants* }9^ood money — most excellent fiiel
for the consumption of the nobility.

I am, Sir, your constant leader,

Sept. 182r. ♦, •, •.

CHOOSING COAfJIf OAT CONSTABLES.
For the Table Book.
It is annually the custom to hold a meet-
mg, duly summoned, on Hartley Common,
mlts, for the choice of new constables for
the hundreds of the county. Lots are cast
for those who are to serve for the ensuing
year; and afterwards the parties present
adjourn to a house for refreshment, which
costs each individual about seventeen shil-
lings. This muy almost be regarded as an
equivalent for serving the office — the lots
mostly fell on the absentees.

P.

No. XXXVL

[From '^Love*s Dominion,** a Dramatic
Pastoral," by Richard Flecknoe, 1634.]

Invocation to Silence,

StiU-bom Silcneti thoa that ftrt
Floodfate of the deeper heart i
Offiipriiif of ft heftTcnlj kind ;
Froct o> th' moeth and Uiaw o'
Beeree/s Goofident. «aid be
That makee rdigion Mjsterj i
Admiratum's epeaking*it
Leare fhj desart shadee, amoaf
Beveread Herauts' haUow*d eeUa,
Where xetir'd**! Drrotiea dwelk :
With thj SathnsiaeoM eone i
Seiae thb Uaid, and strike her domb.

FabU.

hum aad Death o* th* way oaee meetug,
HaTiaf past a frieadij frsetiag.
Sleep their wearj e/e-lids ckwinc.
Lay them dowa. themselres rsposiBf ;
Whea this fortnne did befall 'na.
Whieh after did so mach appal 'ens i
Lore, whoBB diTen eares oiolested,
Gbold Bot sleep ; bat, wUlst Death rested.
All awaj IB haste he posts him.
Bat his haste fall dearly ooets him ;
For it ehanoed, that, going to steeping^
Both had git'a their darte ia keeping
Uato Night ; who (Srror^s Mother)
Bliadlj knowing not th* oae from th* other,
Oare Love Death*s, aad ae*er pereeiT'd it.
Whilst as Uindlf LovneceiT'd it i
Binee which time, their darts oonfeoadiag.
Lots now kills, instead of wonadiagt
Death, oar hearts with sweetnees filling,
Geaay wonnds, tastead of kiUiag.

[From ^ Andronicus," a Tragedy, by Phi*
lonax Lovekin, 1661.]

Effect of Religioue Strmcturee on dif-
ferent mtiuAr.

Crate. I griere the Chapel was defaced; *twa>
stateljr.

CUohdms. I lore no sneh trkamphnnt Cknrehe^^
They seatter m^ devotion i whilst mj right
Is eonrted to obeerte their samptnons ooet,
I find mj heart loot ia my ejrce;
Whilst that a holj horror asems to dwell
Withia a dark obeenro aad hambleeelL

Crafo. Bat I Ioto Chnrohes, mouat ap to th* ska*
For mj derotioB rises with their noft
ThareiB mv eoal doth haav^ aatidpala

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SoTig far Steep,

Come, Somnns, with tbf potent ebanns.
And Mise this CapttTe ia thj anni ;
AmJ tirMUy drop on ormry mbm
Tby Miil-nfrcfthiiif iBfloonee.
His sif ht, smell, henrinf, touch, and tasto,
Uato tke peaoo do tkoa biad £ut.~
Ob working braias, at school all daj.
At aifht thoB dost bestoir a pUf,
Aad troaUad miads thon dost set freo ;
Tkoa Butk*st both frieads aad foes agree:
All ars alik^ who lire hj breath,
la thae, and ia thy brothtr Death.

From ^ Don Quixote,*' a Comedy, in three
parts, by Thomas D*Urfey, 1694.]

Dirge, at the hearte of Chryoetem,

Sleep, poor Youth, sleep in peace,
Reliered from lore aad mortal ears ;

Whilst we, that pine ia life's disease,
Uacertaia-blesa'd, leso happy are.

CoBch*d in the dark aad silent grare.
No ills of fate thou bow caa*st fear ;

la TBiB would tyraat Power enslare^
Or soomfal Beaatj be srrera.

Wars, that do fata] storms disperse.
Far from th j happy maBfion keep {

fiarthqaakes, that shake the aatTenob
C«a*t lock thee into soander deep.

With aU the ehanaa «f peace possest,
Seeare from lifers torment or psin.

Sleep, aad tadolge thyself with resti
Nor dzeam thon e*er shalt rise agaia.*

C.L.

J£SOP IN RUSSIA.

Peter the Great's Summer Ga&dev.

Schneder, a celebrated Swedish gardener,
was employed by the czar to execute a plan
he had approYed of, for the gardens ot his
summer palace. The work was already
far advanced, and among the different parts
that were finished, were two large divi-
sions adjoining to the principal avenue,
opposite to each other, enclosed with a
hedge, and covered with turf. The czar,
who came often to see the progress of his
undertaking, on observing the two grass-
plots, conceived a design of convening this
place of mere amusement into a kind of

• (.«.** may thy sleep be so profound, as not even
\j dreams of a remimetioa to be disiurbed:** the
iM^nage of passioa, not of aiaeero proCueaesa.

school. ** I am veiy well satisfied/* saia
the czar to the gardener, ** with your per*
formance, as well as with the variety and
beauty of the several divisions that are
finished : however, you must not be angry
if I change the form of these two spots of
ground. I should wish that the persons
who walk in the garden might find the
means of cultivating their minds ; but in
what way can we contrive this V*

** Sire,'' said the gardener, ^ I know no
other than to put bcwks on the seats, pro-
tected from the rain, that those who walk
in the garden may read when they sit
down."

^ This is not far from my meaning,''
said the czar, laughing, ** but, books in a
public garden 1 that will never do. Ano-
ther idea has struck me. I should like to
erect statues here, representing the different
subjects of iEsop's fables. For this pur-
pose the KTound must be differently laid
out, that the division of the several parts
may correspond with the &bles 1 am
speaking of.

Schrttder executed his orders with all
possible intelligence and despatch, and
much to the satisfaction of the emperor.

The garden consisted of four squares,
with walks in the form of labyrinths lead-
isi^ to them. The angles were ornamented
wjth figures, representing different subjects
from iEsop's fables, with a jet tPeau con«
oealed in a little basin, under moss or
ruins, and surrounded with shells brought
from Uke Ilmen, or that of Novogorod.
Most of the animals were as large as life,
and of lead, gilt. They ejected water from
their mouths, according to their various
attitudes. In this way the walks were
ornamented with sixty fables, forming as
roaoy Jett tfetoL At the entrance was a
staJUie of iBsop, likevrise of lead, and gilt.

The czar very naturally supposed that
few people would be able to discover the
meaning of these figures, and that fewer
would comprehend the instruction thej
were designed to convey. His majesty
therefore ordered a post to be placed near
each of them, and to these posts sheets of
tin were fastened, on which the fables and
their morals were written in the Russian
language.

This place was the czar's farourite walk;
in its shades he often passed whole hours,
recreating himself among these creatures <n
his creation.

This garden was afterwards nearly de^
stroyed by a terrible tempest and inunda*
tion. The trees it contained were torn op
by the rootSy and the green hedges and

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figures of animak aamaiged, either by the
fidl of the timber or by the elements. The
trees were raised, put into their places
again, and propped up ; but as it was not
possible to repair the injuries done to the
figures, the czar's '' summer garden " ceased
to be a *' garden of insuuction."

LOVE OF GARDENS

IV DISTIKOUISHEO MsN.

Juvenal represents Lucan reposing in
a garden.* Tasso pictures Rinaldo sitting
beneath the shade in a flagrant meadow :
Virgil describes Anchises seated beneath
sweet-scented bay-trees ; and Eneas, as
reclining, remote from all society, in a
deep and winding valley.f Gassendi,
who ingrafted the doctrine of Galileo on
the th/M>ry of Epicurus, took not greater
pleasure in feasting his youthful imagina-
tion by gazing on the moon, than Cyrus,
in the cultivation of flower*.—" I have
measured, dug, and planted the large
garden, which [ have at the gate of Biiby-
lon,'* said that prince ; " and never, when
my health permit, do I dine until I have
laboured two hours in my garden : if there
is nothing to be done, I labour in my
orchard." Cyrus is also said to have
planted all the Lesser Asia. Ahasuerua
was accustomed to quit the charms of the
banquet to indulge the luxunr of his
bower : I and the conqueror of Mithridates
enjoyed the society of- his friends, and ih*;
wine of Falernium, in the splendid gar-
dens, which were an honour to his name.
Dion gave a pleasure-garden to Speucip-
pus as a mark of peculiar regard.f Lin-
nsus studied in a bower: Bufibn in his
summer-house; and when Demetrius Po-
liorcetes took the island of Rhodes, he
found Protogenes at his palette, painting
in his arbour. Petrarch was never hap-
pier than when indulging the innocent
])leasures of his garden. — ** I have made
myself two," says he, in one of his epis-

• The epithet he applies to h^rtU U snfloientlT

eoriou. The scholiut cites Pliojr, 1. xxxvi. c. 1. 9.

The atfle of the Roman gardens in Trajan's time is

•xprsssiTeljr marked ;

Contentos fama jaosat Lveaans in hortis
Marmonii. Jvv. Sat riL L 79.

It was very well said br one of the fint women of tha

jprssent age, (Un, OranO that Darwin*s Botanic Garden
IS an Hesperian garden, flitterin; all over; thefmit
gold, the lesres silvsr, and the stems hnm^
t Eneid, lib. ri. L 679. lib. yiii. 6o9.

% Bether, viL 7. Titsaphemes bad a garden, mneli
Nse9bliKgaii£aglishpark.whioh hdemHUjUeibiatUt,
I PUUrehinVitDion.

ties ; *' I do not imagine they are to be
equidled in all the world : I should feeJ
myself inclined to be angry with fortune^
if there were any so beautiful out of Italy."
Many of the wisest and the best of men
have signalized their love of gardens and
shrubberies, by causing themselves to be
buried in them ; a custom once in frequent
practice among the ancient Jews.* Plato
was buried in the groves of Academus;
and sir William Temple, though he ex-
pected to be interred in^ye8tminster abbqr,
gave orders for his heart to be enclosed in
a silver casket, and placed under a snn>
dial, in that part of his garden immediately
opposite the window of his library, from
which he was accustomed to contemplate
the beauties and wonders of the creation,
in the society of a beloved sister, f

DUTCH ROYAL GARDEN

AND SCHEVELING SCENERY.

Describeo bt the Deputation of the
Caledonian HoRTicuLTVBAi.SociETr.

Augtut 26, 18t7. Late in the afternoon,
we took a walk to the northward of the
Hague, on the Amsterdam road, and en-
tered a forest of large and ancient trees, by
much the finest which we have seen on
the continent, and evidently several cen-
turies old. Many oaks, elms, and beeches
were magnificent. Some of the oaks, at
two feet m>m the ground, measured twelve
feet in circumference, and had free and
clean boles to the height of about forty
feet. This wood, in all probability, gave
rise to tbe name of the city ; for haag (the
Dutch for Hague) signifies thicket or wood.
It was originally a seat of the counts of
Holland, and is often to this day called
Graafs Haag, or Earl's Wood. J

Although we had no guide, we easily
found the palace called the ** Hoose in the
Wood," about two miles diMani from the
Hague ; and having inquired for the gar^
dener, Mr. Jacobus Munts, we readily
procured aooesa to the royal garden. It is
kept in good order, and is now arranged
in what is here reckoned the English style,
the old formal hedges, and fiuatastically
shaped trees^ having been in a great mea-

• la tha middle o( the Caapo SmiId» vkicA is the
most anoient barjing^plaee at Pisa, is a garden form*
ed of earth, bronght from the neighbonrhood of Jem

t Philosophy of Natnrt.

X Haagt hag, hmgk, Hio. are n^ned in tha £vtn
Di^BooL Art. Hagbosh-laaa^Ko.

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sure removed. Tlie groiiuds are now tra-
versed by serpentine walks, laid with satid :
these wind among groves of forest-trees,
which have never been subjected to the
shears; but the flexures are much too
regular. Water, as usual, is the only de-
fence, or line of separation, from the con-
terminous* fields, or from the high road.
These ditches, though broad, brimful, and
kept tolerably clean, have a dull aspect.
Shrubs and flowers are planted in small
compartments, cut out in the grassy cover-
ing of the lawn. The figures of these com-
partments are difierent, circles, ovals, and
crescents. A bed of dahlias was now in
flower, but presented nothing uncommon.
Indeed, we learned that the collection bad
been procured from Antwerp only the year
before. The plants in the borders and
shrubberies were in general of the more
common kinds; but some rarities also
appeared. Among these the panifiora
citrulea was here displaying its gorgeous
flowers in the shrubbery'; but we observed
that ii was contained in a pot sunk in the
earth, and not well concealed. jBofo Penn'
tyhanica was very abundant, and seemed
not only to be healthy, but to produce its
flowers freely.

Close by the palace is a small green-
house, erected in 1 815 for the princess of
Orange. It contains a few pretty good
plants; but there is nothing becoming
royalty either in the size of the house or
the choice nature of the collection. DtUura
arhorea was now in flower, and filled the
place with its odour ; and the white variety
of vinea rosea was in bloom. There are
here no hot*houses for the forcing of fruit ;
nor did there appear to be any thing re-
markable among the hardy fiiiits cultivated
in the garden.

This garden at the House in the Wood,
is the only one worth visiting at the Hague,
with the exception perhans of Mr. Fagel's.
The Portland gardens, oelonging to the
Bentincks, though celebrated in former
times, are now in a neglected and evett
ruinous condition.

SCHEVELING.
A VEUVES OF Trees.

Augfut 27 1 1817. Early this morning
we walked towards the fishing village of
Scheveling, by a grand avenue lined with
trees, of which all Dutchmen are justly
proud. The length of this avenue is nearly

a mile and a half; and it is so straight and
so level, that the village church very soon
appeared at the termination of the vista
next the sea. The tallest and finest trees
are Dutch elm, abele, oak, and beech.
Many of these are of great size, and have
orobably seen more than two centuries.*
dycamore, hornbeam, birch, and difierent
species of willow, are occasionally inter-
spersed. There are properiy three roads
in this noble avenue : a central one for
carriages, one for horsemen, and another
for foot-passengers. The breadth of the
plantation, on each side, is on an average
about seventy feeL In some places, the
old trees appear to have been cut down ;
but their places are now supplied by others.
Almost all the new-planted trees are white
poplars, which are of rapid growth.

FlSHBBT— FiSHIVO VESSELS, kt.

We breakfasted in the Hoffvan Holland
ion, the windows of which look out upon
the ocean. In addition to the usual repast
of cofiee and rolls, a countryman of our
own, whom we dianeed here to meet, had
shrimps served to br^kfast, which had
been shown to him all alive a few minutes
before : by our desire, we had ion^wehen^
or soles, fresh from the sea. While at
breakfast, we observed, that more than two
dozen of small sloops, which we easily
recognised to be fishing-busses, were mak-
ing directly for the low sandy beach, al-
though it was at present a lee-shore, with
a considerable surf. The sails were of
various hues; Isabella yellow, chocolate
brown, and milk white ; and this intermix-
ture of colours, set ofi* by the brilliancy of
a dear rooming sun, increased the pictu.
resque effect. Not a little to our surprise,
the crews did not shorten sail, till their
baiks were just involved among the waves
and breakers; and in this odd situation,
generally after taking the ground, we saw
them deliberately cast anchor. The pro-
priety of the shape given to the hulls of
these busses, was now manifest to us ; a
small British-built sloop would have been
in danger of breaking up, while they shoved
along among the breakers in perfect secu-
rity. Indeed, that Dutch vessels in gene-
ral should, of design, be built strong or
clumsy, and have their hulks well rounded
below, can only appear surprising to those
who have not witnessed the nature of the

• Le LoBff, indeed, pntB tUa beyoad doubt; for,
wiitiaf in lOM), be deMribes tbis areBne u being tbm
•* adorned witb fine tnti.'* KaMmet V9m Oattdiita.
Ice. f nbliabed in 1738*

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teas which they have to navigate at home,
where they must often take the ground,
and where they not unfrequently sail right
against the shore. As soon as the anchors
were cast, the boatmen, wading up to the
middle in the waves, brought out the fish
on their shoulders ; the sands were covered
with persons of both sexes and of all ages,
who began to carry off the cargoes, in broad
baskets, on their heads, ine principal
kinds of fish were plaice, turbot, sole,
skate, and thornback ; a very few <^Dd and
smelts made up the list. The Dutch gave
the name sehol to our plaice : and our sole
they call tang. Their name for the smelt
is fpiering ; which nearly approaches that
by which this little fish is distinguished in
the Edinburgh market, viz. tpirling.

Coast — Fisb woken — Cart Doos. '

A continuous broad and high tank of
sand lines the coast as far as we coald see,
and forms the oowerful protection of this
part of Ilollana against ihe inroads of the
ocean. Without this provision of Dfttore,
the country would be inundated by evei^
extraordinary tide and gale ; for it may b&
truly said, '< the broad ocean leans against
the land/' On the sand-hills, tha same
kind of plants prevail as in similar situa-
tions in England ; sea-holly and buckthorn^
a$parago and OoHum vernmf with sea- mar*
ran, arundo arenaria, which last is encou*
ra|^ here, being found very usefiil in
binding the sand. In some places wheat-
straw had been dibbled in, as at Ostend,
in order to promote the same object. Con-
sidering Scneveling as a fishing-village, we
were greatly pleased with it : it was ex-
tremely neat and clean, and formed a per-
fect contrast with our Newhaven and Fish-
errow,* the lanes of which are generally
encumbered with all sorts of filth. We
must confess, too, that in tidiness of dress
and urbanity of manners, the fishwomen of
Scheveling are equally superior to those of
the Scottish villages just mentioned.

A« ^e returned to the Hague, numbers
of the inhabitants were also on their way to
the fish- market, some carrying baskets of
fish on their heads, and others employing
three or four dogs to convey tha fish in
small light carts. We had read in books,
of these draught dogs being well used, and
fat and sleek ; but we regret to say, that
those which we saw were generally poor
half-starved looking animals, bearing no

• Two tmall towu on the sbora of tiM Fritb of
Forth, n«ar Edinbarg h, ehieflr inhaMtad by flthermes
«d thoir fAmili««.

equivocal marks of ill usage. The diligence
with which they sped their way to town,
with their cargoes, in a sultry day, with
tongues lolling to the ground, seenaed to
entitle them to better treatmenL

FiSH-MARKCT— Stores

We traced the steps of some of oat
Scheveling companions to the fish-market.
As might be expected, the market proved
'^mroodious ana clean, and well supplied
jrith water. Salmon was pretty common ;
carp was plentiful; and a single John Doit
ana a single sturgeon appeared on a stall.
At some seasons, we believe, sturgeons are
abundant, being taken in numbers at the
mouths of the Rhine, when about to ascend
that river. Four tame storks were stalking
up and down in the market They were
in full plumage; and did not appear to
Wve been pinioned, so as to disable them
irom flying. Their fooo consisu wholly of
the garbage which they pick up about the
fish-stalls. A small house, like a dog's
kennel, is appropriated to their use; for
the s*ork seems to be held as sacred by the
Dutch as by the Mahomed ans.*

CRABBING FOR HUSBANDS
To the Editor.

Sir, — At this season <' village maidens ^
in the west of England go up and down
the hedges gathering Crab-applet^ which
th^ carry home, putting them into a loft,
and form with them the initials of their
supposed suitors* names. The initialey
which are found on examination to be most
perfect on old " Michaelmas Day," are
considered to represent the strongest at-
tachments, and the best for the choice of
husbands. This custom is very old, and
much reliance is placed on the appearances
and decomposition of the Crabs. Should
this trifle be worthy of being added toyoui
extensive notices of manners and localities,
I shall be encouraged to forward you other
little remembrances of like tendency. lo
the interim, give me leave to assure you
Sir, that I am your gratified reader,

PirCEROli.

* CalodMiu Rortisaltaral Tbor.

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A YOUNG ASH TREE,
SnmLEY HEATH, WABWICKSHmB,

USED FOR CHARMS.

Mr. Brand mentions, as a popular super*
uition, that if a tree of any kind is split-—
and weak, rickety, or ruptured children
drawn through it, and afterwards the tree
IS bound, so as to make it unite, as the tree
heals and grows together, so will the child
acquire strength.

Sir John Cullum, who saw this operation
twice performed, thus describes it : — **' For
this pu?|>os« a young wth was eadi time

•elected, and split longitudinally, about ft>e
feet : the fissure was kept wide open by my
gardener; whilst the friend of the child,
having first stripped him naked, passed
him thrice through it, almost head fore-
most. As soon as the operation was per-
formed, the wouuded tree was bound up
with a packthread ; and, as the bark heal-
ed, the child was to recover. The first oi
the young patients was to be cured of the
rickets, the second of a rupture.'' This is
a very ancient and extensive piece of super-
stition.

In the Gentleman's Magazine, for Octo-
ber, 1 804, is an engraving of an ash tree,
then growing by the side of Shirley-street,
(the road leading from Hockley House to
Birmingham,) at the edge of Shirley-heath,
in the parish of Solihull, Warwickshire,
It is stated that this tree is << close to the
cottage of Henry Rowe, whose infant son^
Thomas Rowe, was drawn through the
trunk or body of it in the year J 791, to
cure him of a rupture, the tree being then
split open for the purpose of passing the
child through it." The writer proceeds to
say, '*The boy is now thirteen years and
six months old : I have this day, June 10,
1804, seen the ash tree and Thomas Rowe,
as well as his father, Henry Rowe, from
whom I have received the above account ;
and he superstitiously believes that his son
Thomas was cured of the rupture, by being
drawn through the cleft in the said ash tree,
and by nothing else.''

Another writer concerning the same tree
says, << The upper part of a gap formed by
the chisel has closed, but the lower remains
open. [As represented in the plate, from
whence the engraving at the head of this
article is takenj The tree is healthy and
flourishing, tnomas Chillingworth, son
of the owner of an adjoining farm, now
about 34, was, when an infant of a year
old, passed through a similar tree, now
perfectly sound, wnich he preserves with
so much care that he will not suffer a single
branch to be touched, for it is believed the
life of the patient depends on the life of the
tree ; and that the moment it is cut down,
be the patient ever so distant, the rupture
returns, and a mortification ensues, and
terminates in death. Rowe's son was
passed through the present tree in 1792, at
the age of one or two. It is not, however,
uncommon for persons to survive for a time
the felling of the tree. In one case the
rupture returned suddenly, and mortifica-
tion followed. These trees are left to dos«
of themselves, or are elosed with nails.
The wood-cutters very frequently meet witb

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the latter. One felled on Bunnan's farm
was found fall of nails. This belief is so
prevalent in this part of the country, that
instances of trees that have been employed
in the cure are very common. The like
lotions obtain credit in some parts of
Essex,"

The same writer proceeds to observe a
superstition " concerning the power of ash
trees to repel other maladies or evils, such
as Shrew-mice ; the stopping one of which
animals alive into a hole bored in an ash is
imagined an in^lible preventive of their
ravages in lands."

On this there are some particulars in
point related by the Rev. Gilbert White, in
his " Natural History and Antiquities of
Selbome," a parish near Alton, in Hamp-
shire. '< In a farm-yard near the middle
of this village stands, at this day, a row of
poUard-a«A<», which, by the seams and long
cicatrices down their sides, manifestly show
that in former times they have been cleft
asunder. These trees, when yonng and
flexible, were severed and held open by
wedges, while ruptured children, stripped
naked, were pushed through the apertures,
under a persuasion that, by .wch a process,
the poor babes would be cured of their in*
firmity. As soon as the operation was
over, the tree, in the snfl'ering part, was
plastered with loam, and carefully swathed
up. If the parts coalesced and soldered
together, as usually fell out, where the feat
was performed with any adroitness at all,
the party was cured ; but where the cleft
contmued to gape, the operation, it was
supposed, would prove ineffectual. Having
occasion to enlai^ my garden not long
since, I cut down two or three such trees,
one of which did not grow together. We
have several persons now living in the vil-
lage, who, in their childhood, were sup-
posed to be healed by this superstitious
ceremony, derived down perhaps from our
Saxon ancestors, who praetised it before
their conversion to' Christianity."

Again, as respects ehrew-mkey Mr. White
says, ** At the south comer of the plestor,
or area, near the church, there stood, about
twenty years ago, a very old grotesque hollow
pollard-a«A, which for ages had been looked
on w ith no small veneration as a jArnv^ash.
Now a f Arew-ash is an ash, whose twigs or
branches, when gently applied to the limbs
of cattle, are immediately to relieve the pains
which a beast suffers from the running of
a ehreuhmouee over the part affected : for
it is supposed that a shrew-mouse is of so
banefil and deleterious a nature, that
wherever it creeps over a beast, be it horse*

cow, or sheep, the suffering animal is af-
flicted with cruel anguish, and threatened
with the loss of the use of the limb. Against
this accident, to which they were conti
nually liable, oar provident forefathers
always kept a tArtft»-asb at hand ; which,
when once medicated, vpould maintain its
virtue for ever. A shrew-ash vras made
thus : — Into the body of the tree a deep
hole was bored with an auger, and a poor
devoted shrew-moose was thrust in alive,
and plugged in, no doubt, with several
quaint incantations long since forgotten.
As the ceremonies necessary for such a
consecration are no longer understood, all
succession is at an end, and no such tree is
known to subsist in the uMnor or hundred.
As to that on the plestor, the late vicar
stubbed and burnt it, when he was way-
warden, regardless of the remonstrances of
the byrstanders, who interceded in vain for
its preservation, urging its power and effi-
cacy, and alleging that if had been

* Religione patnim AaltoSMrratft per anaos.* **

Mr. Ellis, in a note on this practice of
enclosing field-mice, cites a letter to Mr.
Brand, dated May 9, 1806, from Ro-
bert Studley Vidal, Esq. of Cornborough,
near Biddeford, a gentleman to whom Mr.
Brand was much indebted for informal
tion on the local customs of Devonshire.
Mr. Vidal says :— " An wage of the super-
stitious kind has just come under my notice,
and which, as the pen is in my hand, I will
shortly describe, though I rather think it is
not peculiar te these parts. A neighbour
of mine, on examining his sheep the othei
day, found that one of them had entirely
lost the use of iu hinder parts. On seeing
it, I expressed an opinion that the animal
must have received a blow across the back,
or some other sort of violence which had
injured the spinal marrow, and thus ren
dered it paralytic : but I was soon given
to understand, that my remarks only served
to prove how little I knew of country affiiiis,
for that the affection of the sheep was no-
thing uncommon, and that the cause of it
was well known ; namely, a mouse having
crept over its back. I could not but smile
at the idea; which my instructor consider-
ing as a mark of incredulity, he proceeded
very gravely to inform me, that I should be
convinced of the truth of what he said by
the means which he would use to restore
the animal ; and which were never knowr
to &il. He accordingly despatched his
people here and there in quest of a field-
mouse; and having procured one, he told
me that he should carry it to a particular

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tree at some distance', and, enclosing it
within a hollow in the trunk, leave it there
to perish. He fuftber informed me, that
he should bring back some of the branches
of the tree with him, for the purpose of
their being drawn now and then across the
sheep's back ; and concluded by assurins
roe, with a very scientific look, that I should
soon be convinced of the efficacy of this
process ; for that, as soon as the poor de-
voted mouse had yielded up his life a prey
to famine, the sheep would be restored to
its former strength and vigour. I can,
however, state, with certainty, that the
sheep was not at all benefited by this mys*
terious sacrifice of the mouse. The tree, I
find, is of the sort called witch-elm, or
witch-hazel."

TREES

Poetically aud Nation allt rsoa&dsd.

A gentleman, who, on a tour in 1790^
visited the burial-place of Edmond Waller,
in the church-yard of Beaconsfield, de-
scribes the poet's splendid tomb as en-
closed, or cradled, with spiked iron pali-
sadoes, inserted into a great old ash tree,
under which his head reposes. ** This
umbrageous tree overshadows the whole
mausoleum. As the pagan deities had
each their fevourite tree — Jupiter, the oak ;
Apollo, the laurel; Venus, the myrtle;
Minerva, the olive; &c. — so poets and
literary men have imitated them herein;
and all lovers of solitude are, like the Lady
Grace of Sir John Vanbrugh, fond of a cool
retreat from the noon-day*s sultry heat
under a great tree.'**

A modem author, whose works are ex-
pressive of beauty and feeling, and from
whom an elegant extract on " Gardens" in
a former page has been derived, adverts to
the important use which the poets have
made of trees by way of illustration. He
says —

Homer frequently embellishes his sub-
jects with references to them ; and no pas-
sage in the Iliad is more beautiful, than the
one where, in imitation of Musseus, he
compares the falling of leaves and shrubs
to tne Ml and renovation of great and
ancient families. — Illustrations of this sort
are frequent in the sacred writings. — ** I
am exalted like a cedar in libanus," says
tne author of Ecclesiastes, ** and as a cy-
press tree upon the mountain of Hermon.

• Mr. T.Oodiof, in UMGmt Mh- S#pt. 1790.

I was exalted like a palm tree in Engeddi,
and as a rose plant in Jericho ; as a fiiii
olive in a pleasant field, and grew up as a
plane tree by the water ; as a turpentine
tree I stretched out my bcanches^ and my
branches are the bmnches of honour and
grace ; as a vine brought I £orth pleasant
savour, and my flowers are the n'uits of
honour and victory/'— -In the Psalms, in a
fine vein of allegory, the vine tree is made
to represent the people of Israel : << Thou
bast brought a vine out of Egypt; thou
hast cut out the heathen, and planted it.
Thou didst cause it to take deep root, and
it filled the land. The hills were eovered
with its shadow, and the boughs the^of
were like the goodly cedars/'

In Ossian, how beautifiil is the fbllow-
itig passage of Malvina's lamentation for
Omr: — ** I was a lovely tree in thy pre*
sence, Oscar, with all my branches round
me ; but thy death came like a blast from
the desert, and laid my green head low ;
the spring returned with its showers, but
no green leaf of mine arose.^ Again, where
old and weary, bliiMl and almost destitute
of friends, he compares himself to a tree
that is withered and decayed : *- *< But
Ossian is a tree that is withered; its
branches are blasted and bare; nogreeti
leaf ooven its boughs :-«from its trunk no
young shoot is seen to spring ; the breexe
whistles in its grey moss ; the blast shakes
its head of age ; the storm will soon over*
turn it, and strew all its dry branches with
thee. Oh Dermid, and with aU the rest of
the mighty dead, in the green winding vale
of Cona/'

That traveller esteemed himself happy,
who first carried into Palestine the rose of
Jericho from the plains of Arabia; and
many of the Roman nobility were gratified,
in a high degree, with having transpUnted
exotic plants and trees into the orchards of
Italy. Pompey introduced the ebony on
the day of his triumph over Mithridates ;
Vespasian transplanted the balm of Syria,
and Lucullus the Pontian cherry. Auger
de Busbeck brought the lilac frcnn Con-
stantinople ; Hercules introduced the
orange into Spain ; Verton the mulberry
into England : — and so great is the love of
nations for particular trees, that a traveller
never fiiils to celebrate those by which his
native province is distinguished. Thus, the
native of Hampshire prides himself upoo
his oaks ; the Bureundian boasts of his
vines, and the Herefordshire farmer of his
apples. Normandy is proud of her pears ;
Provence of her olives ; and Dauphm^ of
her mulberries; while the Maltese are is

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lOYe with their own oranse trees. Norway
and Sweden celebrate their pines; Syria
her palms ; and since they have few other
trees of which they can boast, Lincoln cele-
brates her alders, and Cambridge her wil-
lows ! The Paphians were prond of their
myrtles, the Lesoians of their vines ; Rhodes
loudly proclaimed the superior charms of
her rose trees; Idumea of her balsams;
Media of her citrons, and India of her
ebony. The Druses boast of their mul-
berries ; Gaza of her datei and pomegra-
nates; Switzeriand of her lime trees;
Bairout of her figs and banat is ; Damascus
of her plums; Inchcnnaugac of its birch,
and Inchnolaig of ity yews. The inhabit-
ants of Jamaica never cease to praise the
beauty of their mancnenillas ; while those
of Tobasco are as vain of their cocoas. —
The natives of Madeira, whose spring and
autumn reign together, take pride in their
cedars and citrons; those of Antigua of
their tamarinds, while they esteem their
mammee sappota to be equid to any oak in
Europe, ana their mangos to be superior
to any tree in America. Equally partial
are the inhabitants of the Plains of Tahta
to their peculiar species of ian palm ; and
those of kous to their odoriferous orchards.
The Hispaniolans, with the highest degree
of pride, challenge any one of the trees of
Europe or Asia to equal tlie height of their
cabbage trees — towering to an altitude of
two hundred and seventy feet : — Even the
people of the Bay of Honduras have ima-
gination sufficient to conceive their logwood
to be superior to any trees in the world ;
while the Huron savages inquire of Euro-
peans, whether they have any thing to com-
pare with their immense cedar trees. *

THE PEARL.
A Persian Fable.
Imitated from the Latin of Sir JF. Jone9,
Whoe'er hi* merit nndemtee.
The worth which he diselaims ereatas.
It chmc'd a siBfle drnp of raia
Fell finrai a cbad into the «L«ia i
Abaeh'd, dispirited, amai'd.
At last her aodest voice she rais*d i
*• Where, aad what am I ? Woe b me I
What a mere drop b saek a sea I**—
Aa oyster yawninf, where she fell.
Entrapped the ragraat b his. shell;
In that alemlno wTovght--for he
Was deeply Ters'd in alchemy—
This drop became a pearl ; and now
Adoras the crown oa Oioaos's brow.

• The Fkikeopky of Natniv.

OF THB

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS
No. XL
Comets.

Caasini, and after him sir Isaac Newton,
by their close observations and aoeorate
calculations respecting the nature and
courses of comets, have given certainty to
the opinions of the old philosophers ; or
to speak with more propriety, they hare
recalled and fixed our attention upon what
had before been advanced by the ancients
on these subjects. For, in treating of the
nature of these star^, their definitions of
them, the reasons they assign for the rarity
of their appearance, and the apologies they
make for not having yet formed a more
exact theory, are all in the very terms that
Seneca had already used. In the time of
that philosopher, the observations previ-
ously made of the returns of comets, were
not sufficiently collected to establish the
theory of these phenomena. Their appear-
ances were so very rare, that they had not
afforded an opportunity to determine, whe-
ther their course was regular or not. The
Greeks, however, before Seneca's time, had
remarked to the same effect, and were
applying themselves to researches of this
kmd.

Seneca says, that the Chaldeans looked
upon comets as planetary bodies; and
Diodorus Siculus, m giving an account of
the extent of knowledge among the Egyp-
tians, praises them for the application with
which they studied the stars and their
courses ; and remarks, that they had col-
lected observations very ancient and Tery
exact, fully informing them of the several
motions, orbits, stations, &c. of the planets.
He adds, that they could foretell earth-
quakes, inundations, and " the return of
comets.**

Aristotle says, that Anaxagoras appre-
hended comets to be an assemblage of many
wandering stars ; which, by their approxi-
mation, and the mutual blending of^ their
rays, rendered themselves visible to us.
This notion, though far from being philo-
sophical, was yet far preferable to that
of some great moderns, such as Kepler and
Hevelius, who supposed that comets wer«»
formed out of air, as fishes are out of water.

Pythagoras, however, who approached
very near to the times of Anaxag

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an opinion worthy of the most enlightened
age. He looked upon '* comets as stars,
which circulated regularly, though elliptic-
ally, ahout the sun, and which appeared
to us only in particular parts of their orbit,
and at considerable distances of time.^

Seneca, more than any other, has dis-
cussed this subject like a true philosopher.
He relates all the different opinions respect-
ing ooroets, and seems to prefer that of
Artemidoms, who imaginea, '< that there
was an immense number of them, but that
their orbits were so situated, tliat, so far
from being always within view, they could
only be seen at one of the extremities." He
reasons upon this with equal elegance and
solidity. '< Why should we be astonished,**
says he, ** that comets, which are so rare a
spectacle in the world, have not vet come
under certain rules ; or that we have not
hitherto been able to determine, where
begins or ends the course of planets^ as a»-
eient qm the unherw, and whose returns are
Mt sack distant intervals f The time will
tome," he exclaims, with enthusiasm, <Svhen
posterity will be amazed at our ignorance
m things so very evident ; for what now
appears to us obscure, will one day or
other, in the course of ages, and through
the industry of our descendants, become
manifestly clear ; but, a small number of
years, passed between study and the indul-
gence of passion, are not of avail for re-
searches so important, as those which pro-
pose to themselves the comprehension of
natures so remote."

The moderns have said nothing satis&c-
tory respecting comets, but what is to be
found in the writings of the ancients ; ex-
cept what later observations have furnished
them with, which Seneca judged to be so
necessary, and which only could be col-
lected through a long succession of ages.

Tax Moon.

The ancients discovered veij early, that
" the moon had no light of its own, but
shone with that which it reflected from the
sun." This, after Thalea, was the sentiment
of Anaxagoras, and that of Empedocles,
who thence accounted not only for the
mildness of its splendour, but the imper-
ceptibility of its heat, which our modem
experiments confirm: for with all the
aid of burning glasses, we have never yet
found it practicable to obtain the least
warmth from any combination of its rays.

With a telescope, we easily dlscem in
the moon parts more elevated and more
nriaht than others, which are iudged to be

mountams; and means have been found
to measure their elevation. We discern
also other parts, lower and less bright, which
must be vallies, lying between .those moun-
tains. There are other parts, which re-
flecting less light, and presenting one uni-
form smooth surface, may therefore be
supposed large pieces of water. As the
moon, then, has Its collections of water, its
atmosphere, its mountains, and its vallies ;
it is thence inferred, that there may also
be rain there, and snow, and all tlie other
aerial commotions which are natural to
such a situation ; and our idea of the wis-
dom and power of God suggests to us, tha*
he may have placed creatures there to in-
habit it.

The ancients, who had not the aid
of the telescope, supplied the defect of
that instrument by extraordinary penetra-
tion. They deduced all those consajuences
that are admitted by the modems ; for tliey
discovered long before, by the mental eye,
whatever has since been presented to bodily
tight through the medium of telescopes.
We have seen in how sublime a manner
they entered into the views of the Supreme
Being in his destination of the planets, and
the multitude of stars placed by him in the
firmament. We have already seen, that
they looked upon them as so many suns,
about which rolled planets of their own,
such as those of our solar system ; main-
taining that those planets contained inha-
bitants, whose natures they presume not to
describe, though they suppose them not to
yield to those of ours, either in beauty or
dignity.

Orpheus is the earliest author whose
opinion on this subject hath come down to
us. Produs presents us with three verses
of that eminent ancient, wherein he posi-
tively asserts, that <* the moon was another
earth, having in it mountains, vallies," &c.

Pythagoras, who followed Orpheus in
many of his opinions, taught likewise, that
** the moon was an earth like ours, replete
with animals, whose nature he presumed
not to describe," though he was persuaded
they were of a more noble and elegant kind
than ours, and not liable to ihe same in-
firmities.

Cicero ascribes a similar sentiment to
Democritus, when, in explaining his the-
ory, he says, that, according to it, Quin-
tus Luctatius Catulus, for instance, might
without end Oe multiplied into an infinity
of worlds. It were easy to multiply quo-
tations, in proof that this opinion was
common among the ancient philosophers.
There is a veiy remarkable passage or Sto^

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ivherrin he gives ii!» Deinocritiis*8
•pioion about the nature of the moon, and
.he cause of those spots which we see upon
its disk. That great phitosopner imagined,
that ** those spots were no other than
shades, formed by the excessive height of
the lunar mountains/* which inteicepted
the light from the lower parts of that
planet, where the Tallies formed themselves
into what appeared to us as shades or
spots.

Plutarch went still farther, alleging, that
there were embosomed in the moon, vast
seas and profound caverns. These, his
conjectures, are built upon the same foun-
dation with those of the moderns. He
says, that those deep and extensive shades
which appear upon the disk of that planet,
must be occasioned by the *< vast seas" it
contains, which are incapable of reflectinsr
so vivid a light, as the more solid and
opaque parts ; or " by caverns extremely
wide and deep, wherem the rays of the sun
are absorbed,'* whence those shades and
that obscurity which we call the spots of
the moon. Xenophanes said, that those
immense cavities were inhabited by another
race of men, who lived there, as we do
upon this earth.

MEDICAL AND LEGAL DUALTrV.

Two POTSICIAMt.

A gentleman calling on a friend, found
two physicians with him: be wrote the
following lines on the back of ^is card : —
** Bj MM phyaieitti niigkt joar woili UdoM,
But two sn lik« a d9ubt§ hamlt4 pm ;
Fvom one disebarg* aomedaiM a bird kM ioira»
▲ Moond band always briagi it dowa."

Two Lawters.

An opulent farmer applied about a law-
suit to an attomev, who told him he could
not undertake it, being already engaged on
the other side ; at the same time he said,
that he would give him a letter of recom-
mendation to a professional friend, which
he did. The farmer, out of curiosity, opened
It, and read as follows :

** Here are two fat wetbert fallen out together,
If you'U fleece one, I'll fleece the other,

B agree like brother tad brother."

The farmer carried this epistle to the per-
son with whom he was at fananoe. Its
perusal cured both parties, and terminated
u>6 dispute.

THE HAUNTED MILL.
For tie TMe Bo&k.

- Caa eiiek (ki^gt b0b

And orereome vs like a eaamer'e ^krad*
Wif boat ow spedal woader ?

At the basis of the Wokis, in the nonh
riding of Yorkshire, creeps a sluggish
stream, on whose bank may be seen the
ruins of a mill, which our good forefathen
supposed to be haunted. I ofU» gaxe up-
on those ruins with great interest ; not ao
much for its nictuiesque beauty, which, like
a flower in tne wilderness, nukes solitude
less lonely, as for the many endearing
claims it luis upon my memory, by way of
association. It stands near the home of mj
childhood, it reminds me of the companions
of my youth, and tdls of pleasures long

t is now nearly ten years since I listened
to a Btonr, which haunts me like the recol-
lection of a fearfol dream ; perhaps, becaose
of its locality, or rather, of its having been
told me as a /aef. Be it as it may, I have
thought it worth the relating; and trust
that the readers of the TtMg Book will a
least be intetuted.

The mill, at the time referred to, had
been uninhabited for some ten or twelve
years. It had found an occupier in the
person of Joe Davis. The inhabitants of
the distant, though nearest village, endea-
voured to frighten Joe, the miller, by tell-
ing him of its being haunted. He laughed
at what he called their idle fears, bade them
keep their supe»titioos nonsense for their .
children's ears; and laughingly added,
that if nought but ghosU visited the mill,
he stood a good chance of getting what he
niost required after a hard day's work — a
quiet rest

When Joe took possession of the mi<*
he was as jolly a fellow as ever lived, and
a fine buxom wife had he, and three rosy
children. His cup of happiness was fillet?
to the brim ; his song, merry as the kuk'e
and his loud, hearty laugh, were alternately
to be heard above the ru^ of the dam, and
the dick-clacking of the wheel. When bis
work was done, it was a treat to see him
playing with his children at blindmanV
buff, or hide and seek, or dandling theni
upon his knee.

All went on well for some time; but m
a few months Joe became an. altered man.
There was a visible difierence in his fiice
and marner. At first, a shade was teen to
overcast his hitherto unclouded brow-p^hea

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his cljeek became robbed of its bloom, and
his step lost its buoyancy. His laughter
(when ne did laugh, which was seldom)
seemed laboured, and was followed by a
sigh; and the song — that favourite song,
which he had so often sung to Mary in his
courtship— faltered on his lips. Instead of
clinjpng to his home and family as usual,
he deserted them ; and when the straying
villager kindly questioned him as to the
change, he would not answer, but shake
his head, and hurry onwards.

One day Mary found her husband un-
usually depressed. ''Come, come,'' said
she, '' Vm sure all is not right within.'' She
hung fondly upon his neck — kissed him,
and besought him to make her the partner
of his sorrow ; he raised his head, gazed
at her affectionately, and endeavoured to
smile away her apprehensions— -but it would
not do. He dasned the tear from his eye,
and rushed out of the room.

Joe Davis had dreamed a dream ; or, as
my narrator informed me, had seen a vision.
Sitting one evening in his little parlour,
with his wife and children before him, he,
on a sudden, leaned back in his chair — his
eyes became glazed, and were rivetted oo
the picture of his wife holding three roses
in her hand, which hung over the manteU
piece — he thought that he beheld a shadow
of himself bend over the picture, that the
roses began to fade, and, in finding, he dis-
tinctly saw the faces of his children, while
the portrait of bis wife by degrees became
colourless. Such was the dream which gave
him so much concern — such was the pro-
phecy which ere long was to be fulfillea.

Joe lef^ his house, telling Mary he would
return before night. The darkness set in,
but he did not make his appearance. Poor
Mary, as the night advanced, became mis-
trustful— ^sbe looked at the clock, and list-
ened for his approaching step. It was
nearly midnight; and, save the melancholy
monotonous ticking of the clock, and the
low breathing of her sweet children, who
were sleeping near, all was silent as the
grave — when, on a sudden, the eldest child
cried out, *• Father, how cold you are !" —
Mary started, and beheld the death-pale
face of her husband kissing her children-
she shrieked wildly, and rell senseless on
the floor.

When Mary came to herself the fire was
out, and the clock had stopped. She en-
deavoured to calm her agitated mind, and
thought she heard the noise of the dam, and
ber husband singing the chorus—

We'll alwa]r> be merrj tOfetheT, tofether*
We'U always be merry together.

She listened, and thought of her children,
whom (by the reveal ment of one of the
secrets of her prif<rii-house) she knew were
dead. The rest of that horrible night was
a( )

The morning came with its beautiful
purple light^-the lark hailed it with his
niatin-song^the flower bloomed at the
very door-stone of the miU*-the schoolboy
whistled as he passed, as if in mockery of
her woe. The light of reason had passed
from Mary Davis. In the course of the
day the body of her husband was found in
the dam, but Mary knew it not. —

Say, gentle reader, did not Heaven deal
kindly to her in bidding her taste the waters
of oblivion ?

— ^— I shall never forget the story,
Q. T. M.

COUNSELS AND SAYINGS,
By Dr. A. Hunteb.

Accustom tourselp to reflect.

Seek wisdom, and you will be sure to
find her ; but if you do not look for ker^
Khe will not look for you.

Do, AS YOU WOULD BE DONE BY.

Use yourself to kindness and compas-
sion, and you may expect kindness and
compassion in return.

Have you a Friend ?

If you have a grievance on your mind
you may tell it to your friend, but first be
sure that be is your friend.

Educate tour Children properly.

An university implies a seminary, where
all the young men go the same way. What
that way is, fathers and grandfathers best
know.

ObsTinaot is Weakness.

Obstinacy of temper proceeds from
pride, and, in general, from ignorant pride,
that refuses to be taught.

Regulate your Temper.

We can bear with a man who is only
peevish when the wind is in the east ; but
It is intolerable to live with one who is
peevish in every point of the compass.

TrueGenercisitt is delicately minded.

Blame no man for what he cannot help.
We must not expeo if the dial to tell us
the hour after the s¥ i u set.

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GERMAN EPIGRAMS

HOMOURABLB SERVICE.

I tf«wh«T«.eryd thee, teU the deed to manr:
UmI thoa MTT-d awjwteU it aot to ■aj.-^^jf,.

A Mother's Lote.
J f^T yet her chUd hM d«ir« if e.rti-t bre.th

A mother', lore bejine-it ^Ws till death-
I Live, bdbre life-with death act die*-bot .eeo..
I ^« ▼•'7 "b.t«M>e of immortal dreaaifc-Z^-^idte.

' Epitaph.

What thov art reading o'er mj boaea.

I're often read on other atones ;

And other, soon shall read of thee.

What thoa art readtnff now of me—Wcniiiy.

Adam*s Sleep.
He laid him down and slept :-and from his nde.

A woman in her magie beaat/ rose,
Dwiled and charm'd he call'd that woman - Bride •

And hU first sleep became his last repo.e.-Bs«ei^.

Epitaph.
Here lies, thank God, a woman, who
QaarreU'd and storm'd her whole life thipogh t
Twad gentljr o'er her moaldering form.
Or else yoa'U rouse another itorm^^reeiAerfin

THE TABLB BOOK.

A CAPITAL EXTEMPORE

To THE Author of some Bad Likm,
the River De%,

Had I been U,
And in the Q,

As easj I might a
/•d let U C,
Whilst aippiag'T,

Far bettor Iqmoo a

Of

PRUSSIAN COURT MOURNING.
I Frederick the fir^t king of Prussia was

phiaCharlotte,thesi8terofourGeorgeI wL

^tK^^'^V'"''^ the approachof death
with much calmnesj^ and seiienity; and when
one of her attendanu obserred fiow severeW

fortune of losing her would plunge his
majesty mto the deepest despair, the queen
said, with a smile, «*With r^peit to h^l
am perfecUy at ease. HU iind ^|| be
completely occupied in arranging the ce-

wronir in the fM-A/.«...'^« u^ .-..-n ^ * » .

PETITION OF THE LETTER H
TO ITS DECIDED ENEMIES.

Whereae. bjr jroa I have been driTea
From Honee, from Home, from Hope. •«! Heam,
And placed, by your most leam-d societj.
Ja tnl, Anjtiiah. and Anxiety 5
And need, without the lea»t pretenea,
With Arrogaaee and 1 nwlenee.
I hereby ask full reetitulion.
And bef yoo'll change your elocmiea.

ANSWER.
J*^kefeae we've reeeued you, iagrate^
»*« Hell, from Horror, and from Hat»-
ft«» Horeepooda-HaiVi-g « • Aa/tor.
And eoBieerated you ia~<i//ar.

We think you need no reaCitntion.
And 8h«U not change our eloeation.

Heibeiah Hulk, HwUmaiu
Milord, June, 1827.

„^ . :, -^ -«wv.«», auu If nomine eoes

n ? V'J^lProeeuion, he will be qTute
consoled for his loss.*' ^

MI-EAU IN AMERICA.

THE GLORIOUS MEMORY.

Sir Jonah Barrington lately met tatber «
noted corporator of Dublin in Paris, and in
Mie course of conversaUon inquired wbf.
J^'^S^k^g!* visit to the n?etCl«5|
Ireland, and his conciliatory admolaitioiB, '

Boyne Water" and "King \Villiain.'
lUe answer was characteristic «lonl

kA- " w ' *''* ''''^*«- we don't c4re a
,,n "S "i^"* *"• •"•* 'f we once gave
up ould King muUm, we'd gire »r»ll
our enjoyments I Only for the GfeLo
Memory ytt would not have a toast to «l
drunk with-eh ! sir Jonah r "^' " ^

ERRATA.

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CATHERINE MOMPESSON'S TOMB AT EYAM,

Among ihe TerdAnt monntaiiis of the Peak

There lies « quiet hamlet, where the elope
Of pleaaant nplandi wardl the north-wlndi bleak ;

Below, wild dells romantic pathwajs ope ;

Aronnd, abore it, ipreads a shadowy cope
Of forest trees : flower, foliage, and clear rill

Wave from the cliffs, or down ravines elope ;
It seems a place charmed from the power of ill
"By sainted words of old :— so lorely, lone, and stiU.

And many are the pilgrim feet which tread

Its rocky steeps, which thither yearly go;
Yet, less by love of Natoreli wonders led

Than by the memory of a mighty woe.

Which smote, like blasting thnnder, long ago,
The peopled hills. There stands a sacred tomb.

Where tears hare rained, nor yet shall cease to flow ;
Becording days of death's snblimest gloom ;
Hompesson's power and pain,— his beauteons Catherine's doom.

XTu DuokUion c^f Eyanu

Through the seventeenth and half of the
eighteenth centorj the village of Eyam,
three miles east from Tideswell, in Derby-
shire, was populous and flourishing; and
all that part of the country thickly sown

with little towns and hamlets, was swarm-
ing with inhabitants. Owing to the ex-
hausted state of the lead mines the scene is
altered, and Eyam is now thinly peopled.
It had before endured a dreadful affliction

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The Tear after ^ thai awful and terrible
periodl, when the destroying angel passed
over this island, and in the cities of London
and Westminster swept away three thou-
sand Tictims in one night," the risitation
was reviTed in this distant village, and
four-fiftlis of the inhabitants perished in
the course of the snmmer. This calamity
is the subject of the title-page to a poetical
▼olume of eminent merit and beauty,
"* Tke Deioiation of Eyamy kc bv William
dnd Mary Howitt, Authors of the Forest
Minstrel and other Poems.'*

Eyam was the birthplace of the late
Anna Seward, and in tne ** Gentleman's
Magazine''* there is a letter written in
her youthful days, which naturally relates
the devoted attachment of the village rector,
during the plague, to his stricken flock;
and the affectionate adherence of his noble
wife. Extracts from this letter, with others
from the notes to ** The Desolation of
Eyam," and a flew stanzas from the poem
itself, as specimens of its worth, may here
suffice to convey some notion of the story.
The poets' ^ Introduction " is briefly de-
scriptiveof " The Peak*' — ^its romantic rocks
and glens — the roar of its flying streams—
the wellin|;-up of its still waters — > the
silence of its beautiful dells —

Smell briglitBMi filla the anhed sky {
So qaietly tlM kiU-tope lie
In MiBshbe, aad the wild-birl'a glee
Rings from the roek-Boned eeinee cm
Saeh a deliciooi air Is thrown,
Sneh a reposing eala is known

On these delightfol hills.
That, as the dreaming poet lies
Drinking the splendonr of the skiei^

The sweetnees which distils
From herbs aad flowers— a thrilli«g sense
Steals o*er his mnsing heart, intense.
Passive, yet deep ; the joy which dwells
Where natore fraoMs her loneliest speDs.
And Fancy's whispers would persuade
That peace had hen her sc^oam made.
And love and gladness pitched their tmit.
When fxom the world, m woe, they went
That each grejr hill had reared its bi«W
In peaeefal majestj, as now.
That thus these streams had traced their way
Tbroogh soenes as bright aad pare aa ihey «
That here ao sadder strain was heard
Thaa the free note of waaderfag Urt $
And man had here, hi aatnnPs eye,
Kaowa £ot a paia, except, l» die.

Paete may drsam-Hilas I that they
tShoald dieam so wihUf , ersa by day-

♦VoLlxxl.p.800.

Poets may dream of love sad tnflk
Islands of bliss, aad foants of yo«lk ;
Bat, from ereatioa*s earliest birth.
The carse of blood has raged oa earth.
Since the first arm was raised to smita
The sword ha« traTelled like a blight.
From age to age, from mlm to realn^
Oaidiag the seamaa*s rSndy helm.
Go I qaestioa well search filr and aear,
Briag me of earth a portioa here.
Look ! u aot that exaberaat eoil
Fiaoght with the battle's bloody spoil f
Tare where thoa may'st, go where thoa will;
Thy foot ie oa a spotof goiU*

The eatee^ the Uight hate not passed by

These dUes now smiUag ia thuw cya.

Of hamaa ills aa ample shaia^

Rarnge, aad dearth dosMstio eaie.

They have not *scaped. This tegwa bJest

Knew not of old its pleasaat mL

Grandear there was, bat all that eheers,

Is the fair won of reeeat yearb

The Draid-stoaes are standing still

Oa the gteea top of maay a hill t

The fmitfol plongh, with miaiag shares

At times lays some old reUc bare;

TheDnai^BMUs the bolt of stoae,

To a yet rsder people kaawa t

Aad oft, as OB some poiat which Hen

ia the deep hash of eaith and skieti

la twilight, silenm, aad aloac^

I*Te sate apoa the Draid-stone,

no Tisions of those distant times.

Their barbanmA maaaera, creeds aad cnmea^

Hare oome, joy*s brightest thrill to rai»e.

For life's blest booa ia happier days.

Bvt Bot of them— mde race— 1 sing ;

Nor yet of war, whose fiery wing.

From a^ to age, with waste aad wail,

Orore from wide champsiga, aad low Tale,

Warrior aad womaa : child aad flock.

Here, to the fsetBcss of the rock.

The hasbaadauB has ceased to hear

Asiidst his fields the cry of fear.

Waves the greea com— greea pastares rise

Afoaad,— the lark is ia the skiee.

The song a later time mast trace

Whea faith hers fonad a dwelliag-place.

The tale is tiaged with grief aad seath.

Bat BOt la which maa's erarl wrath.

Like fire of fieadish spirit shows.

Bat where, through terrors, team, aad woes.

He rises dauntless, pure, refiaed \
Not chiU'd by self, aor fired by hate,
Love ia his life,— and evea his fete

A blessing oa his kind.

These latter lines allude to the po^m,
and it immediately commences.

^ Eyam/' says Miss Sewaid, << is near a
mile in length; it sweeps in a waving
line amongst the mountains, on « kind <3
nntnral terrace about 303 yards broad;

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ibove v-liich, yet higher mountaiDS arise.

j From that dale of savage sublimity, which
on the Buxton road from Matlock com*

I raences at the end of MiddletOD, we ascend
a quarter of a mile up a nanow and
steep lane on the right hand, which con-

: ducts us into Eyam. About the centre
of the Tillage the contimianoe of the houses

, is broken by a small field on the left. From

I its edge a deep and grassy dingle descends,
not less picturesque, and much more beau-

I tiful from its softer features, than thec^ggy
dale and its walls of barren rocks from
which we had ascended to Eyam, and in
which, by a winding course, this dingle ter-
minates. Its ascent from the middle of
Eyam is a steep, smooth, and verdant turf,
with scattered nut-trees, alders, and the
mountain ash. The bottom is scarcely five
yards wide, so immediately ascend the
noble rocks on the opposite side, curtained
with shnibs, and crowned with pines that
^ave over their brows; only that a few
bare parts appear iu fantastic points and
perforated arcnes. Always in winter and
Bummer, after recent showers, a small clear
rill ripples along the bottom of this dell,
out after long drought the channel is dry,
and its pebbles are left to bleach in the sun.
Clifis and fields stretch along the tops of
the rocks, and from their heights we de-
scend gradually to the tipper part of Eyam,
which, though high, is less eloated

■* Than are the rammits of tboM killjr erofti,
That brow the botton glade.**

At the time of the plague, the rector of
Eyam, the Rev. William Mompeseon, was
in the vigour of youth ; he had two chil-
dren, a boy and girl of three and four years
old, and his wife Catherine, a yovng and
beautiftil lady : —

There iwtki thc^ in the rammer of their lore.

He, the young pastor of that monntaia fold.
For whom« not Fancy could foretell above.

Bfiie more than earth had ait hit feet oarolled.

Yet, ceaeed he not on that high track to hold,
Qpoa irhne bright, eternal tteap is ehowa

Fai<h*a Harry eoroaaL The sad, tiie cold
Caiight from his ferreat epirU its wann tone.
And woke to leftier aima, aad feeUagi long nnksown.

And she,— his pride and passien,— she, mJl nm.
All lorn, and mirth aad bemtj}— « riehlbiu

Of finished gnme, where Katare had ootdoaa
Her wonted iJkilL Obi wril might FaBe7*s awarm
Of more than earthly hopes aad Tisions, warm

His ardent mind ; for, Joyous was her mood ;
There seemed a spirit of gladness to inform

Her happy frame, by no light dioek subdued,

VFhieh filled her hoaM with light, aad all she touched

So bred, so loved they. Their life hiy eaa^nnffft -
Within themaelree and people. Tbey reek'd not

How the world sped around them, nor divined ;
Heaven, and their home endearments fill'd their lot
Within the charmed boundary of their cot.

Was treasured high and mnlrifarious lors
Of tege, divine, aad minstrel ne*er foiyot

In wintry hours; and, enrolled on their finer.

Were childhood's happy lays. Oenid Henfen nwanl

Eyam, as before mentioned, had escaped
the contagion in the ** Great Year of the
Plague.!' It was conveyed thither, how-
ever, in the ensuing spiing by infected
cloths. Its appeasBBoe is vigorous!
sketched :-»

Bui, as in the calm
a snddea gnst will wakei

Of ahoCa
Anon clouds throng ; thsn fieroer squalls alarm ;

Then thunder, fiaahing gleasu, and the wild href

Of wind aad deluge i^till the living quake.
Towers rock, woods crash amid (he tempest,— so

In their repoeing calm of gladness, spake
A word of fear ; first whispering^-duUous-— low.
Then loot ^— then firm and clear, a menadag of wo*

Till out it buret, -a drendM cry of ^enth ;
**'nw Plague I the Plagued The withering laa
guagnflew,
Aad faiatness fioUowad sn its vapid breath ;
And aU heaifs «aak, as piatoed with Ug^An^^

tfifMgh.
* Hm Plagne 1 ^ Pli^e I" No groundless pans
grewi
But there, raUime in awful darkness, trod
The Pest ; and lamaatation, as he slew.
Proclaimed his ravage in each sad abode,
ICid frensied shrieks for aid— and vain appeals to God

On the commencement of the contagion,
Mrs. Mompesson threw herself with hei
babes at the feet of her husband, to suppli-
cate his.flight from that devoted place; out
not even the entreaties and tears of a be-
loved wife could induce him to desert his
flock, in those hours of danger and dismay.
Equally fruitless were his solicitations that
she would retire with her infants. The
result of this pathetic contest was a resoh«
to abide togetner the fury of the pestilence
and to send their children away.

They went— those lovely ones, to their retreat.

They went— those glorious ones, to tbeir employ s
To check the ominous speed of flying feet ;

To quell despair ; to soothe the fierce aanof*

Whiah, as a stormy aesan without hwf
Tosaing a ship distresssd, twixt ssef aad reek*

Hurried the orawd, from years of quiet Jof
Thus vonsed to fear by this terrifiaahoekt
Aad wild, distracted, mated, tha Mstor wet hia iasK

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It WM the immediate parpote of this
ivise and excellent man, to stay his parish-
ioners from flight, lest they should bear the
contagion beyond their own district, and
desolate the country.
Thej h«ard, and the/ obeyed,— for« nmpie-beftitew

He vu to then their wiidom and their tower*
To thein, hb brilliant spirit had imparted

All that they kaew of Tirtae's loftier power ;

Their fnend, their fvide, their idoliaed eadower
With daily bleadagi, health of nind and frame ;

They heaid, aad they obeyed;— but not the more
Obeyed the plague ; no skill its wrath eovld taace ,
It f rew, it raged, it spread ; Uke a deroaring flame.

Oh I piteous was it then that plaee to tread ;

Where children played avd motheis had loolced ob.
They lay, like flowers plneked to adon the dead;

The bright-eyed maid no adoration won;

Tenth in its greennees, trsmbling age was gone;
0*er eaoh bright cottage hearth death's darkness stole ;

Tears fell, pugs ranked, where happiness had shone.

From a rational belief, that assembling
in the crowded church for public worship
during the summer heats, must spread and
increase the contagion, he agreea with bis
afflicted parishioners, that he should read
prayers twice a week, and deliver his two
customary sermons on the sabbath, from
one of the perforated arches in the rocks of
the dingle. By his adrice they ranged
diemselves on the grassy steep in a level
direction to the rocky pulpit ; and the dell
being narrow, he was aistinctly beard from
that arch.

The poem describes (he spot, and the
manner of the worship :«-

There is a dell, the merry sehoolboy's sliag
Whirled in the Tillage, might discharge • stone

Into Its oentre ; yet the shoots which nng
Forth from the hamlet travel, orer blown
Nor to its sheltered qnietnde are known.

So hnihed, so shionded its deep boeom lies,
It brooks no soand, bnt the eongemal tenn

Of stirring lenres, brad nil, the melodies

Of snmmei's btnesy breath or nntamn's stnmier skies.

Northwnrd, from shadowy rocks, a wild stream pours ,
Then wider sprsnds the hoUow^lofty trees

Cast summer shadee ; it is a place of flowers.
Of sun and fragrance, birds nnd chiming bmu
Then higher shoot the hills. Aodmtiee

SpUntered and stem, each like a cnstle grey.
Where irj elimbe, and ness woo thebreeae,

Narrow the paas ; thers» treee in ckee nrray

Shut, from this woodland eove, all distnnt, rude snnmy.

Bnt its aief onnment, n aiiracU
Of Nntare*s mirth, a wondrous temple stands,

Right u the centre of this charmed dell.
Which erery height and bosky slope oommnnde
Arch meetinr wok, unwronght of humnn hands

Slnrm dom««ad portnlft

When hark t— « sound !— it issued from Ae ddl i

A eolemn Tmoe, as though one did declaim
On aome high theme; it oeneed— nnd then the ewrlt
Of a slow osalm-like chant on his aouaemcntfeU.

In that fantnstic templ«Ps pordi was seen
The youthful pastor ; lofty was his mien
But stamped with thoughts of such appalbng seope

As rnrely gather on a brow serene ;
And who are they, on the opposing slope.
To whom his solema tones told bnt one nwfnl hope ?

A pallid, ghoeMike, melancholy crew.
Seated on scnttered crags, nnd fiar«ff knoQa,

As fenring ench the other. They were few.
As men whom one brief hour will from the rcUs
Of life cut off, nnd toiling for their souli^

Welcome into etenity— they seemed
Loet in the heart's last conflict, which oontrola

All outward life— they sate ae men who drsasMd t

No motion in their frames— no eye peroeption benisod.

The two following stanzas are fearfjj^
descriptive of the awful interruptions to the
solemn service in this sequestered spot.

But suddenly, n wild nnd piercing cry

Arose amongst them : and an andent mnn.
Furious in mood — red frsnsy in his eye^

Sprang forth, ao'l shouting, townnls the hollow yib.

His white locks floated round his fenCnrss wnn ;
He rushed impatient to the valley rill ;

To drink, to rsTcl in the waYo begun.
As one on firs with thirst; then, with n shrill
lAugh, as of joy, he sunk— he lay— nnd nil wnn stm.

Then from their places solemnly two moro

Went forth, ns if to lend the sufferer nid }
But in their hnnds, in readiness, they boro

The ehnrnd tools, the mattock and the spodn.

They broke the tnzf— they dug^-lhey cnlmly laid
The old man in his grnve ; nnd o*er him threw

The earth, by prayer, nor rsquiem delayed ;
Thnn turned, and with no lingering ndieu.
Swifter than they npproaehed, Irom the stnmgn sennc
withdraw.

The church-yard soon ceased to afford
room for the dead. They were afterwards
buried in an heathy hill above the villa^.*
Curious travellers take pleasure in visiting,
to this day, the mountam tumulus, and in
examining its yet distinct remains ; also, in
ascending, from the upper part of Eymm,
those dim and fields which brow the dingle^
and from whence the descent into the con-
secrated rock is easy. It is called Cucklel
church by the villagers.

• The grsnt and good Hownrd visited Eynm tne vv«
befora he Inst left England, to examine in thnt viungi
the records of the peetilential calamity which it hv4
endured, and of thoee virtues which rsBsmblsd hu nw^

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lad ntm liop« gleamed abroad. Tht plagoa seemed
•taid ;

And the load winda of antnma glad uproar
Made ia the welkia. Health their call obeyed,

Aad Coafidenee her throae reemmed oaoe nore.

Naj, J07 itself was la the pastor's bower ;
For him the plagae had soagfat, its final prey ;

Aad Catherine pale, aad shuddering at its power,
flad watched, had wept, had seen it pass away, —
And J07 shone through their home like a bright sum-
mer's dajr.

The sodden fear wohe memorr in her eell;

And tracing back the brightness of their being ;
Their love, their Uiss, the fatal shafu which feU

Axonnd them— smota thftm— jet, eren now were
fleeing ;

Death unto numbers, bnt to them decreeing
Safstf ;— rich omena for snooeeding jears.

In that sweet gaiety of spirit seeing,
rheirs was that triumph which distress endears ;
And gladaess which breaks forth ia mingling omdta
and tears.

So pasved that cTening : but, atiU midnight falls,

And why gleams theaoe that lamp*s unwonted glare ?
Oh ! there is speechless woe within those walls :

Heath's stem fiirewell is giTon in thunder there.

Moiapeason wrapt ia dreams and fancies fair.
Which took their fashion from that erening*s too*

At once spraag up ia terror aad despair.
Roused by that voice which aever yet had kaowa
To wake »jght in his heart, bnt pure -delight aknieb

•* My Wilbam I" faint aad plaintive was the «rr.
And chill the hand which fell upon his breast,

** My dearest William, wake thee I Oh I that I
With such sad tidiags should dispel thy rest
But death is here I*' With agoay possessed.

He saatehed a light -he saw— he reeled— ha faU.
There, in its deadliest form prevailed Ae past.

Too well he knew the fatal signs— too well :

A moment— and to life— to happiness farewaU I

The good and beautiful woman, Catb^
line Mompesson, expired in her husband**
arms, in the twenty ^seventh year of her age.
Her tomb is near an ancient cross in the
church-yard of Eyam. It is represented in
the vignette to the <* Desolation of £yam ;**
and by means of that print the present en-
graving is laid before the reader of this
article.

Mr. Mompesson was presented to the
rectory of Eakring, near OUerton, in Not-
tinghamshire, and he quitted the fatal
scene. On his going, however, to take
possession of his Uving, the people, naturally
impressed with the terrors of the plague, in
the very cloud and whirlwind of which he
had so lately walked, declined admitting
him into the vill^e. A hut therefore was
erected for him in Rufford Park, where he
abode till the fear subsided.

To this gift were added prebends in York
and Southwell, and the offer of the deanery
of Lincoln. But the good man/ with an
admirable disinterestedness, declined this
last substantial honour, and transferred his
influence to his friend, the witty and
learned Dr. Fuller, author of" the Worthies
of England," &c. who accordingly obtained
It. Ine wish, which he expressed in one
of bis letters, that « his children might
be good rather than great," sprang from a
living sentiment of his heart. He had
tasted the felicity and the bitterness of this
woild ; he had seen its sunshine swallowed
up in the shadow of death ; and earth had
nothing to offer him like the blessedness of
a retirement, in which he might prepare
himself for a more permanent state of^ex-
istence.

A brass plate, with a Latin inscription,
records his death in this pleasant seclusion,
March 7, 1708, m the seventieth year of
hisage*

Bright skiaes the sun upon the white walls wreathcO*
With flowers aad leafy branches, in that loae

And sheltered quiet, where the mourner breathed
His future aaguish ; pleasant thefo the tone
Of bees ; the shadows, o*er stiU waters throwa,

F^m the broad plaae-tree ; ia the grey church nigh,
And Bear that altar where his faith was kaowa.

Humble as his owa s^rit we descry

The record which deaotes where sacred ashes ba.

Aad be It so for ever;— it is glory.

Tombs, mausoleums, scrolls, whose weak lateat
Time laughs to scom, as he blots out their story.

Are Bot the mighty spirit's moaomeat.

He builds with the world's wonder— hia eameat
Is the world^s love ;— he lamps his beamy shrine^

With fires of the soul's essenoe, which, unspent,
Bara on for ever ;— eueh bnght tomb n tbiaeb
Great patriot, and so rests thy peerless Cathariaa.

So ends the poem of **^ The Desolation of
Eyam.'' Its authors, in one of the notes,
relate as follows :—

There are extant three letters written by
W. Mompesson, from the nearly depopu-
lated pUce, at a time when his wife bad
been snatched from him by the plague, and
he considered his own fate inevitable. In
the whole range of literature, we know of
nothing more pathetic than these letters.
Our limits do not allow us to give them
entire, but we cannot forbear making a few
extracts. In one» he savs,

** The condition of this place has been
so sad, that I persuade myself it did exceed
all history and example. I may truly say
that our town has become a Golgotha*— the
place of a skull ; and, had there not been a

' Eaknng raelory.

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•mall remnant of us krt, we nad been as
Sodom and Gomorrah. My ears never
Bsard such doleful lamentations, and my
eyes never beheld sudi ghastly spectacles.
Here have been seventy-six iamilies vbited
in my parish, out oC which two hundred
' and fifty-nine persons died I Now, blessed
be God*-all our fears are over : lor none
have died of the infeotion since the elevenih
of October ; and all the pest-houses have
been long empty. I intend (God willing)
to spend most of this week in seeing all
t^ie woollen clothes fumed and purified, as
well for the siitis£sction, as for the safety of
the country.'*

Thus it is he announces to his children,
the death of their mother.

'< To my dear children, Gcoroe and Eli*

z A BETH MoiiPESsoNy theee preeeid with

mjf hleeeiug,

** Eyam^ August^ 1666.

" Dear Hearts, — ^This bringfs you the
doleful news of your dear mother's death —
the greatest loss which ever yet befell you I
I am not only deprived of a kind and lov-
ing consort, but you also are bereaved of
the most indulgent mother that ever dear
children had. We must comfort ourselves
m God with this consideration, that the
loss is only ours, and that what is our sor-
row is her gain. The consideration of her
joys, which I do assure myself are unutter-
able, should refresh our drooping spirits.

** I do believe, my dear hearts, upon
sufficient ground, that she was the kindest
wife in the world ; and I do think from
my soul that she loved me ten times more
than herself. Further, I can assure you,
my sweet babes, that her love to you was
htile inferior to hers for me. For why
should she be so desirous of my living in
this world of sorrows, but that you might
have the comfort of my life. You little
imagine with what delight she was wont
to talk of you both ; and the pains that she
took when you sucked on tier breasts is
almost incredible. She gave a large testi-
mony of her love to you on her death-bed.
For, some hours before she died, I brought
her soJie cordials, which she plainly told
me she was not able to take. I desired
her to take them for your dear sakes.
Upon the mention of your dear names, she
lifted up herself and took them; which was
to let me understand, that whilst she had
strength left, she would embrace any oppor-
tunity she had of testifying her affection to
you.'^

So wrote this most affectionate spirit to
eomfort his children : but, in a letter to a

relatire, the bitterness of nis gnet burst
forth in an inconsolable agony. ** I find
this maxim verified by too sad experience ;
Bonum magie carendo ^ttam/rueudo eemi-
tur. Had I been so thankful as my con-
dition did deserve, I might yet have had
my dearest dear in my bosom. But now.
farewell all happy days, and God grant 1
may repent my sad ingratitude."

The following letter was written lo s:r
Georffe Saville, afterwards lord Hallifex.
his friend and patron, soon after this va»^
lancholy event, and while the plague was
in his house, and be looked upon kis own
death as certain, and speedily approaoiung.

** To Sir George Satille, Baronets
« Eytm, Sept. 1, 1666.

" Honoured and dear sir,— This is the
saddest news that ever iny pen could write !
The destroying angel having taken up his
Quarters within my habitation, my dearest
dear is gone to her eternal rest ; and is in-
vested with a crown of righteousness, hav-
ing made a happy end.

** Indeed had she loved herself as well a»
me, she had fled from the pit of destruction
with her sweet babes, and might have pro-
longed her days, but that she was resohred
to die a martyr to my interest. My droop-
ing spirits are much refreshed with her joys,
whicn I think are unutterable.

'* Sir, this paper is to bid you a hearty
farewell for ever — and to bring my humble
thanks for all your noble fevoucs; and 1
hope that you will believe a dving man. 1
have as much love as honour for you ; and
I will bend my feeble knees to the God of
Heaven that you, my dear lady and vour
children, and their children, may be blest
with external and eternal happiness ; and
that the same blessing may fall upon my
lady Sunderiand and her relations.

*' Dear sir, let your dying ehaplain re-
commend this truth to you and your femily
—that no happiness nor solid comfort may
be found in this vale of tears like living a
pious life;«-and pray remember ever to
retain this rule— never to do any thing
upon which you dare not first ask the bless-
ing of God for the success thereof.

** Sir, I have made bold in my will with
your name as an executor, and I hope that
you will not uke it ill. I have joined two
others with you that will take from you the
trouble. Your fevourable aspect will, I
know, be a great comfort to my distressed
orphans. I am not desirous that they mai
be great, but good ; and my next request (&
that they may be brought up in the fear
and admonition of the Lord.

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^ T desire, sir, that yoa will be pleased to
Slake choice of ati humble, pious man to
succeed me in my parsonage ; and, could I
see your face before my departure from
hence, I would inform you which way I
think he may lire comfortably amongst his
people, which would be some satis^tioa
to me before I die. And with tears I beg,
that, when you are praying for fatherless
mfants, you would then remember my two
pretty babes. Sir, pardon the rude style of
this paper, and if my head be discomposed,
you cannot wonder at me. However, bo
pleased to believe that I am
Dear sir.

Your most obliged, most affectionate,
and grateful servant,
* William Momfessoh."

When first the plague broke out in Eyam,
Mr. Mompesson wrote to the then earl of
Devonshire, residing at Chatworth, some
five miles from Eyam; statin?, that he
thought he could prevail iipon his parish-
ioners to confine themselves within the
limits of the village, if the surrounding
country would supply them with neces-
saries, leaving such provisions as should be
requested in appointed places, and at ap.
pointed hours, upon the encircling hills,
rbe proposal was punctually complied
with ; ana it is most remarkable, that when
the pestilence became, beyond all concep-
tion, terrible, not a single inhabitant at-
tempted to pass the deathful boundaries of
the village, though a regiment of soldiers
could not, in that rocky and open country,
have detained them against their will : much
less could any watch, which might have
been set by the neighbourhood, have ef-
fected that infinitely important purpose.

By the influence of tnis exemplary man,
obtained by his pious and affectionate vir-
tues, the rest of the county of Derby escaped
the plague ; not one of the very nearly
neighbouring hamlets, or even a single
house, being infected beyond the limits of
Eyam village, though the distemper raged
there near seven months.

Further details will hardly be required
respecting a story, which is as true as it is
sad The manner wherein it is poetic-
ally related is sufficiently exemplified, and
therefore, without comment; and for beau-
ties, various as the scenery of nature, ex-
pjiessed in charmed lines, the reader of
feeling is referred to the exquisite little
volume mentioned before, under the title of
'* The Desohtiou of Eyam^ and other
Poems; by William and Mary Howitt,
authors of the Forest Minstrel, fcc.^

A little piece, however, is ventured from
the volume, as a seasonable conclusioo it
parting.

SUMMER AND THE POET.

Oh t golden, goldoi i

Wliat is it thoa but don« ?
Thon bast cbased each ▼enisl namw

With thy fiereely barniof suu

Glad was fhs evckoo's bail ;

Where may we hear it now 7
Thou hast drirea the aifhrisgale

From the wariaf hawthora booyh.

Thoa bast sbmok the mighty river i
Thoa hast made the smrfU brook Asc t

And the light gales fisintly qniver
In the dark and shadowy tiea.

Spring waked her tribes to bloom.

And on the green swaid danoe.
Thoa hast smitten them to the tomU

With thy ooasnmittg glanoe.

Aad now Antnmn cometh oa,

Sbnging 'midst shocks of con,
Thoa hastenest to be gone.

As if joy might not be borne.

SUMMER.

And dost thoa of me oomplatn,

Thoa, who» with dreamy eyes,
(a the forest's moss hast lain,

Praisiog my silvery skies ?

Thoa, who didst deem divine

The shrill cicada's tune.
When the odoan of the pine

Gashed through the woods at neon f

I have ran my fervid race ;

I have wrooght my task onoe moM )
I have filled each frnitfal place

With a plenty that nms o'er.

There is treasare for the gamer ;

There is honey with the bee ;
Aad, oh I thoa Utaakkss scomer.

There's a parting boon for thee.

Soon as, in misty sadness,

Sere Aatamn yields his feign.
Winter, <Tith stormy madness,

8haU ehase thee ftom the plam.

Thea dtftU theee scenes Elystsa

Bright in thy spirit bam ;
Aad each sammer«thoaght and vi&ion

Be thine till I reton.

It may be remembered that from thif
Tolume the poem of '* Penn and the Id*
dians/' in a former sheet, was extinct^

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--i:-^.^.

MOMPESSON'S PULPIT IN THE ROCK.

Bunticg through that woodj ■ereen

"What Tiiion of ttrange aspect met his eyes t
In that fantastic temple's porch was seen

The youthful pastor ■
No sabhath sound

Came from the Tillage ; no rejoicing bells
Were heard ; no groups of strolling youth were found.

Nor lovers loitering on the distant fells.

No laugh, no shout of infancy, which tells
'Where radiant health and happiness repair ;

But silence, such as with the lifeless dwells.

The Duolation of Eytam,

A plate in the *' Gentleman's Magazine **
of September, 1801, presents the above
view, taken about three years before, ac-
companied by a remark from Mr. Urban 's
correspondent, that it was ^ at that time
an exact resemblance of the perforated
rock near the village of £yam, in which
the pious and worthy Mr. Mompesson, the
rector, punctually performed the duties of
his office to the distressed inhabitants dur-
ing the time of the plague in that village.''

Here it may be well to observe, in the
expressive language of " William and
Mary Howitt," that " what a cordon of
soldiers could not have accomplished was
effected by the wisdom and love of one
roan. '^*^'-

in, and, in a dreadful and desolating strug-
gle, destroyed and buried with its victims.*'
William Mompesson exercised a power
greater than legislators have yet attained.
He had found the great secret of govern-
ment. He ruled his flock by the Law of
Kiiuineu. «

In the summer, 1757, five cottagers were
<^igging on the heathy mountain above
£yam, which was the place of graves after
the church-yard became a too narrow repo-
sitory. Those men came to somethmg
which had the appearance of having ooce
been linen. Conscious of their situation,

they instantly buried it again. In a few
This measure was the salvation of days they all sickened of a putrid fever,

the country. The plague, which would
most probably have spread from place to
may be said to have been hemmed

and three of the five died. The disorder
was contagious, and proved mortal to bum
bers of the inhabitants.

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No. XXXVII.

^From " Ram Alley,'* a Comedy, by
Lodowick Barry, 1611.]

Id the Prologue the Poet protests the
innocence of bis Play, and gives a promise
of better things.

Home bred mirth oar Mnae doth iiDg ;
The Satyr** tooth, and waspUh sting,
Vfhieh moet do hart when least saspected,
Bj this Play are not affected.
Bat if ooneeit, with qaick-tam'd •seacs,
Obeerrlnf all those ancient streams
VIThieh from the Horse*foot foant do flow-
As time, place, person— and to show
Things nerer done, with that true life.
That thoughts and wiu shall stand at strife.
Whether the thingH now shewn he true ;
Or whether we oarselves now do
The things we bat present : if theee.
Free from the loathsonio Stage disease,
So orer^wom, so tired and stale ;
Kot satyrising, bat to rail ;—
May win yonr favors, and inherit
Bat calm acceptance of hu raeri ti-
tle TOWS by paper, pen, and ink.
And by the Learned Sisters* drink.
To spend his time, his lamps, his oil.
And never cease his bram to toil.
Till from the silent hoars of aight
He doth prodace, for yoar deUght,
Conceits so new, so harmless free,
That Paritaas themselves may see
A Play ; yet not in pablie preach.
That Players sach lewd doctrine teach.
That their pare joints do quake and tremble.
When they do see a man resemble
The picture of a Tillain. — ^This,
As he a friend to Muses is.
To yon by me he gives hia word,
Ls aU his Play does now afford.

WeTve left unrifled ; oar pens havt beca dipC

Aa well in openiug each hid maaascnpt,

As tracts more vulgar, whether read or sung.

In our domestic or more foreign tongue.

Of Fairy dves, Nymphs of the Sea and Land,

The Lawns and Groves, no number can be scann'd.

Which we've not given feet to. Nay, 'tis known,

That when oar Chronicles have barren grown

Of story, we have all Invention stretcht ;

Dived low as to the center, and then reaeht

Unto the Primom Mobile above,

(Nor *seaped Things Intermediate}, for yoar lor

These have been acted often ; all have past

Censnre ; of which some live^ and some are east.

For this* in agitation, stay the end ;

Tho* nothing please, yet nothing can oftad.

I From the " Royal King and Loyal Sub*
ject," a Tragi-comedy, by T. Heywood,
1627.]

In the Prologue to this Play, Heywood
descants upon the variety of topics, which
nad been introduced upon the English
stage in that age,— the rich Shakspearian
epoch

To give content to this noet enrHms age.

The (3oda themselres we've broaght down to the stage,

And figured them in Planets; made ev'n Hell

Deliver up the If unca, by no spell

Saving the Muses* rapturea i farther we

rfaTt traAekt by their help { no History

[From the ** Challenge to Beauty," a Tragi-
comedy, by T. Heywood, 1636.]

In the Prologue to this Play, Heywooa
commends the English Plays ; not without
a censure of some writers, who in his time
had begun to degenerate.

The Roman and Athenian Dramas far

Differ from us : and those that frequent are

In Italy and France, ev'n in these days.

Compared with ours, are rather Jiggs than Plays.

Like of the Spaaikh may be said, and Dutch ;

None, versed in language, but confess them »uch.

They do not build their projects on that gromtd ;

Nor have their phrases half the weight and sound.

Our labeur'd Scenes have had. And yet our natioc

(^ Already too much tax'd for imitation.

In seekbg to ape others) cannot 'quit

Borne of our Poets, who have sinn'd in it.

For where, before, great Patriots. Dukes, and Kings,

Prsseatad for some high facinorons thingr)

Were the stage subject ; now we strive to fly

In their low pitch, who never eould soar high •

For now the common argument entreats

Of puling Lovers, crafty Bawds, or Cheats.

Nor blame I their quick fancies, who can fit

These queasy times with huoiours flash'd in wit.

Whose art I both encourage and commend ;

I only wish that they would sometimes bend

To memorise the valours of such men.

Whose Ytry names might dignify the pen ;

And that our once-applauded Roescian strain

In acting such might be revived again;

Which yon to connt*nance might the Stage make proud

And poets strive to key their strings more loud.

C. L.

• His own Play.

t The foundations of the English Drama were laid
deep in tragedy by Marlow, and others — Marlow
especially— while our eomedjf was yet in iu lisping
fltate. TO this tragic prepcnderaaee (forgetting ha
own sweet Comedies, and Shakspeare*s\ Heywoo6
oeens to refer with regret ; as in the ** Roeeiaa Strain*
he evidently alludes to Alleyn, who was great in the
* Jew of Malta,** as Heywood elsewhere testifies, and
m the principal tragic parts both of Marknr aal
Sbakspeare.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

IN CORNWALL AND DEVONSUIRE.
To the Editor.

Sir, — ^The ready insertion given to my
letter on the above subject, in the second
volume of the Ev^ru-Day Book, (p. 1009,)
encourages me to hope that you will as
readily insert the present, which enters
more fully into the merits of this ancient
sporty as practised in both coonties, than
any other communication you have as yet
lain before your numerous readers.

Having been the first person to call your
attention to the merits of Polkinhorne,
Parkins, and Warren, of Cornwall, (to
which I could easily have added the names
of some doien or two more, equally deserv-
ing of notice,) I was much amused at the
article yoa extracted from the London
Magazine, (into the Evtry-Day Book, vol.
ii. p. 1337,) because I was present at the
sport there spoken of; and being well ac-

?uainted with the play, and an eye-witness,
found the picture much too highly co-
loured.

I am neither a Cornwall nor a Devon man
myself, but have resided in both couotifidi
for the last ten years, and am really an ad-
mirer of Abraliam Cann, of Devon, whose
behaviour in the riag no one can at all
complain of: he it a fine fellow, but so is
Polkinhome, and, beyond doubt, the latter
is ** much the better roan ;*' he threw Cann
an acknowledged fair fall, and I regret he
left the ring on the bad advice of those
whom he thought then his friends. Had he
not, I am certain he would have thrown
Cann " over and over again."

In a late number of the Table Book (p.
416) is given an extract from Homer, to
show that Ulysses' mode of wrestling was
similar to that of Abraham Cann ; it may
be so ; but what does Achilles say upon the
subject :—

** Yoor nobler vigoari o!b« my frinds, rettrftn ;
Nor weary oat jonr gen'roaa •tmgtk m Taio.
Ye both have won : let otkera who exeel
Now prove that prowesa 70a have pror'd m> well.**

Now Abraham Cann, with his monstrous
!ihoe, and most horrible mode of kicking,
has never yet been able to throw Polkin-
borne, nor do I think he has the power or
skill to enable htm to do so. His defeat of
Oaffney has added no laurel to his brow,
for the Irishman had not a shadow of
ehance; nor is there an Irishman or a
Comishman^ now in London, that would

stand any chance with Cann ; but be wrwjid
find several awkward opponents if he would
meet those from Westmoreland, Carlisle
and Cumberland, and play in their mode, li
the match, however, between PolktnhonM
and Cann the latter very properhr re
ceived the stakes, on account of the formei
having quitted the ring on conceiving he bad
won the day, by throwing two falls. The
second throw, on reference to the umpires,
was after some time deemed not a hdr back
fall.— This, however, b foreign to my pur-
pose; which is to systematically explain
the methods of wrestling in Cornwall and
Devon.

I have seen in Cornwall more persons
present at these games, when the prise has
only been a gold-laoed hat, a waistcoat, or
a pair of gloves, than ever attend the spoils
of Devon, (where the prizes are very libend
— for they don't like to be kicked severely
for a trifle,) or even at the famed meetings
of later days in London, at the Eagle in the
City Road, or the Golden £agLe in Mile
End. How is this? Why, in the laUer
places, six, eight, and, at farthest, twelve
standards are as much as a day's play wiU
admit of; while in Cornwall 1 have seen
forty made in one day. At Penaanoe, on
Monday, 24th ult.,* thirty sundards were
made, and the match concluded the day
following. In Devon, what with the heavy
shoes and thick padding, and time lost in
equipment and kicking, half that numbei
cannot be made in a day : I have frequentl}
seen men obliged to leave tlie ring, and
abandon the chance of a priie, owing solel)
to the hurt they have received by kick5
from the knee downwards ; and let me hert
add, that I have been present when ever
Cann's brothers, or relations, have been
obliged to do so. So much for kicking. —
To the eye of a beholder unacquainted with
wrestling, the Cornish mode must appear
as play, and that of Devon barbarotu. — Ii
is an indisputable foct, that no Cornish
wrestler of any note ever frequents the
games in Devon ; and that whenever those
from Devon have played in Cornwall, they
have been tlirown : Jordan by Parkins, and
so on.

At a Comtek wrestling, a man's favourit<
play can be seen by the kitck or holdfast h«
takes ; as right or left, which is sure to be
crossed by left and right, and the straggU
immediately commences. Tha offJino
play is that in which the men have each i«
gripe on his adversary's collar, or «» thi
collar and opposite elbow, or wrist; whei

* Ser Um W-ett BnUm paper of tkv M OclBtar.

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hy a sudden blow against the outside of
Ihe foot, by the strilcer's inside, (if strong
enough,) or by a corresponding twist of the
collar, one lays the other flat on his back.
This is called playing with tkg toe ; but
they never wear any shoes, and are gene-
rally bare-legged from the knee downwards.
When the hitch is collar and elbow, one
mode of play is to lift with the heel placed
in the fork, with the back twisted round
towards the other*s fiont, and pulling hira
strongly by the elbow and collar, carry him
forward ; but a back fall is then uncertain.
Another way is to kaaoe forward or back-
ward with the erook^ or tM^*, or with the
hip.

But the struggle is on what is termed the
doeing play, which is bv hitching over and
under. If righthanded, the over player
has his right bond on the loins, or over the
right shoulder of his adversary, with his
right side towards him, and his left hand
on the right arm, at tkie wrist or elbow ; he
then throws forward with the hip, or backp
ward and forward with tl.e croQky as before.
The under player has his right hand on
the left side of the collar, his left crossing
the loins on the back, or crossing the belly
in front, and facing his opponent's left side.
His defensive play is to stop the hip by the
clamp and the crook ; by pushing forward
with his left hand on the nape of the neck,
and then heaving ; which in the ring is con-
sidered the best play. A good and sure
beaver is a perfect player. It must be
done backward, if the arm crosses the
back; but if it crosses the belly, either
backward or forward will do. Cann was
thrown by Polkinhorne backwards, which
is dangerous to the heaver to attempt ; for,
if he does not lift with sufficient strength,
and keep himself dear of his antagonist's
legs, he will not go fieir enough round, and
instead of throwing his adversary a fair
fall, he may fall on his own back, which is
termed throwing kbneelf; or hia adTcrsaiy
may crook his leg within, and overbalance
the heaver and by a quick movement throw
kin. Thus was Warren thrown by Cann.
(See the Every Day Book^ vol. ii. p. 1337.)
The forward keaoe, if done quickly, is
certain. Both arms must cross the belly,
and your adversary be lifted across your
chest ; then, plunging forward, you fall on
him crosswise ; he has thus no chance, and
the fall is complete; but the tn-fum, if
adopted before tlie lift from the ground
takes place, baffles the heaver.

The Cornitth hug is a tremendous strug-
gle for Tictory. Both grasp alike, and not
o^uch science is required. It only takes

place, where each conceives himself to be
the stronger of the two. It is either right
or left. If right, each man has his right
hand on the other's loins on the left side,
and his left hand on the right shoulder ;
they stand fiaice to face, and each strives to
draw his adversary towards htm, and grasps
him round Ihe waist, till the hug becomes
close, and the weakest man is forced back-
ward—the other foiling heavily upon him.
This is a very sure and hard fidl. So much
for Cornish play. Now for that of Devon-
shire; which resembles in every respect
(the toe and heel excepted) the off.hand
play of Cornwall, but goes no farther.

The Devonehire men have no under-play,
aor have they one heaver ; and they do not
understand or practise the hug. Visit a
Devon ring, and you'll wait a tedious time
after a man is thrown ere another appeaia.
After undergoing the necessary prepaid
tions for a good kicking, &c. he enters,
and shakes his adversaiy bv the hand, and
kicks and lays hold when he can get a fit
opportunity. If he is conscious of superior
strength he *' goes to work," and by strength
of arms wrests him off his legs, and lays
him 6at; or, if too heavy for this, he carries
him round by the hip. But when Ihe men
find they are ^' much of a muchness'' it is
really tiresome: <* caution" is the word;
the iAoe, only, goes to work; and after
dreadful hacking, cutting, and kicking, one
is at last thrown. The hardest shoe and
the best kicker canies the day. Cann is a
very hard kicker and a cautious wrestler.
The Irishman's legs bore ample testimony
of the effects of Cann's shoe. He left him
knee-deep in a stream of gore.

The Devon men never close with a
Combh adversary, if they find he possesses
any science ; because they have no under-
play, and cannot prevent the risk of being
heaved : they therefore stand off, with only
one hand in the collar, and kick; the
Comishman then attempts to get in, and
the Devonman tries to confine one of his
opponent's arms by holding him at the
wrist, and keeping him from coming in
either over or under, and at every move of
his leg kicking it Here ends the descrip-
tion ; by which it will be plainly seen that
a Cornishman cannot enter a Devon ring
on any thing like an equality.

Wishing well to both counties, and dis-
claiming undue partiality to either, I remain
a true lover of wrestling as a rustic sport,
and your obedient servant.

Sav Sam's Son

October 8, 18*27.

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OF THE

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

No. XIL

Rthkr — Weight and Elasticity of the

AlR^AlR-OUMS.

By ether the moderns understand a rare
fluid, or species of matter, beyond the at-
mosphere, and penetrating it, iufinitely
more subtile than the air we respire, of an
immense extent, filling all the spaces where
the celestial bodies roll, yet making no
sensible resistance to their motions. Some
suppose it to be a sort of air, much purer
than that which invests our globe ; others,
that its nature approaches to that of the
celestial fire, which emanates from the sun
and other stars ; others, again, suppose it
to be generically different from all other
matter, mi generis, and its parts finer than
those of light; alleging that the exceed-
ing tenuity of its parts renders it capable
of that Tast expansive force^ which is the
source of all that pressure and dilatation
whence most of the phenomena in nature
arise ; for that by the extreme subtilty of
its parts it intimately penetrates all bodies,
and exerts its energy eveiy where. This last
is the opinion of Newton and Locke. But
whatever be the sentiments now entertained
on the subject, we find the origin of all of
them in the ancients.

The stoics taught, that there was a subtile
and active fire which pervaded the whole
universe, that bv the energy of this ethereal
substance, to which they gave the name of
ether, all the parts of nature were produced,
preserved, and linked together; tnatit em-
braced every thing; and that in it the
celestial bodies performed their revolutions.
According to Diogenes Laertius and
Hierocles, Pythagoras affirmed, that the aic
which invests our earth is impure and
mixed ; but that the air above it is essen-
tially pure and healthful. He calls it « free
ether, emancipated from all gross matter, a
celestial substance that fills all space, and
penetrates at will the pores of all bodies.*'

Aristotle, explaining Pythagoras's opi-
nion of ether, ascribes the same also to
Anaxagoras. Aristotle himself, in another
place, understands by ether, a fifth element
fmre and unalterable^ of an active and vital
nature, but entirely different from Mr and
pre.

Empedocles, one of the most celebrated
disciples of Pythagoras, is quoted by Plu-
tarch, and St. Clemens Alexandrinus, as
«drailtine an ethereal substance, which

filled all space, and contained in it all the
bodies of the universe, and which he calk
by the names of Titan and Jupiter.

Plato distinguishes air into two kinds,
the one gross and filled with vapours, which
IS what we breathe ; the other '* more re-
fined, called ether, in which the celestial
bodies are immerged, and where they roll

The nature of air was not less known lo
the ancients than that of ether. They re-
garded it as a general " meneiruum,^ con-
taining all the volatile parts of every thing
in nature, which being variously agitated,
and differently combined, produced me-
teors, tempests, and all the other changes
we experience. They also were acquainted
with its weight, though the experiments
transmitted to us, relative to this, are but
few. Aristotle speaks of ^' a vessel filled
with air as weighing more than one quite
empty .^ Treating of respiration, he reports
the opinion of Empedocles, who ascribes
the cause of it " to the weight of the air,
which by its pressure insinuates itself with
force ^ into the lungs. Plutarch, in the
same terms, expresses the sentiments of
Asdepiades. He represents him, among
other things, as saying, that <' the externa!
air by its weight opens its way with force
into the breast.** Heron of Alexandria
ascribes effects to the elasticity of the air,
which show that he perfectly understood
that property of it.

Seneca also knew its weight, spring, and
elasticity. He describes ** the constan
effort it makes to expand itself when it 15
compressed ;" and he affirms, that *' it has
the property of condensing itself, and for-
cing its way through all obstacles that oppose
its passage.''

It is still more surprising, hovrever, that
Ctesibius, '* upon the principle of the aii^s
elasticity," invented fFind-gune, which we
look upon as a modem contrivance. Pbik>
of Byzantium gives a very fijll and exact
description of that curious machine, plan-
ned upon the property of the air's being
capable of condensation, and so constructed
as to manage and direct the force of that
element, in such a manner as to carry stone*
with rapidity to the greatest disUnoe.

INSCRIBED ON A SIGN

At Castle Cart, Somerset.

FOOT,

MaVer of pattns, elogs, rakea, wd novaa-tnpi to«.
Qr'xnda ramn, makat old mnbrellaa good at d«w :
KiiiTOt bladed, ipon and laateru meadod s oUmt j«it

do&e;
Tnkattlat olaaa'd, repaired, and earnad koaa.

J,T.IL

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For the Table Book,

Provincial Satikos, &c.

L At the dayt grow longer,

Tke atornis grow stronger.
S. As the dmys langthn,

So the atom* atrengthea.

3. Bleated it the oorpte, that the raia fallt on.

4. Bleated it the bnd«» that the nu ahinet on.

5. He that goes to tee hit wheat m May,
Comet weeping awa/.

Harvest-home Call,
IN THE County of Durham.

Blett be the day that Chriat wat bora,
frt^v€ gettn mell of Mr. *i oom*

Well won, and better ahoni.

Hip, hip, hip I— Husa ! hnua I hnixa I

An old Yorkshire May-Game.

« An account qf a Majf-'Oame, pcfformed
ai Richmond^ Yorlahvre^ on the 20M of
'Mayf 1660, by the inhahitanU of that
town; whereby they demonstrated their
unvoertalfoy for the happy return of
Charles II,^ whom God was pleased to
make the instrument of freeing this na-
tion from tyranny, uswpationy and the
dismal effects of a civil war,

** They came into the town, in solemn
equipage, as follows : —

** I. Three atUiee before them with bag-
pipes.

•* 2. The representative of a lordy attend-
ed by trumpeu, falconers, four pages, as
many footmen, and fifty attendants, all
suited as became persons of their quality.

'* 3. The representative of a sheriffs with
forty attendants, in their liveries.

^ 4. Tlie bishop of Hereford^ with four
xA^en and footmen, his chaplain, and twenty
other household officers, oesides their at-
tendants.

'' 5. Two companies of morris-daneers,
who acted their parts to the satisfaction of
the spectators.

*' 6. Sixty nynmhSf with music before
them, following Diana, all richly adorned
in white and gorgeous apparel, with pages
and footmen attending them.

** 7. Three comnanies o( foot soldiers^
with a captain ana other officers, in great
magnificence.

** 8. Robin Hood, in scarlet, with forty
bowmen« all clad in Lincoln green.

''Thus they marched into the town.
Now follows their performance.

'* They marched decently, in good order,
round the market-cross, and came to the
church, where they offered their cordial
prayers for our most gracious sovereign ; a
sermon preached at that time.

'* From thence my lord invited all his at-
tendants to his house to dinner.

*' The reverend bishop did the same to
all his attendants, invitine the minister and
other persons to bis own house, where they
were sumptuously entertained.

<< The soldiers marched up to the cross,
where they gave many vollies of shot, with
push of pike, and other martial feats.

'* There was erected a scaffold and ar-
bours, where the morris-dancers and nymphs
acted their parts ; many thousands of spec-
tators having come out of the country and
villages adiacent.

'* Two days were spent in acting ' Robin
Hood/ The sheriff and reverend bishop
sent bottles of sack to several officers acting
in the play, who all performed tlieir parts
to the general satisfaction of the spectators,
with acclamations of joy for the safe arrival
of his sacred majesty.

'' Something more might have been ex-
pected from the civil magistrate of the
town, who permitted the conduit to mn
water all the time.

*' The preceding rejoicings were per-
formed by the commonalty of the borough
of Richmond.*'

Christmas Pie.

The following appeared in the New-
castle Chronicle, 6th Jan. 1770: — ^"Mon-
day last was brought from Ilowick to Ber-
wick, to be shipped for London, for sir
Hen. Grey, bart., a pie, the contents where-
of are as follows : viz. 2 bushels of flour,
20 lbs. of butter, 4 geese, 2 turkies, 2 rab-
bits, 4 wild ducks, 2 woodcocks, 6 snipes,
and 4 partridges ; 2 neats' tongues, 2 cur-
lews, 7 blackbirds, and 6 pigeons: it is
supposed a very great curiosity, was made
by Mrs. Dorothy Patterson, housekeeper at
ilowick. It was near nine feet in circum-
ference at bottom, weighs about twelve
stones, will take two men to present it
to table ; it is neatly fitted with a case, and
four small wheels to facilitate its use to
every guest that inclines to partake of its
contents at table."

Oliver Cromwell's Weddings.

The singular mode of solemnizing mar
riages that took place duiing Cromwell's

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uisurpat'on, was pretty strictly observed for
the space of four years ; daring which time
sixty-six couple were joined together before
the civit magistrate (at Knaresbrough.)
The gentlemen who were applied to in this
case, for the most part, appear to be Thomas
Stockdale, of Bilton Park, Esq. ; sir Thomas
Mouleverer, bart. of Allerton Park ; or the
mayor of Ripoa. The bans were pab*
lished on three separate days before mar-
riage, sometimes at the market-cross, and
sometimes in the church. The following is
a copy of one of the certificates : —

** 30 Mar. 1651. Marroaduke Inman and
Prudence Lowcock, both of the parish
of Knaresbrough, were this day mar-
ried together at Ripon, haying first
been published three several market-
2 ays in the market-place at Knares-
brough, according to the act of parlia-
ment, and no exceptions made.

'< lo the presence of

** Tkomat Shtvie,
^ Authonff Smtptan.'*

£LBCTIONEF.ItIll««

In sir Henry Slingsby's Diary is the fol-
lowing note, respecting the election at
Knaresbrough in the year 164a " There
is an evil custom at sucb elections, to bestow
wioe on all the town, wkich cost me sixteen
pounds at least."

D. A. M.

A RARE BROAD FARTHING I
To the Editor.

Sir, — In your last very pleasing number,
p. 242, you give an account of a *• Farthing
Lord." As addenda to that article I state,
that in the west of England I knew a
penurious old gentleman, who, by way of
generous reward, used to give the person
who performed little services for him a
farthing i, with this grateful apostrophe,
** Here, my friend ; here is a rare Oroud
farthing for thee I — go thy way— call to-
morrow ; and, if thou earn it, thou shall
nave another rare broad farthing /" By
the exercise of this liberality, he gained the
appellation of " Broad Farthing f" and re-
tained it to the day of his death, when he
left immense wealth.

I am, sir, yours, &c.

• ♦ *.

Uttn^ton, 4ugwt 25, 1627.

SIR WALTER SCOTF.

The following good-tempered and agre^
able letter has been published in illustration
of an excellent engraving of Wilkie*s in-
teresting picture of Sir Walter Scott and
his family : —

Letter from Sir Walter Scott to Sir
Adam Ferguson, descriptive of a Pic-
ture painted BY David Wilkie, Esq.,
R.A., exhibited at the Royal Acaoe>
MY, 1B18.

My dear Adam, — I have duly received
your letter, with that enclosed from the
gentleman whom you have patronised, by
suffering the sketch from the pencil of oar |
friend Wilkie to be engraved for his work.

The picture has something in it rather of
a domestic character, as the personages are ^
represented in a Sv^rt of masquerade, sucb t
being the pleasure of the aocompli^hed
painter. Nevertheless, if it is to be en-
graved, I do not see that I can offer any
objection, since it is the wish of the dis-
tinguished artist, and the friendly pro-
prietor of the sketch in nuestion.

But Mr. Balmanno [Secretary to the
Incorporated Artists* Fund] mentions, be-
sides, a desire to have anecdotes of my
private and domestic life, or, as he expresses
nimself, a' portrait of the author in bis
night-gown and slippers; and this from
you, who, I dare say, could furnish some
anecdotes of our younger days, which might
now seem ludicrous enough.

Even as to my night-gown and slippers,
I believe the time has been, when the
-articles of my wardrobe were as familiar to
your memory as PoiW# to Prh%ce, Henry ;
but that time has been for some years past,
and I. cannot think it would be interesting
to the public to learn that 1 had changed
my ola robe^de^kamkre for a handsome
€UmHtette when I was last at Paris. The
truth is, that a man of ordinary sense can-
not be supposed delighted with the species
of gossip wnich, in the dearth of other news,
recurs to such a quiet individual as myself;
and though, like a well-behaved lion of
twenty years* standine, I am not inclined to
vex myself about what I cannot help, I
will not in any case, in which I canpreVent
it, be accessory to these follies. Inere ia
no man known at all in literature, vriio nuty
not have more to tell of his private life
than I have : I have surmounted no difi*
cnlties either of birth or education, nor
have I been favoured by anv particular ad*
vantages, and my life has been as void oi

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incidents of importance^ as t^at of the
" weary knife-grinder,"—

** Story 1 God Uan jcn. I have aone to tell, mr.**

The follies of youth ought long since to
have passed away; and if the prejudices
and absurdities of age have come in their
place, I will keep them, as Beau Tibbs did
nis prospect, for the amusement of my do-
mestic friends. A mere enumeration of
the persons in the sketch is all I can pos-
sibly permit to be published respecting
mysen and my family ; and as must be the
lot of humanity, when we look back seven
or eight years, even what follows cannot be
drawn up without some very painfUi re-
coUedions.

The idea which our inimitable Wilkie
adopted was to represent our family group
in the garb of south country peasants, sup-
posed to be concerting a merry-making, for
which some of the preparations are seen*
The place is the terrace near Kayside^
commanding an extensire Tiew towards the
Biidon hiUs. 1. The sitting figure, in the
dress of a miller, I believe, represents Sir
Walter Scott, author of a few scores of
volumes, and proprietor of Abbotsford, in
the county of Roxburgh. 2. In front, and
presenting, we may supoose, a country
wag somewhat addicted to poaching,
stands sir Adam Ferguson, Knight-Keeper
of the Regalia of Scotland. 8. In the
badcground is a very handsome old man,
upwards of eighty-four years old at the time,
painted in his own character of a shepherd,
lie also belonged to the numerous clan of
Scott. He used to claim credit for three
things unusual among the Southland shep*
herds : first, that he had never been/o« m
the course of his life ; secondly, he never
had struck a man in anger ; thirdly, that
though intrusted with the management of
large sales of stock, he had never lost a
penny for his master by a bad debt. He
died soon afterwards at Abbotsford. 4, 5, 6.
Of the three female figures, the elder is the
late regretted mother of the family repre-
sented. 5. The young person most forward
in the group is Miss &>phia Charlotte Scott,
now Mrs. J. G. Lockhart; and 6, he^
younger sister. Miss Ann Scott. Both are
represented as ewe-milkers, with their
legHiu, or milk-pails. 7 On the lef^ hand
of the shepherd, the young man holding a
fowling-piece is the eldest son of sir Walter,
now captain in the kinff*s hussars. 8. The
boy is the youngest of the family, Charles
Scott, now of Brazenose College, Oxford
The two dogs were distinguished fevourites
of the fiunily ; the large one was a stag-

hound of the old Highland breed, calleo
Maida, and one of the handsomest dogs
that could be found; it was a present from
the chief of Glengary to sir Walter, and
was highly valued, both on account of liis
beauty, his fidelity, and the great rarity of
the breed. The other is a little Highland
terrier, called Ourhk^ (goblin,) of a parti-
cular kind, bred in Kintail. It was a pre-
sent from the honourable Mr. Stewart Mac-
kenzie, and is a valuable specimen of a
race which is now also scarce.

Maida, like 9ran, Luath, and other dogs
of distinction, slumbers '*beneath bisstone,**
distingubhed by an epitaph, which, to the
honour of Scottish scholarship be it spoken,
has only om false quality in two lines.

** Maids narmorea donnis nb imaftoe Maida,
** Ad jaaaam doaiai sit tibi terra leris.*

Ourisk still survives, but, like some other
personages in the picture, with talents and
temper rather the worse for wear. She has
become what Dr. Rutty, the quaker, records
himself in his journal as having sometimes
been — sinfully dogred and snappish.

If it should suit Sir. Balmanno*s purpose
to adopt the above illustrations, he is
heartily welcome to them ; but I make it ray
especial bargain, that nothing more is said
upon such a mei^re subject.

It strikes roe, however, that there is a
story about old Thomas Scott, the shepherd,
which is characteristic, and which I will
make your friend welcome to. Tom was,
both as a trusted servant and as a rich
fellow in his line, a person of considerable
importance among the class in the netrh-
bourhood, and used to stickle a good deal
to keep his place in public opinion. Now,
he suffered, in his own idea at least, from
the consequence assumed by a oountiy
neighbour, who, though neither so well
reputed for wealth or sagacity as Thomas
Scott, had yet an advantage over him, from
having seen the late king, and used to take
precedence upon all occasions when they
chanced to meet. Thomas suffered under
this superiority. But after this sketch was
finished and exhibited in London, the news-
papers made it known that his present
majesty had condescended to take some
notice of it. Delighted with the circum-
stance, Thomas Scott set out, on a most
oppressively hot day, to walk five miles to
Bowden, where his rival resided. He bad
DO sooner entered the cottage, than he
called out in his broad forest dialect —
** Andro*. man, de ye anes scy (see) the
kingT «^ In troth did I, Tam,^ answered
Andro\ ** sit down, and VH tell ye a* about

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ft : ye 86} , I was at Lonon, in a place they

' ca* the park, that is no like a hained hog-

fence, or like the fbur-nooked parks in this

co'untry .'* ** Hout awa," said Thomas,

*' I hare heard a' that before : I only came
ower the Know to tell you, that, if you
have seen the kingr, the kinjj^ has seen mey,''
(me.) Ai>d so he return^ with a jocund
heart, assnring^ his friends ^ it had done
him m^ich muckle g^ude to settle accounts
wi' Andro*. ••

Another favour T must request is, that

Mr. Balmanno will be so good as to send

I me a proof of these illustrations, as my hand

is very bad, and there be errors both of the

pen and of the press.

Joco9e htgCy as the old Laird of Restalrig
writes to the Earl of Cowrie. — Farewell,
my old tried and dear friend of forty long
years. Our enjoyments must now be of a
character less vivid than we have shared
together.

** Bat ttiU at <rar lot it were T»im to repine.

** Yoath eaaaot ratun, or the dajri or Lan; Sjne.**

Yours affectionately,

Walter Scott.*
Abbotsferdf Attguit 2.

ADVICE

To"LooK AxHoMisr

The advice given by a girl to Thales,
the Milesian philosopher, was strong and
practical. Seeing him gazing at the heavens,
as he walked along, and perhaps piqued
by his not casting an eye on her attractions,
she put a stool in his path, over which he
tumbled and broke his shins. The excuse
she made was, that she meant to teach him,
before he indulged himself in star-gazing,
to « look at home."

Advice for ▲ broken Limb.

In a late translation of Hippocrates, we
read the ibUowing piece of grave advice,
which, notwithsUnding the great name of
the counsellor, will hardly have many fol-
lowers.

In a fracture of the thigh, ** the exten-
sion ought to be particularly great, the
muscles being so strong that, notwithstand-
ing the effect of the bandaees, their con-
traction is apt to shorten the limb. This
is a deformity so deplorable, that when
there is reason to apprehend it, I would
advise the patient to suffer the other thigh

to be broken also, in order to have toem
both of one length.''

The founder of the Jesuits, St. Ignatius
Loyola, who, to preserve the shape of his
boot, had a considerable part of his leg-
bone cut off, would have been a docile
patient to the sasre Hippocrates. The story
is in the Every-Day Book^ vol. i. p. 1050.

Sincere Advice.

While Louis XIV. was besieging Lisle,
the Spanish governor very handsomely sent
him, from the town, every day, fresh ice for
the use of his table. M. de Charost, a
favourite of the king, happening to be near
him when one of these presents arrived, said
to the messenger, with a loud voice, ^ 0c
you be sure to tell M. de Brouai, your
governor, that I advise him not to give up
his town like a coward, as the commandant
of Douai has done." ** Are you mad,
Charost?" said the king, turning to bim
angrily. « No, sir," said Charcot, •* but
you must excuse me. The comte de
Brouai is my near relation."

Advice for Judo i mo of Poetry.

Cardinal de Reti desired Menage to
fiivour him with a few lectures on poetry ;
**• for,*' said he, *' such quantities of venes
are brought to me every day, that I ought
to seem, at least, to be somewhat of a
judge/' — « It would," replied Menage,
*' be difficult to give your eminence many
rudiments of criticism, without taking up
too much of your time. But I would ad-
vise you, in general, to look over the first
page or two, and then to exclaim, Smd
itnffl wretehedpoetoiter! mherabh vtnet*
Ninety-nine times in a hundred you will be
sure you are right.**

• Fram Tk9 Ttwrn, OefoMr IC, 18i7.

A NOMINAL ACCIDENT,

To the E^ar.

It is rather extraordinary that of th« twt
pork-butchers in Clare-market, one of tbeii
names should be *« Hum," the otherV
•^Shum,"— Fact! upon honour!— See ib)
yourself; one is at the comer of Blackmor^*
street, the other in the street adjoining
Clement*s Inn.

F. C N.
Avgwt 9, 1837

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THE BEVOLUTION-HOUSE AT WHITTINGTON, DERBYSHIRE.

To eternlM the delegated band.

That seal'd their great foref athen' fleldi their own,
Bais'd eVrf art that decks a smiling land.

And laws that gnazd the cottage as the throne.

This edifice obtained itfi name from the
neeting of Thomas Osborne earl of Danby,
and WilKam Cavendish earl of Devon-
shire, with Mr. John D'Arcy, privately one
morning, in 1688, upon Whittington Moor,
as a middle place between Chatsworth,
Kniveton, and Aston, their respective resi-
dences, to consult about the revolution,
then in agitation.* A shower of rain
happening to fall, they removed to the
village for shelter, and finished their con-
irersation at a public-house there, the sign
of "The Cock and Pynot.*'t

The part assigned to the earl of Danby
was, to surprise York; in which he suc-
ceeded. After which, the earl of Devon-
shire was to take measures at Nottingham,
where the declaration for a free parliament,
which he, at the head of a number of gentle-
men of D<*royshire, had signed Nov. 28,
1688,t w»« ailopted by the nobility, gentry.

• ICessrX

^ k ^tm^anl name for a Magpie,
t RafKB, XT. 199L

Sev. P, Cunningheun.

and commonalty of the northern counties
there assembled.* To theconcurrenoe of these
patriots with the proceedings in favour of
the prince of Orange in the west, the nation
is indebted for the establishment of its rights
and liberties.

The cottage here represented stands at
the point where the road from Chesterfield
divides into two branches, to Sheffield and
Rotherham. The room where the noble>
men sat is fifteen feet by twelve feet ten,
and is to this day called " The Plotting
Parlour.** The old armed-chair, still re-
maining in it, is shown by the landlord with
particular satisfaction, as that in which it is
said the earl of Devonshire sat ; and he tells
with equal pleasure, how it was visited by
his descendants, and the descendants of his
associates, in the year 1788. Some new
rooms, for the better accommodation d
customers, were added several years ago.

• Deenng*s Nottiaghanu p. S5G

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Tkf dnke of LeedM own aeeount of hU meet^
ing the earl of Devoiuhhre and Mr. John
lyArc^ at frhUtingtoUf in the county
of Derbjff ▲. d. 1688.

The earl of Danby, afterwards duke of
Leeds, was impeached, a. d. 1678, of high
treason by the house of commons, on a
charge of being in the French interest, and,
in particular, of being popishly affected :
many, both peers and commoners^ were
misled, and bad conceiTed an erroneous
<^inion concerning him and his political
conduct. This he has stated himself, in
the introduction to his letters, printed in
ITIO, where he says, ** The malice of my
i accusation did so manifeslly apoear in tkat
article wherein I was charged to oe popishly
afiected, that I dare swear there was not
one of my accusers that did then believe
tliat article against me."

Tkm duke then proceeds, for the fuKher
claaring of himsdf, in these memorable
imrds, relative to the meeting at W hitting-
ton:^

** The duke of DeTOBaktrtabo» when we
were partners in the aaoiti tnui about the
revolution, and who did meet me and Mr.
John D*Arcy, for that purpose, at a town
called Whittington, in Derb^ire, did, in
the presence of the said Mr. I>*Arcy, make
a voluntary acknowledgment of the great
mistakes he had been led into about me ;
and said, that both he, and roost others,
were entirely convinced of their error. And
he came to sir Henry Goodrick*s house in
Yorkshire purposely to meet me there
again, in order to concert the times and
methods by which he should act at Notting-
ham, (which was to be his post,) and one
at York, (which was to be mine ;) and we
agreed, that I should first attempt to sur-
prise York, because there was a^mall garri-
son with a governor there ; whereas Not-
tingham was but an open town, and might
give an alarm to York, if he should appear
in arms before I had made my attempt
upon York ; which was done accordingly ;t
but is mistaken in divers relations of it.
And I am confident that the duke (had he
been now alive) would have thanked
nobody for putting his prosecution of me
amongst the glorious actions of his life.**

On the 4th and 5th of November 1788,
the centenary of the landing of king Wift-

• Am and Mr of Coayvn Mrl or HoMerMss.

t For the Mil of DeTon»bire*t proceedinn at Dnhj
•ad WhittiBroB, tet Mr. Deennf't HUtorr of Nottingw
has., p. «60. Mr. Drake, p, ITTof bit Kforaenm. jiut
noitutt I ho ft.rl of Daaby's appearaace at York.

liam, the Revolution Jubilee was celebratecf
at Whittington and Chesterfield, as appears
by the following letter from the venerable
rector of the parish • —

To Mr, Oough.

IFhittington, Oct.U, 1788.

Dear sir, — We are to have most grand
doings at this plaoe» 5th of November neit,
at the BewobttiomJkotuey which I believe
yoa saw when ymi was here. The resolu-
tions of the committee were ordered to be
inserted in the London prints, so I presume
you may have seen them. I am desiicd
to preach the sermon.

I reroain^your much obliged, &c.
&Pto<;s

Beeoluthm*

The committee appointed by th« loids
and gentlenmat the last ChesterfieM races,
to oimduct and manage the celebratioB of
the intended jubilee^ on the hundredth an-
niversary of the glorious revolution, at the
lievolution-house in Whittington, in the
county of Derby, where meaames were first
concerted for the promotion of that grand
constitutional event, in these midland parts,
have this day met, and upon consideration
come to the following resolutions : —

That general Gladwin do take the chair
at this meeting. That the Rev. Samuel
Pegge be requested to preach a sermon on
the occasion at Whittington church, on the
5th day of November next. That the gen-
tlemen who intend to honour the meeting
with their company do assemble at Whit-
tington church, exactly at eleven o*clock in
the forenoon of that day, to attend divine
service. That immediately after service
they meet at the Revolution-house, where a
cold collation will be provided. That they
go in procession from thence to Chester-
field, where ordinaries will be provided at
the Angel, Castle, and Falcon mns. That
the meeting be open to all friends of the
revolution. That letters be written to the
dukes of Devonshire and Leeds, and the
earl of Stamford, to request the honour of
their attendance at that meeting. T\ml
there be a ball lor the ladies in the evenins
at the assembly-room in Chesterfield. Utat
a subscription of one guinea each be en-
tered into for defraying the extraordinary
expenses on the occasion, and that tfaie
same be paid into the hands of Messiia
Wilkinson's, in Chesterfield* That the
committee do meet again on Wednesday
the 8th of October next, at the Angel ina
in Chesterfield, at one o'clock. Thai thes

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raoliitions be published in the Derby and
I Nottingham newspapers, and in the St.
James's, Whitehall, and Lloyd's Evening
I Posts, and the London and English Chro-
nicles.

Hexrt Gladwin, Chairman.

Cheiterfleld, Sept, 27, 1786.

According to these resolutions, on Tues-
day the 4th of November, the committee
I appointed to conduct the jubilee had a pre-
, vious meeting, and dined together at the
I " Revolution-house" in Whittington. The
' duke of Devonshire, lord Stamford, lord
George and lord Jo!m Cavendish, with
several neighbouring gentlemen, were pre-
sent. After dinner a subscription was
opened for the erecting of a monumental
column, in commemoration of the glonouf
revolution, on that spot where the earls of
Devonshire and Danby, lord Delamere,
and Mr. John D'Arcy, met to concert
measures which were eminently instrumen-
tal in rescuing the liberties of their country
from perdition. As this monument was
intencled to be not less a mark of public
gratitude, than the memorial of an impor-
tant event, it was requested, that the
representatives of the above-mentioned
, families would excuse their not being per-
, mitted to join in the expense.
j On the 5th, at eleven in the morning, the
' commemoration commenced with divine
, service at Whittington church. The Rev.
' Mr. Pegge, the rector of the parish, deli-
lered an excellent sermon from the words
i i^This is the day which the Lord hath
I hade ; we will rejoice and be glad in it.**
i Though of a great age, having that very
i morning entered his eighty-fifth year, he
spoke with a spirit which seemed to have
been derived from the occasion ; his senti-
ments were pertinent, well arranged, and
his expression animated.

The descendants of the illustrious booses
of Cavendish, Osborne, Boothe, and D'Arcy,
(for the venerable duke of Leeds, wl¥>se
age would not allow him to attend, had
sent his two grandsons, in whom the blood
of Osborne and D*Arcy united ;) a nume-
rous and powerful gentry ; a wealthy and
respectable yeomanry ; a hardy, yet decent
ana attentive peasantry ; whose intelligent
countenances showed that they understood,
and would be firm to preserve, that blessing,
for which they were assembled to return
thanks to Almighty God, presented a truly
solemn spectacle, and, to the eye of a philo-
sopher, the most interesting that can be
'imagined.
After service the company went in suo-

cession to view the '* Revolution-house,
and the room called *'The Plotting Parlour,
with the old armed-chair in which the ear
of Devonshire is said to have siiten ; anc
every one partook of an elegant cold colla«
tion, which was prepared in the new rooms
annexed to the cottage. Some time being
spent in this, then began

The Proeegnion,

Constables with long staves^ two ancf
two.

The eight clubs, four and four, with flags
inscribed *<The Protestant Religion, and
tiie Liberties of England, we will maintain,'*
-»*< Libertas ; quae sera, tamen respexit in-
eitem." « Liberty secured."—" The Glo-
rious Revolution 1688." — " Liberty, Pro-
perty Trade, Manufactures.*' — " In Me-
mory of the Glorious Asseitors of British
Freedom 1688."—" Revolted from Tyranny
at Whittington 1688."—" Bill of Rights.^'
^* Willielmus Dux Devon. Bonorum Prin-
cipum Fidelis Subditus; Inimicus et In-
visus Tyrannis."
[The members of the eight clubs were
estimated at two . thousand persons,
each having a white wand in his hand,
with blue and orange tops and favours,
with the word " Revolution" stamped
upon them.]

The Derbyshire militia's band of music.

The corporation of Chesterfield in their

formalities, who joined the procession

on entering the town.

The duke of Devonshire in his coach and

six.
Attendants on horseback with four led

horses.

The earl of Stamford in his post-chaise and

four.

Attendants on horseback.

The earl of Danby and lord Francis Os

borne in their post-chaise and four.

Attendants on horseback.

Lord George Cavendish in his post-chaise

and four.

Attendants on horseback.

Lord John Cavendish in his post-chaise

and four.

Attendants on horseback.

Sir Francis Molyneux and sir Henry Hun-

loke, barts. in sir Henry*s coach and six.

Attendants on horseback.

And upwards of forty other carriages of the

neighbouring gentry, with their attendants.

Gentlemen on horseback, three and three.

Servants on horseback, ditto.

The procession paraded different parts of
the town of Chesterfield to the Castle,

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wherp the Derbyshire band of music formed
ID the centre, and played ^* Rule Britan-
lia," " God save the King," 8u^ The
clube and corporation still proceeded in
*the same order to the mayor's, and then
dispersed.

The whole was conducted with order
and regularity. Notwithstanding there
were fift? carriages, four hundred gentle-
men on horseback, two thousand on foot,
and an astonishing throng of spectators,
not an accident happened. All was joy
and gladness, without a single burst of un-
ruly tumult and uproar. The sun shed
auspicious beams, and blessed the happy
da/ with unusual splendour.

The company was so numerous as
scarcely to be accommodated at the three
principal inns. The dinner at the Castle
was served in a style of unusual elegance.
The first five toasts after the repast were :—

1. The king.

2. The glorious and immortal memory
of king William III.

3. The memory of the Glorious Berolu-
tlon.

4. The memory of those Friends to their
Country, who, at the risk of their lives and
fortunes, were instrumental in effecting the
Glorious Rerolution in 1688.

5. The Law of the Land.

In the evening a brilliant exhibition of
fireworks was played off, under the direc-
tion of signior Pietro; during which the
populace were regaled with a proper dis-
tribution of liquor. The day concluded
with a ball, at which were present near
three hundred gentlemen and ladies. The
late duchess of Devonshire, surrounded by
the bloom of the Derbyshire hills, presented
a picture scarcelv to be portrayed. Nearly
two hundred and fifty ball-tickets were re-
ceived at the door.

The warm expression of gratitude and
affection sparkling in every eye must have
excited in the breasts of those noble per-
sonages, whose ancestors were the source
of this felicity, a sensation which monarcns
in all their glory might envy. The utmost
harmony and felicity prevailed throughout
the whole meeting. A hogshead of ale
was distributed to the populace at Whit-^
tington, and three hogsheads at Chester-*
field ; where the duke of Devonshire gave
also three guineas to each of the eight
clubs.

At this meeting party distinctions were
forgotten. Persons of all ranks and deno-
minations wore orange and blue in memory
of the great event ; and the most respecta-
ble Roman Catholic families vied in their

endeavours to show how Jat»t a sense they
had of the value of civil liberty.*

The Rev. P. Cunmngham, of Eyam, e
place which readers of the last sheet can
scarcely have forgotten, addressed some
stansas to the Rev. Samuel Pc^ge, the
rector of Whittmgton, on occasion of the
festivity, together with the following

Ode

For the RevohOion Jubilee, 1788.

Wtea UwlMi power bis inw haad.
Wheo blinded aeftl ber Saminf brand

O'er Albion's island way'd ;
Indignant Hreedom reird tbe sif bt ;
Eelips'd ber SOB of f lorj's ligbt i

Her CsT'rite realm casUT*d.

Diftrest sbe waader'd >-'irbea afar
8be saw ber Nassau's friendlf star

Stream tbrongb tke storm/ air t
Sbe eall'd anrand a patriot bead
Sbe bade tbem save a siakiaf land ;

And deatUeis f I017 sbart.

Her eanse thtir daoatless bearti inspired.
With aneieat Roman Wrtae fir'd,

Tbej ploQfb'd tbe snifiny main ;
Witb fisT'rinf gales from Belgia's sborc
Her bearea^ireoted bero bore,

And freedom erowa'd bis reign.

Witb eqaal warmtb ber spirit glows,
Tboogb boarjr TisM's eeataaaial snows

New silver o'er ber fameu
For baric wbat eonp of trinmpb tell,
StiU gratefnl Britons love to dwell

On WilUam's gloriovs i

VIRTUOUS DESPOTISM.

Cbaractek of Alia Bhye,

One of the purest and most exemplary
monarchs that ever existed, a female witln
out vanity, a bigot without intolerance,
possessed of a mind imbued with the
deepest superstition, yet receiving no im-
pressions except what promoted the happi-
ness of those under its influence ; a being
exercising in the most active, and able
manner despotic power, not merely with
sincere humility, but under the severest
moral restraint that a strict conscience can
impose upon human action. And all this
combined with the greatest indulgence ftn
the weakness and faults of others.f

• Pegge's Anecdotes of Old Times, p. Ixiii, I
t Sir Jobn Mulnubn's Ccatial India.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

UXBRIDGE

AVD

THE TREATY HOUSE.

Remarkablb Cooking Fountain, &c.

Forth€ Table BooIL

Uxbridge, the most considerable market
town in the county of Middlesex, is distant
from London about fifteen miles on the
north-west. It consists of one long street,
which is neatly paved, and its situation on
the road to Oxford, Gloucester, and Milfoid
Ha?en, is productive of much benefit to the
inhabitants, while it imparts a constant air
of bustle and vivacity to the main thorough-
fare.* The name of this place was anciently
spelt Oxebruge ; and in more modern re-
cords VVoxebrugge, or Woxebrugcf The
derivation seems easily discovered :— the
place was noted in distant ages for the
passage of oxen from the adjacent fields
m Buckinehamshire, and a bridge was
constructed over the river Colne, which
flows near the town.

Speed asserts that a monastery was
founded here, dedicated to St. Mary ; but
it is neither mentioned by any other writer,
nor is any trace of it now to be met with.

Uxbridge has been celebrated in history,
for the treaty which took place there be-
tween commissioners appointed respec-
tively by the king and the parliament,
during the disturbances of the seventeenth
century.

The commissioners met in January 1645 ;
the numbers were sixteen on the part of the
king, and twelve on behalf of the parlia-
ment, together with the Scottish commis-
sioners. It was agreed, that the Scottish
and parliamentary commissioners should
give in their demands with regard to three
important articles, viz. religion, the militia,
ana Ireland ; and that these should be suo
cessively discussed in conference with the
king's commissioners.!

It was soon discovered that no rational
discussion could be expected. The demands
made by the parliament were so great, that,
had they been granted, the crown would
have been divested of its d.^e weight and
dignity in the state; and been rendered
unable to protect those who bad so ftiith-
fully adhered to the royal cause during its
troubles.

* Beantiflt of EngUDd and Wain,
•f I bclieT« I am rigkt n ttatiaf (I doU from memorj)
Oat M th« towa meararas it is spelt ** Wexbrige.**

X ^"Bitelock. p. aSI. Dofdale, p. 78B.

The mansion in which the commissioncM
met b thus described by lord Clarendon : —
^ There was a good house at the end of the
town, which was provided for the treaty,
where was a fair room in the middle of the
house, handsomely dressed up for the com-
missioners to sit in , a large souare table
being placed in the middle with seats for
the commissioners, one side being sufficient
for those of either party; and a rail for
others who should be thought necessary to
be present, which went round. There were
many other rooms on either side of this
great room, for the commissioners on either
side to retire to, when they thought fit tc
consult bv themselves, and to return again
to the public debate ; and there being good
stairs at either end of the house^ they never
went throueh each other*s quarters, nor
met but in the great room.*'

This nansioD, which is situated at thi
western extremity of the town of Uxbridge,
{was formerly a seat of the Bennet family,
and at the time of the treaty, the residence
of Mr. Carr,) is still standmg, and was a
few years since converted into an inn,
bearing the sign of the Crown, and has
since undergone considerable repairs. The
part towards the high road has neen newly
fronted, but one entire end, and some in-
ferior portions of the outside, still retain
their original appearance. Two principal
rooms likewise remain untouched by mO'
dern innovations ; one of these is the room
in which Charles I. slept ; the other in
which he signed the treaty with the parlia-
ment, and in which the commissioners
afterwards met. The treaty ''oom, as it is
called, is a spacious apartment, and is lined
with panelled oak wainscotting : it con-
tains an original portrait of Mary queen of
Scots, taken a short time previous to her
execution, which is greatly admired ; a copy
from Vandyke of Charles I.; and som<»
excellent portraiu engraved by Bartolozzi
from paintings in Windsor castle, among
whom are sir Thomas More, his father,
(judge More,) and his son ; and two females
who I believe were governesses to part of
the family of Charles I. The room in
which the king slept is more handsomely
wainscotted than the former, being in many
parts curiously and laboriously carved, and
has a circular oak pillar on each side of the
fire-place, which is ornamented with taste-
ful and elaborate workmanship.

Another curiosity at this house, though
not of so Ancient a date, or possessing
equal charms for the antiquarian, deserves
a slight notice. In the garden is a foQC-
tajn supplied with water, which has been

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THE TAIJLE BOOK.

obtained by boring, and which falls into a
reservoir containing perch, tench, and a
considerable quantity of eels ;* at the top
of the fountain is an a|)propriate weather^
cock— an angler, with his landing-net rest«
ing against his shoulder, his rod in bis
hand, and his line and float moving on the
surface of the water, according as the Bgure
is turned by the wind. On the water at-
taining a certain height it is carried off by
a pipe, and falls on an overshot wheel
ibout three feet ia cireumfereoce ; the use
to which this is applied is very remarkable
—that of turning four spits at once before
the kitchen flre f I am informed that a
similar plan to this is adopted in Cheshire^
but I am unable to ascertain the place.

J. R. J.

[To the '* Oentlemaa's Magmsine ** for Anput. 1789,
there it an enfraTiBg, deteribed m ** » riew of the
booM wbero th« nnlbriDaate Charlaa I. aignad tho
treatj of Uxbridge, Jan. 30, leii." Tha writer of the
aecoQBt annexed to that print aaja, ** The hoaae baa
been palled down within tbeae few yaan: it stood at
the end of Uxbridga town, i» the road lo Beaaooa-
field." £».]

No. XXXVIII.

[From the " Fawn,** a Comedy, by John
Marston, 1606.]

In the Preface to this Play, the Poet
glances at some of the Play-w rights of his
time; with a handsome acknowledgment)
notwithstanding, of their excellencies.

** for my own interest let thia once be printed,
that, of men ol mj own addition, I love moat, pity
aome, hate aone : for let me tnlj aaj it, I onoe onlj
loted myself for loTing them ; and svrely I shall ewr
rest so eonstant to my first aflbetion, that, let their nn-
geatle oombiniagt, disenrteona whisperiafs, never ao
treaehenmaly labour to andermine my nafoooed vspit-
Ution, I shall (aa loaf aa I have being) tova the leaal
of their graeea, and only pity tha greatest of tbmr
vioea.

Iptt anit-jMi^aaai

[Commendatory Verses before three Playf
of Sir William Rilligrew, by T. L.]

LONpON WATCHMEN.

Had a council of thieves been consulted,
tlie regulations of the Watch could not
have been better contrived for their accom-
modation. The coals of the Watdimen
are made as large and of as white cloth as
possible, to enable the thieves to discern
their approach at the greatest distance ; and
that there may be no mistake, the lantern
is added. They are fixed at stations, that
thieves, by knowing where they are, may
infer where they are not, and do their best ;
the intervals of half an hour in going the
rounds are just such as to give expert thieves
a hit opportunity of gjctting a moderate
k>oty from a house. That they may not
oe taken by surprise, tfiey have the same
accommodation m the cry of the time thut
was prayed for by the rats, when they asked
that belU might be hung about the necks of
the cats; and lastly, that the burglars mav
have all possible chance, even, if surprised,
Ihe watchmen mostly chosen are old, infirm,
md impotentf

* At the time of my nsit I waa lafonncd there were
tt «arly two hnadred weight J. R. J

t The Tf mea. Oetober, 1887.

That thy wiae and modest Maaa
FUea tlM Stage'a looaer nae ;

Kot bawdry fTit does falsely nana.

And to mm langhter pats off shaaa t

That tby theatra*a land noise
May be Tiigin'a chaste applaase ;
And the stoled matron, grave diTiae,
Their leetnrsa done, may tend to thiae t

That no aetor*s made profaae.
To debaac Gods, to raise thy atnua i
And people foreed, that h«ar thy Play,
Their money and their soala to pay :

That than leaVat aflbctad ptraaa
To the du>pe to nee and praise ;
And breath*st a noble Conrtly vein,—
Saeh aa oiay Cmsar entertaia.

Wkea be weaned wonld lay domi
The bardctts that attend a erowa ,

Disband his soal's tererer powers ;

la Burth and eaea diaaolve two heart *

Thaee are thy inferior artn.

Theae I eall thy seeoad ^mita.
Bat whea thoa eaniest m IM pluv
Aad all are lost ia thVa»4le kB0i'

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7.

WKea Che ferae »Ueka to trtrf fhooght,
ABd eaa to BO erent be brooght ;

When i&kru of old the toeBe betrmid)

Pbeti eiird Gods ttnio thebaid.

Who hj power might do the thing.
Art oonld Com ifene briag ;
Am the Pelleu prince, thnt bi^ko
With a rode nnd down-right etrokt

The perplezt nnd £itnl ii

Which hii skill eottld not nnlooee :—
Thon dost n noUer nrt profeos ;
And the oojrd serpent enn'st no lew
10.

Stretch ont from everjr twbted foU,

In which he Inf inwom nnd roUU
Indnoe n night, nnd then n dny*
Wmp nil in elonda, nnd then displn j.

11.
Th' ensj nnd the eren design :
A plot, withont n God, dirinet—

Let others* bold pretending pens

Write note of Oods, thnt know not men's s

In tnia to thee nil ma*t resign t

rh* Snrprise of th* Seene is wholly thinn^

[Commendatory Verses before the ** Faitlw
ful Shepherd ''of Fletcher.]

There nre no sureties, good friend, will be tnken
For works thnt Tnlgnr good-nnme hnth forsaken.
A Poem nnd n Plnj too I Whj, 'tu like
A Scholnr thnt's n Poet ; their nnmes strike.
And kill oat-right : one ennnot both fntes benr^«
But ns n Poet, thnt's no Scholnr, mnken
Vulgarity his whifler, nnd so tnkca
Pnssnge with ease nnd stnte thro* both sides 'prsii
Of pagennt>seerB : or, ns Scholnn plense,
Thnt nrs no Poets, more thnn Poets knm'd.
Since CA#t> nrt solely is by souls discem'd,
(The others' fnlli within the common sense.
And sheds, like common ligkit, her indnenee)!
Bo, were your Piny no Poem, but n thing
Thnt erery cobbler to his pnteh might sing ;
A rottt tf nifles, like the mulUtude,
With no one limb of nny nrt endoed,
Uke would to like, nnd pmise yon : h«t biinaso
Tour poem only hnth by nt npfAnaaei
Renews theGoldea Agn, nnd holds through nil
The holy Inws of homely Pnafoml,
Where flowera, nnd Ibunti, nnd nymphs, nnd semV-gods,
And nil the Gmces. find their old nbodess
Where poets ionrish but in endless Terse^
And mendows nothinf<At for purchnaere t
Thb Iron Agn. thnt ents itseir. wiU norer
Bite nt your Golden WorU, thnt others ever
Lored ns itseUl Then, like yonrBook, do yon
Uto in old pence: and Chnt fnr pmise nllow.
O.i

[Commendatory Verses before the "Rebel-
lion/' a Tragedy, by T. Rawlins, 1640.]

To see n Springot of thy tender nge

Withnneh n lofty stmin to word n Stngei

To see n Tmgedy from thee in prmt.

With such n world of fine meanders in't •

Pnasles my wond'ring eonl : for there nppenrs

Such disproportion twist thy lines nnd years,

llint, when I rend ihy lines, methinka I see

The sweet-tongued Orid fnll upon hb knee

With ** Poros Pmoer.** Erery line nnd word

Runs In sweet numbers of its own neeoid.

But T nm thunderstruck, thnt nil this while

Thy unfenthei^d quill should write n tmgie atyli,

This, nbore nil, my ndmimtion dmws,

Thnt one so young should know dmmntio Inwa i

Tia mre, nnd therefore is not for. the spun

Or grensy fliumbs of erery common mnn.

The dnmnsk rose thnt sprouts befors the Spring,

la fit for none to smell nt but n king.

Go on, sweet friend: I hope in time to see

Thy temples rounded with the Dnphnenn tree i

And if men nak- Who nursed thee r* I'Usnythua,

" It wns the Ambraainn Spring of Pegasus.**

Rob§HChamh»tai9

C. L.

THE ACTING OF CHILDREN.

The acting of children in adult charactei^
is of Tery ancient date. Labathiel Pavy, a
boy who died in his thirteenth year, was so
admirable an actor of old men, that Ben
Jonson, in his elegant epitaph on him, says,
the fates thought him one^ and therefore
cut the thread of life. This b^ acted in
" Cynthia's Revels" and " The Poetaster,"
in 1600 and 1601, in which year he pro-
bably died. The poet speaks of him with
interest and affection.

Weep with me all yon thnt rend

Thin little story;
And know for whom n tear you shed

Dnnth'aaalf to sorry.

"Twas a child that did so thri?e

In gmco nnd fentnre,
Thnt henTca nnd nntnre seem*d to stri?*

Whieh own'd the crentnre.

Tears he nnmber'd, aearee thirteaa

When fotea tnm*d cruel,
Tet ihrun ftU'd Zodinca had he beea

Theatage^ajeweL

And dHA net w^t now we monn.

Old men to duly.
As sooth, the Pnrem thought him oMb

Be piny'd so tnly.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

A DUMB PEAL OF GRANDSIRE TRIPLES.

In the just departed summer, (1827,) on
my way from Keston, I stept into ^ The
Sun — R. Tape," at Bromley, to make in-
quiry of the landlord respecting a stage to
London; and, over the parlour mantel-

piece, carefully glazed, in a gilt frame,
beneath the flourishing surmounting scroll
there appeared the following incription <' h
Utter* of gold t**^^

On the 15th of January 1817, by the Society of Bromlet Youths, A complete
Peal of Grandtire Triples, which is 5040 changes with the Belle Muffled^ in commemo-
ration of Wv. Chapman deceased, being a Ringer in the Parish otBromley 43 years,
and' rang upwards of 60 peab. This Domb real was completed in 3 Hours and 6
minutes.

Thos. Giles - - - 1st.
Ro. Chapman - - 2nd.
Wm. Sanger- - - 3rd.
Ge. Stone - - - - 4th.

Wm. Kino - - 5th.
Jno. Allen- • 6th.
Wm. Fuller- 7th
Jno. Green- - 8th

Being Mtf firet Dumb Peal of thie kind ever rang in this Kingdom, and conducted b^

J. Allen.

If " Wm. Chapman deceased** deserved
to be commemorated by such a singular
feat, should not the commemoration of the
feat itself be commemorated ? Is R. Tape
•— (»toy-Tape, though he now be) — everlaet^
ing Tape? Will he not ** fall as the leaves
do T* Shall ** The Sun*' itself move to and
fro in the High Street of Bromley, as a sign,
for ever? Can the golden inscription — in
honour of " the first Dumb Peal of Grand-
sire Triples ever rang in this kingdom** —
endure longer than corporation freedoms
presented '' in letters .of gold,^ which are
scarcely seen while the enfranchised* wor-
thies live ; nor survive them, except with
tlieir names, in the engulfing drawers of
the lovers and collectors of hand-writings ?
The time must come when the eloquence of
the Auctioneer shall hardly obtain for the
golden record of the ** Bromley Youths'*
the value of the glass before it — when it

shall increase a broker's litter, and be of as
little worth to him as ChatteKon's manu-
script was to the cheesemonger, fiom whose
rending fangs it was saved, the other day,
by the ** Emperor of Autographs."

" A Dumb Peal of Grandsire Triples T—
I am no ringer, but I write the veneiible
appellation — as I read it — with reverence.
There is a solemn and expressive euphonv
in the phrase, like that of a well-knows
sentence in Homer, descriptive of the bil-
lowmgs and lashings of the sea ; which, the
first time I heard if, seemed to me an essay
by the father of Greek poesy towards uni-
versal language.

Inhere is a harmony in the pealing of
bells which cannot be violated, without dis-
co veiy of the infraction by the merest tyro;
and in virtue of the truth in bells, good
ringers should be true men. There is, also,
evidence of plainness and sincerity in the

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very terras of their art : a poem, ** In
praise of Ringing,*' duly dignifi«>s the
practice, and sets forth some of them—

First, tlie Youths try One Singh Bell to sound ;
Kor, to perfection who can bope to rise.
Or climb the steep of science, bat tbe man
Who bnilds on steady principles alone.
And method regular. Not he who aims
To plnnge at once into the midst of art,
Self-confident and rain :— amaaed he stands
Confounded and perplex'd, to find he knows
Least, when he thinks himself the most expert*

la order dae to Rotndi they nest proceed.
And each attvaes namerieal in tnn.
Adepts in this, on Three Bells they essay
Their infant skilL Complete in this, they try
Their strength oo Fomr, and, mnsicslly bold.
Fall fonr-aad-twenty Ckangee they repeat.
Next, as in practice, gradoal they adraace
Aseeadinf nato Five, they ring a peal
Of <7raad^«t,-'pleasing to a tnnefal sonl I
On they proceed to Si*. What Tarioos peals
Join'd with plain BoU lond echo thro' the air.
While er'ry ear drinks in th' harmonic soand.
With OreMdnre Triplet then the steeple shakes— &&

Next come the musical BobfMffort^ oo
3ight belisy — Caters, on nine, —

On ten, Boftt-foyo/,*— from eleren, Cinqnee
Accompanied with tenor, forth they ponr;—
And the Bolhmasiami results from tweLre I

'* Grandsire Triples 1" My author says,
' Ever since Graiidsire Triplet have been
discovered or practised, 5040 changes mani-
festly appeared to view; but** — mark ye
his ardent feeling under this — " but — to
reach the lofty summit of this grand climax
was a difficulty that many had encountered,
though none succeeded; and those great
names, Hardham, Condell, Anable, Sec.,
who are now recorded on the ancient rolls
of fame, had each exhausted both skill and
patience in this grand pursuit to no other
purpose than being convinced, that either
the task itself was an utter impossibility,
or, otherwise, that all their united efforts
were unequal to it; and it is possible that
this valuable piece of treasure would at
this day have been fast locked up in the
barren womb of sterile obscurity, had not
a poor unlettered youth appeared, who no
sooner approached this grand pile, but, as
if by magic power, he varied it into what-
ever form he pleased, and made it at once
subservient to his will 1" It appears that
this surprising person was Mr. John Holt
** whose extraordinary abilities must fo

ever excite the astonishment and admira-
tion of all professors in this art, whether
novices or adepts 1" TYi^flrtt perfect peal
of « Grandsire Triples** was John Holrs;
*' it was rung at St. Margaret's, Westmin-
ster, on Sunday, the 7th of July^ 1751."
Be it remembered, that it is to commemo-
rate the ringing of xh^firet ** complete peal
of Grandeire Triples with the bells mri/-
Jled," by the " Bromley youths," that they
have placed their golden lines in the
" Sun>

The « Bromley Youths r Why are ringers
of all oges called '< youths?** Is it from
their continued service in an art, which by
reason of multitudinous '' changes " can
never be wholly learned ?— such, for instance,
as in '< the profession^*' barristers whereof,
are, in legal phraseology, " apprentices of
the Law ?^

By the by, I have somewhere read, or
heard, that one of the ancient judges, a lover
of tintinnabulary pastime, got into a county
town jftco^. the day before he was expected
thither to hold the assizes, and the nex\
morning made one among the ** youths" in
the belfry, and lustily assisted in *' ringing-
in" his own clerk. Certain it is that doctors
in divinity have stripped off their coats to the
exercise. "And moreover," says the author
of the treatise before quoted, " at this time,
to oar knowledge, there are several learned
and eminent persons, both clergy and lay-
men of good estates, that are members of
several societies of ringers, and think them-
selves very highly favoured that they can
arrive at so great an happiness and ho-
nour."

In the advice to a " youth," on the
management of his bell, he is recommended
to " avoid all ungraceful gestures, and un-
seemly grimaces, which, to the judicious
eye, are both disagreeable and highly cen-
surable.'** Ringing, then, is a comely exer
cise ; and a lover of the *' music of bells"
may, genteelly, do more than " bid them
discourse." Before the close of all gentle-
manly recreation, and othei less innocent
vanities, he may as!^ure himself of final
commemoration, by a muffled peal of
'' Grandsire Triples." As a loyal subject
he dare not aspire to that which is cleaily
for kings alone, — dumb ** Bobs Royal** J
take it that the emperor of Austria is the
only sovereign in Europe, except his Holi-
ness, who can rightfully claim a mufflen
<*Bob Jfiunmut."

• Clans CAmpaaaloKUu

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TilE CONDEMNED SHIP

AND

THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.

Various announcements in the Aroericaa
papers of a large yessel, constructed for the
purpose of passing the Falls of Niagara,
have terminated in very unsatisSsictory ac-
counts of the manner therein the ship
descended. AU descriptions, hitherto, are
deficient in exactness ; nor do we know for
what purpose the experiment was devised,
fK>r why certain animals were put aboard
the condemned ship. The latest particulars
are in the following letter to the printers of
the ^ Albany Daily Advertiser :*' —

« Buffalo, Sept 9, 1827.

** I wonld have written yesterday some
tew lines on the subject of the ' Condemned
Ship' but it was utterly impossible. The
public-houses at the falls were so thronged,
that almost every inch of the floor was
occupied as comfortable sleeping apart-
ments. My companions and myself slept
upon three straws for a bed, and had a
feather turned edgeways for a pillow. At
about two o'clock p.m. the word was given
* she comes, she comes,* and in about half
an hour she struck the first rapid, keeled
very much, and lost her masts and spars,
which caused her again to right. Imagine
to yourself a human being on board, and
the awful sensations he must have experi-
enced on her striking the rapid, which ap-
peared for a moment to the beholders to be
her last ; but, as I observed before, on her
masts giving way, she again righted, and
was turned sideways, in which course she
proceeded to the second rapid, where she
struck and stuck about a minute, and it
teemed as though the elements made their
last and desperate effort to drive her over
this rapid. She was thrown completely on
her side, filled, and again righted, and pro-
ceeded on her course. Here let me remark,
there were two bears, a buffalo, a dog, and
several other animals on board. The bears
now left the wreck and laid their course for
shore, where they were caught, and brought
up to Mr. Brown's hotel, and sold for nve
dollars a piece. The buffalo likewise left
*he schooner, but laid his course down the
&Us, and was precipitated over them and
was killed, as was said, by a spar Calling
across his back ; as for the other animals, it
is not known what became of them. The
vessel after going over the second rapid
was turned stern foremost, in which way

she was precipitated over the mighty falls,
and when about half way over her keel
broke, and in a few seconds «he was torn
to fragments. There were probably from
thirty to fifty thousand spectators who wit-
nessed this novel and imposing spectacle.**

It appears from the same paper that
'' the perpendicular height of tne falls,
was then taken by actual measurement,
from the new bridge recently erected
from the west end of Goat Island, extend-
ing to the Terrapin rocks, eight hundred
feet from the shore. The mode adopted
in ascertaining the depth, Trom the brink of
the fall to the surface of the water below,
leaves no room to question its correctness.
A piece of scantlinff was used, projecting
from the railing of Uie bridge over the edge
of the precipice, from which was suspended
a cord with a weight attached, reaching
fairly to the water in a perpendicular line.
The length of the cord to the surface of the
water at the brink was thirteen feet one
inch — from this to the water below, on
accurate measurement, the distance was
found to be a hundred and fifty-three feet
four inches. These facts are duly certified
to us by several gentlemen, natives and fo-
reigners, and by Mr. Hooker, the superin-
tendent of Goat Island. We are told, this
is the first successful attempt that was ever
made to ascertain the perpendicular descent
by actual measurement. Heretofore it has
been done by observation.*'

Kalm, the Swedish traveller and natural-
ist, who was bom in 1715, and died about
1779, visited the Falls of Niagara in August
1 750, and he being, perhaps, the first dis-
tinguished writer who seems to have written
concerning them with accuracy, his account
is subjoin^, divested of a few details, which
on this occasion would not be interesting.

When Kalm saw these astonishing waters
the countiy was in the possession of the
French. By the civility of the command-
ant of the neighbouring fort, he was at-
tended by two officers of the garrison, with
instructions to M. Joncaire, who had lived
ten years at the ** carrying place," to go with
him and show and tell him whatever he knew.
He writes to thiseffect in a letter to one of his
friends at Philadelphia:—*' A little before
we came to the carrying-place the water of
Niagara river grew so rapid, that four men
in a light birch canoe had much work to
get up thither. Canoes can so yet half a
league above the beginning of the carrying-]
place, though they must work against a^
water extrefnely rapid ; but higher up it i>
quite impossible, the whole course of th«
water, for two leagues and a half up to tht-

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great fall, being a series of smallei feilb,
one under another, in which the greatest
canoe or bateau would in a moment be
turned upside down. We went ashore
therefore, and walked over the carrying-
place, having, besides the high aud steep
side of the rirer, two great hills to asceiid
one above the other. At half an hour past
ten in the morning we came to the great
&11, which I found m follows * —

** The river (or rather strait) runs here
from S.S.E. to N.N.W. and the rock of the
great h\\ croeses it, not in a right line, but
forming almost the figure of a semicircle,
or horseshoe. Above the fall, in the mid-
die of the river, is an island, lying also
S.S.E. and N.N.W. or parallel with the
sides of the river; its length is about seven
or eight French arpents, (an arpent being
a hundred and twenty feet.) The lower
end of this island is just at the perpendicu-
lar edge of the fall. On both sides of this
island runs all the water that comes from
the Lakes of Canada, viz. Lake Superior,
Lake Misohigan, Lake Huron, and Lake
Erie, which are rather small seas than
lakes, and have besides a great many large
rivers that empty their water into them,
whereof the greatest part comes down this
Niagara fall. Before the water comes to
this island it runs but slowly, compared
with its motion when it approaches the
island, where it grows the meet rapid water
in the world, running with a surprising
swiftness before it comes to the fall ; it is
quite white, and in manyplaces is thrown
high up into the airl The greatest and
strongest bateaux would here in a moment
be turned over and over. The water that
goes down on the west side of the island is
more rapid, in greater abundance, whiter,
and seems almost to outdo an arrow in
swiftness. When you are at the fall, and look
up the river, you may see that the river
above the fall is everywhere exceeding
steep, almost as the side of a hill. When
all this water comes to the very £ill, there
it throws itself down perpendicular. The
hair will rise and stand upright on your
head when you see this! I cannot with
words express how amaxing this is I You
cannot see it without being quite terrified ;
to behold so vast a quantity of water falling
abrupt from so surprising a height 1

." Father Hennepin calls this fall six
hundred feet perpendicular; but he has
gained little credit in Canada ; the name of
honour tliey give him there is um grand
menteur, or << the great liar." Since Hen-
aepin's time this fell, in all the accounts
diat have been given of it. has grc wn less

and less ; and those who have measured it
with mathematical instruments find the
perpendicular fall of the water to be exactly
one hundred and thirty-seven feet. M.
Morandrier, the king's engineer in Canada,
told me, and gave it me also under his
hand, that one hundred and thirty-seven
feet vras precisely the height of it ; and all
the French gentlemen that were present
with me at the fiill did agree with him
without the least contradiction. It is true,
those who have tried to measure it with a
line find it sometimes one hundred and
forty, sometimes one hundred and fifty feet,
and sometimes more ; but the reason is, it
cannot that way be measured with any cer-
tainty, the water carrying away the line.

" When the water is oome down to the
bottom of the rock of the fall, it jumps
back to a very great height in the air ; in
other places it is as white as milk or snow ;
and all in motion like a boiling caldron.
When the air is quite calm you can hear it
to Niagara fort, six leagues ; but seldom at
other times, because when the wind blows
the waves of Lake Ontario make too much
noise there against the shore. The gentle-
men who were with me said it could be
heard at the distance of fifteen leagues, but
that was very seldom. When they hear, at
Uie fort, the noise of the fall louder than
ordinary, they are sure a north-east wind
will follow, which never fails : this seems
wonderful, as the fall is south-west from
the fort ; and one would imagine it to be
rather a sign of a contrary wind. Some-
times it is said, that the fall makes a much
ffreater noise than at other times ; and this
IS looked on as a certain mark of approach-
ing bad weather or rain ; the Indians here
hold it always for a sure sign.

'' From the place where the water falls
there rises abundance of vapours, like the
greatest and thickest smoke, though some-
times more, sometimes less : these vapours
rise high in the air when it is calm, but are
dispersed by the wind when it blows hard.
If you go nigh to this vapour or fog, or if
the wind blows it on you, it is so penetrat-
ing, that in a few minutes you will be as
wet as if you had been under water. I got
two young Frenchmen to go down, to bring
me from the side of the fsM, at the bottom,
some of each of the several kinds of herbs,
stones, and shells, they should find there ;
they returned in a few minutes, and I really
thought they had fallen into the water:
they were obliged to strip themselves, and
hang their domes in the sun to dry.

** When you are on the other or east side
of Lake Ontario, a great many l^^agnet

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from the hXlj you may every clear and

Balm morning see the vapours of the tall

rising in the air ; you would think all the

woods thereabouts were set on fire by the

Indians, so great is the ap|>arent smoke.

In the same manner you may see it on the

west side of Lake Erie a great many leagues

off. Several of the French gentlemen told

me, that when birds come flying into this

fog or smoke of the ^1, they fall down and

perish in the water; either because their

wmss are become wet, or that the noise of

the fall astonishes them, and they know not

where to go in the darkness: but others

were of opinion, that seldom or never any

bird perishes there in that manner, because,

as they all agreed, among the abundance

of birds found dead below the fall, there

are no other sorts tlian such as live and

swim frequently in the water, as swans,

geese, ducks, waterhens, teal, and the like ;

and very often great flocks of them are

seen going to destruction in this manner*

As water- fowl commonly take great delight

in being carried with the stream, so here

they indulge themselves in enjoying this

pleasure so long, till the swiftness of the

water becomes so great that it is no longer

possible for them to rise, but they are

driven down the precipice and perish.

They are observed when they are drawing

nigh to endeavour with all their might to

take wing and leave the water, but they

cannot, in the months of September and

October such abundant quantities of dead

water-fowl are found every morning below

the fall, on the shore, that the garrison of

the fort for a long time live chiefly .lUpon

them. Besides the fowl they find several

sorts of dead fish, also deer, bears, and

other animals, which have tried to cross the

water above the fall ; the larger animals are

generally found broken to pieces. Just

below, a little way from the fall, the water is

not rapid, but goes all in circles and whirls,

like a ooiling pot, which, however, does not

hinder the Indians going upon it in small

canoes a fishing ; but a little further, and

lower, begin the other smaller falls. When

you are above the fall, and look down,

your head begins to turn. The French,

who have been here a hundred times, will

seldom venture to look down, without, at

the same time, keeping fast hold of some

tree with one band.

" It was formerly thought impossible for
aiijr body living to come at the island that
is in the middle of the &I1 : but an accident
that happened twelve years ago, or there*
abouts, made it appear otherwise. Two
Indians of the Five Nations went out from

Niagara fort to hunt upon an island in the
middle of the river, above the great foil, on
which there used to be abundance of deer, j
They took some French brandy with tbem ■
from the fort, which they tasted several'
times as they were going over the canying-
place, and when they were in their canoe
they took now and then a dram, and so
went along up the strait towards the island
where they proposed to hunt ; but growing
sleepy they laid themselves down in the
canoe, which getting loose drove back with
the stream &nher and farther down, till it
came nigh that island that is in the middle
of the fall. Here one of them, awakened
by the noise of the fall, cried out to the
other that they were gone 1 They tried if
possible to save their lives. This island
was nighest, and with much working they
got on shore there. At first they were
glad; but when they considered, they,
thought themselves hardly in a better state '
than if they had gone down the fail, since
they had now no other choice than either to
throw themselves down the same, or to
perish with hunger. But hard necessity
put them on invention. At the lower end
of the island the rock is perpendicular, and
no water is running there. The island has
plenty of wood ; they went to work then,
and made a ladder or shrouds of the bark
of lindtree, (which is very tough and
strong,) so long, till they could with it reach
the water below ; one end of this bark lad-
der they tied fast to a great tree that grevi
at the side of the rock above the fall, and
let the other end down to the water. B)
this they descended. When they came tc
the bottom in the middle of the fidl the}
rested a little, and as the water next belo«
the fall is not rapid, they threw themselvei^
out into it, thinkmg to swim on shore. I
have said before, that one part of the fall
is on one side of the island, the other ori
the other side. Hence it is, that the waters
of the two cataracts running against ead)
other, turn back against the rock that b jusi
under the island. Therefore hardly had tht
Indians begun to swim, before the waves
of the eddy threw them with violenct-
against the rock from whence they came.
They tried it several times, but at last grew
weary, for they were much bruised and
lacerated. Obliged to climb up their stair»
again to the island, and not knowing what
to do, after some time they perceiv^ In-
dians on the shore, to whom they cried out.
These hastened down to the fort, and tolc
the commandant where two of their bro-
thers were. He persuaded them to try a|
possible means of^ relief, and it was done

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m this manner: — ^Tbe water that runs on
the east side of this island being shallow,
especially a litUe above the island towards
the eastern shore, the commandant caused
poles to be made and pointed with ^ron,
and two Indians undertook to walk to the
bland by the help of these poles, to save
the other poor creatures or perish them-
selves. They took leave of all their friends
as if they were going to death. Each had
two poles in his hands, to set to the bottom
of the stream to keep them steady. So
they went and got to tne island, and having
given poles to Ute two poor Indians there,
Uiey all returned safely to the main.

** The breadth of the fidl, as it runs in a
semicircle, is reckoned to be about six ar-
pents, or seven hundred feet The island
is in the middle of the fall, and from it to
each side is almost the same breadth The
breadth of the island at its lower end is
two thirds of an arpent, eighty feet, or
thereabouts.

" Every day, when the sun shines, you
see here from ten o'clock in the morning to
two in the afternoon, below the &11, and
under you, where you stand at the side
of the fall, a glorious rainbow, and some-
times two, one within the other, I was so
happy as to be at the &11 on a fine clear
da^, and it was with great delight 1 viewed
this rainbow, which had almost all the
colours you see in a rainbow in the air.
The more vapours, the brighter and clearer
is the rainbow. 1 saw it on the east side
of the hX\ in the bottom under the place
where I stood, but above the water. When
the wind carries the vapours from that place,
the rainbow is gone, but appears again as
soon as new vapours come. From the fall
to the landing above it, where the canoes
from Lake Erie put ashore, (or from the fall
to the upper end of the carrying place,) is
half a mile. Lower the canoes dare not
come, lest they should be obliged to try the
fate of the two Indians, and perhaps with
less success.

«* The French told me, they had often
thrown whole great trees into the water
above, to see them tumble down the fall.
They went down with surprising swiftness,
but could never be seen afterwards ; whence
it was thought there was -a bottomless deep
or abyss just under the fell. I am of
opinion that there must be a vast deep here ;
for I think if they had watched very well,
fbey might have found the trees at some
distance below the fall. The rock of the
^l consists of a grey limestone.**

So &r is Kalm s account ; to which may
be added, that the body of water precipi-

tated from the fall has been estimated to
be nearly seven hundred thousand tons per
minute 1

A recent traveller, Miss Wright, departing
from the fiaills of the Oennesse river, for the
purpose of seeing the Falls of Niagara,
alighted in the evening at a little tavern in
the village of Lewiston, about seven miles
short of the place she was proceeding to.
She heard the roar of the waters at that dis-
tance. Her description of the romantic
scene is surprisingly interesting ; viz : —

' In the night, when all was still, I
heard the first rumbling of the cataract.
Wakeful from over fatigue, rather than
from any discomfort in the lodging, I rose
more than once to listen to a sound which
the dullest ears could not catch for the first
time without emption. Opening the win-
dow, the low, hoarse thunder distinctly
broke the silence of the nisht; when, at
intervals, it swelled more full and deep,
you will believe, that I held my breath to
listen ; they were solemn moments.

.fDiis mighty cataract is no longer one of
nature's secret mysteries; thousands now
make their pilgrimage to it, not through

" Lakei, fens, bogi, deai, and cares of death,*'

but over a broad highway; none of the
smoothest, it is true, but quite bereft of all
difficulty or danger. This in time may
somewhat lessen the awe with which this
scene of grandeur b approached ; and even
now we were not sorry to have opened
upon it by a road rather more savage and
less frequented than that usually chosen.

Next morning we set ofi* in a little wag-
gon, under a glorious sun, and a refreshing
breeze. Seven miles of a pleasant road
which ran up the ridge we nad observed
the preceding night, broueht us to the cata-
ract. In the way we alighted to look down
from a broad platform of rock, on the edge
of the precipice, at a fine bend of the river.
From nence the blue expanse of Ontario
bounded a third of the horizon ; fort Niagara
on the American shore; fort George on the
Canadian, guarding the mouth of the river
where it opens into the lake ; the banks
rising as they approached us, finely wooded
and winding, now hiding and now reveal-
ing the majestic waters of the channel
Never shall I forget the moment whei^
throwing down my eyes, I first beheld the
deep, slow, solemn tide, clear as crystal,
and green as the ocean, sweeping through
*ts channel of rocks with a sullen dignity
of motion and sound, far beyond all that 1
had heard, or could ever have oooceiv^

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You faw and jeU immediately that it was
DO liver you beheld, but an imprisoned
sea; for such indeed are the lakes of these
regions. The velocity of the waters, after
the leap, until they issue from the chasm at
Queenstoo, flowing over a rough and sfaelv-
in{^ bed, must actually be great ; but, from
their vast depth they move with an appa-
rent majesty, that seems to temper their
vehemence,, rolling onwards in heav^* vo-
lumes, and with a hollow sound, as if labour*
ing and groaning with their own weight.
I can convey to you no idea of the solem-
nity of this moving ocean. Our eyes fol-
lowed its waves until they ached with
gazing.

A mile farther, we caught a first and
partial glimpse of the cataract, on which
the opposing sun flashed for a moment, as
on a silvery screen that hung suspended in
the sky. It disappeared again behind the
forest, all save the white cloud that rose
far up into the air, and marked the spot
from whence the thunder came.

Two foot-bridges have latterly been
thrown^ by daring and dexterous hands,
fiom island to island, across the American
side of the channel, some hundred feet
above the brink of the fall ; gaining in this
manner the great island which divides the
cataract into two unequal parts, we made
its circuit at our lebure. From its lower
point, we obtained partial and imperfect
, views of the falling river ; from the higher,
we commanded a fine prospect of the upper
channel. Nothing here denotes the dread-
ful commotion so soon about to take place ;
the thunder, indeed, is behind you, and
the rapids are rolling and dashing on either
hand; but before, the vast river comes
sweeping down its broad and smooth waters
between banks low and gentle as those of
the Thames. Returning, we again stood
long on the bridges, gazing on the rapids
that rolled above and bepeath us; the
waters of the deepest sea-green, crested
with silver, shooting under our feet with the
velocity of lightning, till, reaching the brink,
the vast vraves seemed to pause, as if gather-
ing their strength for the tremendous plunge.
Formerly it was not unusual for the more
adventurous traveller to drop down to the
island in a well-manned and well-guided
boat. Tliis was done by keepimir between
the currents, as they rush on either side of
the island, thus leaving a narrow stream,
which flows gently to its point, and has to
the eye, contrasted with the rapidity of the
tide, where to right and left the water is
sucked to the fells, the appearance of a
strong back current.

It is but an inconsiderable portion of
this imprisoned sea which flows on the
American side; but even this were suffi-
cient to fix the eye in admiration. Descend-
ing the ladder, (now easy steps,) and ap-
proaching to the foot of this lesser fell, we
were driven away blinded, breathless, and
smarting, the wind being high and blowing
right against us. h young gentleman, who
incautiously ventured a few steps fertber,
was thrown upon bis back, and i had some
apprehension, from the nature of the ground
upon which be fell, was seriously hart ; he
escaped, however, from the blast, upon
hands and knees, with a few slight bruiao
Turning a comer of the rock (where, de-
scending less precipitously, it is wooded to
the bottom) to recover our breath, and
wring the water from our hair and clothes,
we saw, on lifting our eyes, a corner of the
summit of this graceful division of the cata-
ract hanging above the projecting mass oi
trees, as it viere in mic* air, like Uie snoi»y
top of a mountain. Above, the dazzling
white of the shivered water vras thrown into
contrast with the deep blue of the unspotted
heavens; below, with the living green off
the summer foliage, fresh and sparkling in
the eternal shower of the rising and falling
spray. The vrind, which, for the space of
an hour, blew with some fury, rushing down
with the river, flung showers of spray from
the crest of the fell. The sun*s rays glan-
cing on these big drops, and sometimes on
feathery streams thrown fentastically from
the main body of the water, transformed
them into silvery stars, or beams of light ;
while the graceful rainbow, now arching
over our heads, and now circling in the
vapour at our feet, still flew before us as we
moved. The greater division of the cataract
was here concealed from our sight by the
dense volumes of vapour which the wind
drove with fury across the immense basin
directly towards us; sometimes indeed a
veering gust parted for a moment the thick '
clouds, and partially revealed the heavy
columns, that seemed more like fixed pillars ,
of movinff emerald than living sheets of*
water. Here, seating ourselves at the brink
of this troubled ocean, beneath the gaze of
the sun, we had the full advantage of a
▼apour bath; the ferrid rays drying our
garments one moment, and a blast from the •
basin drenching them the next. The wind
at length having somewhat abated, and the
ferryman being willinif to atte.<ipt the pas-
sage, we here crossed^in a little boat to the
Canada side. The nervous arm of a single
rower stemmed this heavy current, just
below the basin of the fells, and yet in the

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whirl occisioDed by them; the stonnjr
oorth-west at this moment chafing the
waters yet more. Blinded as we were by
the columns of vapour which were driven
upon us, we lost the panoramic vie m of the
cataract, which, in calmer houra, or with
other winds, may be seen in this passage.
The angry waters, and the angry winds
together, drove us farther down tlie cliannel
than was quite agreeable, seeing that a few
roods more, and our shallop must have been
whirled into breakers, from which ten such
arms as those of its skilful conductor could
not have redeemed it.

Being landed two-thirds of a mile below
the cataract, a scramble, at first very intri-
cate, through, and over, and under huge
masses of rock, which occasionally seemed
to deny all passage, and among which our

! guide often disappeared from our wander-
ing eyes, placed us at the foot of the ladder

, by which the traveller descends on the
Canada side. From hence a rough walk,
along a shelving ledge of loose stones,
brought us to the cavern formed by the

' projection of the ledge over which the water

' rolU, and which is Known by the name of

, the Table Rock.

I The gloom of this vast cavern, the whirl-
wind that ever plays in it, the deafening

' roar, the vast abyss of convulsed waters

i beneath you, the fiUling columns that hang
over your head, all strike, not upon the
ears and eyes only, but upon the heart.
For the first few moments, the sublime is
wrought to the terrible. This position, in-
disputably the finest, is no longer one of
safety. A part of the Table Rock fell last
/car, and in that still remaining, the eye
traces an alarming fissure, from the very
summit of tlie projecting ledge over which
the water rolls ; so that the ceiling of this
dark cavern seems rent from the precipice,
and whatever be its hold, it is evidently hat
yielding to the pressure of the water. You
cannot look up to this crevice, and down
upon the enormous masses which lately
fell, with a shock mistaken by the neij^h-
bouring inhabitants for that of an earth-
quake, without shrinking at the dreadful
possibility which might crush you beneath
ruins, yet more enormous than those which
lie at your feet.
Tlie cavern formed by the projection of

I this reck, extends some feet behind the
water, and, could you breathe, to stand
behind the edge of the sheet were perfectly

' easy. I have seen those who have told me
they have done so; for myself, when I
descended within a few paces of this dark
recess, I was obliged to hurry back some

yaras to draw breath. Mine to be mre are
not the best of lungs, but theirs must be
liule short of miraculous, that can play in the
wind, and foam, that gush from the hidden
depths of this wateiy cave. It is probablci
however, that the late fracture of the rock
has considerably narrowed this recess, and
thus increased the force of the blast thai
meets the intruder.

From this spot, (beneath the Table Rock,)
you feel^ more than from any other, tlie
height of the cataract, and the weight of its
waters. It seems a tumbling ocean ; and
that you yourself are a helpless atom amid
these vast and eternal workings of gigantic
nature I The wind had now abated, and
what vras better, we were now under the
lee, and could admire its sport with the
vapour, instead of being blinded by it. From
the enormous basin into which the waters
precipitate themselves in a clear leap of one
hundred and forty feet, the clouds of smoke
rose in white volumes, like the round-headed
clouds you have sometimes seen in the even*
ing horizon of a summer sky, and then shot
up in pointed pinnacles, like the ice of nKwm-
tain glacibres. Caught by the wind, it was
now whirled in spiral columns far up into
the air, then, recollecting its strength, the
tremulous vapour again sought the upper
air, till, broken and dispers^ in the olue
serene, it spread i^inst it the only silvery
veil which spotted the pure azure. In the
centre of the fall, where the water is the
heaviest, it rakes the leap in an unbroken
mass of the deepest green, and in many
places reaches the bottom in crystal columns
of the same hue, till they meet the snow-
white foam that heaves and rolls convul-
sed Iv in the enormous basin. But for the
deatening roar, the darkness and the stormy
whirlwind in which we stood, I could have
fancied these massy volumes the walls of
some ^ry palace — living emeralds chased
in silver. Kever surely did nature throw
together to fantastically so much beauty,
with such terrific grandeur. Nor let me
pass without notice the lovely rainbow that,
at this moment, hung over the opposing
division of the cataract as parted by the
island, embracing the whole breadth in its
span. Midway of this silvery screen of
shivered water, stretched a broad belt of
blazing gold and crimson, into which the
rainbow dropped its hues, and seemed to
have based its arch. Different from all
other scenes of nature that have come under
my observation, the cataract of Niagara is
seen to most advantage under a powerful
and opposing sun ; the hues assumed by
the vapour are tben by far the most varied

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ana brilliant ; and of the beauty of these
hues, I cau give you no idea. The gloom
of the cavern (for I speak always as if under
the Table Rock) needs no assistance from
the shade of evening ; and the terrible gran-
deur of the whole is uot felt the less for
being distinctly seen.

We again visited this wonder of nature
in our return from Lake Erie ; and have now
gazed upon it in all lights, and at all hours,
—under the rising, meridian, and setting
sun, and under the pale moon when

** riding in her highest noon.**

The edge of the Table Rock is not ap-

¥roached without terror at the latter hour,
he fairy hues are now all gone ; excepting
indeed, the rainbow, which, the ghost of
what it was, now spans a dark impervious
abyss. The rays of the sweet planet but
feebly pierce the chill dense vapour that clogs
the atmosphere ; they orUy kiss, and coldfy
kiss, the waters at the brink, and fiiintly
show the upper half of the columns, now
black as ebony, plunging into a storm-tossed
sea of murky clouds, whose depth and boun-
daries are alike unseen. It is the storm of
the elements in chaos. The shivering mortal
stands on the brink, like the startled fiend

'* on the bare outside of this world,
Unoertaiii which, in ocean or lo air ***

NAVARINO.

This IS a strong town on the west coast
of the Morea on the Gulf of Zoncheo,
with an excellent harbour, recently distin-
guished by the fleet of the pacha of Egypt
being blockaded there by admiral sir £.
Codrington.

It is affirmed that this was the ancient
Pylus, where the eloquent and venerable
Nestor reigned. At the siege of Troy, ac-
cording to Homer, be moderated the wrath
of Achilles, the pride of Agamemnon, the
impetuosity of Ajax, and the rash courage
of Diomedes. In the first book of the Iliad
he is represented as interposing between
the two nrst-mentioned chieft :

To ealm their passioM with the words of age
Slow from his seat arose the PjfluM sage,
Experienoed Nestor, in pemasion skiird.
Words sweet as honej from his lips distiird.f

It appears to have been also called Cory-
phasion, from the promontory on which it
was erected. It was built by Pylus, at the
head of a colony from Megara. The founder

• Views of Society and Manners m Aaerie* ; hj an
Bnglifhwomaa, ml, 8vo.
t Boan*s Qaastteer.

was dispossessed of it by Neleus, ami fed
into Elis, where he dwelt in a small town,
also called Pvlos. There was likewise a
third town of the same name, and they j
respectively claimed the honour of having
given birth to Nestor. The Pylos at Elis
seems, in the opinion of the learned, to
have won the palm. Pindar, however^
assigns it to the town now called Nava^.
rino.

COUNSELS AND SAYINGS.

By Dk. a. Huvter.

Up, and be Doing.
The folly of delaying what we wish tc
be done is a great and punishing weakness

Be orderly.
Uniformity of conduct is the best rule
of life that a man can possibly observe.

Man is orderly by Nature.
Is it not a matter of astonishment thai
the heart should beat, on the average, about
four thousand strokes every hour during a
period of *' threescore years and ten," and
without ever taking a moment's rest I

In Travelling be contented.
When we complain of bad inns in poor
and unfrequentea countries, we do noi
consider that it is numerous passengers
that make good inns.

Are yott an Orator?
Chew a bit of anchovy, and it will in-
stantly restore the tone of voice when lost
by public speaking.

Do NOT forget.
When your memory begins to leave you,
learn to make memorandums.

Shun Will-mono erino.
If you induce a person to make an im*
proper will, your conscience will smite you
from the rising to the setting sun.

Marriage is a Voyage for Life.
One who marries an ill-tempered person
attempts to lick honey from off a thorn.

An odd Remark.

Women who love their husbands gene^
rally lie upon their right side.

Note. — I can only speak, from expe
rience, of one ; and, as regards her, the ob^
lervation is true.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

ST. JOHN'S WELL, AT HABPHAM, YOBESHHIB.

To thi Editor.

The preceding sketch wax made on the
1 7th instant. ^Hie well stands by the road-
side. The covering stones, though heavy,
were at that time laid as above represented,
having just before been knocked over by
some waggon. Although but a poor sub-
ject for the pencil, it is an object of interest
from its connection with St. John of Be-
verley.

** St. John of Beverley may be challenged
by this county (York) on a threefold title ;
because therein he had his

** 1. Birth; at Harpham, in this county,
in the East Riding.

•* 2. Life ; being three and thirty years,
and upwards, archbishop of York.

** 3. Death ; at Beverley, in this county,
in a college of bis own foundation.

** He was educated under Theodorus the
Grecian, and archbishop of Canterbury.
Yet was he not so famous for his teacher as
for his eeholar^ Venerable Bede, who vrrote

this John's life ; which he hath so spiced
with miracles, that it is of the hottest fur a
discreet man to digest into his belief.**

See " Fuller's Worthies," in which a
lengthened account of St. John may be
found.

Bridlington^ July 30, 18QT. T. C.

Respecting the subject of the engraving,
T. C. subsequently writes : ** The stones
over St. John's Well were replaced when I
passed it on the 9th of October', 1827.''

Concerning St. John of Beverley, not
having *• Fuller's Worthies" at hand to re-
fer to, a few brief particulars are collected
from other sources. If the curious reader
desires more, he may consult my autho-
rities, and << old Fuller," as recommended
by T. C.

St. Johv of Beyerlet.

On his return from pupilage under St.
Theodoras, in Kent, SL John of Be?erley

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lettled at Whitby, in the monastery of St.
Hilda, till, in the reign of Alfred, be was
made bishop of Hexham, which see he
vacated in favour of St. Wilfrid, and some-
time afterwards was seated in the archi
episcopal chair of York. He occasionally
retreated to a monastery he had built at
Beverley, wBich was then a forest, called
Endeirwood, or Wood of the Deiri. In
717 he resigned the see of York to his
chaplain, St. Wilfrid the younger, and
finally retired to Beverley, where he died
onthe7thofMay,72l.»

According to Bede, St. John of Beverley
oeing at a village near Hexham, there was
Drought to him a YOuth wholly dumb, and
with a disorder in the head, ^ which entirely
bindred the grouth of baires, except a few
which, like bristles, stood in a tbinn circle
about the lower part of his head.** He de-
sired the child *' to putt forth his tongue,
which the boly man took hold of, and made
the sign of the crosse apou It. And fefafing
done this, he bid him speak : Pronounce,
said he to him, gea, gea, (that is, yra,y«a.)
This the child pronounced distinctly, and

Presently after other words of more sylla-
les ; and, in conclusion, whole sentences :
so that, before night, bv frequent practice,
he was able to expresse hb thoughts freely."
Then St. John ^ commanded a sureeon to
use his skill ; and in a short time, by such
care, but principally by the prayers and
benedictions of the good prelat, he became
of a lovely and chearruU countenance,
adorned with beautifully curled haire, and
ready in speech. This miracle was wrought
in his first diocese.'*f Notwithstanding the
author of the <' Church History of Brittany "
calls this a ''miracle,'' the story rather
proves that John of Beverley used a judi-
cious method to remove impediments of
speech, and obtained the growth of the
boy*s hair by surgical aid.

The same writer adds, on the same au-
thority, that the wife of " a count, named
Puch, ' was cured of a forty days* sickness,
by John of Beverley giving her holy Water,
which he had used in dedicating the count's
church. Also, according to him, when the
lusty men of. Beverley drag wild bulls into
the church-yard ^to bait them) in honour of
the saint, they " immediately loose all their
fury and fiercenes, and become gentle as
lambes, so that tney are left to their free-
dom to sport themselves." William of
Malmsbury relates this '' as a thing usually
performed, and generally acknowledged by

* Aibmi Bvtur.
t VuAmCrmBj,

the inhabitants of Beverley, in testimonv
of the sanctity of their glorious patron.'^

Again, it is related in the Breyianr of
the church of Sarum, concerning St. Joho
of Beverley, that while he governed in the
see of York, '* he was praying one day in
the porch of St. Michael, and a certain
deacon peeping in saw the Holy Ghost
sitting upon the altar, excelling in white-
ness a ray of the sun :** and the face of tliis
deacon, whose name was Sig^ga, ** was
burnt by the heat of the Holy Spirit,** so
that the skin of his cheek was shrivelled
up ; and his fauce was healed by the toach
or the saint's hand : and ** the saint ad-
jured him, that whHst he lived he would
discover this vision to no man.''*

The more eminent feme of the patron of
Beverley is posthumous. In 937, when
England was invaded by the Norwegians,
Danes, Picts, and certain chiefs of tbe
Scottish isles, under Analaf the Dane, king
Atheistan, mardiing with his army through
Yorkshire to oppose them, met certain
pilgrims returning from Beverley, who ''in-
formed him of the ^eat miracles irequently
done there, by the intereession of St. John/*
Whereupon the king, with his army, went
to Beverley, and entering into the church
there performed his devotions before St
John's tomb; and, earnestly begging his in-
tercession, rose up before the clergy, and
vowed, that if victory were vouched to him
by the saint's intercession, he would enridi
that church with many privileges and plen-
tiful revenues. " In token of which,' said
he, " I leave this my knife upon the altar,
which at my return I will reaeem with an
ample discharge of my vow." Then he
caused an ensign, duly blessed, to be taken
out of the* church, and carried before him.
And at the sea-coast " he reeeiyed a certain
hope of yictory by a vision, in which St.
Joiin of Beverley, appearing to him, com-
manded him to passe over tbe water, and
fight the enemy, promising him the upper
hand.** Atheistan was suddenly surprised
by Analaf; but a sword fell " as from hea-
ven" into the king*s scabbard, and he ^ not
only drove Analafe out of his camp, but
courageously sett upon the enemy, with
whose blood he made his sword drunk,
which he had received from heaven." This
battle, which was fought at Ehmbar, was
the bloodiest since the coming of the
Saxons. The victory was entirely for the
English : five kings were slain, and among
them the Scottish king Constantine. Athel-

* CannuTa: ia bulwp Patiick's Oerouoia of lb«
AoBiaB Chureh.

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Stan, returning m triumph, passed by the
church of St. John at Beverley, where he
I redeemed his knife. He bestowed large
I possessions on the church, with privilege of
sanctuary a mile round ; ordaining that
1 whoever should infringe it should forfeit
eight pounds to the church ; if within the
three crosses, at the entrance of the town,
twenty-four pounds ; if within the church-
yard, seventy-two pounds ; but, if in sight
of the relics, the penalty was the same
that was due to the most enormous capital
crime. A testimony of this privilege of
sanctuary at Beverley was a chair of stone,
thus inscribed : — *' Inis stone chair is called
Freed-stoole, or the Chaire of Peace: to
which any offender flying shall enjoy entire
security.'' In the charter of the privilege,
*' King AthelsUn,^ saith mine author, <' ex-
press^ it elegantly, in this distich : —

I At free maka I thee,

I Ae heart maj thiak or eye maj aee.***

Moreover, respecting the great victory of
Athelstan, an ancient biographer of the
saints f relates, that the king prayed that
through the intercession of St. John of
Beverley he might show some evident sign,

' whereby both future and present aees might

: know, that the Scots ought, of rig^t, to be
subtect to the English. And thereupon,
saith this writer, ** the king with his sword
smote upon a hard rock by Dunbar, and to

{ this day it is hollowed an ell deep by that
stroke."! This, sdith another author, was
near Dunbar castle; and " king Edward the
first, when there was question before pope

I Boniface of his right and prerogative over
Scotland, brought this historic for the main-
tenance and strength of his cause."!

I The monastery of St. John at Beverley
having been destroyed by the Danes, king

; Athelstan founded in that place a church
and college of canons, of which church St.
Thomas k Becket was some time provost. ||
In 1037, the bones of St. John were 'Hrans-
lated" into the church by Alfric, archbishop
of York, and the feast of his translation
ordained to be kept at York on the 25th of
October.f *' On the 24th of September,
1664, upon opening % grave in the church
of Beverley a vault was discovered of free-
stone, fifteen feet long and two broad ; in
which there was a sheet of lead, with
an inscription, signifying that the church
of Beverley having been burnt in the year

• Father Cretej.

tCapgraTe.

t Bishop PatrieVs

I Father Porter'e U

I Britaania Saneta.

4 Albaa Batkr.

DaivotMaa of tko Roaaa Chinh.

1188, search had been made for the relics
of St. John, anno 1197, and that his oones
were found in the east part of the sepulchre
and there replaced. Upon this sheet lay a
box of lead, in which were several pieces of
bones, mixed with a little dust, and yield-
ing a sweet smell : all these were reinterred
in the middle alley of the church.*** Ano-
ther writerf states the exhumation to have
taken place '' on the thirteenth of Septem-
ber, not the twenty-fourth ;*' and he adds,
** that these relics had been hid in the be-
ginning of the reign of king Edward VI."

It roust not be omitted, that the alleged
successful intercession of St. John of Be-
verley in behalf of the English against the
Scotch, is said to have been pardlekd by
patronage as fatal to the French. The
memorable battle of Agincourt vras fought
in the year 1415, on the anniversary of the
translation of St. John of Beverley, and
Henry V. ascribed the decisive victory to
the saint's intercession. In a provincial
synod, under Henry Chicbeley, archbishop
of Canterbury, is a decree, at the instance
of that king, ** whereby it appeares, that
this most holy bishop, St. John of Beverley,
hath been an ayde to the kings of England
in the necessitie of their warres, not only
in auncient, but allsoe in these later ages.**^
In consequence of this ascription, his
festivals were ordained to be celebrated
annually through the whole kingdom of
England. The anniversary of his death
has ceased to be remembered from the time
of the Reformation ; but that of his trans-
lation is accidentallv kept as a holiday by
the shoemakers, in honour of their patron,
St. Crispin, whose feast fells on tlie same
day.

BEVERLEY THE STROKG MAN.

In March 1784, a porter of amazing
strength, named Beverley, was detected in
stealing pimento on board a ship in the
river Thames. A number of men were
scarcely able to secure him ; and when they
did, they were under the necessity of tying
him down in a cart, to convey him to pri-
son. The keeper of the Poultry Counter
would not take him in ; they were therefore
obliged to apply for an order to carry him
to Newgate. Beverley was supposed to
have been the strongest man of his time in
England.^

• Britanata Saaeta.

* Alban BaUer.
X Father Porter.

I GcatlemaB's Mafaawe, Mai«h 1791.

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6ard(it pa|tf ♦

No. XXXIX.

[From the ** Ambitious Sutesroan,** a Tra-
gedy, by John Crowae, 1679.J

Fendame, returning firom the ware, keare
mews, thai Louise hfaUe to him.

Fern, (tolm,) Whnw I gOt I met ft wacdtruf

LouM M tka DnpUa't Mcrat mistraii

I kesrd it ia dM annjr, b«t Um muA

Wm tbaa M leebto as th« disUBt maramra

Of a great liTtr miafliag with the Ma ;

Bot WW I am come aaar this rivvf's fall,

Ha loader thaa the eataraeta of Nile.

If tUabetraa,

DMuday b aMU>, aU aU the bNtvene are faUicg.^

IkMWBoCvteitotUnkof it^forerwr/wkere -

1 Beet a akokiaf daat, eaeb as ia aude

After iVBoriag all a palace foraitaris

If alM be goae. the world ia mj ealeem

la all bare walla; aolbiag reaiaiaa ia it

Bat diut aad featbera, like a Tarkiab laa,

Aad tbe fool atepe where plndareri have been^-

Fakdiction.

rgadom (U hit faJtkUn Mtittrtu.) Madaa^ I*a

well aamir'd, jroa will aot eead
Oae poor thooght after me, maeh Icaa a meeMoger,
To kaow tbe tratk : bat if yoa do» he*U dad,
la aoBie aadaiab'd part of the eraatioB,
Where Night aad Chaoa aever were diatarb'd.
Hot bed-nd he ia lome dark roekjr deeart,
Tbere will be Sad a thiaff— whether a oua.
Or the eolleeted ihadowa of the deeart
Ceadeaa'd uto a ehada. he*ll hardlj kaow \
Thia figure be will fiad walkiag aleaa,
Plariag oae while on sooie sad book at aooa
Bj Uperlight, for Berer dajr aheae there :
Sometimea laid grorelliag oo tbe barrea earth,
Ifoist with hia tean. lor nerer d«w fell there ;
▲ad whea aight oomea, aot kaowa from daj bj dark-

aeaa.
Bat bf sooie liaathfal meeeeager of tima.
Hell fiad him atretoht apoa a bed of ttOB^
Cot from tbe bowek of eoom roekjr eare,
Offenag kimadf dther to Sleep or Death ;
Aad aeiCher will aeoept tbe diamal wretebt
At leagth a Shimber, ia its iafaat arma.
Tab« «P hia beary loii]. bot waatiog atro^
To bear it, qaiekljr lota it fall agam .
At which the wretch storts ap^ aad walks aboot
AU aight. aad aU the time it should be dajr ;
Till qaite forgetting, qaite forgot of everjr tbiog
Bot Sorrow, piaes away, aad la small timo
Of the calj maa that darst inhabit thero,
BiBomsitUoaly Ghoet that darea walk tben.

InereinUtf/ to FtriiA

Feoifwae. Perhape then aorer wera aoeh tkiagi i
Virtaes,
Batoalj ia moa'afaaeko, Uka the Hmrmx ;
Or if thejroaeehaTO boca, thoy*n aow bat aamea
Of aatana loot, whieh came iato the world.
Bat ooald aoC lire, aor propagate their kiad.

Faithieee Beaut jf.
Leaiae. Dare joa approach ?
Feaifwae. Yee, bat with liear, fi»r eore jon*re a«
Womaa.
A Comet glittei^d ia the air o* late,
Aad kept aome weeks Che frighted kbgdom wakug.
Longhair it had, Ukeyoa; a abiaiag aspect ;
Ita boaatj amiled, at the aame tune it frigbtca'd ;
j|Bd 9r9rf horror ia it had a grace.

[From *' Belpbecor/' a Comedy, by John
WilaoD, 1690.J

Doria Pmlaee deeeribed.
That thoa*d*st beea with as at Dnke Doria's gas^ » !
The prettj eoatest betweea art aad aatnre ;
To aae the wilderaees, grots, arboon, ponds ;
Aad iji the midst; over a atatdjr fouatata.
The Neptaae of the ligariaa aea—
Aadrsw Doria—the maa who firat
TaaghtGeBoaaottoaerTei thca to behold
The eariooa waterworks aad waatoa strsama
Wind ben aad then^ aa if they had fbigot
Their enraad to the sea.

Aadtheaagaia,withm
Thai vast prodigioas eafs, ia which the grovea
Of myrtle^ ecaage, Jemamine, begvile
The winged qaiie with a aatare warble,
Aad pride of their rsatraiat. Thea, np aad dowa.
Aa aatiqaated marUe, or brokea statae^
Majestic eT*a ia turn

Aad sndi a g^iions palace :
Sadi pietarai^ earriag, fwaitan I my wards
Caaaot reach half the apleadoar. And, after aU,
To see the sea, fond of the goodly sight.
One while glide amoroaa, aad liek her walls,
Aa who woald say Cobm Follow ; bat; repvls'd.
Rally its whole artillery of waTse,
Aad crowd into a storm •

[From the << Floating Island," a Comedy,
by the ReT. \V. Strode, acted by the
Students of Christ-Church, Oxford, 1 639.]

Song.

Oaoe Veans* cheeks, that shamed tbe BMia.

Their hne let fall;
Her lipe, that wiater bad oa^bora•

la Jane leok*d pale:
Her beat grew cold, her nectar dry |
No juice she had bat ia her eye.
The wonted fire and fiaaMs to raortiry.
Whea was this so diamal sight?—
Whea Adoais bade good aight.

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PLAYERS— {3H0ST LAYERS.

For the Table Book.

Christian Malfobd, Wilts.

It required a laree portion of courage to
venture abroad after sunset at Christian
Malford, for somebody's apparition pre-
sented itself to the walker's imagination.
Spritely fi^ossips met near their wells wilh
their crooked sticks and buckets, to devise
means for laying the disturbed returners
and their once native associates; but a
par^ of strolling players did more towards
sending the spectres to the " tomb of all
the CapuletSy than the divinations of fe-
minine power.

Application being made to the magis-
trate, who was not exempt from the super-
stitious and revered infection, that plays
miffht be performed in the malthouse, said
to be so daringly haunted, a timely caution
was given as to <' Beelzebub and his imps,*^
and permission was granted, and bills were
circulated by the magnanimous manager
himself. He was a polite man, a famous
anecdote retailer, retainer, and detailer, an
excellent spouter, and a passable singer.
Uis dress and address were eccentric. The
hessians he wore, by fit necessity, were of
the buskin order; and, as bread was then
dear, a sixpenny loaf might have supplied
the absence of calves. His pigtau-wig,
bat, and all his apparel indeed, served,
when on the dramatic floor, most aptly the
variations required in his wardrobe.

I remember, when the ** Miller of Mans-
field ** was played, the bell rang, the baize
was drawn up by a stable-halter, the fiddler
began to scrape a ditty by way of overture;
but, before the miller could appear, a
smockfrock was called for, from one of the
frocked rustics in the gallery, (the back seats
of the scaffolding.) This call was gene-
rously obeyed. A youth pulled off his
upper-all, proudly observing, that '' the
player should have it, because his was a
sacred persuasion.** The miller appeared,
and the play proceeded, with often repeated
praises of the frock. On another night,
** Richard" was personated by a red-haired
woman, an active stroller of the company.
Her manner of enacting the deformea and
ambitious Glo'ster so cnarmed the village
censors, that for three weeks successively
nothing else would please but '* Richsrd. '
Nor was the effect less operative in the field,
(not of Bosworth)— Virgil's " Bucolics and
Georgics*' were travestied. Reaphooks,
sithes, pitchfoiks, -and spades were set in

contact in the daytime, to the great amuse-
ment and terror of quiet people. — The
funds of the company being exhausted, the
Thespians tramped off rather suddenly,
leaving other bills than playbills behind
them. Ever after this the ghosts of the
malthouse disappeared, the rustics of the
valley crying, as thev triumphantly passed,
" Off with his head I" and others, replying
m the words of Hamlet, « Oh I what a
falling ojT is here!"

nPL

Oct. 1827.

EX-THESPIANISM.
For the Table Book.

I am the son of a respectable attorney,
who sent me, when very young, to an ex-
cellent school, at which 1 conducted myself
much to the satislaction of mv superiors.
It was customary for the scholars to enact
a play at Christmas, to which the friends of
the master were invited. On one of these
occasions, when I was now nearly head-
boy, I was called upon to perform the part
of Charles Surface, in the admirable comedy
of the School for Scandal. I studied the
character, and played it with great ap-
plause, and shortly afterwards left the
school, and was sent by my father to Bou-
logne to finish my education.

There were then at that place a numbei
of English gentlemen, who were endea^
vouring to establish a company of amateurs
On their request I joined them, and made
my first appearance upon a regular stage in
the character of Shylock. It was a dectdnl
hit ! I was received throughout with ** un-
bounded applause," and the next day was
highly gratified by reading *' honourable
mention ^ of my performance in the news>
papers. I repeated this and other charac-
ters several times with undiminished suc-
cess; but, in the very zenith of my popu-
larity, I was recalled to England by my
father, who, having heard of my operations,
began to fear (what afterwards proved to
be the case) that I should be induced to
adopt that as a profession, which I had
hitherto considered merely as an amuse-
ment.

Soon after my return home m^ father
articled me to himself, but it was impossi-
ble for me to for^t my success at Boulogne^ '
and my inclination for the stage ripened
into a determination to become an actor.
I secretly applied to Mr. Sims, of the Harp,
who procured me an engagement in a

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stiaring company in the west of England,
where I was to do the ^* low comic busi-
ness ^ and " second tragedy." I spent
some of the money that I had saved in
buying wigs and a few other stage-requi-
sites, and left my paternal root with three
pounds in my pocket.

My exchequer not being m a state to
afford me the luxury of riding, 1 was
compelled to walk the last thirty miles of
my lourney. Upon my arrival at — ,
my nrst care was to inquire for the theatre,
when I was directed to a bam, which had
been dignified by that appellation. I was
received with all possible civility by the
company, which consisted of the manager,
his wife, and three gentlemen* I was in-
formed by the manager that Jane Shore
was the play for that evening, and that he
should expect me to perform the part of
Belmont, and also that of Bombastes Fu-
rioso in the afterpiece. The wardrobe of
the theatre was unable to afford me a dress
superior to my own for the part of Bel-
mont, I therefore played that character
" accoutred as I was," viz. in a blue coat,
buff waistcoat, striped trowsers, and Wel-
lington's. The audience was very select,
consisting only of ten persons, who seemed
totally indifferent to the performance, for
they never once, in the course of the even-
ing, gave any indication of pleasure, or the
reverse, but witnessed our efforts to amuse
with the most provoking apathy. Between
the pieces I was much surprised by one of
the gentlemen requesting the loan of my
bat for a few minutes, as he was about to
smg a song, and he assured me that there
was no hat in the company, save mine,
which was worthy to appear before the
audience. At the conclusion of the per-
formance we shared the receipts, which,
after deducting the expenses of the house,
amounted to one shilling and sixpence each.
We continued to act for some time, sharing
(three nights a week) from about one shil-
ling and sixpence to two shillings each,
which sum did not at all equal my sanguine
expectations. Frequently have I performed
kings and princes after having breakfasted
upon a turnip.

I soon found that this mode of living did
not suit me, for I was becoming exceed-
ingly spare. I therefore resolved to quit
the company, and return to London. Hav-
ing informed the manager of my intention,
I departed, and arrived in the metropolis
with twopence in my pocket. I proceeded
to my father*8 house, where I was received
with kindness, and where I still continue.
[ have relinquished all my pretensions to

the sock, having learned from experience
that which it was not in the power of rea-
son to convince me of.

GlLBERTU!».

SILCHESTER, HANTS.

For the Table Book.

Every thing in this world is subject to
change, and the strongest buildings to
decay. The ancient Vindonum of the Ro-
mans, from whence Constantius issued
several of his edicts, does not form an ex-
ception to this rule. From being a princi-
pal Roman station, it is now a heap of
ruins.

Silchester is situated about eleven miles
from Reading, on the side of a hill, or
rather on a level spot between two, and
commands most beautiful views : from its
being surrounded by woodland, a stranger
would be unaware of his approach to it,
until he arrived at the spot. The circumfer-
ence of the walls is about two miles ; they
possess four gates, east, north, west, and
south, and are in some places twelve or
fourteen feet high, and four or five feet in
width ; there are many fine trees (as was
observed by Leland in his time) growing
out of them : the wall was surrounded by
a deep and broad ditch, which is now in
some places nearly filled up by the ruins
of the wall, and beyond which is '' the ex-
ternal vallum, very perfect and easily to be
traced out round &ie whole city ; its highest
parts, even in the present state, are at least
fifteen feet perpendicular from the bottom
of the ditch. A straight line, drawn from
the top of this bank to the wall on the
north-east side, measured thirty-four yards,
its full breadth."*

Between the outside of the walls and
the furthest vallum was the PonMerium,
which is defined by Livy to be that space
of ground both within and without the
walls, which the augurs, at Che first building
of cities, solemnly consecrated, and on
which no edifices were suffered to be rais-
ed .f Plutarch is of a different opinion,
and ascribes the derivation of Pomarium
to pone mosTdOf and states that it signifies

* The Hittoiy and Avtiqaitiea of Silehester, p. U.

Silehnter, s parinh bonleriaf on Berkshire, aboal
7 miles N. from Basingrstoke, and 45 from LMidoa
ooBtaiDS, aocordine to the last censaa, 85 honset and
407 inhabitants, it is supposed to htm been onoe a
popnlons city, called by the Romans ** Segnntiaei,** by
the Britons ^ Caer-Se^ont,'* and by the Saxons ** SU- ,
cester,** or the ^^at citr. Copper.— Sn.

t Livy. b. I

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the line marled out for tne wall at the first
foundation of a city.*

About a hundred and fifty yards from the
north-east angle of the wall is a Roman
amphitheatre, the furm of which is similar
to that near Dorchester, with high and
iteep banks, now covered with a grove of
rees, and has two entrances. The eleva-
tion of the amphitheatre consists of a mix-
ture of clay and gravel : the seats were
ranged in five rows one above the other ;
the slope between each measuring about
six feet: each bank progressively rises,
(and increases proportionably in width,) to
a considerable neiRht in the centre. The
area of the amphitheatre is about twenty-
five yards in diameter, as near as I could
guess ; it is commonly covered with water,
and is become a complete marsh, having a
drain across the centre, and -is filled up
with rushes. I was informed by the wo-
man who showed it, that some- gentlemen
a short time since procured a shovel, and
found a fine gravel bottom at about a foot
deep.

The only buildings within the walls are
the farm-house and the parish church, which
is an ancient structure, built of brick and
flint, in the form of the letter T. The in-
terior of the church is plain and neat ; the
font is of an octagonal rorm, of plain stone ;
the pulpit is also octagonal, made of oak,
and is remarkably neat ; over it is a hand-
some carved oak sounding-board, sur-
mounted bv a dove, with an olive-branch
in its mouth, and round the board, at the
lower part, in seven compartments, is the
following inscription : ^ *' The Gyift of
James Hore, Oent. 1639.** The ascent to
the pulpit is from the minister's reading-
desk, which also serves for a seat for his
family. The chancel is separated from the
body of the church by a handsome carved
screen, in excellent preservation. In the
south wall of the church, under a low
pointed arch, is the recumbent figure of a
female, carved in stone, of a very remote
date, with the feet resting against an ani-
mal, (probably a dog,) the head of which
is much damaged : there is abo an angel's
head, which has been broken ofi* from some

{)art of the monument, and is of course
oose ; from what part it came I was unable
to discover.

In the chanoel affixed to the north wall
is the following inscription on a handsome
white marble monument ; it is surmounted
by a crown of glofy, and at the bottom is
a death's head ;-»>

• Plotoreh ia Rob«L 8m Kenaet't Aatiqmtut of

Viw at VItm.

Hiojnztantuctt

JoBAirif It Pabii, D.D.

CoIleKit Trinitatis apnd CantabngicBfls

Social Senior

It kaiva Eedena Roetort de qvo

mm opera loqoantor

Siletar.
O I*

lliere are also monuments of the Bay-
nards, the Cusanzes, and the Blewets,
which families were owners of the manor
from the time of the conquest for some
generations.

On the south side of the city is a small
postern under the wall, called by the com-
mon people ** Onion's hole,'' and is so de-
signated from a traditional account of a
giant of that name ; the coins which have
been discovered are called from the cause
** Onion's pennies."

A fiur field is here open for the researches
of the antiquarian ; and it is much to be
regretted that a good account of the pUce
is not yet published. " The Historv and
Antiquities of Silchester,** whence I have
cited, is a pamphlet of thirty-two pages,
and afibrds but little information. Hoping
to see justice done to the place, I be^ to
subscribe myself. &c.

J.R.J.

TO THE NIGHTSHADE.
For the TaUe Book.

Uwtlj bat fearfal.

Thy ttam elioft rouad a •Cvoager power.
Liko a food ekUd tkat froste a

Mora boaatifal ia foeliBf*s koar.

Rick it tkf I

Shaped like a tarkaa, witk a tpire
Of orange in a parple orait.

And kamid eje of eoaaj fire.

Wkea tke day wakeae,

Tkoa kearett aoi tke kappj aire
Breatkod iato eepkf r^t faery dreaiai,

Bj iaseeU' wing^ like kavee, ia pain.

Quite ikee, with elust*rinf berriee red.
Hanging like grapee. and aatnaa*! cold
Ckille wkat tke aooa-dajr'e eaabeaae led.

Tkoa art like beaatjr,

Oeatle to toack aad qaiekljr faded i
Tie deatk to taete thee void of ekill,

Aad tkoa. like deatk, art aigkajr ekaded.
Sept. 1827. •, P.

• I ehoald like to bonelvmed tke seaaW of taee*
lotteia— tkere ie ao dale « tke noaaiaeat. J. R J.

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TnE TABLE BOOK.

THE VELOCITAS,
Or Malton Driffield, and Hull Fly Boat,

To the Editor.

A carriage bearing this name, of which
the above is a sketch, forms a neat, safe,
pleasant, and commodious conveyance from
Malton, by way of Driffield, to Hull every
other day, and from Hull to Malton on the
intermediate days, during the summer
months. The vehicle is, in fact, a boat on
wheels, driven like a stage-coach, and fur-
nished on each side of the body wjth a seat,
extending the whole length, on which the
passengers are ranged. The top is covered
with* a permanent awning, to which a cur-
tain appended may be drawn up or let
down at pleasure, so as to enjoy a view of
the country, or shut out the sun and wea-
.her.

Bridlington, Oct, 1 827. T. C.

SHEEPSHEARING IN CUMBER-
LAND.

To the Editor.

Sir, — The letters of VV. C, in a recent
number of the Table Booh, recalled to my
mind four of the happiest years of my life,
spent in Cumberland, amongst the beauti-
ful lakes and mountains in the neighbour-

hood of Keswick, where I became ac-
quainted with a custom which I shall at-
tempt to describe.

A few days previous to the '' clipping,**
or shearing of the sheep, they are washed
at a *' beck,'' or small river, not fu from
the mountain on which they are kept. The
clippings that I have witnessed have gene-
rally been in St. Joh-n*8 vale. Several
farmers wash their sheep at the same place ;
and, by that means, greatly assist each
other. The scene is most amusing. Ima-
gine to yourself several hundred sheep
scattered about in various directions ; some
of them enclosed in pens by the water-side ;
four or five men in the water rolling those
about that axe thrown in to them ; the
dames and the pretty maidens supplying
the ** mountain dew*' very plentitully to
the people assembled, particularly those
that have got themselves well ducked ; the
boys pushing each other into the river,
s plash mg the men, and raising tremendous
shouts. Add to these a fine day in the
beginning of June, and a beautiful land-
scape, composed of mountains, woods,
cultivated lands, and a small meandering
stream ; the farmers and their wives, chil-
dren, and servants, with hearty faces, and sA
merry as summer and good cheer can make

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them : and I am sure, sir, thu you, who
are a lover of nature in all her forias, could
not wi^h a more delightful scene.

I will now proceed to the ** clipping*'
itself. Early in the forenoon of the ap-
pointed day, the friends and relatives of the
farmer assemble at his house, for they al-
ways assist each other, and after having
regaled themselves with hung-beef, curds,
and home-brewed ale, they proceed briskly
to business. The men seat themselves on
their stools, with shears in their hands, and
the younger part of the company supply
them with sheep from the fold ; which, after
having been sheared, have the private mark
of the farmer stamped upon them with
pitch. In the mean Ume the lasses are fiut-
tering about, playini( numerous tricks ; for
which, by the by, they get paid with in-
, terest by kisses ; and the housewife mav be
seen busy in preparing the supper, which
generally comprises all that the season af-
fords. After the " clipping '* is over, and
the sheep driven on to tne fells, (mountains,)
they adjourn in a body to the house ; and
then begins a scene of rustic merriment,
which those who have not witnessed it,
can have no conception of. The evening
is spent in drinking home-brewed ale, and
singing. Their songs generally bear some
allusion to the subject in question, and are
always rural. But what heightens the plea-
sure is, that there is no quarrelling, and
the night passes on in the utmost harmony.
I have attended many of them, and never
saw the slightest symptoms of anger in any
of the party. They seldom break up till
daylight makes its appearance next morning.
I am, sir.

Your constant reader,

A. W. R.

DR. GRAHAM.

For the Table Book.

In the year 1782, that extraordinary em-
piric of modern times. Dr. Graham, ap-
peared in London. He was a graduate of
Edtnbu.gn, wrote in a bombastic style,
and possessed a great fluency of elocution.
He opened a mansion in Pall Mall, called
" The Temple of Health ;" the front was
ornamented with an enormous gilt sun, a
statue of Hygeia, and other attractive em-
blems. The rooms were superbly furnished,
and the walls decorated with mirrors, so as
to confer on the place an effect like that of
an enchanted palace. Here he delivered
** I/*ctaret on Health, he *' at the extrava-

gant rate of two guineas each. As a fur>
ther attrattion, he entertained a female of
beautiful figure, whom he called the '* god-
dess of heedth.'* He hired two men of
extraordittary stature, provided with enor-
mous cocked hats and showy liveries, to
distribute bills from house to house about
town.

These unusual means to excite curiosity
were successful ; but his two guinea audi-
tors were soon exhausted ; he then dropped
to one guinea ; afterwards to half a guinea ;
then to five shillings ; and, subsequently, as
be said, '< for the benefit of all," to two
shillings and sixpence. When he could
not ** draw" at that price, he finally ex-
hibited the ^ Temple of Health "*, at one
shilling a b«ad to daily crowds for several
months.

Among the furniture of Dr. Graham's
temple was a eeleetial bed, which he pre-
tenaed wrought miraculous effects on those
who reposed on it : he demanded for its
use during one night one hundred pounds ;
and such is the folly of wealth, that several
personages of high rank acceded to his
terms. He also pretended to have dis-
covered " The Elixir of Life," by taking of
which a person might live as long as he
pleased. When this was worn out, he re-
commended " earth bathing," and sanction-
ed it by his own practice. During one
hour every day, he admitted spectators to
view him and the goddess of^ health im-
mersed naked in the ground to their chins.
The doctor's head was dressed and pow-
dered, and the goddess's was arranged in
the highest fashion of the times. He car-
ried this exhibition to every provincial
town wherein he could obtain permission
of the magistrates. The goddess nearly
fell a victim to the practice, and the doctor,
in spite of his enormous charges and his
** Elixir of life," died in poor circumstances
at the age of My-two.

Dr. Graham's brother married the cele-
brated Mrs. Macaulay, the historian, and
Dr. Arnold, of Leicester, the respectable
author of an able treatise on insanity, mar-
ried his sister. It is generally understood
that the lady who performed the singular
part of the '* Goddess of Health " was
£mma, afterwards the wife of sir William
Hamilton, and the personal favourite of
the celebrated lord Nelson. She died ir
misery —

DfMTtcd IB ker ntmott need
Bj tbosa h»r fonner bovntj f«d.

Sept. 1. 1837

Sam Sam's Sos.

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STORKS.

The stM^ks of the Low Countries are
mentioned more than once in the journal
of the gentlemen deputed by the ^ Caledo-
nian Horticultural Society ** to visit the
^rdens of our continental neighbours.
Their route from Antwerp to Rotterdam is
marked by the following entry :—

August 22, 1817. *' In the course of out
progress into this land of meadows and
waters, we had been making inquiries about
the »torkt (Ardea Ciconia, L.) which every
year visit Holland in the breeding season ;
and we learned that the great flock had
taken its departure about ten days before.
We observed several of their nests, set like
wicker-baskets on the roo£i of the dwelling-
houses ; and we had the good fortune to see
one solitary dam still covering her brood,
on account probably of the young one not
having been sufficiently fledged to enable
it to accompany the main body. We per-
suaded the conductor to allow us to get out
of the carriage, and examine this rarity :
the bird showed no sort of alarm, the
ooyevaar (as our Dutch friends called it)
bemg privileged in Holland. In many
places where a new house is built a .nest-
Dox is erected on the gable, or on the ridge
of the roof, pattly to invite the bird to
make a settlement, and partly perhaps to
save the thatch of the reo^ in case it should
come without invitation.'' It is remarked
by way of note, that *' previous to the sreat
migration the storks assemble in large
groups, and make an unusual noise. It is
known that they winter chiefly in Egypt-
Pope has finely alluded to their remarkable
instinct ;— -

Who eallt th« eonneil. stata th« eertsia day ?
Who forms the phalanx, and who poiata the way ?

In the beginning of May they return, like
swallows, to their former haunts, the old
birds carefully seeking out their accustomed
nests. Sometimes, though rarely, a stray
stork crosses the channel, and is seen on
the English coast. It is there incessantly
persecuted; it commonly perches on the
roof of some thatched (arm -house, where
its experience leads it to hope for protec-
tion,— but it is not the dwelling of a quiet
Dutch boor;* some pseudo-sportsman of a
farmer shoots the poor bird wnile at roost.''

Of the numeious families which frequent
the sioes of rivers and the sea-beach, that

• Jloer in the km oooatnce, and Batur m Gennany,
.gnifiea a fiutf^ib.

of the Stork is the best known and the most
celebrated. It contains two species, the
white and the black. They are exactly of
the same form, and have no external difSsx-
ence but that of colour.

The biaek stork prefers desert tracts,
perches on trees, haunts unfrequented
marshes, and breeds in the heart of forests.

The wkii0 stork, on the contrary, settles
beside dwellings; inhabits towers^ dum*
nies, and ruins. The friend of man, it
shares his habitations, and even his domain,
It fishes in his rivers, pursues its prey into
his gardens, and takes up iu abode in the
midst of cities, without being disturbed by
the noise and bustle. On the Temple of
Concord, in the capitol of Rome, were
many storks' nest9« The fact is memorial-
ized on the medals of the emperor Adrian,
and alluded to by Juvenal in Lis first satire.

The stork flies steadily and with vigour;
holds its head straight forward, and stretches
back its legs, to direct its motion ; soars to
a vast height, and performs distant journies
even in tempiestuous seasons. It arrives in
Germany about the eighth or tenth of May,
and is seen before that time in the provinces
of France. Gesner s^s, it precedes the
swallow, and enters Switzerland in the
month of April, and sometimes earlier, li
arrives in Alsace in March, or even in the
end of February. The return of the storks
is ever auspicious^ as it announces the
spring. They instantly indulge those ten-
der emotions which that season inspires :
Aldrovaodtts paints with vrarmth their mu-
tual signs of felicity, the eager congratula-
tions, and the fondling endearments of the
male and female, on their coming home
from their distant journey. ** When they
have arrived at their nest-^— good God !
what sweet salutation; what gratulation
for their prosperous return! what em-
braces! what honied kisses! what gentle
murmurs thev breathe !" It is to l^ ob-
served, that they always settle in the same
spots, and, if their nest has been destroyed,
they rebuild it with twigs and aquatic
plants, usually on lofty ruins, or the battle-
ments of towers ; sometimes on large trees
beside water, or on the point of bold cliffi.
In France it was formerly customary to
place wheels on the house-tops, to entice
the stork to nestle. The practice still sub-
sists in Germany and Alsace : and in Hol-
land square boxes are planted on the ridge,
with the same view.

When the stork is in a still posture it
rests on one foot, folds back its neck, and

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reclines its head on its shoulder. It watches
:he motions of reptiles with a keen eye,
ind commonly preys on frogs, lizards, ser-
pents, and small fish, which it finds in
marshes by the sides of the streams, and in
wet Tales.

It walks like the crane with .ong mea-
sured strides. When irritated or discom-
posed, or influenced by affection to its
mate, it makes with its bill a repeated
clattering, which the ancients express by
the significant words erepitat and glotterat*
and which Petronius accurately marks by
the epithet crotaliMtria^f formed from cro-
tahtm, the castanet or rattle. In this state
of agitation it bends its head back, so that
the lower mandible appears uppermost, the
bill lies almost parallel on the back, and
the two mandibles strike Tiolently against
each other; but in proportion as it raises
op its neck the clattering abates, and ceases
when the bird has resumed its ordinary
posture. This is the only noise the stork
ever makes, and, as it seems dumb, the
ancients supposed it had no tongue.

The storK does not lay more than four
eggs, oftener not more than two ; they are
of a dirty and yellowish white, rather
smaller, but longer than those of a goose.
The male sits when the female goes in quest
of food; the incubation lasts a month;
both parents are exceedingly attentive in
bringing provisions to the young, which
rise up to receive it, and make a sort of
whistling noise. The male and female
never leave the nest at once ; but, while
the one is employed in searching for prey,
the other stands near the spot on one le^,
and keeps an eye constantly on the brood.
When first hatched the young are covered
with a brown down, and their long slender
legs not having yet strength enough to
support them, they creep upon their knees.
When their wings begin to grow, they essay
their force in fluttering about the nest;
though it often happens that in this exer-
cise some of them fall, and are unable to
regain their lodgment. After they venture
to commit themselves to the air, the mother
leads and exercises them in small circum-
volutions around the nest, and conducts
them back. About the latter end of Au-
gust, when the young storks have attained
strength, they jom the adults, and prepare
for migration.

* QQ»qoe salatoto erepitat eoawrdia nido. Jwoenai^
Sat I.

Glotterat immeabo de tarra eioonia roatro. Awk,
FhUowMl.

t Pnblioa Syrar bad mada tha aama appUoatiM of
hit word.

The Greeks have placed the rendezvous
of the storks in a plain of Asia, called the
" Serpent's District," where they congre-

Sted, as they do now in some parts of the
ivanty and even in Europe, as in Bran-
denburg and elsewhere. Snaw says, in his
Travek, *^ It is remarked that the storks
before they pass from one country into
another, assemble a fortnight beforehand,
from all the neighbouring parts, in a plain ;
holding once a day a divan^ as they say in
that country, as if their object was to fix
the precise time of their departure and the
place of their retreat."

When they convene previous to theu
departure, thev make a trequent clattering
with their bill, and the whole flock is in
tumultuary commotion ; all seem eager to
form acquaintance, and to consult on the
projected route, of which the signal in our
climate is the north wind. Then the vast
body rises at once, and in a few seconds is
lost in the air. Klein relates, that having
been called to witness this sight he was a
moment too late, and the whole flock had
already disappeared. Indeed this departure
is the more difficult to observe, as it is
conducted in silence, and often during the
night. Belon says, that their departure is
not remarked, because they fly without
noise or cries, while the cranes and wild-
geese, on the contrary, st eam much on the
wing. It is asserted, ttiat in their passage,
before they venture to cross the Mediterra-
nean, they alight in great numbers in the
neighbourhood of Aix in Provence. Their
departure appears to be later in warm
countries ; for Pliny says, that " after the
retreat of the stork it is improper to sow.*'

It was remarked by the Jewish prophet,
that ** the stork in the heaven knoweth her
appointed time," (Jeremiah viii. 7. ;) but
though the ancients observed the migra-
tions of these birds, they do not seem to
have been certain as to the countries of
their retirement. Modern travellers ac-
quaint us more accurately. ** It -is per-
fectly ascertained,** says Belon, '' that the
storks winter in Egypt and in Africa ; for
we have seen the plains of Egypt whitened
by them in the months of ^ptember and
October. At that season, when the waters
of the Nile have subsided, they obtain
abundance of food ; but the excessive heats
of summer drive them to more temperate
climates ; and they return again in winter,
to avoid the severity of the cold : the con-
trary is the case with the cranes, which
visit us with the geese in winter, when the
storks leave us.** This remarkable differ-
ence is owing to that of the climates which

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theie birds inhabit ; the geese and ducks
come from the north, to escape the rigours
of the winter ; the storks leave the south,
to avoid the scorching heats of summer.
It was a common opinion in the time of
Albertus Magnus that the storks do not
retire in winter, but lurk in caverns* or
even at the bottom of lakes. Klein relates,
that two storks were dragged out of the
water in the pools near Elbing. Ger-
vais of Tillebury speaks of other storks that
were found clustered in a lake near Aries ;
Merula, in Aldrovandus, speaks of some
«rhich fishermen drew out of the lake of
Come ; and Fulgosus, of others that were
fished near Metz. Martin Schoockius, who
wrote a treatise on the stork in 1648, sup-
ports these testimonies. But the history
of the migrations of the storks is too well
known, not to attribute to accidents the
facts just mentioned, if thej indeed may
be relied on.

Belon says, that he saw storks wintering
round Mount Amanus, near Antioch ; and
passing about the end of. August towards
Abydus, in flocks of three or four thousand,
from Russia and Tartary. They cross the
Hellespont; and on the summits ofTene-
dos divide into squadrons, and disperse
themselves northwards.

Dr. Shaw says, that about the middle of
May, 1722, " Our vessel, being anc'ored
under Mount Carmel, I saw three flocks
of storks, each of which was more than
three hours in passing, and extended a half
mile in breadth." Maillet relates, that he
saw the storks descend, towards the end of
April, from Upper Egypt, and halt on the
grounds of the Delta, which the inundation
of the Nile soon obliges them to leave.

Crows sometimes intermingle with the
storks in their passage, which has given
rise to the opinion of St. Basil and Isidorus,
that the crows serve to direct and escort
the storks. The ancients also speak much
of the combats between the storks and
ravens, jays, and other species of birds,
when their flocks, returning from Lybia
and Egypt, met about Lycia and the river
Xanthus.

Storks, by thus removing from climate
to climate, never experience the severities
of winter ; their year consists of two sum-
mers, and twice they taste the pleasures
natural to the season. This is a remarkable
peculiarity of their history; and Belon
positively assures us, that the stork has its
second brood in Egypt.

It is said, that storks are never seen in
England, unless they are driven upon the
island by some stoim. Albin remarks, as

a singular circumstance, that thc*e we.-e
two or these birds at Edgeware, in Middle-
sex ; and Willoughby declares, that a figure
which he gives was designed from one sent
from the coast of Norfolk, where it had
accidentally dropped. Nor does the stork
occur in Scotland, if we judge from the
aileaee of Sibbald. Yet it often penetrates
the northern countries of Europe; into
Sweden, over ih% whole of Scania, into
Denmark, Sroeria» Mangasea on the river
Jenisca, and cs fiir as the territories of the
Jakutes. Great numbers are teen also in
Hungary, Poland, and Lithuania. They
are also met with in Turkey, and in Persia,
where Bruyn observed their nest carved on
the ruins of Persepolis ; and according to
that author, they are dispersed through the
whole of Asia, except the desert parts,
which they seem to shun, and the arid
tracts, where they cannot subsist.

Aldrovandiis assures us, that storks are
never found in the territory of Bologna;
they are rare even through the whole of
Italy, where Willoughby, during a resi-
dence of twenty-eight years, saw them orly
once. Yet it appears, firom Pliny and
Varro, that anciently they were there com-
mon ; and we can nardly doubt but that,
in their route from Germany to Afiica, or
in their return, they must pass over Italy
and the islands of the Mediterranean.
Kttmpfer affirms, that they reside the whole
year in Japan ; which therefore, if he is
correct, is the only country where they are
stationary ; in all others, they retire a lew
months after their arrival. In France,
Lorraine and Alsace are the provinces
where these birds are the most numerous ;
there they breed ; and few towns or villages
in Lower Alsace are without storks' nests
on their belfries.

The stork is of a mild disposition, neither
shy nor savage ; it is easily tamed ; and
may be trained to reside in our gardens,
which it will clear of insects and reptiles.
It has almost always a grave air, and a
mournful visage ; yet, when roused by ex-
ample, it shews a certain degree of gaiety ;
for it joins the frolics of children, hopping
and playing with them. Dr. Hermann, of
StrasDurg, says, *^ I saw in a garden, where
the children were playing at hide and seek,
a tame stork join the party, run its tun
when touched, and distinguish the child,
whose turn it was to pursue the rest, so
well ;is to be on its guard." In the domes-
tic condition the stork lives to a great age.
and endures the severities of our winters.
Ileerkens, of Groningen, author of a Latii.
poem on the stork, says that he kept rar

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fifteen years ; and speaks of another which
lif ed twenty-one years in the fish-market
of Amsterdam, and was interred with so-
lemnity by the people. Oiaus Borrichius
mentions a stork aged more than twenty-
two years, which became gouty.

To the stork are ascribed the Tirtues of
temperance, conjugal fidelity, and filial and
paternal piety, liiere is a history, famous-
m Holland, of << the Delft stork;** which,
in the conflagration of that city, after hav-
ing in Tain attempted to rescue her young,
perished wi^ them in the flames. It is
certain, that the stork bestows much time
on the education of its young, and does
not leave thtm till they have strength su^
fident for their defence and support ; when
they begin to flutter out of the nest, the
mother bears them on her wings, protects
them from danger, and sometimes perishes
with them rathor than she will forsake
them. The stork shows tokens of attach*
ment to its old haunts, and even gratitude
to the persons who have treated it with
kindness. It has been heard to rap at the
door in passing, as if to tell its arrival, and

S've a hke sign of adieu on its departure,
ut these moral qualities are notning in
comparison of the afiection and tender
offices which these birds lavbh on their
aged and infirm parents. The young and
vigorous storks frequently carry food to
others, which, resUng on the brink of
the nest, seem languid and exhausted,
either from accidental injuries or the infir-
mities of years.

The ancients assert, that nature has im-
planted in brutes this venerable piety, as
an example to man, in whose breast the
delicious sentiment is often obliterated.
The law which compelled the maintenance
of parents was enacted in honour of the
stork, and inscribed by its name. Aristo-
phanes draws from its conduct a bitter
satire on the human race.

iElian alleges, that the mora, qualities of
the stork were the chief cause of the respect
and veneration which it enjoyed among
the Egyptians ; and the notion which the
common people among whom it resorts still
entertain, that its settling on a house be-
tokens prosperity, is perhaps a vestige of
the ancient opinion.

An ancient writer affirms, that the storks,
worn out with old age, repair to certain
islands in the ocean, where, in reward for
their piety, they are changed into men.
In auguries, the appearance of the stork de-
noted union and concord. Its departure
in the time of public calamity was regarded
as a dismal presage; Paul, the deacon.

says, that Attila, having purposed to raise
the siege of Aquileia, was determined to
renew his operations, upon seeing storks
retiring from the city and leading away
their young. In hieroglyphics it signified
piety and beneficence, virtues which its
name expressed in the most ancient lan-
guages ; and we often see the emblem, as
on the two beautiful medals of L. Antonius,
given in Fulvius Ursinus, and in two others
of Q. Metellus, surnamed *' the Pious,'' as
reported by Paterculus. Dr. Shaw says,
that the Mahometans have a great esteem
and veneration for it. It is almost as
sacred among them as the ibis was among the
Egyptians; and they would look upon a
person as profane, who should kill or even
harm it. So precious were storks held
in Thessaly, which country they cleared of
serpents, that the slayer of one of these
birds was punished with death. They
were not eaten among the Romans ; and a
person who, from a strange sort of luxury,
ordered one to be bioueht to his table,
drew upon himself the direful obloquy of
the whole people. Nor is the flesh of this
bird recommended by its quality— formed
by nature for our friend, and almost our
domestic, it was never destined to be our
victim.*

VARIA.

For the Table Book.

Newspaper Readers.

Shenstone, the poet, divides the readers
of a newspaper into seven classes, lie
says —

1. The illnatured look at the list of
bankrupts.

2. Tne poor to the price of bread.

3. The stockjobber to the lies of the
day.

4. The old maid to marriages.

5. The prodigal to the deaths.

6. Tlie monopolizers to the hopes of &
wet and bad harvest

7. The boarding-school and all other
young misses, to all matters relative to
Gretna Green.

Fires in London.

From the registry of fires for one year,
commencing Michaelmas 1805, it appears,
that there were 366 alarms of fire, attended
with little damage; 31 serious fires, and

• BaiicA

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155 alarms occasioned by chimneys being
on fire, amounting in all to 562 accidents
of this nature. The offices calculate on
an alarm of fire every day, and about eight
serious fires in every quarter of the year.

Hbnry VIII. AMD HIS Peers.

When we advert to early parts of the
history of this country, we cannot but be
thankful to heaven for the progress of just
principles, aod the security we derive from
the laws. In the reign of Henry VIU.
that monarch wanted to carry some mea«
sure through the house of lords, contrary to
its wishes. The peers hesitated in the
morning, but consented in the afternoon.
Some of their body waited on him to in-
form him thereof, when the tyrant made
reply, *^ It is well you did it, or by this
time half your heads would have been
upon Temple Bar."

Fevale Sheriffs and Justices.

Nicholas, earl of Thanet, was succeeded
by his next brother John, the fourth earl,
born 7th August, 1638. He also succeeded
his mother Margaret, countess of Thanet,
as baron Clifibrd, Westmoreland, and
Vescey, who by her last will, dated June
19, 1676, gave the Yorkshire and West-
moreland estates to this John for life ; she
died the 14th August following, and he
then succeeded her in the sherifiUoms of
Westmoreland and Cumberland, where it
frequently happened that female heiresses
became possessed of them.

There are several instances of women
bearing that office, as may be seen in most
of the treatises in which that duty is men-
tioned. Those things required by it, not
proper to be undertaken by a female, were
mtrusted to a deputy, or shire clerk.

Not only the office of sherifi*, but even
justice of peace, has been in the hands of
the fair sex. Among the Harleian manu-
scripts is a very remarkable note, taken
from Mr. Attorney-general Noy*s readings
m Lincoln's-inn, in 1632, in which, upon
the point whether the office of a justice of
a forest might be executed by a woman, it
was said, that Margaret, countess of Rich-
mond, mother to Henry VII., was a justice
of peace ; that the lady Bartlet was made
a justice of peace by queen Mary in Glou-
cestershire ; and that in Sussex, one Rouse,
a woman, did usually sit upon the bench at
assizes and sessions among the other jus-
tices, gkuXo-cinetaf girded with a sword,
ft is equally certaic, that Anne, countess of
Pembroke, exercised the office c. nereditary

sheriff' of Westmoreland, and at the assizes
of Appleby sat with the judges on tb«
ben<.h, which puts this point beyond a
question.

Sam Saii*s Sov

WOMEN.

It is the opinion of Mr. J. P. Andrews,
that antiquarians are by no means apt to
pay great attention to the fair sex. He says,
•• Their Yeniu must be old, and wat • bom."

He instances, as among those who have
** set themselves most warmly '' against fe-
males, old Antony ^ Wood, whose diary
affords some specimens of grotesque dis-
like.

Paye 167. " He" (sir Thomas Clayton)
'* and his family, most of them womankind^
(which before were looked upon, if resident
in the college, a scandal and abomination
thereunto,) being no sooner settled," &c.
than *' the warden's garden must be altered,
new trees planted, &c. All which, though
unnecessary, yet the poor college must pa>
for them, and all this to please a woman !**

P. 1 68. ** Frivolous expenses to pleasure
his proud lady.^

P*. 173. " Yet the warden, by the motion
of his lady, did put the college to unneces-
sary charges and very frivolous expenses.
Among which were a very large looking-
glass, ror her to see her ugly face and body
to the middle, and perhaps lower.''

P. 252. ** Cold entertainment, cold re-
ception, cold, clownish woman.*'

P. 257. •< Dr. Bathurst took his place of
vice-chancellor, a man of good parts, and i
able to do good things, but he nas a wife
that scorns that he should be m print. A
scornful woman I Scorns that he was dean
of Wells ! No need of marrying such a
woman, who is so conceited that she thinks
herself fit to govern a college or a univer-
sity."

P. 270. « Charles lord Herbert, eldest
son of Henry, marquis of Worcester, was
matriculated as a member of Ch. Ch«
.£tat 16. natus Lond. I set this down here,
because the father and ancestors were all
catholics, but because the mother is a pres-
byterian, a Capel, she (against the fatner*s
will, as it is said) will nave him bred a
proiestant; so that by this change the
catholics will lose the considerablest family
in England, and the richest subject the king
has."

Selden, too, is cited as an antiquarian
inattentive to gallantry.

" It is reason," says he, •• a man that

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will have a wife should be at the chai^ ot
her trinkets, and pay all the scores she sets
on him. He that will keep a v onkey it is
fit he should pay for the glasses he breaks."
But ladies can, if they please, retaliate
severely. A gentleman who had married a
second wife, indulged himself in recurring
too often in conversation to the beauty and
virtues of his first consort. He had, how-
ever, barely discernment enough to discover
that the subject was not an ac^reeable one
to his present lady. ^ Excuse me, ma-
dam,** said he, " I cannot help expressing
my regrets for the dear deceased." " Upon
my honour,*' said the lady, " I can most
heartily affirm that I am as sincere a
mourner for her as you can be."

DOWER.

There was an absolute necessity for pro-
viding a dower ibr the widow in the Uiir-
teenth century, because women at that
period had no personal fortune to entitle
them to a jointure by way of marriage.
Sbiemhook, and all the writers upon the
ancient laws of the northern nations, 'dwell
much upon the morgengmfhim ; i. e. the
present made by the husband to his wife
the morning after consummation. It is
singular, therefore, that we have no traces
of such a custom. In the Philippine
islands, a certain proportion of the aower
is paid to the intended wife after liberty of
conversine with her; a greater share for
the permission of eating with her; and the
balance upon consummation.*

SANS CHANGER.
For 1k£ TaMe Book.

Tho maiden, with » Tirid eye.
WhoM breath is memrared bf her sigh ;
The maiden, with a lovelf cheek,
Whoee blnshei in their Tirtae break ;
Whote pulse and breath would die nnblest
If not bj changeless LoTe carest ;—
'Tis she that fives her partner's life
The perfect and the happy wife

Saiu eka»gtr.
If choice be tnie, she prores a fnend
Whose friendship fails not to the end ;
She sweetens dear affection's power
That lasteth to life's parting hoar :
Her heart beats that her lore miKht go
Thvengh every pang her Lore's eonld know,
Aad yields its latest thrbb, to give
Tnth to that heart she loves, to live

• OcmeUi. vol. v. Nmooli, 1708.

CASUALTIES OF THE ANCIEOTS.
To the Editor.

Your having, sit, inserted certain '' An-
tipathies** which I communicated to your
work, encourages me to hope you will find
some ^* Casualties " not unacceptable.

Anacreon, according to Pliny and Vale-
rius Maximus, was choked with the kernel
of a raisin, and Tarquinius Priscus with a
fishbone ; the senator Fabius with a hair ;
and the Tery sight of a physician in a
dream, frighted Andragorus out of his life.
Homer, Rutilius, Rusciacus, and Pompera^
nus were overwhelmed with grief. Zeuxis
and Philemon died with laughing f the one
at the picture of an old woman which him-
self had drawn, the other at an ass eating
of figs. Polyciyta/ Philippides, and Dia-
gorus were carried away with a sudden
joy ; and the tyrant Dionysius and Sopho-
cles by excessive triumph at the hews of a
victory. The bald head of /Eschylus cost
him dearly ; for an eagle hovering over it
mistook it for a stone, and thinking to
break an oyster upon it, gave him a mortal
wound.f Archimedes was killed by a soU
dier, as he was making diagrams in the
sand ; and Pindar, in the theatre, by his
repose as he lay on the knees of his dear
Theoxenus. I

Dke the people in Pliny, we pay tribute
for a shadow. Every age, condition, and
family has its peculiar evils. Cares and
sorrows intermingle with our possessions
and gratifications. We taste myrrh in our
wine ; and while we crop rosebuds to crown
our heads, we prick our fingers. We do
not so properly enjoy our pleasures, as
suffer them.

« ** The portion of man is like that of a
rose, which at first is fair as the morning,
when it newly springs from the clefts of its
hood, and full with the dew of heaven as
the fleece of a lamb; but when a ruder
breath has forced open its virgin modesty,
and dismantled its retirements, it begins to
decline to the symptoms of a sickly age; it
bows the head and breaks the stalk, and
at night having lost some of its leaves, and
all its beauty, falls into the lap of noisome
weeds."§

npi.

* Agellios, lib. iii. cap. IS.
t Snidas, Aristoph. in Ranis, lib. x. cap. 8L ai Max
ibid.
X ^«^fvv >«»««■«, Snidas.
I Bistiop Tavlor

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THE HOUR OF PRIME.

Afirm d^utono, Silvio,

Qttanto il moodo hm di TBfO, e di g*otii«,

Oprmed'uBora: • • •

* * * Amaato • U eielob AnuiDte

1a tetn, Amanta H mare.

Al fiaa. Ama ogni ooaa.

PaMtorFi49,

Asit whif tte Tiolet p«rfain« throws

O'er all the ambient air;
Aak whjr ao nreet the sammer roea^

Aak wb J the lUj'a fair.

If tbaae. ia worda, conld aaawer frame.

Or ebaraeteiB eoeld trace.
They'd aajr, the fiolio sephjn eame

And oonrted oar embrace.

And we (anskill'd in that falae lore

That teadiea how to feign.
While daja and ytmn Aj awiitly o'er.

And ne'er reinm afaia,)

A prompt obedience nadjr paid

To Natnre'aJdnd oommand.
And meetanf Zephjr ia the f lada^

We took hie proffer'd hand.

And loTUf thva, we led ahrng

In joeond mirth the bonra ;
The bee beatow'd her ceaaeleaa aonf.

The olooda refraahinf ahow'n.

From out the Iria* radiant bow

In gajeat hnea we dreat,
And aU o«r joy ia, that we know

We hare been troly bleat.

Beliere not in the aombre lay
Of one* wno lev'd friefa theme.

That •* AoM ftMM 6to( ** ia •* title gaj »
** Of miaery'a extreme."

Diaeaid ao woe-begone a move

In melancholy drowa'd,
Aad liat* a mifhtier bardt who atrewa

Hia laogfainf tratha arooad.

* The roae ^stiU'd la happier far
Than that which, with'rinf on the thom,

I^Tea, growa, and diea a prey to care
In ainf le blewedneaa fbrloin.**

Mark then the leaaon, O ye fair I

The pratty flow'reta teach.
The tmthe they tell more preeiooa are

Than coquetry can reach.

Or all cold pndenoe e'er deaign'd

To cloud affectioa'a beame.
To croaa with donbta the yonthfnl auadt

Or cheat it with fond dreama.

Vt, Yonag.

f fiihakapeare.

LeaTe then at once all load dday.

Nor loee the boar cf pnme.
For nought can call back yeetenia

Nor atop the hand of time.

And youth aad beauty both hare winga.

No art can make them atay.
While wiadom aoft, but ceaaelaee aiaga,

•■ £^oy them while you may.*

E.E.

For the TMe Book.

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.

A Fragment.

The aound of trumpet, drum and file

Are fit for younger men.
He aceka the calm retreat of itfe,

Hia Mary and hia glen.

Many days and nights the wounded

soldier travelled with his knapsack and stick
to reach his native place, and find solace in
the bosom of his relatives. The season
merged into the solstice of winter, the roads
ivere bad, his feet were tender, and his
means were scanty. Few persons in years
could have borne the ^tigue and hardships
be endured ; but if he could find his wished-
for Mary, he trusted all vrould be well — his
spirit could not break while the hope of his
earliest attachment survived. He had fought

hard in the conflict of the battle-field the

conflict of love had not smoothed his
«* wrinkled front." He trudged onward,
and persevered till he reached the cottage
of his nativity. It vras humble but neat
lie drew the latch, crossed the threshhold,
and entered the domicile. An elderly
female was lying on a bed. Her niece sat
by the bedside reading to her. The maiden
rose, and, putting the book aside, questioned
his name and business. He threw down
his knapsack ; he caught the countenance,
though faded from its youth, like his, of his
dear, bedridden Mary, and, clasping his
hands with hers, sat many hours reciting
his history, and listening in tears to hei
fictions, occasioned by his roving dispo-
sition. He now, to make reparation,
seasoned her hopes by promises of final
rest with her till their suns should set
together in the sphere of earthly repose ;
for Mary was the only person living of all
his once numerous companions in the
Olen —

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XV

GEORGE WATSON, THE SUSSEX CALCULATOR.

This singular being, who in every thing,
but his extraordinary powers of memory
and calculation, is almost idiotic, was bom
at Buxted, in Sussex, in 1706, and has
followed the occupation of a labourer. He
is ignorant in the extreme, and uneducated,
not lieing able to read or write ; and yet
he can, with ^ilitj, perform some of the
most difficult •^xlcM^itions in arithmetic
The most extraordinary circumstance, how
ever, is the power he possesses of recollect-
ing the events of every day, from an early
period of his life. Upon being asked^
what day of the week a given day of the
month occurred ? he immediately names it,
and also mentions where he was, and what
was tne state of the weather. A (rentle-

man who had kept a diary, put many que&
tions of this kind to him, and his replies
were invariably correct. Watson has made
tw3 ^r three tours into Hampshire, Wilt
shL*9^ Gloucestershire, and Somersetshire,
and has exhibited his singular powers in
tlie principal towns in those counties; is
familiar with every town, village, and ham-
let in Sussex, can tell the number of
churches, public-houses, &c. in each. The
accompanying portrait, drawn by Mr. S. W.
Lee, of Lewes, will give a correct idea of
this singular individual. Phrenologists,
who have examined George*s skull, state
the organ of numbers to be veiy strongly
developed

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^arncit pa^

No. XL.

[From "Fatal Jealousy," a Tragedy, Au-
thor uoknown, 1673.]

iVo Truth AluolHte : after 9eeiug a Masque
of Gipgeffs,

Ut Spectator. By thU we we that aU the irorl<r« a

^VhoM Irathe aad fkbtfaoods lie m latrnnixn

And are eo like eadi other, that *tu hard

To find the difference Who would not tli>nk theM

A real pack of each ae we caB Gipeeyt ?
U Speet. Thioga perfeeUjr alike are bnt the lame ;

And theee were Oipeeji, if we did not know

How to oonaider them the eontrary:

So in terrettrial things there ie not one

Bat takes its form and aatnre from oar faacy.

Not iu own being, and b bnt what we think it.
1st Speet. But Truth b still itself f
USpeet. No^nocataU,ssTm(happeintoae;

For oftenfiines

That b a truth to me, that's labe Co yon ;

So 'twouU not be, if it was truly true.
• • •

How clouded Man

Doubts first, and from one doubt doth soon-fcoeeed

A thoasand man, in solring of the fiist I

Uke *nighted trarellen we bee our way.

Then erery ignis fatuus makes us stray.

By the fabe lights of reason led about.

Till we arrive where we at first set out :

Nor shall we e'er truth's perfect Wghway see^

Till dawns the day-break of eternity.

Ajtprehention
O Apprehension |.-
So terribb the oonsequenoe appean.
It makes my brain turn round, and night seem darker.
The moon begins to drown herself in ebuds.
Uaving a duskish horror everywhere.
My sickly fancy makes the gaidea seem
Uke those benighted groves in Pluto** kingdoms.

hifured Htubaitd.
m/e (iylng.-) Oh, oh, I fain would live a littb bnger.
If but to ask (brgiveness of Gerardo 1
My soul will scarce reach heav'n without his panbn.

Oeranfo (entering). Who's that would go lo heav'n.
Take it, whate'er thou art; and may'st thou be
Happy In death, whate*er thou didst design.

Gerardo ; kU wife murdered

Oer. It b in rain to look 'em,* if they hide;
The ffarden's larget besides, perhapa they're goM.
We'll lo the bodr.

• The Bnrderoiik

Jlsmoaf. Ton are by it now, my Lord.
Oer. This seeidenf amaaes me so muck,
I go I know not where.

Doubt.

Doubt b the effset of fear or jealoney.
Two poaaions which to reason give the lye ;
For fear torments, aad never doth assbt ;
And jealousy b kve lost in a mbL
Both hood-wink truth, nnd go to Uind-maa's-boF,
Cry here, then there, seem to direct enoufh.
But aU the while shift place; making the mind.
As it goes out of breath, despair to find ;
And, if at last something it stumbles on,
Perhape it caUs it false, aad then 'Us goae.
If trae, whafs gain'd t only just time to see
A breaehbas* pUy, a game at liberty ;
That haa no other end than this, that men
Ron to be tired, juat to aet down again.

Owl

— — hark how the owl

Suaunona their aoub to take a flight with her.

Where fhey shall be eternally benighted.—

[From the *« Traitor,'* a Tragedy^ by J
Shirley: by some said to have beec
written by one Rivers, a Jesuit: 1635.][

Setarrah^ whose life is forfeited^ has offef
^ pardon^ cofuUHonalfy, that he bring his
sister Amidea to consent to the Princes
unlawful suit. He jestingly tries her affee^
tion.

8eL — if thou eould'st redeem me
With anything but death, I thiak I shoo««
Consent to live.

^sitd. Nothing can be too precious
To ears a brother, such a loving brothel
As you have been.

Mei. Death'a a devouring gameater.
And sweeps up all ,-— what think'st thou of an ey«> ?
Could'st thou spare one, and think the blemish

|.«iieed
To see me safe with the other ? or a hand—
Thb white hand, that has so often
With adniretioa trembled on the lute.
Till we have pray'd thee leave the strings awhile.
And laid our eare close to thy ivory fingers.
Suspecting all the harmony proceeded
From their own motbns without the need
Of any dall or passive instrument-
No, Amidea ; thou shalt not bear one sear.
To buy my life ; the sickle shall not touch
A flower, that grows so feir upon his stalk*
I would live, and owe my life to thee,
So 'twere not bought too dear.

Jmld. Do yon believe, I ahonld not find
The way to heav'n, were both mine eyes thy nun

• Breathbaa?

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skill cbinb Qp tliOBe high and ragged UiSii
ViUioat • hand. «

THE TiUJLE BOOK.

" BURNING THE WITCU
At Bridlikoton, &c.

From the ** Huntingdon DiTeitisement,*'
an Interlude, ^ for the general entertain-
ment at the County Feast, held at Mer-
chant Taylor's Hall, June 20th, 1678, by
W M."j

Humour of a retired Knight.

Sir Jeoffrp Doe-right. Master GenerouM
Ooodmon.

Qem. Sir JeoStj, good morrow.

Sir J. The aama to yov. Sir.

£Fm. Yoar earlj leal condemns the rising son
Of too much sloth ; as if jroa did intrad
To catoh the Muses napping.

Sir J. Did jou know
The pleasures of an earlj contemplation,
Yon*d nerer let Aurora bliuh to find
You drowsy on jour bed ; but rouse, and sp^nd
Some short ejaculations,— how the night
Disbands her sparkling troops at the approach
Of the ensuing daj, when th* grey-eyed sky
(Jkhers the golden signals of the mom ;
Whibt the magnanimous cock with joy proclaims
fhe sun*s illustrious earaleade. Your thoughts
^onld ruminate on all the works of HeaTcn,
^ And th* Tarious dispensations of its power.
Our predeeeseoTB better did improve
The precious mmutes of the mom than we
Their lasj soocesson. Their praotiee taught
And left ns th' good Proverbial, that •* To rise
Earlj makes all men health j, wealth j. wise.**

O^n, Yonr practice. Sir, merite our imitatioB ;
Whero the least particle of night and daj*s
ImpTov'd to th* best advantage, whilst jour sonl
(Undogg'd from th* dross of melaachol&o cares)
Makes ererj place a paradise.

Sir J. Tutree,
I blen my lucky stan. whose kind aapecte
Have fix'd me in this soUtnde. My youth
Past throP the tropics of each fortune, I
Was made her perfect tennis-ball ; her smiles
Now made me rich and honour'd ; then her frowns
Dash*d all my jojs, and blasted all my hopes :
Till, wearied by snch interchange of weather.
In court and citj, I at length confined
AU my ambition to the Golden Mean,
The Eqninoetisl of m j fate ; to amend
The errors of my Ufe by a good end.

C.L

• My transcript break* off here. Perhaps what
follows WAS of less value s «r perhaps I broke off, as I
own I have sometimes done, to leave in my readers a
relish, and an inclination to ezplon for themselves the
TMmine foontains of these old dn-natie driicames

For the Table Book.

A custom was very prevalent in this part
01 Yorkshire about fifty years ago, and
earlier, which has since been gradually dis
continuing, until it has become nearly ex-
tinct—called ** burning the witch " in the
harvest-field. On the evening of the da)
in which the last com was cut belonging to
a farmer, the reapers had a merrimaking,
which consisted of an extra allowance ol
drink, and burning of peas in the straw.
The peas when cut from the ground are
left to dry in small heaps, named pea-rettpe.
Eight or ten of these reapt were collected
into one, and set fire to in the field, whilst
the labourers ran and danced about, ate the
" brustled peas," blacked each other's faces
with the burned straw, and played other
tricks; the lads generally aiming for the
lasses, and the lasses for the lads. Such of
them as could add a little grease to the
grime seldom failed to do it. Even the
good dame herself has sometimes joined in
the general sport, and consequently fallen
in for her share of the face-blacking. The
evening's entertainment consisted also d
the eream-poty which was a supper of cream
and cakes, provided and eaten in the house
prior to the commencement of the sport in
the field. Cream-pot cakes were made
rather thick, and sweet with currants and
caraway-seeds. They were crossed on
the top «by small squares, owing to the
dough being slightly cut transversely im-
mediately before baking. The practice ol
** burning the witch " probably had its
origin in those days of superstition, when
the belief in witchery so generally and, in-
deed, almost universally prevailed, and wa5
considered necessary under an idea of its
being available in preventing the over-
throwing of the wains, the laming of tht
horses, and the injuring of the servants,
and of securing general success in the re-
moving, housing, or stacking of the produce
of the farm.

T.C.
Bridlington^ July, 1 27.

F.S. Oc/o6tfr, 1827. — One evening in tht
harvest of this year I was at North Burton
near Bridlington, and three distinct fires
were ^hen seen in the fields.

T C

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THE TABLE BOOK

WITCHCRAFT
For the Table Book.

IIecollections of Practices formfrlt
used to avert aku avoid the power
OF Witchery.

HaviDg a small, smooth limestone,
Scked up on the beach, with iu edges
rubbed down by friction and the continual
«ction of the sea, and with a natural hole
iirough it« tied to the key of a house, ware-
liouse, barn, stable, or other building,
prevented the influence of witches over
whatever the house, &c. contained.

Sailors nailed a horse-shoe on the fore-
mast, and Jockeys one on the stable-door,
but to be effective the shoe ought neces-
sarily to be found by accident.

On meeting a suspected witch the thumb
of each hand was turned inward, and the
fingers firmly closed upon it ; care was also
taken to let her have the wall-side or best
path.

Caution was used that gloves, or any
portion of apparel worn next to the skin,
came not into the possession of a witch, as
It was strongly believed she had an highly
ascendant power over the rightful owner.

A bit of witch-wood, or a hare's foot,
was carried in the pocket, under an im-
pression that the possessor was free from
any harm that otherwise might accrue from
*he old hag's malignant practices.

One thing of importance was not to go
out of the house in a morning without
taking a bite of bread, cake, or other eat-
able to break the fast.

A thick white curtain was hung inside
the window, to prevent an " evil eye "
being cast into the room.

If a few drops of the old creature's blood
could be obtamed, they were considered
sufficiently efficacious in preventing her
'* secret, black, and baneful workings."

Although the practices abovementioned
are spoken of in the past tense, they are
not, at the present time, altogether done
away ; not a few, who are now living, are
credulous enough to believe in their po-
tency. The following may be mentioned
as a fact, which occurred a short time ago
in the neighbourhood where the writer of
this article resides: — A person bought a
pig, which after keeping for some time
^ grew very badly," and witchery was sus*
pected to be the cause; to ascertain the
certainty of the fact nine buds of the elder-
tree (here commonly called buttery) were
laid in a straight line, and all poinung one

way ; a dish made of ash wood was in-
verted and placed carefully over them, and
left to the nest morning. This was dont
under an idea that if the pig was bewitchec
the buds would be found in disorder, bat i
not, in the sute in which they were origi
nally left.

T. C. i
Bridliugton^ Jm^ 90, 1827.

OLD HOUSES AND FUENITURE.
To the Editor.

Sir, — A rare and valuable copy of " 11 o-
linshed's Chronicles of Englande, Scot-
lande, and Irelande," a black letter folio
volume, with curious wood-cuts, ** inn-
printed at London" in 1577, has lately
fallen in my way, and afforded me consi-
derable amusement. One chapter especi-
ally, in *• The Seconde Booke of the De-
scription of Britaine," namely, '' Cap. 10.
Of the Maner of Buyldinff, and furniture of
our Houses," cannot fail, I think, to interest
your readers.

After a very entertaining account of the
construction of our ancient cottages and
country houses before glass came into gene-
ral use, this historian of tlie age of queen
Elizabeth proceeds as follows :—

''The auncient maners and houses of
our gentlemen are yet for the most
part of strong tymber. Howbcit such as
oe lately buylded are commonly eiiher
of bricke, or harde stone, their rowmes
large and stately, and houses of office
farder distaunt fro their lodginges. Those
of the nobilitie are likewise wrought with
bricke and harde stone, as provision may
best be made; but so magnificent and
stately, as the basest house of a barren doth
often match with some honours of princes
in olde tyme ; so that if ever curious boyld-
ing did flourish in Englande it is in these
our dayes, wherein our worckemen excel
and are in maner comparable in skill with
old Vitrunius and Serlo. The furniture of
our houses also exceedeth, and is growne
in maner even to passing delicacie ; and
herein I do not speake of the nobilitie and
gentrie onely, but even of the lowest sorte
that have any thing < to take to.** Certes
in noble men*s houses it is not rare to sef
abundance of arras, riche hangings of ape»
try, silver vessell, and so much other plaic

• ** To Uck to," a Tery oomaoa Mt-nMioa amot^
fbt lower rliniiii hereaboats.

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THE TxVBLE BOOK.

u miy f&mish sudrie cupbordes, to the
summe ofte times of a thousand or two
'thou:tande pounde at the least; wherby
' the value of this and the reast of their stufle
doth grow to be inestimable. Likewise,
n the houses of knightes, gentleme, mar-
ihauntmen, and other wealthie citizens, it
IS not geson to beholde generalise their
great provision of tapestrie, Turkye worke,
pewter, brtuee, fine linen, and therto costly
cupbonls of plate woorth five or sixe hun-
dred pounde, to be demed by estimation.
But as herein all these sortes doe fiirre ex-
ceede their elders and predecessours, so in
tyme past the costly furniture stated
THERE, whereas now it is descended yet
lower, even unto the inferiour artificers and
most fermers, who have learned to ffamish
also their cupbordes with plate, their beddes
with tapestrie and silke hanginges, and
their table with fine naperie, whereby the
wealth of our conntrie doth infinitely ap-
peare. Neither do I speake this in reproch
of any man, God is my judge, but to shew
that I doe rejoyce rather to see how God
hath blessed us with hys good giftes, and
to behold how that in a time, wherein all
thinges are growen to most excessive prices,
we doe yet finde the x^eanes to obtayne
and atchieve such furniture as hath hereto-
fore been impossible.

" There are olde men yet dwelling in the
village where I remayne, which have noted
three things to be marveylously altered in
Englande within their sound remem-
braunce. One is, the multitude of ehimniee
late'r/ erected, wheras, in their young dayes
there were not above two or three, if so
noany, in most uplandish townes of the
"ealme, (the religious houses and mannour
places of their lordes alwayes excepted,
and peradventure some great personages,)
but eache one made his fire against a rere-
dosse in the hall, where he dined and
dressed his meate.

** The second is the great amendment of
lodginge; for, sayde they, our fathers, and
we ourselves, have lyen full oft upon straw
pallettes, covered onely with a sheete under
coverlettes, made of dagswain or hop-
harlots, (I use their own termes,) and a
good round logge under their heades in
steade of a boulster. If it were so that our
fathers, or the good man of the house, had
^ matteress or flockbed, and therto a sacke
of chafe to rest hys head upon, he thought
himself as well lodged as the lorde of the
towne, so well were they contented. PiU
lowes, sayde they, were thoughte meete
onely for women in childbed. As for ser-
v?.nu if thev hud any sheete above them

it was well ; for seldom had they any under
their bodies to keepe them from the prick-
ing strawes that ran oft thorow the canvass,
and raced their hardened hides.*

** The thirde thinge they tell of is the
exchange of treene plattere into pewter, and
woode spoones into silver or tin. For so
comon were al sortes of treene vesselles
in old time, that a man should hardly find
four peces of pewter, of which one was,
peradventure, a ealte in a good farmer's
house ; and yet for al this frugalitie, (if it
may so be justly called,) they were scarse
able to lyve and paye their rentes at their
dayes without selling of a cow or a horse,
or more, although they pavde but foure

Soundes at the uttermost by the yeare*
uch also was their poverty, that if a fer-
mour or husbandman nad been at the ale-
house, a thing greatly ueed in thoee dayee,
or amongst sixe or seaven of hys neygh-
bours, and there in a bravery to shew*
what store he had did cast down his purse,
and therein a noble, or sixe shillings in sil-
ver, unto them, it was very likely that ak
the rest could not lay downe so much
against it : wheras, in my tyme, althouffb
peradventure foure pounde of olde rent Be
improved to fourty or fiftye pound, yet will
the farmer think his gaines very small to-
ward the middest of his terme, if he have
not sixe or seaven yeres rent lying by him,
therewith to purchase a newe lease, besides
a faire gamisn of pewter in his cowborde,
three or foure feather beddes, so many
coverlettes, and carpettes of tapestry, a
silver salte, a bowle for wine, (if not an
wholef neast,) and a dussen of snoones to
furnishe up the sute. Thys also be Uketh
to be his owne cleare ; for what stocke of
money soever he gathereth in all his yeares,
it is often seene that the landlorde will take
such order with him for the same when he
renueth his lease, which is commoly eight
or ten yeares before it be expyred, sith it is
nowe crowen almost to a custome, that if
he come not to his lorde so long before,
another shall step in for a reversion, and so
defeat him outright, that it shall never trou-
ble him more, then the heare of his bearde
when the barber bath washed and shaven
it from his chinne.''

• It iB«y be nsefiil to not*, that u the bod/ m oftai
eallM hereaboQia th« *" carcass," so tha skin u tkt
** bida.**

t I praaama a - peg tankard." a *• waiwail cap,- a
" pomBfcr* or two. and a dosen '* apo-tles* sp^wos,-
w^d s^ain a pretty - neasf in thesj dajra. As to
the silTCT salte - thereby haags a tale,;\aad a oariow
one too, as I hafe diseoyered since wnting the abora.
Se^ Drake's •• lUastrations of bhakspeare, »c* vol. »
p. 74.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

SubmittinfiT the above to the especial con-
sideration of our ^* beaux " and ** belles,*'
doctors and patients, landlords and farmers^
and informing these last, that m the two
reigns preceding land was let for one shil-
ling per acre,

I remain, Mr. Editor,

yours respectfully.
Motley, near Leeds, N. S.

October \5y 182 r.

LONDINIANA*
Fw the Table Book.

Mr. £ditor,-^ince most of your readers
will readily admit the propriety of the
adage, '* Time and quarter-day wait for no
man," allow me the feivour of insertion for
the following rhyming couplets, by John
Heywood the elder, distinctively known as
'' the epigrammatist." They are an extract
from his " Workes, newlie imprinted, with
six hundrede very pleasant, pithie, and in-
genious Epigrammes, 1598, 410.;** and are
thus entitled :—

Seeking for a Dwelling-place.

Still thoa aeekett for a qaiet dwelling place—

What place for qaietnes hast thon now ia chase :

London bridge— ih^Vt ill for thee, for the water.

Queene %y<A--that*s more ill for an other matter.

SmarVt Jkey—that's most iU for feare of smartiaf
smart

Carter /one— naj, nay, that sounded all on the cart.

PawFt cheyne—usy, in no wise dwell not nere the
chaine. '

fFood street— yr\ij wilt thon be wood yrt onee again«.

Bread street— th%Vt too drie, bj drought thon shalt be
dead.

PkUpot lane—ihttt breedeth moist hnmonrs in the
head.

Silver street — coppersmiths in Silrer street ; fie.

Newgate street— *w9,f that, man, Newgate is hard
bie.

Foster Aim— thon wilt as soone be tide fast, as fast.

Crooked lane—nnj crooke no mors be streight at but.

Creed lane—thej fall out there, brothe* against bro-
ther.

Jve mary lane—thtiVt as ill as the tother.

Pater noster row—nje. Pater noster row—

Agreed—that's the quietest place that I know.

Sign.Bh3,
London-bridge had then houses upon it
— a circumstance more fully treated of in
the Chronicles of London-bridge, recently
published— and half Foster-lane is becom-
ing extinct by the erection of the new gene^
ral-post-oflSce. The other places still retain
their old appellations.

I am, &c.
Will o* ih* Wisp.
Oct, 12, I82r.

Clbams(onCanae

To the EcUtor.

Sir,— I shall be greatly obliged, and theie
can be no doubt your readers will be cod-
siderably interested, by your insertion of
the subjoined article in your valuable Table
Book. It was copied from the '* Weekly
Entertainer," published at Sherborne, in
Dorsetshire, in the year 18(XX
I am, sir,
Yours, very respectfully,

G. 11. 1.

Memoranda of Mr. Thomson, the pad,
coUededfrom Mr, fFUUam Taylor, for-
tnerhf a barber and peruke-maker, ai
Richmond, Surreif, now blind. Sqjiem^
her, 1791.

(Commnnicated by the Earl of Bnchan.)

Q. Mr. Taylor, do you remember any
thing of Thomson, who lived in Kew-lane
some years ago ?

A. Thomson? —

Q. Thomson, the poet.

A. Ay, very well. 1 have taken him
by the nose many hundred times. 1 shaved
him, I believe, seven or eight years, or
more ; he had a &oe as long as a horse ;
and he sweated so much, that I remember,
after walking one day in summer, I shaved
bis head without lather by his own desire.
His hair was as soft as a camel's ; I hardly
ever felt such ; and yet it grew so remark-
ably, that if it was but an inch long, it
stood upright an end from his head like
a brush. (Mr. Robertson* confirmed this
remark.)

Q. His person, I am told, was large and
clumsy ?

A. Yes; he was pretty corpulent, and
stooped forward rather when he walked, as
though he was full of thought ; he was very
careless and negligent about his dress, and
wore his clothes remarkablv plain. (Mr
Robertson, when I read this to him, said,
*' He was clean, and yet slovenly ; he
stooped a good deal")

Q. Did he always wear a wig ?

A. Always, in my memory, and very
extravagant he was with them. I have
seen a dozen at a time hanging up in my
master's shop, and all of them so big that
nobody else could wear them. I suppose
his sweating to such a degree made him
have so many ; for I have known him spoil
a new one only in walking from London.

*■ It appears (hat this gentleman was Terj intimati
with the anther of the ** Seasons,'* but we know nothiaf
farther respeotiag kin.

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Q. lie was a great walker, I believe T

A. Yes» he used to walk from MallocVs,
at Strand on the Green, near Kew Bridge,
and from London, at all hours in the night ;
he* seldom liked to go in a carriage, and I
never saw him on horseback ; I believe he
was too fearful to ride. (Mr. Robertson
said he could not bear to get upon a horse.)

Q. Had he a Scotch accent ?

A. Very broad; he always called me
Wull.

Q. Did you know any of his relations?

A, Yes ; he had two nephews, (cousins,)
Andrew and Gilbert Thomson, both gar-
deners, who were much with him. Andrew
ased to work in his garden, and keep it in
order, at over hours ; he died at Richmond,
about eleven years ago, of a cancer in his
face. Gilbert, his brother, lived at East
Sheen, with one esquire Taylor, till he fell
out of a mulberry-tree and was killed.

Q. Did Thomson keep much company T

A. Yes ; a good deal of the writing sort.
1 remember Pope, and Paterson, and Mai-
loch, and Lyttleton, and Dr. Armstrong,
and Andrew Millar, the bookseller, who
had a house near Thomson*s, in Kew-lane.
Mr. Robertson could tell you more about
them.

Q. Did Pope often visit him ?

A. Very often ; he used to wear a light-
coloured great coat, and commonly kept it
on in the house; be was a strange, ill-
formed, little figure of a man ; but I have
heard him and Quin, and Paterson, talk
together so at Thomson's) that I could have
listened to them for ever.

Q. Quin was frequently there, I suppose ?

A, Yes ; Mrs. Hobart, his housekeeper,
often wished Quin dead, he made her mas-
ter drink so. I ha%e seen him and Quin
coming from the Castle together at four
o'clock in a morning, and not over sober
you may be sure. When he was writing
in his own house, he frequently sat with a
bowl of punch before him, and that a good
large one too.

Q. Did he sit much in his garden ?

A. Yes, he had an arbour at the end of
it, where he used to vrrite in summer time.
I have known him lie along by himself upon
the grass near it, and talk away as though
three or four people were along with him.
(This might probably be when he was re*
citing his own compositions.)

Q. Did you ever see any of his writing ?

A. I was once tempted, I remember, to
take a peep ; his papers used to lie in a
loose pile upon the table in his study, and
I had longed for a look at them a good
while : so one morning while I was waiting

in the room to shave him, and he was
longer than usual before he came down, I
slipped off the top sheet of paper, and es-

r^cted to find something very curious* but
could make nothing of it. I could not
even read it, for the letters looked like all
in one.

Q, He was very afiable in his manner ?

A, O yes 1 he had no pride ; he was very
free in his conversation and very cheerful,
and one of the best natured men that ever
lived.

Q. He was seldom much burlhened wUh
cash?

A. No ; to be sure he was deuced long-
winded ; but when he had money, he would
send for his creditors, and pay them all
round; he has paid my master between
twenty and thirty pounds at a time.

Q, You did not keep a shop yourself
then at that time?

A. No, sir; I lived with one La:.der
here for twenty years ; and it was while I
was apprentice and journeyman with him
that I used to wait on Mr. Thomson.
Lander made his majors and bobs, and a
person of the name of Taylor, in Craven-
street, in the Strand, made his tie-wigs.
An excellent customer he was to both.

Q. Did you dress any of his visitors?

A. Yes ; Quin and Lyttleton, sir George,
I think he was called. He was so tender-
faced I remember, and so devilish difficult
to shave, that none of the men in the shop
dared to venture on him except myself. I
have often taken Quin by tne nose too,
which required some courage, let me tell
you. One day he asked particularly if the
razor was in good order ; and protested he
had as many barbers' ears in his parlour at
home, as any boy had of birds' eggs on a
string ; and swore, if I did not shave him
smoothly, he would add mine to the num-
ber. « Ah," said Thomson, « Wull shaves
very well, I assure you.''

Q, You have seen the ** Seasons," I sup-
pose?

A, Yes, sir ; and once had a great deal
of them by heart. (He here quoted a pas-
sage from ** Spring. **) Shepherd, who
formerly kept the Castle inn, showed me a
book of Inomson's writing, which wa:
about the rebellion in 1745, and set tc
music, but I think he told me not pub-
lished. (I mentioned this to Mr. Robert
son, but he thought Taylor had made
small mistake ; perhaps it might be some
of the patriotic songs in the masque of
Alfred^

Q. The cause of his death is said to
have been by taking a boat from Kew to

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Richmond, when he wus mucn heated by
walking ?

A, No; I believe he got the better of
that ; but having had a batch of drinking
with Quin, he took a quantity of cream of
tartar, as he frequently did on such occa-
sions, which, with a fever before, carried
him off. (Mr. Robertson did not assent to
this.)

Q. He lived, I think, in Kew Foot-lane ?

A, Yes, and died there ; at the furthest
house next Richmond Gardens, now Mr.
Boscawen^s. He lived sometime before at
a smaller one higher up, inhabited by Mrs.
Davis.

Q. Did you attend on him to the last ?

A. Sir, I shaved him the very day before
his death ; he was very weak, but made a
shift to sit up in bed. I asked him how he
found himself that morning. ** Ah, Wull,*'
he replied, *< I am very bad indeed.*' ' (Mr.
Robertson told me, he ordered this opera-
tion himself as a refreshment to his friend.)

Taylor concluded by giving a hearty
encomium on his character.

This con\ersatioQ took place at one of
'.he alcoves on Richmond-green, where 1
accidentally dropped in. I afterwards found
it was a rural rendezvous for a set of old
invalids on nature's infirm list ; who met
there every afternoon, in fine weather, to re-
count and comment on the '* tale of other
times."

I inquired after Lander, and Mrs. Ho-
bart, and Taylor, of Craven -street, but found
that none of them were surviving. Mrs.
Hobart was thought to haie a daughter
married in the town, called Kgerton ; but
it was not likely, from the distance of time,
that she could impart any thing new.

Taylor told me, the late Dr. Dodd had
applied to him several years ago for anec-
dotes and information relative to Thomson.

Park Egerton, the bookseller, near
Whitehall, tells me, that when Thomson
'irst came to London, he took up his abode
with his predecessor, Millan, and finished
his poem of '< Winter'' in the apartment
jver the shop ; that Millan printed it for
him, and it remained on his shelves a long
time unnoticed ; but after Thomson began
to gain some reputation as a poet, he
either went himself, or was taken by Mal-
la, to .Millar in the Strand, with whom
he entered into new engagements for print-
ing his works; which so much incensed
Millan, his first patron, and his country-
man also, that they never afterwards were
ccrd tally reconciled, although lord Lyttle-
t n took uncommon pains to mediate be*
lueeu them.

AN OLD SONG RESTORED

** Bust, curious, thirsty Fly.**

To the Editor.

Sir,— In Ritso >'s ** Collection of Old
Songs " are but two verses of this, in my
estimation, very beautiful song. Going from
this place, Liverpool, to Chester, it was
my good fortune to hear a blind fiddler on
board the packet both play and sing the
whole of the following, which I procured
from him at his domicile about two years
ago. He was lost in the same boat with
the captain and others, during a gale of
wind off Elesmere port If you think them
worthy a place in your amusing TobkBook^
be pleased io accept from
Sir,
Your most obedient servant,

J. F. Phomii.
Bold-street, Liverpool,
Oct. 15, 1827.

Brntf, mirioni. tkintj Hj
Drink with m* and driak m I ;
Vntlj welooma to mj top,
CoaUbt tkon np sad sap it op.
Maka the most of lifa 70a mnj.
liia is short sad ara-tis awajr.
Lifa iff short, &a

Both alika ara Chiaa and mat,
Hast«Btng qaiak to thtir daeUae ;
Thine's a sammer, mma's ao morBt
ThoDgh repaatad to thxaaseora ;
Thnaseoia snmmera. whan thaj're ^oaa^
^ea will appaar as short as ana.

'fhaa will appear, &ei.

Time aeaou litUe to look hack.
Aad eioTOS on like dock or jaok ;
As the moments of the flj
Fortaaa swiftly passes bj.
And, whea life's short thread to spa^
The lanun strikes, aad we are gone.
The lanun, kc

What is life mea so prefer ?
It u hnt sorrow, toil, aad ears :
He that is endow'd with wealth
Oftentimes may want his health
And a man of healthfnl state
Porerty may be hia fate.

Poverty may, Im.

Some aia so laebned to pnde.
That the poor they can't abides
Tho* themselres ars not seeara.
He that's rieh may soon be poor
Fortone is at ao man's aall,
Some shall nsa whikt others fnlL
Some »ha!U fro.

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Soma amUtiou men do soar
For to get thoniMlTet in power.
And those mirk abd airy fooU
Strive to adTanee their maater't rale i
But a sadden torn of fate
Shall hnmble him who oaee waa great.
Shall hnmble, &c

He that will lire happj moat
B« to his king and eoantry jnat i
Be content, and that is more
Than all the miaer*s golden store ;
And whenever life shall oease.
He may lay him down in peace.
He may lay, &c

HERMITS.

Mr. J. Pettit Andrews has two anecdotes
concerning hermits, whidi exemplify the
strength of the '' luUng" passion, when the
individual is '* dead to the world :" viz.

St. Romuald.

Bom at Ravenna, of noble parentage;
he embraced, towards the middle of the
tenth century, the state of a hermit, under
the direction of a solitary, whose severity
at least equalled his piety. Rorouald bore
for a long time, without a murmur, the
repeated thumps which l^e received from
his holy teacher; but ob^rving that they
were continually directed lo his left side,
'' Honour my right ear, ra.' dear master,'*
said he, meekly, ^* with some f your atten-
tion, for I have nearly lost th use of my
left ear, through your partia'iiy to that
side.'' Romuald, when he became master
of his own conduct, showed that he o
on occasion copy the rigour of his prec
tor ; for, hearing that his own father, who
had embraced a monastic life, entertained
thoughts of re-entering the world again, he
hurried to the monastery, and, by the rhe-
toric of a very hearty drubbing, brought his
unsteady parent over to a more settled way
of thinking.

All ADEUS, Duke of Savot.

This prince, in the fifteenth century, took
jpon him to become a hermit ; with bow
much abstinence and moderation he de-
meaned himself, mav be judged from this
circumstance, that tne French make use of
the expression *^ faire ripailletf' when they
would speak of giving way to every indui-
j;ence and enjoyment; and they take the
term from '' Ripailles," the name of this
pious recluse's hermitage.

Besides his attachment to every possible
luxury, this holy anchoret had a peculiar

pride in his beard, i^hich was singularly
nne and picturesque. Political motives
made the cardinals seek him in his retreat,
to confer on him the dignity of pope ; but
no persuasions nor representations would
make h..m consent to part with that fiu
vourite beard, until the ridicule which its
preposterous appearance under the tiara
occasioned, brought him to agree to its
removal. Even the pomp of the papal
chair could not long detain him from Ki-
pailles. He soon quitted the triple crown^
that he might repossess his beloved retreat.

A HERMITS MEDITATION.

In lonesome cave
Of noise and interrnplion void.

His thonghtfnl solitude
A hermit thus enjoy'd:

His ehoieest book
The remnant of a human head

The volume was, whence he
This solemn lecture read : —

** Whoe*er thou wert,
Partner of my retirement now*

My nearest intimate,
If y best oompanion thou I

On thee to muso
The busy living world I left (

Of converse all but thme.
And silent that, bereft.

Wert thou the neh.
The idol of a gasing crowd ?

Wert thou the grait.
To whom obsequ'ious thonsanda bow'd f

Was learning's store
£*er treasor'd up within this shell I

Did wisdom e*er within
This empty hollow dwell ?

IXd youthful charma
E'er redden on this ghastful Ikce ?

Did beauty's Uoom these cheeks.
This forehead ever grace }

If on thia brow
E'er sat the scornful, haugh^ frowa.

Deceitful pride I where now
Is that disdain I • 'tis gocd.

If cheerful mirth
A gayncMS o'er this baldness caul.

Delusive, fleeting Joy I
Where is it now ? 'tis past.

To d«ck this scalp
If tedious long^liv'd hours it eoel;

Vain. fruiUsM toil 1 Where's nov
That labour seen ? 'tie loet.

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B«t paiofol sweat.
The dcar-«ani*d price of daily biead,

Wn aU, pevhapa, tliat that
Witk kaagiy larTows fad.

PlBxIiap* bat tean,
Banat relief of heart-siek woe,

Thiae oalj drink, from dowa
Theae Mckets aa*d to flow.

OpprenM perhape
With aehei and with aged eareat

Dowa to tke grave thou brovghfel
M few, and koary, kain :

Tb aU perkapa t
Mo marks, no tokea can T traca

Wkat, oa tkia stage of Uf»
Tby rank or station waa.

Nameless, vakaowB 1
Of all distiaetion stript and ban>,

la nakedness coaeeal'd.
Ok I wko skall tkee derUve ?

I
Yet fit companion thou for mev

Wko kear nd kaman toice
No hosMa risage see.

From me, from tkee,
Tke glories of tke world are p»ae ;

Nor yet kave eitker lost
Wkat we eottld eall oar owa.

Wkat we are 'now.
The great, tke wine^ the fair, the brave.

Shall all hereafter be,
AU Hermits— in the grave.**

CURIOUS ANECDOTES OF

BIRMINGHAM MANUFACTURERS

AND MANUFACTURES.

Birmingham, says the late Mr. William
Button, (the historian of this large and
populous town,) Birmingham began "with
the productions of the anvil, and probably
will end with them. The sons of the ham-
mer were once her chief inhabitants ; but
that great crowd of artists is now lost in a
greater. Genius seems to increase with
multitude. Part of the riches, extension,
and improvement of Birmingham, are
owing to the late John Taylor, Esq. who
possessed the singular power of perceiving
things as they really were. The spring and
consequence of action were open to his
view. He rose from minute beginnings to
shine in the commercial, as Shakspeare did
in the poetical, and Newton in the philobO-
phie^l beiiisphere.

To tliis uncommon genius we owe ine

S'lt button, the japanned and gilt sno^-
>ses, with the numerous race of enamel*
From the same fountain issued the painted
snuff-box, at which one servant earned three
pounds ten shillings per week, by painting
them at a farthing each. In his shops were
weekly manufactured, buttons to the amount
of 800/., exclusive of other valuable produc-
tions. One of the present nobility, of dis-
tinguished taste, examining the works wit}
the master, purchased some of the articles,
among others, a toy of eighty guineas value :
and while paying for them, observed with
a smile, ** he plainly saw he could not re-
side in Birmingham for less than two hun-
dred pounds a day.*' Mr. Taylor died in
1775, at the age of sixty-four, after acquir-
ing a fortune of 200,000Z.

The active powers of genius, the instiga-
tion of profit, and the affinity of one calling
to another, often induce the artist to change
bis occupation. There is nothing more
common among us ; even the divine and
the lawyer are prone to this change. Thus
the church throws her dead weight into the
scale of commerce, and the law gives up
the cause of contention : but there is no-
thing more disgraceful, except thievine, in
other places. '' I am told,'' says an elderly

Cl1eman,as he amused himself in a pitiful
kseller*s shop in a wretched market
town, ** that you are a stocking-maker by
trade I*^ The humble bookseller, half con-
fused, and wholly ashamed, could not deny
the charge. ^* Ah,** cried the senior, whose
features were modelled between the sneer
and the smile, *' there is neither honour not
profit in changing the trade you were bred
to. Do not attempt to sell books, but stay
at home, and pursue your own business."
The dejected bookseller, scarcely one step
higher than a '' walking stationer," lived to
acquire a large fortune. Had he followed
the senior's advice, he might, like a com-
mon foot soldier, have starved upon eight-
pence a day. This humble and dejected
bookseller was Mr. Hutton himself. He
says, toy trades first made their appearance
in Birmingham in the beginning of Charlet
the Second's reign, in ab endless variety,
attended with all their beauties and theii
graces. When he wrote, he ranked, a^
first in preemiuence, the

Burrow.

This beautiful ornament, says Mr. Hut-
ton, appears with infinite yariation; and
though the original date is rather uncertain,
yet we well remember the long coats ofoui
grand&thers covered with half a gross o*

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high tops, aiid the cloaks of our grand-
mothers ornamented with a horn button
nearly the size of a crown -piece, a watch,
or a John-apple, curiously wrought, as
having passed through the Birmingham
Dress.

Though, continues Mr. Hutton, the com-
mon round button keeps on with the steady
pace of the day, yet we sometimes see the
oval, the square, the pea, the concave, and
the pyramid,' flash into existence. In some
branches of trafiic the wearer calls loudly
for new fashions ; but m this, the fashions
tread upon each other, and crowd upon the
wearer. The consumption of this article
is astonishing: the value in 1781 was from
three-pence a gross to one hundred and
forty guineas.

In 1818, the art of gilding buttons was
arrived at such a degree of refinement in
Birmingham, that three pennyworth of gold
was made to cover a gross of buttons : these
were sold at a price proportionably low.
The experiment has been tried to produce
gilt buttons without any gold ; but it was
found not to answer, the manufacturer los-
ing more in the consumption than he saved
in the materia]. There seems, says Mr.
Hutton, to be hidden treasures couched
within this magic circle, known only to a
few, who extract prodigious fortunes out of
this useful toy, whilst a far greater number
submit to a statute of bankruptcy. Trade,
like a restive horse, can rarely be managed ;
for, where one is carried to the end of a
successful journey, many are thrown off by
the way.

The next to which Mr. Hutton calls our
attention, is the

Buckle*

Perhaps the shoe, in one form or other,
IS nearly as ancient as the foot. It origin-
ally appeared under the name of sandal ;
this was no other than a sole without an
upper-leather. That fashion has since been
inverted, and we have sometimes seen an
upper-leather neatly without a sole^ But
wnatever was the cut of the shoe, it always
demanded a fastening. Under the house
of Plantagenet, the shoe shot horizontally
from the foot, like a Dutch skate, to an
enormous length ; so that the extremity
was fastened to the knee, sometimes with a
silver chain, a silk lace, or even a pack-
thread stiing, rather than avoid genteel
taste.

This thriving beak drew the attention of
the legislature, which determined to prune
the exorbitant shoot; for, in 1465, we find

an order of council, prohibiting the growth
of the shoe toe beyond two inches, under
the penalty of a dreadful curse from the
priest— and, what was worse, the payment
of twenty shillings to the king.

This fashion, like every other, gave way
to time ; and, in its stead, the rose began
to bud upon the foot, which, under the
house of Tudor, opened in great perfection.
No shoe was fashionable without being
fastened with a full blown rose. Ribbons
of every colour, except white, the emblem
of the depressed house of York, were had
in esteem ; but the red, like the house of
Lancaster, held the preeminence Under
the house of Stuart the rose withered, which
gave rise to the shoestring. The beaux of
that age ornamented their lower tier with
double laces of silk, tagged with silver, and
the extremities were beautified with a small
fringe of the same metal. The inferior class
wore laces of plain silk, linen, or even a
thong of leather ; which last is yet to be
met with in the humble plains of rural life.

The revolution was remarkable for the
introduction of William, of liberty, and the
minute buckle, not differing much in size
and shape from the horse bean.

This offspring of iancv, like the clouds,
is ever changing. The nushion of to-day is
thrown into the casting-pot to-morrow.

The buckle seems to have undergone
every figure, size, and shape of geometrical
invention. It has passed through every
form in Euclid. The large square buckle,
plated with silver, was the ^on of 1781.
The ladies also adopted the reigning taste ;
it was difficult to discover their beautiful
little feet, covered with an enormous shield
of buckle; ftnd we wondered to see the
active motion under the massive load.

In 1812, the whole generation of fashions,
in the buckle line, was extinct ; a buckle
was not to be found on a female foot, nor
upon any foot except that of old age.

Guns.

King William was once lamenting, ''that
guns were not manufactured in his domi-
nions, but that he was obliged to procure
them from Holland, at a great expense, and
with greater difficulty.'' Sir Ricnard New-
digate, one of the members for the county
being present, told the king, ** that genius
resided in Warwickshire, and that] be
thought his constituents would answer his
majrsty's wishes.'' Tlie king was pleased
with the remark, and the member ported
to Birmingham. Upon application to a
person in Digl»eth, tne pattern was exe-

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cutea with precision, and, when presented
'o the rojral board, -gave entire latisfaction.
Orders were immediately issued for large
iamberSy which have been so frequently
repeated, that they never lost their road ;
and the ingenious artists were so amply
rewarded, that they have rolled in their
carriages to this day.

It seems that the word ** London" mark-
ed upon guns is a better passport than the
word ** Birmingham ;** and the Birming-
ham gun-makers had long been in the
habit of marking their goods as being made
in London.

In 1813 some of the principal gun-makers
of London brought a bill into the House of
Commons to oblige evei^ manufacturer of
firearms to mark them with his real name
and place of abode. The Birmingham
gun-makers took the alarm ; petition«!d the
house against the bill, and thirty-two gun-
makers instantly subscribed six hundred
and fifky pounds to defray the expense of
opposing it. They represented that they
made the component parts of the London
guns, which aiifered from theirs only in
being put together, and marked in the me-
tropolis.

Government authorized the gun-makers
of Birmingham to erect a proof-house of
their own, with wardens ana a proof mas-
!er; and allowed them to decorate their
^uns with the ensigns of roy&ltv. All fire-
arms manufactured in Birmingham and its
vicinity are subjected to the proof required
by the Board of Ordnance : tne expense is
not to exceed one shilling eadi piece ; and
the neglect of proving is attended with a
penalty not exceeding twenty pounds.

Leatber.

Though there is little appearance of that
necessary article in Birmingham, yet it was
once a famous market for leather. Digbeth
not only abounded with tanners, but large
numbers of hides arrived weekly for sale,
and here the whole country found a supply.
When the weather would allow, they were
ranged in columns in the High-street, and
at other times deposited in the leather-hall,
at the east end ot New-street, appropriated
for their reception. This market was of
great antiquity, perhaps not less than seven
hundred years, and continued till the be-
ginning of the eighteenth century. Two
officers are still annually chosen, who are
named leather sealers, from a power given
(hem by ancient charter to mark the vendible
hides ; but now the leather sealers have no
duly, but that of taking an elegant dinner.

Shopi are erected on tan-vats, the leather-
hall is gone to destruction, and in 1781
there was only one solitarjr tanner in JBir-
mingham.

Steeu

The manufacture of iron, in Birming-
ham, is ancient bevond research ; that ol
steel is of modem date.

Pride is inseparable from the human
character ; the man without it, is the man
without breath. We traoe it in various
forms, through every degree of people ; but
like those objects about us, it is best dis-
covered in our own sphere; those above
and those below ns rather escape our no-
tice ; envy attacks an equal. Pride induced
the pope to look with contempt on the
European princes, and it now inauces them
to return the compliment ; it taught inso-
lence to the Spaniard, selfishness to the
Dutch ; it teaches the rival nations of France
and England to contend for power. Pride
induced a late high bailiff or Birmingham,
at the proclamation of the Michaelmas fair,
to hold his wand two feet higher than the
usual rest, that he might dazxle the crowd
with a beautiful glove hanging pendant, a
ruflle curiouslv wrought, a ring set with
brilliants, and a hand delicately white.
Pride preserves a man from mean actions ;
it throws him upon meaner. It whets the
sword for destruction ; it urges the laudable
acts of humanity. It is the univei^ hinge
on which we move ; it glides with the gen-
tle stream of usefulness ; it overflows the
mounds of reason, and swells into a de-
structive flood. Like the sun, in his milder
rays, it animates and draws us towards per-
fection ; but like him, in his fiercer beams,
it scorches and destroys.

Money is not the necessary attendant of
pride, for it abounds nowhere more than
in the lowest ranks. It adds a sprucer aii
to a Sunday dress, casts a look of disdain
upon a bundle of rags ; it boasts the konamr
or a family, while poverty unites a sole and
upper leather with a bandage of shop-
thread. There are people who even prid.
themselves upon humility.

This dangerous good^ this necessary evU,
supports the female character; without it,
the brightest part of the creation would
degenerate. It will be asked. *' What por-
tion may be allowed V Prudence will an-
swer, '* As much as you please, but not tc
disgust.'* It is equally found in the senate
house and the button-shop. The scene o
action is the scene of pride. He who make^
steel prides himself in carrying the art on*
step higher than he who makes iron.

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Das art appeared at Birmingfaam in the
leventeenth century, and iivas introduced
by the family of Kettle. The name of
Steelhouse-lane will convey to posterity the
situation of the works; the commercial
spirit of Birmingham will convey the pro-
duce to the antipodes.

From the warm but dismal climate of
this town issues the button which shines on
the breast, and the bayonet intended to
pierce it; the lancet which bleeds the man,
and the rowel the horse; the lock which
preserves the beloved bottle, and the screw
to uncork it ; the needle, equally obedient
to the thimble and the pole.

Brass Works.

The manufacture of brass was introduced
into Birmingham by the family of Turner
about 1740. They erected .os^ works at
the south end of (joleshill-street ; then near
two hundred yards beyond the buildings,
but now the buildings extend half a mile
beyond them.

Under the black clouds which arose from
this corpulent tunnel, some of the trades
collected their daily supply of brass, but
the major part was drawn from the Mac-
clestield, Cheadle, and Bristol companies.

'* Causes are known by their effects;*'
the fine feelings of the heart are easily read
in the features of the face ; the still opera-
tions of the mind are discovered by the
rougher operations of the hand. Every
creature is fond of power, from that noble
head of the creation roan, who devours
man, down to that insignificant mite who
devours his cheese : every man ^strives to
be free himself, and to shackle another.
VVhere there is power of any kind, whether
in the hands of a prince, a people, a body
of men, or a private person, there is a pri>-
pensity to abuse it : abuse of power will
everlastingly seek itself a remedy, and fre-
quently find it , nay, even this remedy may
in time degenerate into abuse, and call
loudly for another.

Brass is an object of some magnitude in
the trades of Birmingham, the consumption
is said to be a thousand tons per annum.
The manu&cture of this useful article had
long been in the hands of few and opulent
men, who, instead of making the humble
bow for favours received, acted with despo-
tic sovereignty, established their own laws,
chcse their customers, directed the price,
and governed the market. In 1780 the
article rose, either through caprice or ne-
cessity, perhaps the former, from seventy-
tHo pounds a ton to eighty-four pounds.

The result was, an advance upon the goods
manufactured, followed by a number of
counter-orders, and a stagnation of busi-
ness.

In 1781, a person, from affection to the
user or resentment to the maker, perhaps
\he latter, harangued the public in tne
weekly papers, censured the arbitrary mea-
sures of the brasen sovereigns, showed
their dangerous influence over the trades of
the town, and the easy manner in which
works of our own might be constructed.
Good often arises out of evil ; this fiery
match quickly kindled another furnace in
Birmingham. Public meetings were ad-
vertised, a committee appointed, and sub-
scriptions opened to fill two hundred shares,
of one hundred pounds each, which was
deemed a sufficient capital ; each proprietor
of a share to purchase one ton or brass
annually. Works were immediately erected
upon the banks of the canal, for the ad-
vantage of water carriage, and the whole
was conducted with the true spirit of Bir-
mingham freedom.

The old companies, which we may justly
consider the directors of a South Sea bubble
in miniature, sunk the price from eighty*
four pounds to fifty-sis pounds. Two in-
ferences arise from this measure ; that theit
profits were once very high, or were no«
very low ; and, that like some former mo*
narchs in the abuse of power, they repented
one day too late.

Nails.

The art of nail-making is one of the
most ancient in Birmingham. It is not,
however, so much a trade tn, as of Bir-
mingham, for there are but few nail-makers
left in the town; the nailors are chiefly
masters, and rather opulent Tlie manu-
facturers are so scattered round the country,
that we cannot travel far in any direction
out of the sound of the nail-hammer
Birmingham, like a powerful magnet, draws
the produce of the anvil to herself.

When I first approached Birmingham,
says Mr. Hutton, from Walsall in 1741, 1
wiis surprised at the prodigious number ot
blacksmiths* shops upon the road; and
could not conceive how a country, though
populous, could support so many people of
the same occupation. In some of these
shops I observed one or more females stript
of their upper garment, and not overcharged
with their lower, wielding the hammer with
all the grace of the sex. The beauties o/
their face were rather eclipsed by the tmul
of the anvil. Struck with th^ novels I

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inquired '* Whether the ladies in this coun-
try shod horses 2" but was answered, with
a smile, '< They are nailers/'

I A fire without heat, a nailer of a fair
complexion, or one who despises the tank-
ard, are equally rare among them. His
whole system of faith may be comprised in
one article — ^That the slender mug, used in
a pubhc-house, ** is deceitful above all

' tbinffs, and desperately wicked."

I While the master reaps harvest of plenty,
the workman submits to the scanty glean-

^ ings of penury, a thin habit, an early old
age, and a figure bending towards the earth.
Plenty comes not near his dwelling, except
of rag^ and of children. His hammer is
worn into deep hollows, fitting the fingers
of a dark hand, hard as the timber it wears.
His face, like the moon, is often senn
through a cloud.

Bellows.

Man first catches the profession; the
profession afterwards moulds the man. In
whatever profession we engage we assume
?ts character, become a part of it, vindicate
its honour, its eminence, its antiquity, or
feel a wound through its sides. Though
there ma^ be no more pride in a minister
of state who opens a budget, than in a
tinker who carries one, yet they equally
contend for the honour of their trade.

The bellows-maker proclaims the honour
of his art by observing, he alone produces
that instrument whi^ commands the
winds; his soft breeze, like that of the
south, counteracts the chill blasts of winter;
by his efforts, like those of the sun, the
world receives light; he creates when he
pleases, and gives breath when he creates.
In his caverns the winds sleep at pleasure,
and by his *• orders " they set Europe in
flames. He farther pretends, that the an-
tiquity of his occupation will appear from
the plenty of elm, once in the neighbour-
hood, but long cut up for his use ; that the
leather-market in Birmingham, for many
ages, furnished him with sides; and though
the manufacture of iron is allowed to be
extremely ancient, yet the smith could not
procure his heat without a blast, nor could
that blast be raised without the bellows.
One inference will arise from these remarks,
that bellows-making is one of the oldest
trades in Birmingham.

FUREAD.

We who reside in the interior parts of
the kingdom may observe the first traces of

a rber when it issues from its fountain, the
current so extremely small, that if a boul«
of liquor, distilled through the urinary ves*
sels, were discharged into its course, it
would manifestly augment the water and
quicken the stream: the reviving bottle,
having added spirits to the man, would
seem to add spirits to the river. If we
pursue this river, winding through one hun-
dred and thirty miles, we shall observe it
collect strength as it runs, expand its bor-
ders, swell into consequence, employ mul*
titudes of people, carry wealth in its bosom,
and exactly resemble thread-making in
Birmingham. If we represent to our ideas
a man able to employ three or four people,
himsrlf in an apron one of the numbe.,
but who being unable to write his name,
shows his attachment to the Christian re-
ligion by signing the croM9 to receipts;
whose methc^ of book-keeping, like that
of the publican, is a door and a iiimp oj
chalk ; producing a book which none can
peruse but himself; who having manufac-
tured forty pounds weight of thread, of
divers colours, and rammed it into a pair
of leathern bags, something larger than a
pair of boots, which we might deem the
arms of his trade empaled ,* slung them on
a horso, and placed himself on the top by
way of a crett ; visits an adjacent market,
to starve with his goods at a stall, or retail
them to the mercer, nor return without the
money^we shall see a thread-maker of
1 65*2. If we pursue this occupation, wind-
ing through the mazes of one hundred and
thirty years, we shall see it enlarge its
boundaries, multiply its people, increase its
consequence and wealth, till in 1782 we
behold the master in possession of correct
accounts, the apron thrown aside, the stall
kicked over, the bags tossed into the garret,
and the mercer overlooked in the grand
prospect of exportation. We fe.rther be-
hold him take the lead in provincial con-
cerns, step into his own carriage, and hold
the king's commission as a magistrate.*

PRESERVATION OF FLOWERS.

A few grains of salt dropped into th(
water in which flowers at« kept, tends
greatly to preserve them from fading, and
will keep tliem fresh and in bloom, double
the period that pure water will.

• Hatbw's Hiitorf orBimtBgbaa.

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For ike T^Ale Book.
LETTER FROM A VILLAGE.
To Mr. Charles Pickwortr.

Lineolnshirey — June, 1815.

Dear Charles, — You remember our
neeting the other day — I shall. — It's a
ODg time since we ran riot, and got into
mischief together — trundled oar hoops,
gathered flowers in summer, and rolled in
the snow in winter. There is a dim pica*
sure in the remembrance of our late inter-
view, and that of thtise isolated scenes of
onr childhood : they are as fiunt gleams of
sunshine in a gloomy day. I don't like,
however, to reflect upon being handwhtp-
ped, and put into the comer: the fears of
that age are dreadful — I see my aunt's
frown now, and hear her snap at me. But
then again, it was over ker grounds that we
chased the hours away as heedlessly as the
butterflies. The homeclose-yard and kitchen
garden — how pleasant to remember them I
The buzzard, you know, guarded the fruit-
garden, and kept us from the gooseberry-
trees and strawberry-beds; but in the
others what a thousand frolics have we
sported in, and in what a thousand con-
trivances exercised our infant minds. Every
{"oy comes to my mind— I forget every
lardship. The coachman! — what would
he not do for 4isl Bethink yourself— he
had been in the family a quarter of a cen-
tury. How proud he was of it ; how fussy
and fond of nis favourite horses ; how he
used to pat them when out with the car-
riage. You don't forget that the old people
continued the fashion of postilions very
long — but there is no end to remembrance.
— ril stop

You say in my behaviour the other day
you saw the traces of my boyhood. You
compliment me. Children are selfish ; they
perhaps may have but little to call their
young feelings forth ; for feelings must be
met half-way. I remember some young
feelings with delight still. I fancy 1 have
not that ecstasy now that the mind was
tuned to then. Children have but tew
friendships : the reason may be, that they
nave few objects to engage them. This
observation is vain— elder people have but
few friendships, and for the same reason.
1 had been more correct if I had said, they
are but little capable of a friendly disposi-
tion. The former is a fact— this a specu-
lation. You saw at the party wherein we
last met, how eager all the youngsters were
to have their gallop in what they considered
heir proper turn round the large close.

This is a fair sample of mankind in all their
pursuits — of every age, old or young. I
waved iu\ turn for you ; and though I had
a joyous idea of flying round the course, I
had more pleasure in seeing you gratified.
It is well I hit upon my old friend in my
politeness ; the others would have laughed
at me. The upper part of society profess
more politeness than the lower; the numan
heart is the same in both. The upper
classes have more forms, and the lower
may say they are fools for their pains : —
the upper bow slavishly to each other ; the
lower do not. With the former it is of
service, but of none among the latter. For
if among the ambitious and supercilious of
mankind it were not a matter of pride to
know and do this homage, one half of them
would be turning up their noses, and toss-
ing their heads at the other. When I see
a great man bow, I always thank he wants
to creep into a greater man's esteem.

Excuse this wandering. I like to gene-
ralize mankind, and cast up the proper
value of every thing around me — the use is
immense: hence flows philosophy. I de-
cide between grovelling and glorious am-
bition ; and, clearing myself of the former,
am eased of impediment in the pursuit of
the latter. The consequence is, that I sare
nothing for wealth, provided I have jonu
petence ; that I can take up my abode with
pleasure among poor people, and not turn
squeamish at sight of a fustian jacket ; that
I like the humour of farm-houses, and
would dine with a couple of vagabonds,
without fear of infection, amply compen-
sated by the observation of their vein, and
looking upon the beauty of nature is the
source of all pleasure, far and wide as she
extends, in tliis hole and cabin, my own
appropriate spot, my aim is to keep my
health as the furtherance of a superior
object.

My maxim is — neceeearle* ; that is, out-
ward comfort and health. Observe it.
Your aflectionate friend,

CO.

For the Table Book.

GRASSINCTON FEAST.

Clock DRC5sr^*GS.

During the continuance of^Orassington
Feast,** it is customary for the inhabitants
to have convivial parties at one another's
houses : these are called clock Hreuinge ;
for the guests are invited to come and
^* dress the dock.** Grassington feast was

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once one of the larsfest and most celebrated
one in Craven, but it is fast dwindling
away. This year the amusements were of
a paltry description ; and the sack racers,
bell racers, hasty-pudding eaters, and soap-
ed-pig catchers, who used to afford m
former times such an unceasing fund of
merriment, seem all fled. Nothing told
of olden time, except the presence of Frank
King, the Skipton minstrel, who seems de-
termined to be in at die death.

T. Q. M.

A FRAGMENT
Found in a Skeleton Case at the

Royal Academy,

Supposed to have been written by one of

the Studente, and deposited there by him.

SCBLVTOa.

Behold this Rain I 'twas a skull,
Onee of ethereal spirit fnll.
This narrow oell was life's retrfat.
This space was thought's mjsterioits seat.
What beaateoQS pictures fiU'd this spot I
What dreams of pleasure long forgot I
Nor LoTe, nor J07, nor Hop^ nor Fear,
Has left one trace or record here.

Beneath this Ronldering caaopjr
' Onoe shone the bright and hoiiy eje I
Bat start net at the dismal Toid,
If social lore that eye emploj'd ;
If with no lawless fire it gleam'd,
Bnt thro the dew of kindness beam'd.
The eye f>ball be for erer bright.
When stars and snns hsTe lost their lichl

Here in this silmt carem hong

The ready, swift, and tanefnl tongue^

If falsehood's honey it disdain'd,

And whars it coald not praise, was chaia'd ;

If bold in rirtae's caaie— it spoke.

Yet gentle concord ncrer broke.

That tanef il tongne shall plead for fhea.

When Death unreils eternity.

Say, did these fingers delra the miai^
Or with its enried rabies shine ?
To hew the roek, or wear the genu
Can nothing now arail to them :
Bat if the page of tnith they songht.
Or comfort to the monmer brought.
These hands a richer mead shall elaam
Than aU that waits on wealth aad fama.
Araib it whether bare or shod.
These feet the path of duty trod ?
If from the bowers of joy they fled
To seek aflliction's humble bed.
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spum'd.
And home to rirtue's hope retum'd.
These teet with angel wings shall fly.
And tread the palace of the sky .•

• From the Jtforaiiy CkronieU^ Sept 14, 182L

ANECDOTE OF A MAGPIE.
For the Table Book.

A cobbler, who lived on indifferent terms
with his wife in Kingsmead-street, Bath,
somewhat like Nell and Jobson, kept a
magpie, that learned his faTourite ejacula-
tory exclamation — ^ What the plague art
{h)at f " Whoever came to his shop, when
the bulk t>f his business was carried on, the
magpie was sure to use this exclamation ;
but the bird was matched by the ghostly,
bodily, and tall person of" HaU to dress P
a well-known street perambulator and hat
improrer, who, with that cry, daily passed
the temple of Crispin. The magpie aspi-
rating at with A, the crier of **Hats to
dress I" considered it a personal insult, and
after long endurance, one morning put the
bird into his bag", and walked away with I
his living plague. When he reached home, '
** poor mag I" was daintily fed, and became
a favourite with the dressefs wife. It {
chanced, however, that the cobbler, who
supplied the eote understanding of *' Hats
to dress !" waited on him to be rebeaveied
for his own understanding. The magpie,
hearing his old master's voice, cried out,
« What the plague art {h)atr « Ha, ba,
ha,** said the astonished and delighted cob-
bler, *' come to fetch thee home, thou
'scapegrace.'^ The hatter and the cobbler
drank their explanation over a quart of ale ;
and with a new, old, hat on his head, the
latter trudged through Stall-street, with his
Tv>i)gpie in his apron, crying, *' fFhat the
plague art (hjat r

THE ARTIST.
For the Table Book.

He is a being of deep reflection,— one

That stndies aatare with intensest eye;
Watching the works of air, earth, sea, and so.

Their motion, altitnde, their fom. their dye.
Caase and effect. The elements which r«a.

Or stagnant are, he traces to their soarea
With TiTid study, tin bis pencil makes

A perfect likeaess; or,- by fancy's force
A new ereatioa in his art he takes,

Aad matches aatare's progress ia his coarse
Towards glory. Ia th* abstractions of the niad.

Harmony, passion, and identity.
Hip grains, like Uie summer san, is shrined.

TiU beaaty and pecfaetion he can see.

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Cf)e Plants;

IN TIIE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW,
AND IN GUILDHALL.

In the Lord Mayor's Show on the 9th of
November, 1827, there was a remarkable
variation from the customary route. Instead
of the new chief magistrate and corporation
embarking at Black friars, as of late years
has been usual, the procession took a direc*
tion eastward, passed through the Poultry,
Comhill, LeaJenhall-street, Billiter-lane,
Mincing-lane, and from thence by Tower-
street to the Tower Stairs, where they em-
barked. This deviation is presumed to
have been in compliment to the Tower
ward, in which the lord mayor presides as
alderman. The ancient lord mayors o
London were accustomed to ** ride and go'*
on horseback, attended in like manner by
the aldermen, and others of the corporation,
to the bottom of Queen-street, and there
embark op board the barges for Westmin-
ster. The present is the first instance of
the lord mayor's show by water having
proceeded from a more distant spot down
the river.

i In addition to the " men in armour,"
and the length of the route by land, in the
lord mayor's show of this year, there was
"the far more attractive novelty of two
colossal figures representing the well-known
statues, Gog and Magog, (as they are call-
ed,) of Guildhall. They were extremely
well contrived, and appeared to call forth

I more admiration and applause, than fell to
the share of any of the other personages

I who formed part of the procession. What-

' eyer some fastidious critics may say as to
the taste of reviving in the present day some
of the long- neglected civic pageants, we
think the appearance of these ngures augurs

; well for the future conduct of the new lord
mayor: tome of his brother magistrates
would, we make no doubt, be well content
if in the whole course, or at the close, of
their official career, they could come in for
a little of the plaudits which were yesterday
bestowed on the two representatives of Gog
and Magog.'' {The Times, Nov. 10.) From
the report of a spectator, it appears that the
giants were constructed of wicker-work,
gaily apparelled in the costume of their pro-
totypes, and similarly armed : each walked
along bv means of a man withinside, who
ever and anon turned the faces towards the
throngs of company in the houses ; and,
ds the figures were fourteen feet high, their

, feitures were on a level with the firsts

floor windows throughout the hole :>f then
progress.

In a work, which contains much inform-
ation respecting the " London Triumphs'
of the lora mayors, and the " pageants" ot
those processions in the olden time, there
is a cnapter devoted to a History of the
Carvings called the *< Giants in Guildhall.**
As the book is my own, and seems to be .
little known *' within the walls," I pre- |
sume to render the account in a compressed ,
form, as follows -^

The Giawts iv Guildhall

From the time when I was astonished by
the information, that *' every day, when the I
giants hear the clock strike twelve they '
come down to dinner," I have had some-
thing of curiosity towards them. How
came they there, and what are they for T In
vain weie my examinations of Stow, Howell,
Strype, Nooithouck, Maitland, Seymour,
Pennant, and numberless other authors of
books and tracts regarding I^ndon. They
scarcely deign to mention them, and no
one relates a syllable from whence we can
possibly affirm that the giants of their day
were the giants that now exist.

To this remark there is a solitary excep-
tion. Hatton, whose " New View of Lon-
don" bears the date of 1708, says in that
work, '' This stately hall being much dam-
nify'd by the unhappy conflagration of the
city in 1666, was rebuilt anno 1669, and
extremely well beautified and repaired both
in and outside, which cost about two thou-
sand five hundred pounds, and two nete
figures of gigantick magnitude will be at ^
fore,**^ Presuming on the ephemeral inform-
ation of his readers at the time he published.
Hatton obscured his information by a bre-
vity, which leaves us to suppose that the
giants were destroyed when Guildhall was
*^ much damnify'd by the fire of London
in 1666; and that from that period they
had not been replaced. It is certain, how-
ever, that there were giants in the year
1699, when Ned Ward published his Lon-
don Spy : for, describing a visit to Guild-
hall, he says, ** We turned down King-
street, and came to the place intended,
which we entered with as great astonish-
ment to see the i^iants, as the Morocco
ambassador did London when he saw
the snow foil. I asked my friend the
meaning and design of setting up those
two lubberly preposterous figures; for I
suppose they had some peculiar end in it
Truly, says my friend, 1 am wholly igno*

• Hatton** New View ni London. 1708 810.9. 601*

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^ xunt of what thev intendtd by them, miless
thev were set up to show the city what huge
loobies their forefathers were, or else to
fVight stubborn apprentices into obedience ;
for the dread of appearing before two such
monstrous loggerneads, will sooner reform
their manners, or mould them into a com-
pliance with their masters* will, than carry-
ing them before mjr lord mayor or the
chamberlain of London ; for some of them
are as much frighted at the names of Gog
and Magogt as little children are at the
terrible sound of Raw-head and Bloody,
bones/' Theie is no doubt that at that
time the citv giants were far more popular
than now ; for, in the same work, two pas-
sengeiB through Bai thdomew fair, who had
sly^ alighted from a coach without dis-
cbarginr it, are addressed by the coach -
I man with '' Pay roe my fare^ or by Gog
; and Magog you shall feel the smart of my
I whipco^ ;** an oath which in our time is
, obsolete, though in all probability it was
; common then, or it would not have been used
I by Ward in preference to his usual indecency.
Again ; as to giants being in Guildhall
before Hatton wrote, and whether they
I were the present statues. On the 24th of
I Apil, 1685, there were ** wonderful and
stupendous fireworks in honour of their
1 majesties' coronation, (James IL and his
, oueen,) and for the high entertainment of
their majesties, the nobility, and City of
I LondoUf made on the Thames.'** Among
' the devices of this exhibition, erected on a
; laft in the middle of the river, were two
pyramids; between them was a figure of
i im sun in polished brass, below it a great
\ cross, and beneath that a crown, all stored
with fireworks; and a little before the
; pyramids ** were placed the statues, of the
two giants of Guildhall, in lively colours
and proportions fiicing Whitehall, the backs
of which were all filled with fieir mate-
rials ; and, from the first deluge of fire till
the end of the sport, which lasted near an
hour, the two gitintt, the cross, and the
sun, grew all in a light flame in the figures
described, and burned without abatement
of matter." From this mention of ** sUtues
of the two giants of Guildhall,^ it is to be
inferred, that gianU were in Guildhall four-
teen years before Ward's book was pub^
lished, and that, probably, the firework-
maker took them for his models^ because
their forms being fieuniliar to the " Ciiy of
London^ their appearance would be an
attraction as well as a compliment to his
civic audience.

• Seethe'
kalfthcel.161

Just before 1708, the date of Ilatton't
book, Guildhall had been repaired; and
Hatton says, ^ In the middle of this front
are depenciled in gold these words, Refts^
rata et Omata TAoma RawUiuoHf Milit,
Mafore^ An. Dom. m.dcc.vi." From
whence, and his observation, in the extract
first quoted, that *' two new figures of gi-
gantick magnitude will be a» before," he
intends his reader to understand that, as
before thai reparation there had been two
giants, so, witti the new adornment of the
hall there would be two new giants. The
proof of Hatton's meaning is to be found
m <<The Giga&tick History of the two
famous Giants in Guildhall, London, third
edition, corrected. London, printed for
Tho. Boreman, bookseller, near the Giants
m Guildhall, and at the Boot and Crown,
on Ludgate-hill, 1741." — 2 vols. 64mo.
This very rare book states, that ** before the
present giants inhabited Guildhall, there
were two giants, made only of wicker-work
and paste^ard, put together with great art
and mgenuitv : and those two terrible ori-
ginal giants had the honour yearly to grace
my lord mayor's show, being canri^ in
great triumph in the time of the pageants;
and when that eminent annual service was
over, remounted their old stations in Guild-
hall—till, by reason of their very great aice^
old Time, with the help of a number of citj
rats and mice, had eaten up all their en*
trails. The dissolution of the two old,
weak, and feeble giants, gave birth to the
two present substantial and majestic giants;
who, by order, and at the city charge, were
formed and fashioned. Captain Richard
Saunders,* an eminent carver in King*
street, Cheapside, was their father; who,
after he haa completely finished, clothed,
and armed these his two sons, they were
immediately advanced to those lofty sta-
tions in Guildhall, which they have peace-
ably enjoyed ever since the year 1708."
The title-page of the " Gigantick History ''
shows that the work was published within
the Guildhall itself, when shops were per-
mitted there ; so that Boreman, the pub-
lisher, had the best means that time and
place could afiord of obtaining true inform-
ation, and for obvious reasons he was un-
likely to state what was not correct. It is
further related in this work, that ** the first
honour which the two ancient wicker-work
giants were promoted to in the city, was at
the restoration of king Charles II., when
with great pomp and majesty they graced

NmrraUTi,** bf R. Lownam IfiSft. (alia.

or credit and renowa,
JLtniabaadt

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a thompbal arch, which was erected on
that happy occasion at the end of King-
iireet, in Cheapside.'' This was before the.
fire of London, br which the hall was
'* much damnify 'd/' but not burned down;
for the conflagration was princtpaUy con-
fined to the wooden roof; and, according
to this account, the wicker-giants escaped,
till their infirmities, and the labours of the
^ city rats," rendered it necessary to super*
sede them.

That wicker was used in constructing
figures for the London pageants is certain.
Haywood, in his description of the page-
ants in the show of the lord mayor Kayn-
ton, in 1 632, says, <* The moddellor and com-
poser of these seuerall pieces, Maister Ge-
rard Christmas, found these pageanU and
showes of wicker and paper, and reducU
them to soUidity and substance."

To prove, however, the statement in the
**Gigantick History," that the present
giants were put up upon the reparation of
the hall in 1706, an examination of the city
archives became necessary; and as the
history fortunately mentions captain Ri-
chard Saunders as the carver, die name
became a clue to successfiil inquiry. Ac-
cordingly^ pn examination of the city ac-
counts at the chamberbints oflBce, under
the bead of << Extraordinary Works," for
1707, 1 discovered among the sums '* paid
for repairing of die Guildhall and chappell,"
an entry in the following words :->-

To Richard Soaiid^t, carver, seaventy

rnds, by order of the co*mittee
repairin^r Guildhal], dated y*
x*. ot April, 1707, for work by
him done • . • . 7ol«

This entry of the payment confirms the
relation of the gigantic historian; but
Saunders's bill, whidh doubtless contained
the charges for the two giants, and all the
city vouchers before 1786, deposited in the
chamberlain's ofBce, were destroyed by a
fire there in that year.

Giants were- part of the pageantry used
in different cities of the kingdom^ By an
ordinance of the n^ayor, aldermen, • and
common-council of Chester,*^ for' the set^
ting of the watch on the eve of the festival
of St. John the Baptist, in 1564^ it was
directed that there snould be annually, ae-
cording to ancient custom, a pageant, con-
sisting of four giants, with animab, hobby-
horses, and other figures, therein specified .f
In 1699, Henry HMman, Esq. the mayor
of Chester in that year, from religions sdo-
tives, caused the giants in the Midsummer

•BarLIISS.lJI8.

tllMd.tlSft.

show *' to be broken, and not to goe l/ie
devil in kit /eatkere,** and he provided a
man In complete armour to go in their
stead ; but in 1601, John Ratclyfie, a beer-
brewer, being mayor, set out the gianu
and the Midsummer show ^a usual. On
the restoration of Charles IL new ones
were ordered to be made, and the estimate
for finding the materials and workmanship
of the four great, giants, as they were be-
fore, was at five pounds a giant ; and four
men to carry them at two killings and six-
pence each. The materials for making
these Chester giants were deal-boards,
nails, pasteboard, scaleboard, paper of
various sorts,, buckram, size cloth, and old
sheets for their bodies, sleeves, and shirts,
which wece to be coloured; also tinsel,
tinfoil, gold and silver lea^ and colours of
different.kinds. A pair of old sheets were
to cover the Jnther and mother giantsy and
three yards of buckram were provided for
the mother's and daughter 9 lioods. There
is an entry in the Chester charges of one
shilling and fourpence *' for arsenic to put
into the paste to save the giants from being
eaten by the rats ;"* a precaution which, if
adopted in the formation of the old wicker^
giants of London, was not effectual, though
bowlQog they had ceased to exist before
the reparation of the ball, and the carving
of their successors, does not appear. One
conjecture may, perhaps be hazarded, that,
as after the, mayor of Chester had ordered
tlie ffiants there to be destroyed, he pro-
vided a man in armour as a substitute ; so
perhaps the dissolution of the old Lotidon
wicker-giants, and the lumbering incapacity
of the new wooden ones for Uie duty of
lord mayor's show, occasioned the appear-
ance of the men in armour in that proces-
sion.

Until the last reparation of .Guildhall, in
1615, the present giants stood with the old
clodc and a balcony of iron*work between
them, over the stairs leading from the haL
to the courts of law and the council cham-
ber. When they were taken down in that
year, and placed on the floor of the hall, I
thoroughly examined them as ' they lay in
that situation. They are made of wood,t
and hollow within, and from the method of
joining and gluing the interior, are evidently
of late construction, and every way too
substantially built for the purpose of being
either carried or drawn, or auy way ex-
hibited in a pageant. On inspecting them

• Strvtfs Sports, Pr*f. p. xrri.

t Noortbonek wriCnr in 1773. (Ri«t. of London, 4ta
p 600,) erroDtoQtly tmnu that tho gianta arc mads
of paitoboard.

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at that period, I made minute mquirjr of an
old and respectable officer of Guildhall,
with whom tney were faYourites, as to what
particulars existed in the city ardiivescon-
cerning them ; he a»i.red me that he had
nimself anxiously desired information on
the same subject, and that after an investi-*
gauon through the different offices, there
was not a trace of the period when they
commenced to be, nor the least record con-
cerning them. This was subsequently con-
firmed to me by gentlemen belonging to
other departments.

However stationary the present ponder-
ous figrures were destined to remain, there
can scarcely be a question as to the frequent
use of their wicker predecessors in the cor-
poration shows. The giants were great
raTouiites in the pageants.* Stow, in
describing the ancient setting of the nightly
watch in London on St. John's ere, relates
that ''the mayor was surrounded by his
footmen and torch-bearers^ and followed
by two henchmen on large horses: the
mayor had, besides his gutni^ three page-
ants; whereas the sheriffii had only two,
besides their gianU^ each with their morris
dance and one henchman.''t It is related,
that, to make the people wonder, these gianU
were armed and marched as if they were
aliTC, to the great diversion of the boys,
who, peering under, found them stuned
with brown paper.J A character in Mar-
ston's ** Dutcn Courtezan," a comedy acted
in 1606, says, '' Yet all will scarce make
me so hiffh as one of the gyanft ttiltt that
stalks before my lord mavor's pageants.'*f

During queen Elizabeth's profjress to her
coronation, Gogmagog and Conn«us, two
fpiants, were stationed at Temple-bar. It
IS not certain, yet it is probable, that these
were the wicker-giants brought from Guild-
hall for the occasion. In the reign before,
when Gueen Mary and Philip II. of Spain
made their public entry, there was at Lon-
don bridge a grand spectacle, with two
images representing two giants, the one

• btratt, p, xxUL

OimUi w«re introdveed into the Mar-fanei. ** On
«lMa6lkof Mftf, 1666, wu ft gmr Mftr-fuiie at St.
MArtiB*t4B-tlM-riekk, widi giaata aad bobbj-horiM,
dram aad fonii, morri»4ane«n, and other niinstreU.**
— <StrTpe% Memorials.) Bortoii, ia his ** Aaalomf of
Melneholjr,** iaolsdes gisata anumff tbeordiaary do-
■astio reoraatiDas of winter.

t8tntt,p.819.

iBraad.i.p.S87.

I suit* to IncTsase the stature of the ^aaft, aad tlie
tttred*jetioa of the morrit'^ameet are iastaacts of the
I dedra to cntifjr the fondness of oar ancestors for
, etmafesignts and festive anasements. Aeockdaaeinf
•a fttftf to tke mwtto of a pipe and tabor is in Stmtt's
Saerls, ffnai a book of praTers writtea towards the
ckttcf tlM tUfteentk eentnry. HarL MdS. 6668.

named CorinKUS, and the othei Gogmagog.
holding between them certain Latin Terses.*
There is scarcely a likelihood that these
were any other than the Guildhall giants,
which on the occasion of a corporation re-
joicing could be remoTed with the utmost

Orator HenW, on the 21st of October,
1730, availed himself of the anticipated
ciTic fcstival for that year to deliver a lec-
ture upon it, mentioning the gitmtBj which
he announced 1^ newspaper advertisecnenc
as follows ;*-

At the Okatokt, the comer of lin-
coln*s-Inn-Fields, near Ciare-market,
this Day, being Wednesday, at Six
o*Clock in the ETcning, will be a new
Riding upon an old Cavalcade,, en-
tituled The Citt in its Gloet ;^ oa,
Mt Lord Mayor's Shew: Ezplaio-
ing to all Capacities that wonderfu.
Procession, so much envy*d in Foreign
Parts, and nois*d at Paris: on my
Lord Mayor's Day ; the fine Appear-
ance and Splendor of the Companies
of Trade ; Bear and Chain ; the Trum-
pets, Drums, and Cries, intermix'd ;
the qualifications of my L — ^'s Horse,
the whole Art and History of the City
Ladies and Beaux at Gape-stare in
the Balconies; the Airs, Dress, and
Motions; the two giants walking
out to keep Holiday ; like Snaib o*er
a Cabbage, says an old Author, they
all crept along; admir'd by th^ir
Wives, and huzza'd by the Throng.
There ia no stronger evidence of the in-
difference to playfulness and wit at city
elections, than the almost total silence on
those occasions respecting such ample sub*
jects for allusion and parallel as the giants
m the hall. Almost the only instance of
their application in this way is to be found
in a handbill on occasion of a mayoralty
election, dated Oct. 4tb, 1816, addressed
'* To the London Tavera Livery and their
Spouses.'' It states, that *^ the day after
Mr. Alderman — — is elected lord mayor
for the year ensuing, the following enter-
tainments will be provided for your amuse-
ment gratis, vis. 1. The two giants, at the
bottom of the hall, will dance a minuet b)
steam, attended by Mr. Alderman ■ "
in a new wig upon an elastic principle,
gentleman having bought half of his ola
one for the purpose of making a new p»
ruke for the aforesaid giants.** This is the
first humorous allusion to the giants aftei
their removal to their present station.

* StralTi Spvrl^ PnCi fb iSfiL

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It 18 imagined by the autuor of the '^ Gi-
gantick History,'* that the Guildhall giants
lepresent Corineus a Trojan, and Gogma-
gog a Cornish giant, whose story is related
at large in that work ; the author of which
supposes, that as ** Corineus and Go^ma-
gog were two brare giants, who nicely
▼alued their honour, and exerted their
whole strength and force in defence of their
liberty and country; so the city of London,
by placing these their representatives in
their Guildhall, emblematically declare,
that they will, like mighty giants, defend
the honour of their country and liberties of
this their city, which excels all others, as
much as those huge giants exceed in stature
the common bulk of mankind .** Each of
these giants, as they now stand, measures
opwai^s of fourteen feet in height ; the
young one is believed to be Corin«os, and
the old one Gonnagpg.

Such being the chief particulars respect-
ing these enormous carvinss, the terror of
the children, the wonder of the 'prentices,
and the talk of the multitude, in former
days, I close the subject, satisfied with
having authenticated their origin. Trifling
as this affiiir may seem, I pursued the in-
quiry for upwards of sixteen years ; and
thoueh mucn of the time I spent in the
search might have been better employed, I
can assure those who are unacquainted with
the nature of such investigations, that I
had much pleasure in the pursuit, and when
1 had achieved my purpose I felt more
highly gratified, than I think I should had
I atuined to the dignity of being ** proud
London's proud lord mayor.''

There are other memoranda respMBcting
the giants and lord mayors* shows in my
volume on *^ Ancient Mysteries," from
whence the present particulars are ex*
tracted.

NORWICH GUILD.

Mayor's Feast, Temp. Elizabeth.

The earls of Northumberland and Hunt-
in^don, the lords Thomas Howard and
Willoughby, with many other noblemen
and knights, paid a visit to the duke of
Norfolk, and were entertained, with their
retinue, at the duke*s palace, in Norwich,
in 1561. The guild happening at this time,
William Mingay, Esq., then mavor, invited
them and their ladies to the feast, which
they accepted, and expressed the greatest
satisfaction at their generous and hospitable
2«eeptioD At the entertainment the dak«

and duchess of Norfolk sat first ; then tot
three earls of Northumberland, Huntings ;
don, and Surrey, lord Thomas Howard^ j
lord Scroop and his lady, lord and lady ,
Bartlet, lord Abergavenny, with so many |
other peers, knights, and ladies, that the
hall couki scarcely contain them and their
retinue. * The mayor's share of the ex-
pense was onepound, twelve shillings, uid
ninepence. Ine feast makers, four in
numoer, paying the rest. The mayor's bill
of fare was as follows:—

jT. f. A
Eight ttoae tiUd, «t 8d. a ttoD*. and a fir.

loia . - • ft S

Two eollan of Inrnwa • 0 10

Fosr okoeMi, at 4d. a ehacM 0 14

Eight piati of Imttor 0 1 6

A hinder ijaarter of vfal • • 0 0 10

AlogofmattM • • • 0 0 5

Afor«q«art«rofT«al • • 0 0 5

Loin of BQttoo and *h<rald«r of veal 0 0 0

Breast and ooat of mattoa • 0 0 7

Bixpalleta • 0 10

Four eoople of rablrite • - 0 1 8

Four brace of partridges • > 0 t 0

Two Guinea eoeke • 0 16

Two eonple of mallard • 0 1 0 >'

Thirtjr4bareggs- • • 0 0 6'

Bushel of floor • • - 0 0 6 !

PeekofoatuMal* - ^ 0 0 t j

Sixteen white bread-loaTes 0 0 4

Eighteen loaves of white wheat-bread -0 0 0

Three loaves of HMslin bread 0 0 1

Natmegs, maee, einnamon, and doves - 0 0 1

Foar poaads of Barbary sugar -010

Sizteea oraages • • - 0 0 8

A barsel of doable stnmg beer -0 8 6

A barrel of table beer • -010

A quarter of wood • -0 8 8

Two gallons of white wine aad Canar/ • 0 8 0

Fruit, alaionds, sweet water, perfumes -004

The ooQk*s wagee - 0 1 f

Total drl 18 1

After dinner, Mr. John Martyn, a wealthy
and honest man of Norwich, made the fol-
lowing speech :— '^ Maister Mayor of Nor-
wich, and it please your worship, you have
feasted us like a aing. God bless the
queen's grace. We have fed plentifully
and now, whilom I can speak plain £ng
lish, I heartily thank you, maister Mayor •
and so do we all. Answer, boys, answer.
Your beer is pleasant and potent, and will
soon catch us by the eagmi and stop our
manners; and so hussa for the aueen's
majesty's grace, and all her bonny-Drow*d

• Five hundred eaa oonveaientlv dJne in this huIL
I havt seen aeven kaadred antertaaed ca the gaUA
d%f.

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daroei of bonour.* Huna for maister
Mayor^ and oar good dame Mayoress. His
Doble grace,-!- there he is, God bless him,
and all this jolly company. To all our
friends round county, who hare a penny
in their purse and an English heart in their
bodies, to keep out Spanish dons, and pa-
pists with their faggots to bum our whis-
kers. Shove it about, twirl your cap-«asesy
handle your jugs, and huzza for maister
Mayor, and his bretheren their worships.''

The honesfy, freedom, loyalty, and good*
humour of this speech would, at any time,
entitle the orator to a patient hearing and
an approving smile.

The above is from Beatni£Ee*8 Norfolk
Tour.

Narwicky G. B.

September, 1827.

N0.XL1.

[Dedications to Fletcher*s ** Faithful Shep-
herdess ;** without date ; presumed to be
the First Edidon.]

1st.

lb thai noble and true lover of kamingt
Sir WaUon Aeton.

Sir, I mutt uk yo«r patwMt^ aad te tn^

nit Play waa ntnnr likad, raeefit Vj finr

TkMt broofkt their j«dfm«ta wiCk tkcm t fcr of lata

Fint tkainfaotioM thaa tha oobbm prate

Of eoaoMo peopla, kavs tneh «astoas fi>t

Bitkor to nlMM PlaTi, or lika tham aoti

Uadar tka laat of wUck tkia latetlnda

Had faVn, for ever pran*!! down hj tka nda

VhMU like a torrent which the imrist South feeda,

Oroima both before him the ripe eom and weeda ;

Had nSt the aaviaf aenae of better mea

Redeem*d it fipom eormptioa. Dear Sir, then

Aaonir the better aoalaUpn the beat; •

la whOB aa la a conter I teke raat,

AiA proper beiaf t from whaae eqnal efo

Aad Jndfeaient nothiaf gmra bnt pnritj.

Kordolflatter; for, bj adl thoee dead

<lnat ia the Moaea. bf ApoUo'a head,

Ht that add* •Mj thiaf to 70B, 'tn dono

liha hia that lighto a eaadla to the aaa.

Th« bi aa ygn were ever, jonraelf atill

Baled bj joar Jadcemeat, not bj Ioto or mlL

•ThiBlafkmntarenoa|k.aad kokaaaif thefamea
of Iho potent beTarace haa bflfoa to attack the hoaeat
001101*0 owae.

{The dtake of KoHolk. , _

The PlarM t la vhioh tinoo, (ho aotiiV of nan
i^oan to hava boon diooonntwoaood

And whea I aiaf afam (aa who -«a tall
M7 aezt doTotioa to that half WeU?)
Your goodneaa to the Maaea ahaU bo all
Able to make a work HoroicaL

2md.

To the Inheritor of aU fVorihimem,
fFUltam Sdpwitk.

ODE.

1.
If from oemlo hope or love

Bat 00 happ7 to be thooght for
Saoh a one, whooe greateat eaao

latoploaao.
Worth/ Sir, I ha?o aU I oooght for.

For no iteh of greater aaaio.

Whiflh aome claim
B7 their rowoo, do I ahow it
To the world ; nor to protest,

*riafliebeat;
Theoo are loan ianlte in a poet .

Nor to make it aerro to feed

At mj need i
Nor to gain aeqoaiataaee bj it;
Nor to »riah kind AttnnMja

la their Joomiea ;
Not to road it after diet

Far from mo are all theoo aima;

Fraatic daima.
To bnild weaknooa on aad intj;
Oalf to jponraeli; aad aach

Whooe trao tooch
Ifakoo aU good, let mo ooom wittf .

To

3bd.

the perfect gentleman,
TowneeentL

If tke groateot finite may oiara

PardoB, where oootrition ia»

Noble Sir, I needa mnat hare

A long oae for a loaf amiao.

If 700 aak me bow ia thia,

Upoa my faith 1*11 tell yon fraakly;

Toa lore aboTO my meoao to thaak ya.

Tot according to my talent,

Ao aoar fbrtono lorea to noo me^

A poor Shepherd I hato oeat

In komo-apon gray, for to ezeaao me t

Aad may all my hopea rafnae mo

Bat whan better oomoa aahorob

Ton ahaUhmvo better, never moooi

Sir Robert

M >yi • »Tg-

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td vkcB, like o«r d«>perato debtora.
Or oar tkrM^led sweet ** protesten,**
I atost pleaae yon in bare letters ;
And so pay my debts, like jesters.
Yet I oft have seen good feasten,
Only lor to please the pallet
Lesre great meat, aad ekue a sallet

jtpologetieal Preface, following theee •

To the Reader.

If yon be Bot reasonably assured of yonr kaowledgt
m this kind of Poem, lay down the Book ; or read this,
which I woold wish had been the ProIoKoe. It is a
Pastoral Tragie-Comedyi whieh the people seeinf
when it was played, haying ever had a singular gift in
defining, ooncladed to be a play of Conntry hired Shoj^
herds, in gray oloaks, wiA cnr-tailed dogs in strings,
•ometimet langking together, sometimes kiUing one
another ; and, miftsing Wkitson Ales, cream, wassul,
and Morris dances, began to be angry. In their error
I would not hare you fall, lest you incur their censure.*
iJnderstand, therefore, a Pastoral to bo— a Representa*
tion of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, with their Ac-
tions and PasMons, whieh most be such as agree with
their natures ; at least, not exceeding former fictions
and vulgar traditions. They are not Co be adom'd
with any art, but such improper ones as nature
IS said to bestow, as Singing and Poetry; or such
u experience may teaeh. tjiem, as the Tirtaes of
lerbe aad fountains; the ordinary eoum of the
inn, moon, and stars ; and such like. But yon are
ever to remember Shepherds to be such, as all the an-
cient poets (and modera of understanding) haye Tfi;
oeiTed them ; that is, the Owners of Flecks, and not
Hirelbgs.— A Tragic-comedy in not so called is re-
spect of mirth aad killing, bu9 in respect it wants
deaths (which is enough to make it 90 Tjragedy) ; yet'
brings some near to it (whieh is enough to make it no
Comedy) : whieh must be a Representation of Familiar
People, with such kind of trouble as no life can be
without; so that a God is as lawful in this, as m a
Tragedy ; and mean People, as in a Oomedy.— Thus
much 1 hope will serre to justify my Poem, and make
you understand it ; to teach you mo're for nothing, I
do not know thutl amin eonsdenoe bound.

JoBir Flstckxb.

From the « Wars of Cyrus ;" a Tragedy
Attthoi unkDOWOy 1594.]

Dwnb Show exploded.

• Xenopbos

Cham (to the Audifot). -
Warrants what we record of Panthea.

• He damns Ihe Town : the Town before daiuiM
lim. — ^£d.

We can almost be not sorry for the ill dmmatic soe-
eess of this Play, whieh brought out such sjnrited
apologies; in particular, the masterly definituxas of
Pastoral aad Tragi-Comedy in this Prefooe.

It is writ in sad and traffic terms.

May mofe you teais ; (hen you coatcnt on

That scorns to trouble yon again with toy*

Or needless antics, imitations.

Or shows, or new dcTises sprung o* late {

We hare exiled them frtnn our tragic stage.

As trash of their tradition, that can bring

Nor instance nor excuse : for what they <lo,*

Instead of mouraful plvats our Chorus ringt ;

Although it be against the upstart guise,

Yet, warranted by grare antiquity,

We will reriTe the which hath long been done

[From the ^ Married Beau/' a Comedy
by John Crowne, 1694.]

Wife tempted: shepleade religion.

L4n0r, Our happy lore may haTO a eecrvt Chuiea
Under the Church, ae Fakk*» was under Pamftt
W-hero we may earry on our sweet derotkmt
And the Cathedral marriage keep its statt^
And alLiti deeency aad eeremoaiea.

[From the ** Challenge for Beauty,**
Trigi Comedy, by T. Hey wood, 1 636. J

Appeal for Innocence againet a falte oe-
euaation,

Btiauu Both hare sworn t
And, Princes, as you hope to ^Apowb your heads
With that perpetual wreath which shall last erer.
Cast on Ik poor dejected innoeent Tiifia
Your eyes of gmce and ]nty« What sia is \U
Or who ean be the patron to such eril ?—
That a poor innocent maid, spotless ia deed.
And pure in thought, bott without spleen aad gall.
Tliat ncTcr injured cr^ture, never had heart
To think of wrongi;'bf 'ponder injury ;
That such a cae in her white inaoeenee,
Striviag to Uve pscuHar la the eompase
Of her own rirtues ; notwithstaading these.
Should be sought out by stnagera, persecuted.
Made infamous er'n there, where she was made
•For imitation ; hissM at in her eouatry 1
Abaadoa'd of her mother, kiadred, irieads ;
DepraTod ia foreign eSmes, seora'd every where,
Aad er^ in princes' coorts repnted rile :
O pity, pity this I

C. L.

• So I pobt it; instead of the live, ae.it staads ia
this naiqne.oopy—

Nor iastaace aor exenee for what they do. .
The sease I Uke to be, what the common playwiighti
4o (or shew by action->the *• inexplicable dumb show*
of Shakspeare— ), oar ChonsireAtef. Thefollowiacr
lines have else no ooherQce.

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LODGE AND AVENUE AT HOLWOOD,

The Residence of John Ward, Esq., formerlt of the late Right Hon.

William Pitt.

Mr. S. Tonng*s comfortable little inD,
the Cross at Keston, or Keston Mark, is
mentioned before as being at the north-east
comer of the grounds belonging to Hoi-

wood. Mj friend W and I, on a

second visit to Mr. Young's house, went
from thence, for the purpose of seeing the
church and village of Keston, through which

the main road runs to Westerham. We
kept along to the entrance gate of Hol-
wood, which we passed, having the park
palings on our left, till we came to a well
in the road, which derives its water from
springs within Holwood, and stands on a
swell of meadow land, called "the War
Bank." Further on, and out of the road

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Vi tfie right, lies the Tihage of Restoti, a few
houses embower^ in a dell of trees ; with
a stone church, which did not seem to
Bave been built more than a couple of
tenturies. A peep through the windows
latisfied us that tnere was nothing worth
ooking at within. We had heard of stone
coffins haTing been (band at the bottom of
ihe War Bank, and we returned to that
ipot ; where, though the ground had been
ploughed and was in pasture, we met with
much stone rubbish in the soil, and some
>arge pieces loose on the surfoce and in the
ditches of the hedge. These appearances
indicated a former structure there ; and an
old labouier, whom we fell in with, told us
that when he was a boy, hb grandfather
used to talk of *< Keston old church'* having
stood in that spot, but becoming decayed,
it was pulled down, and the church rebuilt
in its present situation, with the materials
of the ancient edifice. If this information
was correct, the coffins which were dis-
covered in that spot were moie likely to
have been defositra there in ordinary burial,
than to have contained, as most of the
country people suppose, the bodies of per
sons slain m battle on the War Bank.
Besides, if that mound derives its name, as
tradition reports, from a conflict there be-
tween the Romans and the ancient Britons,
it must be remembered that our rude ab-
original ancestors were unaccustomed to
that mode of sepulture, and that Caesar had
work of more consequence to employ bis
soldiers on than such laborious constnic-
tions for the interment of his officers. One
of these coffins is at Mr. Smith's, near the
well-head on the War Bank, and another
is at lady Famaby*s, at Wickham Court.

The little village of Keston is, of itself,
nothing ; but, looking over it from the road
towards the weald of Kent, and particularly
Surrey, there is a sweeping view of hill
and dale, arable and pasture, intersected
with woodlands. Its name is said to have
been derived from Caesar's (pronounced
Kaesar's) town ; but it is quite as likely to
have been a corruption of ** castrum,'* a
fortress or citadel. There is little doubt
that the Romans maintained a military
position on the heights adjoining' Keston
for a considerable time. The site they
held was afterwards occupied by the late
right honourable William Pitt; and respect-
ing it, there was published in the yeai 1792
the following

Account of Holwood.

Hoi wood-hill, at present the seat of the
right hon. Willam Pitt, is a most beautiful

eminence, commanding (without the new
of water) one of the most agreeable pro-
spects in this country, or perhaps in 4his
kingdom.

The house is a very small, old, plastered
brick building; but being on the edge of a
celebrated fox-hunting country, it was for« '
merly the residence of various gentlemen !
who hunted with the old duke of Grafton. I
It afterwards came into the hands of the '
late Mr. Calcraft, the agent ; and, small as '
it is, was used as a house of rendezvous by
the heads of the great party at that time,
where they privately formed their schemes
of parliamentary manoeavre, and partook
of Mr. Calcraft and Mcs. Bellamy's elegant
entertainment.

From Mr. Calcraft it came into the hands
of the Burrell family ; by them it was sold
to captain Ross, and was purchased of him
by -— ^ Burrow, Esa, (nephew of the late
sir James Burrow,) who stuccoed the house,
added greatly to the grounds by various
purchases, grubbed and converted consi-
derable woods into beautiful pasture and
pieces of water, and planted those orna-
mental shrubberies, which have rendered
it so delightful and so justly admired a
spot.

•»— Randall, Esq., an eminent ship-
builder, purchased it of Mr. Burrow, and
he has since sold it to the right hon. Wil-
liam Pitt, a native of (Hayes) the adjoining
parish.

Holwood is fourteen miles distant from
London, in the parish of Keston, Kent;
which parish evidently, either by Latin or
Saxon aerivation, takes its name from the
camp, commonly called Julius Caesar's
Camp ; on the south entrenchment of which
Mr. Pitt's house stands, and some part of
the pleasure-ground is within the same.

Tnis celebrated camp, till within these
twenty years, was tol^raoly perfect : it con-
sisted of a circular double, and in some
places treble entrenchment, enclosinff about
twenty-nine acres of land ; into which there
appeared to have been no orieinal entrance
but by the opening to the norUi-west, which
descends to the spring called *' Caesar's
Sprinff.'' This spnng has long been con-
verted into a most useful public cold bath ;
a dressing-house is built on the brink of it
it is ornamented with beautiful trees, and
from its romantic situation, forms a mos
pleasing scene.

However antiquarians (from the variety
of fragments, coins, &c. discovered and
ploughed up in the neighbourhood) ma;
nave been induced to differ in conjectui^
as to the person who framed it, they afi

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agree that this camp was originally a
stiODg and considerable Roman station,
though not of the larger sort ; but rather
fiom its commanding situation, and short
distance from the Thames, a camp ofobser-
ration, or castra sstiva. At the same time,
there is great reason to suppose it to have
becA since possessed by other invaders.

The beautiful common of Reston to the
iottth-west of the camp, from its charming
turf, shade, and views, has long been the
promenade of the neighbouring comnany ;
and parties of gentry from even so far as
Greenwich, have long been accustomed to
retire with music and provision to spend in
this delightful spot the sultry summers day,
drinking at Caesar's Fountain, and making
the stupendous Roman bulwarks resound
with the strains of instruments and the voice
of social glee.

The above is some account of the coun
tnr-seat of Mr. Pitt ; but as an inhabitant
of the capital may be desirous of knowing
what works of taste, or of neighbouring
utility, ma^ have engaged the retirement of
our illustrious prime minister, the follow-
ing are the few improvements Holwood
has vet undergone.

Whether from a natural antipathy to the
animal, or from too much of <* Fox " in
other places, certain it is, the first order that
was issued, was for the utter destruction of
the ^ fox earth/' being a lodgement in one
s«de of the bulwarks, which the sagacious
Reynards are supposed to have been in
quiet possession of ever since the Roman
abdication.

The house standing on a high hill, the
gentlemen who have hitherto lived in it,
judging ^ not much good was to be had
from the Norihj'' had defended it on that
quarter by large plantations of evergreens ;
but the present possessor has cut down
these plantations, and seems determined
** to be open to every thing that comes from
that delightful region.''

The house itself has undergone no other
alteration than the addition of a small
eating-room covered with pantiles, and a
curious new-invented variegated stucco,
with which the whole has been done over :
this stucco has now stood several winters,
and only requires to be a little more known
to be universally adopted.*

While Holwood was in the occupation of
Mr. Pitt he there seemed to enjoy the short
cessatioQS he could obtain from official
duty. His chief delight in these spare

• E«iO|MM Maffuine, Dm. 1798.

hours was planting ; which, as he pursued
it only as opportunity enabled hfrn, was
without system of purchase or order ot
arrangement, and consequently very expen-
sive. After his death Holwood successively
devolved into different hands, and the re-
sidence and grounds were variously altered.
At length the estate was purchased by John
Ward, Esq. a merchant of London, who
pulled down the house, and erected the
present edifice from a design by Mr. Burton,
under whose direction the work was com-
pleted in the spring of 1827. Its exterior
IS chaste, and the interior commodious and
elegantly laid out. It stands on the suiuioit
of a noble ascent, well defended from ad-
/erse winds by full-grown trees and young
plantations. From the back front, a fine
sweep of lawn descends into a wide spread-
ing v^l^ ; and the high and distant wood-
lands of Knole, Seven Oaks, Tunbridge,
and the hills of Sussex, form an extensive
amphitheatre of forest scenery and downs,
as far as the eye can reach. The home
grounds are so disposed, that the domain
seems to include the whole of the rich aud
beautiful country around.

In the rear of Holwood Mr. Ward is
forming a vineyard, which, if conducted
witli the judgment and circumspection that
mark the commencement, may prove that
the climate of England is suited to the open
culture of the grape. Mr. Ward has im-
ported ten sorts of Tines, five black and
nve white, from different ports of the Rhine
and Burgundy. They are planted on a
slope towards the S.S.E. Difficulties and
pairtial fiiilures are to be expected in the
outset of 'the experiment, and are to be
oveicome, in its progress, by enlarged ex-
perience and information respecting the
treatment of the plants in foreign countries.
That the vine flourished here several cen-
turies ago can be proved historically. There
is likewise evidence of it in the old names
of places still existing. For instance^ in
London, there is " Vineyard-gardens,**
Clerkenweli ; and in Kent, there is a field
near Rochester cathedral, which has been
immemorially called *< the Vines." Many
examples of this nature might be adduced.
But mr stronger than presumptive testi-
mony is the fact, that, in some parts of the
weald of Kent, the yine grows wild in the
hedges; a friend assures me of this from
his own knowledge, he having often assisted
when a boy in rooting up the wild vine on
his father's land.

Mr. Ward's alterations at Holwood art
decisive and extensive. Besides the erectiot
of a new and spacious residence^ instead

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of the old one, which was small and in-
convenient, and ill suited to the com-
manding character and extent of the
grounds, he has greatly improved them;
and perfected a stately approach to the
mansion. Immediately within the great
entrance gates, from Keston Common, is the
elegant lodge represented by the engraving.
For the purpose of making the drawing, we
obtained seats just within the gates. While
W. sketched it the silence was unbroken,
save by the gentle rustle of the leaves in
the warm afternoon air of summer, and the
notes of the small birds preparing for their
vesper song; the rabbits were scudding
f^om their burrows across the avenue, Mid
the sun poured glowing beams from be-
tween the branches of the magnificent trees,
and dressed the varied foliage in a thousand
beauteous liveries

Circumstances prevent this article from
concluding, as had been purposed, with
notices of Holwood-hill as a Koman en«
campment, and of ** Caesar*s Spring,'' in
the declivity, beneath the gates of Holwood
on Keston Common. An engraving of
that ancient bourne, which Julias Cesar is
said to have himself discovered nearly two
thousand years ago, and thither directed
his legions to slake their thirst, will pre-
cede the remaining particulars in another
sheet.

THE PLAGUE AT EYAM,
AND THE REV. THOMAS STANLEY.

To the Editor.

Sir, — ^The publication of the paper, en-
titled <' Catherine Moinpesson*s Tomb,*' on
** The Desolation of Eyam, and other
Poems, by William and Mary Howitt," at
p. 482 of the Table Book, ffives me an
opportunity, with your good offices, of
rescuing from a degree of oblivion the
name and merits of an individual, who has
unaccountably been almost generally over-
.ooked, but who ought, at least, to be
equally identified in any notice of the
** Plague at Eyam ^ with Mr. Mompesson
himself.

The Rev. Thomas Stanley was instituted
to the rectory of Eyam by the ruling
powers in 1644, which he held till the
** Act of Uniformity,'' in 1662, threw him

It appears that he continued to reside at
Eyam after his ejectment, and the tradition
ot the place at this day is, that he was sup-
ported by the voluntary contributions of
iwo-thirde of the inhabitants; thii may
have been the cause of some jealousy in
those who might have been satisfied with
his removal from the living.

His comparative disinterestedness, with
other circumstances worthy of notice, are
recorded by his friend and fellow-sufferer
Bagshaw, usually called " the Apostle of
the Peak ;" he concludes a roost interesting
account of Mr. Stanley in these words : —
" When he could not serve his people pub-
Hckly, some (yet alive) will testifie, how
helpful he was to 'em in private ; especially
when the sickness (by way of eminency so
called, I mean the Pestilence) prevailed in
that town, he continuing with 'em, when,
as it is written, 259 persons of ripe age,
and 58 children were cut off thereby.
When some, who might have been better
employed, moved the then noble earl of
Devonshire^ lord lieutenant, to remove him
out of the town ; 1 am told by the credible,
that he said, ' It was more reasonable that
the whole country should, in more than
words, testify their thankfulness to him,
who, together with his care of the town, had
taken such care as no one else did, to pre-
vent the infection of the towns adjacent.' "

Mr. Stanley died at Eyam 24th August,
and was buried there on the 26th following,
1670. ^'

I have thus extracted what, as an act of
justice, ought to have been published long
since, and which, indeed, ought to accom-
pany every memorial of the plague at
Eyam : thoueh I scarcely re^t that it has
waited for tne extensive circulation the
Table Book must give to it— if it is so for-
tunate as to be considered a communication
to your purpose. My authority is, " De
Spiritfialibue Peed, Notes (or Notices)
concerning the Work of God, and some of
those who have been workers together wiUi
God in' the High Peak of Derbyshire," &c.
12mo. 17Q2. (Sheffield.)

Some farther account of Stanley may be
seen in Calamy's " Nonconformist's Me-
morial," and Hunters << History of Hallam-
shire," but both follow Bagshaw.

I exceedingly regret that " William and
Mary Howitt** were unacquainted wiUi Mi.
Stanley's services at Eyam.

I am, sir,

Your obedient and humble servant,

M N,
Nov. 9 t827.

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Fw the Tabk Book.
THE REIGN OF DEATH.

Aad I Mw, ud Wkald a white bona t aad U that Mt
on him had a bow i aad a orown was firaa aato
kiatt aad ht went forth ooaqaoriBf, and to ooaqaer.
Ji«vefatfoat, tL S.

la aightlj ritiaa, on mj bed, I law
A fonn anearthlf, on a pale hone eat,
iUdiag triamphaat o*er a proetrate world.
Aroaad h» braws he wore a eiowa of ffold,
Aad ia hb booy haad he frup*d a bow.
Which eeattei^d arrows of destraetion rouad.
His form was mssfre ■hedowy— iadistiaet—
Clothed with the faiat lineameato of maa.
He pass'd ne swifter thaa the wiaged wiad—
Or lightaing from the eload— or ghoetljr risioo.
From his ejo he shot dsTonring lightaiags,
Aad his dilated aostril poar'd a stream
Of Boisomf, pestileatial vapour.
Where'er he trod all Tegetation eeasPd,
And the spring dow'rs hang, with'ring, oa tbeirstalke.

He passed by a eity, whose huge walls,
Aad towers, and battlemeata, aad palaces,
Covei'd the plain, aspiring to the skiee t
As he pass'dU he smil*d— aad straight it fellf—
Wall, tower, aad battlemeat, aad glittering spire,
Palaee, and prison, crambling iato dnst ;
And noaght of this fair oity did remain,
Bnt one large heap of wild, eonfnsed rnia.

The rivers ceas*d to £ow, aad stood eongeai'd.
The eea did eeaee ite roaring, and ito waves
Lay still upon the shore
No tide did ebb or flow, bnt all wae bovad
In a oalm, leaden slnmber> The prond shipa.
Which hitherto had traTcrs'd o*er the deep.
Were now becalmed with this dead'aing stillnera :—
The sulshnng motionless straight sank the most
O'er the hage bnlwarks, and the yielding plaaks
Dropt sileatly into the noiseless deep :—
No ripple on the wave was left to show
Where, erst, the ship had stood, bat all was blank
Aad motionless.

Birds ia the air, apoa the joyons wing.
Pell, lifelees, as the shadowy mooster paso*d
Aad hostik armies, drawa ia warlike liaes,
Ceas'd their tamnltnons conflict la his sight—
Coaqaeror aad eooquei'd yielding *aeath the power
I Of flie aakaowB destroyer 1 Natioas fell ;
And thrones, aad principalities, aad powers.—
Kings, with their glitt*ring ciowas. lay on the earth,
Aad at their sides, their menials.—
Beanty aad beggary together lay i
Toath, inaoeeace, wd age, aad crime, together.

I saw a mardersr, b a darksome wood.
Wielding a dagger o*er a beaateons boeom,
Threat'aing qaick destraetion to his victim 9—
The shadow pass'd— the leaves grew tare aad dropp'd—
The forest cmmbled into ashes, aad
Xba sled dissolv'd withia th* assassb's hand—

Rts fM grew waa aad bloodies*— his eyea aloo4
Fiz*d, and glaaed— he stiffiea'd. aad he Ml—
Aad o'er his ptostrate body sank his vietim I

I still pnrsned the conqaenr with my Of^
The earth grew desart as he rode akmf—
The sna tara'd bloody ia the stagaaat u»—
The aaiversa itself was one vast raia

Thea, stopp*d the Fiend. By him all ssortal thii«»
Had beea destroyed t yet was he ansatfd;
Aad his veagefal eyes still flyh'd destraetioa.-
Thns, aloae, he stood ; and reiga'd— sols 1
All saprsme— Tbi Kxva or DisoLanoif 1

Oct. 14, 1827.

O. N. Y.

OF THB

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS
No. XIII.

Thunder — Lightning — Aurora Bor£a*
LIS — Earthquakes — Ebrino and
Flowing of the Sea — the Loadstone
AND Amber — Electricity — Rivers.

Some of the moderns hare assigned
the cause of Thunder to inflamed exhala*
tions, rending the clouds wherein ibey are
confined ; o^en^to the shock between two
or more clouds, when those that are higher
and more condensed fall upon those that
are lower, with so much force as suddenly
to expel the intermediate air, which yigor-
ously expanding itself, in oider to occupy
its former space, puts all the exterior air in
commotion, producing those reiterated claps
which we call thunder. This is the ex-
planation of Descartes, and had bat few
followers ; the former had more, being that
of the Newtonians. For a third theory,
which makes the matter productive of thun-
der the same with that of electricity, its
author, Dr. Franklin, is in no part indebted
to the ancients.

The notion of Descartes entirely belongs
to Aristotle, who says, that ^* thunder is
caused by a dry exhalation, which, falling
upon a humid cloud, and violently endeft-
vouring to force a passage for itself, pro-
duces the peals which we hear.** Anaza-
goras refers it to the same cause.

All the other passages, which occur in
such abundance among the ancients, re-
specting thunder, contain in them the rea-
sonings of the Newtonians, sometimes com-
bining the notions of Descartes.

Leucippnsy and the Eleatic sect, held

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tliat ^ thunder proceeded from a fiery ex-
Dalation^ which, enclosed in a cloud, burst
it asunder, and forced its way through/'
Democritus asserts, that it is the effect of a
mingled collection of various volatile parti-
cles, whid) impel downwards the cloud
which contains them, till, by the rapiditpr
of their motion, they set themselves and it
on fire.

Seneca ascribes it to a dry sulphureous
exhalation arising out of the eartn, which
he calls the aliment of lightning; and
which, becoming more and more subtilized
in its ascent, at last takes fire in the air,
and produces a violent eruption.

According to the stoics, thunder was
occasioned by the shock of clouds; and
lightning was the combustion of the volatile
parts of the cloud, set on fire by the shock.
Chrysippus taueht, that lightning was the
lesult of clouds being set on fire by winds,
which dashed them one against another;
and that thunder was the noise produced
by that rencontre: he added, ttiat these
effects were coincident ; our perception of
the li|^htnittg before the thunder-clap being
entirely owing to our sight's being quicker
than our hearing.

In short, Aristophanes, in his comedy of
the << Clouds," introducing Socrates as
satisfying the curiosity of one of his dis-
ciples as to the cause of thunder, makes
him assign it to the action of the com-
pressed air in a cloud, which dilating itself
bursts it, and, violently agitating the exterior
air, sets itself on fire, and by the rapidity
of its progress occasions all that noise.

The Aurora BorealU was also observed
by the ancients, as may be seen in Aris-
totle, Pliny, Seneca, and other writers, who
conjectured differently its cause.

The Cartesians, Newtonians, and other
able moderns, uacnbe Earthqvdket to the
earth's being filled with cavities of a vast
extent, containing in them an immense
quantity of thick exhalations, resembling
the smoke of an extinguished candle, which
being easily inflammable, and by their agi-
tation catching fire, rarefy and heat the
central and condensed air of the cavern to
such a degree, that finding no vent, it
bursts its enclosements ; and, in doi;
this, shakes the surrounding earth
around withdreadfiil percussions, producing
all the other effects which naturally follow.
Aristotle and Seneca assigned these
dreadful events to the same cause. The
brmer says, that they were occasioned by
the efforts of the internal air in dislodging
itself from the bowels of the earth ; and he
observes, that on the appn^acL of an earl^-

i^

quake the < ather is generally serine, be-
cause that sort of air which occasions com-
motions in the atmosphere, is at that time
pent up in the entrails of the earth.

Seneca is so precise, we might take him
for a naturalist of the present times. Ha
supposes that the earth nides in its bosom
many subterraneous fires, which uniting
their flames, necessarily put into fervid
motion the congregated vapours of its> cells,
which finding no immediate outlet, exert
their utmost powers, till they force a way
through whatever opposes them. He says
also, that if the vapours be too weak to
burst the barriers which retain them, all
their efforts end in weak shocks, and hol-
low murmurs, without any fatal conse-
quence.

Of all the solutions of the Ebbing and
Flowing of the SeOy the most simple and
ingenious, though afterwards found by
observation to m inadequate, is that o.
Descartes, who supposes a vortex of subtile
matter, of an elliptic form, to invest our
globe, and compress it on all sides. The
moon, according to this philosopher, is
immerged in this elliptic vortex, and when
at its greatest elongation from the earth, it
makes less impression upon the circum-
ambient ethereal matter; but when it comes
to the nariowest part of the ellipse, gives
such an impulse to the atmosphere, as
puts the whole ocean in agitation. He
supports his system by fhis remark, that
the ebbing and flowing of the sea generally
coincides with the irregularity of the moon s
course.

The opinion of Kepler and Newton is
more conformable to observafion, and is
founded on this hypothesis — that the moon
attracts the waters of the sea, diminishing
the weight of those parts of it over whose
zenith it comes, and increasing the weight
of the coliaterai parts, so that the parts
directly opposite to the moon, and under
it in the same hemisphere, must become
more elevated than tne rest. According
to this system, the action of the sun con-
curs with that of the moon, in occasioning
the tides ; which are higher or lower re-
spectively, according to the situation o
tnose two laminaries, which, when in con-
junction, act in concert, raising the tides to
the greatest height ; and when in opposi-
tion, produce nearly the same effect, in
swelling the waters of the opposite hemi-
spheres ; but when in quadrature, suspend
each other's force, so as to act only by the
difference of their powers; and thus the
tides vary, according to the difierent posk
tions of the sun and moon

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The Cartesian method of Bolmion baa
been indicated by Pytheas MassiliensiSy
'Who obsenrea, that the tides, in their in-
crease and decrease, follow the irregohiT
course of the moon; and by Seleucns of
£ry threa, the mathematician, who ascribing
to the earth a roution aboat its axis, im-
putes the canse of tides to the activity of
the earth's vottei, in conjunction with that
of the moon.

Pliny's account has Aiore affinity to that
of sir Isaac Newton. The great nataralipt
of the ancients maintatned, that ** the sun
and moon had a reciprocal share in causing
the tides :" and after a course of obserra^
tions for many years, he remarked, that
^ the moon acted most forcibly upon the
waters when it was nearest to the earth ;
but diat the elect was not immediately
perceired by us, but at such an interval as
may well Xs^e place between- the action of
celestial causes, and the discernible result
of them on earth.** He remarked also^
that the waters, which are naturally inert,
do not swell up immediately upon the con-
junction of the sun and moon ; but having
gradually admitted the impulse, and begun
to raise themselves, continue in thai eleva-
tion, even after the conjunction is over.

There are few things which have more
engaged the attention of naturalists, and
with less success, tlian the vionderfnl pro-
perties of the LouMone, Almost all have
agreed in affirming that there are corpus-
cles of a peculiar form and enersy that
continually circulate around and through
the loadstone, and that a vortex of the same
matter circulates around and through the
earth. Upon these suppositions Descartes
and others have advanced, that the load-
stone has two poles similar to those of the
earth ; and that the magnetic matter which
issues at one of the poles, and circulates
around to enter at the other, occasions that
impulse which brings iron to the loadstone^
whose small corpuscles have an analogy to
the pores of iron, fitting them to lay hold
of it, but not of other bodies.

All this the ancients had said^ before.

The impulsive force which joins iron to

the loadstone, and other thines to Ambers

was known to Plato ; though he would not

call it attraction, as allowing no such cause

in nature. This philosopher called the

magnet the stone of Hercules, because it

I subdued iron, which conquers every thing.

I De8cartes*s idea of his explanation was

; doubtless derived from Lucretius, who ad-

I mitted, that there was a •* vortex of cor-

' puscles, or magnetic matter, which, conti-

I Bually circulating arouud the loaidstone.

repeUed the intervening dr betwixt itself
and the iron. The air thus repelled, the
intervening space became a vacuum ; and
the iron, finding no resistance, approached
vrith an impulsive force, pushed on by the
air behind it.'' 1

Plutarch likewise is of the same opinion. ■
He says, that ^ amber attracts none of tboee
things that are brought to it, any more than •
the loadstone, but emits a matter, vrhich
reflects the circumambient air, and thereby
forms a void. The expelled air puts in
motion the air before it, which making a i
circle, returns to the void space, drivmg
before it, towards the loadstone, the iron
which it meets in its way." He then pro-
poses a difficulty, to wit, " why the vortex
which circulates around the loadstone does
not make its way to wood or stone, as well
as iron f He answers, like Descartes, that
'* the pores of iron have an analogy to the
particles of the vortex circulating about the ,
loadstone, which yields them such access
as they can ^din no other bodies, whose
pores are difierently formed." |

Certain authors report, that the proper-
ties of Uie loadstone, paiticularly its tend- |
ency towards the north pole, enabled the |
ancients to undertake long voyages; and '
they pretend, that the Egyptians, Phoeni- I
cians, and Carthaginians, employed the
compass to guide them in their naval ex-
cursions ; though afterwards they lost the
use of it, just as they did of dying purple,*
and of embroidering, and g( composing
bricks, and a cement able to resist the force
of all weathers ; arts, vrithout all doubt, for-
merly well known to them. Pineda and
Kir(»er affirm likewise, that Solomon knew
the use of the compass, and that his sub-
jects steered their course by it in sailing to ,
the land of Ophir. There is also a passage
of Plautusf produced, wherein it is alleged
he speaks of the compass. There is not
however a single passage in the ancients
that directly supports these pretensions.^

* We may with ezaetaess detmniiM what the trm
eolnmr was tf the pnrple of the ancirata, by attandii^
to two paangee of Pliay, wherein he aaya, that the
whole aim of the Tynaae aad Phoeniciaas, ia bringiii^
their purple to the ntmoet nerfectioa. waa to render it
in oolour m like as ponibie to the MientAl anuethyaL
Plin. Hiat. Natnr. lib. is. c. 38 Ac 41, et lib. zzzviLc 9L

* H&c lecnadiu rentvs nnac est; cape modb Yorao*

nam,
Stasime ; cape VorronaR, recipe te ad Hemm.
X With respect to what was known to the aacieata,
aad of which we still are inorant, reooarse maybe
had to Panciroins de rebms .MMnitlu, partiealarly to
his first book, chap. i. S, 36, w, respecting the coWr
of pnrple, the dnctility of glUM ana the effects of the
aacient music. See especially Dion. Caseins's History,
in Tiber, lib. Irii. p. 6)7. K. Plin lib. X)cxvi. e. SB. I
&c. Isidor. de Oripnib. lib. z^ c. 15^ respeetiag Oe '
dnctility of (laai.

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It is scarcely credible, that the real cause
9f Electricity was known to the ancients,
and jet there are indications of it in the
work of Timcus Locrensis, concerning the
soul of the world.

The modems are also divided in their
sentiments, as to how it happens that
Jiivertf continually flowing into the sea, do
not swell the mass of waters, so as to make
it overflow its banks. One of the solutions
of this difficulty is, that rivers return again
to their source by subterraneous passages
or canals ; and that there is, between the
sea and the springs of rivers, a circulation
analogous to that of blood in the human
body. This solution, however, is the same
as Seneca's, who accounts for their not
overflowing the bed of the ocean, by imagin-
ing secret passages, which reconduct them
to their springs; and because, at their
springs, they retain nothing of that brack-
ishness whidi they carried with them from
the sea, he supposes they are filtrated in
their circuit through winding paths, and
layers of every soil, so that they must needs
return to their source as pure and sweet as
they departed thence.

HLEY, YORKSHIRE.

H4DDOCS Legend, avd Hbrriho
Fishery.

For the Table Book,

At Filey a singular range of rock, said
to resemble the celebrated mole of Tan-
giers, extends from the cliff a considerable
wa^ into the sea, and is called Filey bridge.
It IS covered by the sea at high tide, but
may be traversed for upwards of a quarter
of a mile at low water. From the mitfaer
end a distant, but, in fine weather, a dis-
tinct view may be had of Scarborough and
the Castle on the one hand, and of Flam*
borough-head and the Lighthouse, with an
extensive stretch of lofty chalk-stone cliff,
on the other. When the wind is from the
north-east the waves break over it majestic-
ally, and may be seen rising up in foamy
spray to a great distance, prcducing an
imposing and awful appeamnce. From
its singularity there is no wonder that the
credulous, the superstitious, and the vulgar,
who have always had a propensity to attach
something of the marvellous to whatever is
extraordinary, should have made this ridge
an object from which to form a story.

Perhaps, Mr. Editor, you, as well as
many ot the readers of the Table Book,
nay have seen the haddock at different

times, and observed the black marks on its
sides. But do you know, sir, how the
haddock came by these said marks ? Th«
legendary tale of Filey says, that the devil
in one of his mischievou<t pranks detei^- j
mined to build Filey bridge for the destruc- |
tion of ships and sailors, and the annoyance .
of fishermen, but that in the progress of
his work he accidentally let fall his hammer
into the sea, and bein^ in haste to snatch
it back caught a haddock, and thereby
made the imprint, which the whole species
retains to this day.

The village of Fil^is seated in a small
and beautiful bay. The settled inhabitants
depend chiefly on the fishery, which is
carried on with success to a considerable
extent, although of late years a few good
houses have been built, and several respect*
able families have resorted thither during
the season, for the purpose of sea-bathing,
for which the beach is well adapted. The
church is in the form of a cross, with a
steeple in the middle, and bears some re-
semolance to an ancient cathedral in mi-
niature; it stands at a distance from the
village, being divided by a deep ravine,
which forms the boundary of partition be-
tween the North and East Ridings of York-
shire; the church consequently stands in
the former, and the village in the latter of
the two Ridings.

T.C

Bridlington, Sept. 27, 1827.

Since the foregoing was written I have
been at Filey, and was there informed that
in the month of September, yearly, about
ninety men, sometimes accompanied by
their wives and children, leave this village
for the herring fishery at Yarmouth. Pre-
viously to their setting out for the fishing
station they send a piece of sea-beef on
shore from each boat to such of their friends
at the public-houses as they wish *' weel
teea ;** this occasions *' a bit of a supper,"
at which those who are going away and
those who stay meet to enjoy good cheer,
heightened with mutual good-will.

October 11, 1827. T. C.

PISCATORIA.

Lu(;an, the Roman poet, makes a beauti-
ful digression to paint the happy life of a
fisherman. In plain prose it will read in
this manner : — |

News (says he) was brought to Cssat, at
a late hour, that Pompey was up in arms in
Calabria, ready to dispute with him the

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lorereignty of the vorld; perplexed in
mindy he knew aot for a while what steps
best to pursue, when, stealing from the
arms of his Caiphomia, ne cast his mantle
about htm, and through the gloom of mid-
night hastened alone to the mouth of th«
Tiber, and coming to the cabin of Amilcas
the fisherman, struck thrice with his arm
upon the door of the slumberer. ** Arise,
Amilcas," said Cttsar, in a subdued tone.
The fisherman and his lamily, without care,
were reposing on their beds of sheepskins.
Amilcas knew the voice of Csesar, and
threw open his wicket to receire his master.
*' Come away, Amilcas/' cried the em-
peror, ** laundi your boat with all speed,
and bear me to Ualabria; Pompey is there
in arms against me while I am absent;
hasten then, and ask what thou wilt of
Cttsar/' Ilie night was dark, and the
elements were at war with each other ; but
by the strength, courage, and judgment of
; the boatman, Cvsar was soon landed on
I the shore of Calabria. — ^* And now, AmiU
' cas,** rejoined the mighty chief, '* make thy
demand." ** Grant me then," replied the
fisherman, <' that I may return tne way I
came to my peaceful family; for at day-
break should tney not see me spreading n.y
nets upon the beach, as they are wont,
their faithful bosoms will be rent with
sorrow.^—** Go,** replied the Roman chief,
^ thou humble, modest man, and never let
it be forgotten that Cssar is thy friend."

INCREDIBLE UARS

The French papers m tne autumn of
1821 mention, that a man named Desjar-
dins was tried, on hi:i own confession, as
an accomplice with Louvel, the assassin of
the duke de Bern. But, on his defence,
I Desjardins contended that his confession
, ought not to be believed, because he was
I so notorious for falsehood, that nobody in
the world would give credit to a word he
, said. In support of this, he produced a
I host of witnesses, his friends and relatives,
i who all swore that the excessive bad cha-
racter he had given of himself was truCi
and he was declared ** not guilty."
I This case parallels with a similar in-
' stance some years before in Ireland. A
man was charged with highway robbery.
I In the course of the trial the prisoner
roared out from the dock that he was
gfuilty ; but the jury pronounced him by
! their verdict ** not guilty.'' The astonished
*udge exclaimed, ** Good God, gentlemen,
did you not beat the man himself declare

that he vras guilty Y* The foreman said, I
'* We did, my lord, and that was the very
reason we acquitted him, for w€ knew ih^ \
fellow to be so notorious a liar that he '
never told a word of tnilh in his life." , i

For the Table Book^
HEBREW MELODY,
A PoaruGUESE Htm v.

Row blMl u t^ aortal who aertr repoMi
Ib MftC of the Muraer, Bor touom o'er tho gniaid.

Whoro PlMWttre U itrowiiif her thon-oofcred smf,
Aad wBTiof her g»y eilkn bMaen snmad.

Who wonhipe his Maker whea ereaiaf U thnnrisf
Her aombereet ahadowi o'er mooataia aad lea ;

▲ad kaeele ia deTotioa whea daylight is glowiaf,
Aad ftldiBf Uie wares of the dark rolliaf sea.

He shall be like a tree oa the calm rirer waviag^
That riseth all glorioas all loTely to riew.

Whose deeply fiz'd root the pars watera are lavb|r>
Whoee boughs ars enriched with the kiadlieK dew.

Not so the aagodly I his fate shall resemUe
The chaff by aataoual wiads wafted away ;

Aad when lifo^s fadiag lanp ia its socket shiJl ticanUe
Shall look to the jndgmeat with fear aad dismar !

T. Q. M.

Jvy Cottage, Orattington in Craneiij
October 21, 1827.

FACTITIA.

For the Tabtb Book.
" Where is my Tqermometee V

In a certain town a certain military gen- '
tleman regulates his dress by a thermome-
ter, which is constantly suspended at the
back door of hb house. Some wicked vrag
once stole the instrument, and left in its
place the following lines r— i

Whea a to Tartaras got.

That hvfce and waim gasometer I
• Good lord r* qaoth he, ** how wondrovs hoCi

O, where is my thennometer I**

Deokadation of a Degree.

"Why," said our friend T. Q. M. to
Sally Listen, an old inhabitant of Wensley«
dale, "why do you call Mr. ,

doctor, when he has no title to such an
appellation ? he is only a quack l"^" Why,**
said Sally, " 1*11 call him naught else.
What mun a body mitter sic chaps as him
for 7 Doctor*s good enough for sic blacks P

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BOUBCE OF THE BAVENSBOUBNE.

On Kfltton Heftth weDi up fhe BftreniboiinM^

A eiysUl xiUet, Maree a patan in width.

Till craeping to a bed, onttpread bf ui.

It iheett itMlf aeroM, npodng thera :

Thanoe, through a thleket, linQonB it flowi^

And eroMing meada, and footpaths, gath'ring tfUmti^

Due to its elder birth, from younger branehe%

'Wander^ in Hajes and TjmHaj, Beckenham Tal%

And straggling Lewlsham, to where Deptf ord Bzidgo

TTpiicei ia obeisance to its flood,

Whencf^f with large inereaae it roDs on, to swell

The master onrrent of the *' mightj heart"

Of England.

Before I had seen Keston I heard, at
West Wickhan, that it had heen the site of
a Roman camp, and that a Roman bath was
still there. It was from cariosity towards
this piece of antiquity that I first Tisited
the spot, in company with my friend W — b
riie country people, whom we met on our
way, spoke of it as the ^ Old Bath," and
the ** Cold Bath,^ and as a water of great
yirtue, formerly bathed in, and still resorted
to, by persons afBicted with weak or sprained
imbs, which by dipping in this bath oecame
cured.

Our walk from Wickham was remarkably
pleasant ; we passed noble oaks of many

centuries' growth, and descended from the
broad open highway into an old road on
our left, a ravine, or intrenchroent per-
chance, clothed with tendril planu and
blossoming briars, festooning and arching
OYer wild flowers growing amid the verdure
of its high banks. Here we paced up hill,
till we reached an open, lofty tract of heath-
land, in a rude, uncultivated, picturesque
state, with a few houses in distant parts,
surrounded by thriving plantations. On
our left were die woodlands of the pleasant
village of Hayes, remarkable for having
been the seat of the gr^ earl of Chatham,
•nd the birthplace of his well-remembered

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u>n . on our right were the heights of Hoi-
woody and fine forest scenery. Near a
duster of cottages immediately before us
there was a mill, with its sails going ; these
we scarcely glanced at, but made our way
to an old alehouse, the sign of the Fox,
where an ancient labourer, sitting at the
ioor, directed us to •* the Bath." We found
It in a romantic little bottom, immediately
under the gates of Holwood.

Hie delightful landscape, from the open-
ing of this dell towards London and beyond
it, so much engaged our attention, that for
a while we forgot the ** Bath,'' on the brink
of which we were standing. There is no
appearance of its having been a bathing-
place, and certainly it has not the least
character of a Roman bath. It is simply a
well of fine pellucid water, which gently
overflowing threads a small winding chan^ •
nel in the herbage, and suddenly expands,
till it seems bounded by an embankment
and line of trees. This is the road to the
pleasant inn '* Keston Cross." In the dis-
tance are the Kentish and Essex hills, with
the dome of the metropolitan cathedral.
Presuming that information respecting the
spring might be obtained at Holwood we
reascended, and inquired of several labour-
ers employed in levelling and gravelling
the avenue; but we derived nothing satis-
factory till a Keston man, working at a
distance, came up, and told us that it was
the source of the Ravensboume.

I had formerly heard and read of a tra-
dition respecting this spring, and now that
I unexpectedly found myself upon its mar-
gin, recollection of the story heightened the
interest of the scene. The legend nios,
that when Cesar was encamped here his
troops were in great need of water, and
none could be found in the vicinity. Ob-
serving, however, that a raven frequently
alighted near the camp, and conjecturing
that it was for the purpose of quenching its
thirst, he ordered the coming of the bii3 to
be watched for, and the spot to be particu-
larly noted ; this was done, and the result
was as he anticipated. The object of the
raven's resort was this little spring ; from
thence Cssar derived a supply of water
for the Roman legions, and from the cir*
cumstance of its discovery the spring was
called the Raven*s bourne, or the Raven's
brook. From the lodge at Holwood, W.
obtained the loan of a chair, and taking bis
seat on the brink of the well, sketched the
▼iew represented in his engraving of it above.

If the account of Holwood* in 179i be

• In ooL 696

correct, this spring, there called ** Ca»ar'9
Spring," was then a public cold bath, orna-
mented with trees, and a dressing-house on
the brink. Hasted, in 1778,* gives a vievr
of the Roman intrenchments on Holwood
Hill, and figures the ancient road to the
spring of the Ravensboume, as running
down to it from where Holwood gates now
stand : he also figures the spring with twelve
trees planted round it. Now, however,
there is not a vestige of tree or building, but
there are in the ground the stumps of a
poled fencing, which was standing within
recollection. On further examination I
found the well bricked round, but the
bricks at the top edge had decayed, or been
thrown in; and the interior brickwork is
lined with hair moss and other water-weeds.
On the side opposite to that whereon a
man is represented in the ensraving, I
traced the remains of steps for descending
into the well as a bath. Its circle is about
nine feet in diameter. At what time it
commenced, or ceased, to be used as a bath,
is uncertain. |

Here, then, about twelve miles from
London, in a delightful country, is a spring,
rendered venerable by immemorial tradi- ;
tion and our ancient annals; and which,
during eighteen centuries, from the time of
its alleged discovery by Cesar, has remain •
ed open to genersd . use. Sorry therefore .
am I to add, that there are rumours of a
wish to enclose this public relic of by. ,
gone ages. I invite public attention to the .
place and to the report. Even at this sea- •
son the lover of natural scenery will find
charms at the source of the Ravensboume, '
and be able to imagine the beauty of the •
surrounding country in summer. Had I a '
right of common on Keston Heath, rather :
than assist in a base *' homage," to colour- ,
ably admit the enclosure of <' Caesar's I
Spring," 1 would surrender my own right, '
and renounce community and neighbour- '
hood with the heartless hirelings, who woold
defraud themselves and the public of the ■
chief attraction to Keston Common. At
so small a distance from London I know of ,
nothing so remarkable in history as this '
spring. On no pretence ought the public
to be deprived of^ it There are rights of i
nature as well as of property : when the
claims of the lattei are urged too pertina-
ciously against the former, it is time to cry .
out ; and if middle men do not interfere to
prevent the oppression, they will, in their
turn, cry aloud when there will be none to
help them. «

• Hiftorr «f Keat, folio, roL i. LB,

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No. XLIL

^From " Thyesles/' a Tragedy, by Jolm
Crowne, 1681. J

Atrens, having recovered hie fftfe^ and
KiHgdom,from hie brother Thyeetee^ who
had usurped bothy and sent him into banish-^
menf, describes his offending Queen,

Atreus (solus). still she lives ;

Tis true, in heavjr sorrow : so she ought,

If she offended ns I fear she has.

Her hardships, though, she owes to her own elunea.

[ hare often oflRer'd her mj nselest oonoh ;

For what it it to me ? I nerer slaep t

Bat for her bed she uses the hard floor.

M7 Uble is spread for her ; I never eat s

And she*ll toke nothing bat what feeds her griet

Philisthenesy the Son of Thyettes, at a
stolen interview with Antigone, the daug^
ter of Atreusy is surprised hy the King*s
Spies: upon which misfortune Antigone
swooning, is found by Peneus.

Antigone, Penetts, an ancient retainer to
the Court ofMycenee.

Penems, Ha ! what is she that sleeps in open air ?
bdeed the plaee is far from any path.
Bat what eondacts to melaneholj thoaghtst
Bat those are beaten roads about thb CoorC
Her habit oalls her. Noble Greeiaa Maid ;
But her sleep says, she is a stranger here.
▲11 birds of night boild in this Coart, bat Sleep .
And Sleep b here made wild with load oomplaints
And flies away from alL 1 wonder bow
This maid has bronght it to her lare so tame.

Antigone, (ledtimg from hsr tw^fon). Oh my PkiLs-
thenesl

Psneus. She wakes to moan;
Aye, that's the proper langaage of this plaee I

Antigone. My dear, my poor Philisthenes I
I know *tissoI oh horrorl death I belli ok—

Psnens. I know her now ; 'tU fair Antigoa^
tlie daaghter sad the daring of the King.
This U the lot of all thU family.*
BeaateoQS Antigone, thoa know'st me well ;

am old Peneas, one who threescore years
Jas loved and serv'd thy wretched family.
Impart thy sorrows to me ; I perhaps
In my wide circle of experience
May find some coonsel that may do thee good.

Antigona. O good old man I how long haw yon beea
herv?

Penems. I came bat now.

Antigone. O did yon see this way
Poor young Philisthenes? yoa know him welL

Peneut. Thy inels's son, Thycstes* eldest so«—

AttHgone. Tne same, the same^

• 'Shm deeemdaaU 9t Taatalns.

Pensns. No ; al! the Gods foibid
I should meet him sc aeas thy father's Court.

AnHgons, O he was hers one enrsed minats past.

Psnsut. What brought him bilker?

Antigone* Love to wretched me.
Our warring fathers never ventured mors
For bitter hate than we for inaooent love.
Hera but n minute past the dear youth lay.
Hero in this brambly oave Iky in my arms ;
And BOW he b seised 1 O miserable me— (tears Asr
hair.)

Peneat. Why dost then read that beauteous on»
neat?
la what has it offended ? hold thy hands

Antigone, O father, go and plead for the poor youth}
No oae dares speak to the fierce King but you —

Peneus. And no one near speaks more in vain than I ;
He spurns me from his presence like a dog.

Antigane. Oh, the»—

PMkas. She faints, she swoons, I frighten'd her.
Oh I spake indisontoly. Daaghter, oUld,
Aatigone, 1*11 go, indeed 1*11 go.

Antigone, There b ao belplbr main heav'n or earth.

Peneus, There isi thsta b; despair not, sorrowful
maid.
All will be welL I'm going to the King,
And wiU with pow'iful reasons bind hb heads i
And something in me says I shall prevail.
Bttt to whose care shall I leave thee the whib?—
For oh I I dare not trust thee to thy grief.

Antigone. 1*11 be dbpoeed of, father, as you please,
TiU I reoeive the blest or dreadful doom.

Peneus. Then come, dear daafbt«r» lean upon qgr
arm.
Which old and weak b stronger yet tiMa thiae;
Thy youth hath known more somiw thna my age.
I aever hear of grief, but when I'm hero 1
But one day's diet here of sigha aad tsan
Retuns me elder home by many years*

Atreus, to entrap his brother Thyestee ;
who has Uved a concealed life, lurking in
woods, to elude his vengeance; sends Phi'
listhenes and old Peneus to him with offers
ofreconciliationpand an invitation to Court,
to be present at the nuptials of Antigone
with Philisthenes,

J%yestes, Philisthenes, Peneuf.

Thy, Welcome to my arms.
My hope, my comfort 1 Time has roU'd about
Several rocmths since I have seen thy faoe.
And in its progress has dtme woad'rona things.

Phil. Strange things indeed to chase yon to tbb sad
Dbmal abode ; nay, and to age, I thiak t
I see that winter thrusting itself'forth
I^ong, long before its time, in nlvsf hairs.

Thy, My fault, my son ; I would be great aad high .
Snow lies in sumaier on some mountain tops.
Ah, Son I I'm sorry for thy nobb youth.
Thou hast so bad a father ; I'm afraid.
Fortune will quarrel with thee fbr ay atka*
Thou wilt derive nnhapplness fron m%
like an hendiiary ill dutooa.

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na. nr«IvMtera,«lMB7nfPtf«tMoemt
AW an dM in fM Utf* MBtnetad laM,

F«r twlffcyjoy ntsfM l» w agani
Naf , ■ Bora TifoiwM iof tluM iTar w* kW.
liU — > wwirw'd fa— • iW iiiMii,
Natuv fcr 4«ut« paya Ua doahte aM«»
AW gnrw Um fMivr iMk thaa iTOT h« kad.

7>yeff«ff if wan fiam Ida rethmeni hf
tkejokUrtpntenUaUnu of PhUitikeiiet €Md
Pentma, of ike mppmremigoodfmtk, tmd re-
turuhg kMmettof hit krotker ; mmioiriU
Mfeejutf-^Uo eonJUenee ; Ua retmndiig
mugioingg.

TkyeUeo. PkUuthaiei. Peneu$.

Tkg. C ««Wrow jiliMMi l» • bnuh'd an.
I liMl By loT«d loBf look-Mw utb« na
AWokl ■iywwr7«j«s,thataUtk«a*f
Bad faM MM mmtaia trstaU'd towwd ^b piMtb
Noir nat thaaMlraa apoi tka vojral towaai
or ftat graat palaea whara I had ny Umu
O nerad towan^ aaoflW itt yaar haifkt,
Mtaf liaff witk doada, Ika Tillaa of tha Goda
WkidMT Cir aaand plaaaasaa thay nan,
Saand baeaan yaa an tha work af Oadaf
Tow lafty laaka baaat Tav di^M daaoant t
AW tka pnad city whick liea at yow CnC
AW waald flT* flaoa ta aalkaBC bat ta yoa,
OwM kar arifiaal ia ikort of joan.
AW Mw a tkouHid olqaetB non rida fiut
Oa Moniaf baaau, aW sMt ny eyes ki (kaoafil
AW aea. all ArgOB BMti na witk loW akoalB I

i>Mf.OjoyfalaaoW:

Thg, Bat wilk tkaa Atnaa ta»—

mi, Wkat aUa ny fatker, tkat ka atopa, md

Us 9f Urn ffr^eoded SwfMo.—
r feigno m rthtmung hoe for kU

AW wnr retina?

XXy. Retan witk ma, aiy loa,
AW old friaW Penaoa, to Ike koaoat beaata,
AW faitkfol daoart. aW wellaeatW aavaai
Tnn skelter maa, by wkom tkey oflea dia^
AW aavar seek rereage t ao Tillaiay
Ilea ia Ike pcoepeetof as ksaibla eiRra.

P§m. Talk yoaoTrUUiay, of foes. aW

ny. ItalkafAtnas.

Pea. Wkatantkesetokim?

r%. Neanr tkaa I an. for tkey an kimself.

P9m, Ooda drin tkew impioas thoogkts oatof yo«r

2^. Tke Oods for all oar safety pat tkem (ken.—
Retara, ntara witk n«

Pmu AgaiBst oar oatka
I eaaaot stem tke m^ieaaca of tte Oods.
Th§. Hen an ao Ooda: tkey* n left tkis din aboda.

e^ Trae nee af Taataloa 1 wko parsat-Uka
..a dooa'd io audet af pleaty to bo starrW.
His bett aW jowa diibr akma ia tkU
#kea ke woold eatek at Joys, tkey By fron kin f
Wke« flatiee eatok atyoa, yo« ty fnoi tkoB.
TAf. A fit ooapariaoB ; oar Joys aad kia
lylaf akWflwa, vkick to tract U keU.

The
Atreoe f eigne
Queetu

.A^i^OlUaiatooBaekJoyforMto
Toa baild aaar palaan oa brakes walla.

.^fnas. CoM^ let ear aev^ora
ewaatair;
Tkie noai*s loo Tile a eahiact for gold.
Tkea leave for over, Uf», tkb delrfBl plaasb
AW lean bsUW Oee an tky aomvB ken :
AW dnn IkTOSif as tkb great day Minna.
Twill be tky daagktec»s aaplialsi aW I dnaa'd,
Tka Saa kionatf woaU be aekaaM to eoM,
AW bo a gaest m kU dd tanisk'd rabe :
Bat lean ay Cooit,* to ealigktea aU tke gbiba.—

Peneue to Atreme, Heetudrnghimfrvm
kie horrid pmrjMae.

Pea. rear yea aot BM or Oada?

Jkr. TbefoarofOodaae'areaaaiBPolopsrHeaae

Pea. Tkiak 7«a Ikon an ao Ooda ?

^Itr. I dW an tkiaga
80 false, I aa sen of Boduag bot of wraogs.—

Atrene. Thyeiiee.

A Table, avd a Basquet.

.^fir. Coae.bra<ker,sit.

Tkjf. May aot Pkilistkeaea
fit witk as. Sir?

.^ffr. He waili apoa tke Bnda.
A deeper bowL TkU to tke Bridegnoa's kealtk.*

Thp, Tkis to tke Oode for tUe aoet Joyfal daj.*
New to tke Bndognom's kealth.

Mr, Tku day skaU bo
To Argos aa atonal festinL

TAy. Vortaae aW I to day botk try oar streagUu.
I kan qoite tind ker left-kaW Mieery ;
Ske aow reliene it witk ker rigkt-kaW Joy,
Wkiek ske lays oa me witk ker atamt fone ,
Bat botk skall be too weak for my straag spirit.

Jtr. (atide). 8o» aow my cagiaes of debgkt kave
senw'd
He Bioasier to tke top of arrogaaee;
AW BOW ke*s nWy for bis deadly falL

XXy. O tkese eztraaieo of aaosery aW joy
Measan tke vast ezteat of a Bum*8 soal.
My spint rsaekss FortaasTs East aW Wnt
Sks kas oft set aW ris*B ken; yet eaaaot get
Oat of tke TOot doauaioo of my miad.—
Hot my proW Taoatiag kas asoddaa ekeek;
Bee, from ay keW my erowa of nen faUs ;
My kair, tko* almost drowB*d beaeatk sweet oils,
Witk straage aW saddea korrori starts aprigbt:
Sometkiag I kaow aot wkat blBa aa aot eat ;
AW wkat T kan deroar'dt witkia me gnaas ;
I faia woald tear my breast to Mt it fjee;—
AW I kave catok*d tke eager thint of tears,
Wkiek all weak spirits kan ki misery.
I, wko a baaiskoieat ae^ar wept, weep aow.

• A kint of tke draedfal bsaqaet wkiek ke aeditat«i-
at wkiek tke Soa is .said to kave taraed away kii
koiaes.

♦ Tke msagled limbe of kU soa PkilutkcBV, vkiek
Atnas kas set befon him.

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Jtbt. BroCher, teKArd it not , *tts teef UL
MiMHT. like aiffht. it kautad witk iU spiritib
4Bd tpiritt lMv« BOt euily thdr Uuti ;
Tbntid, MmotaiMi tkAjTU iKpadntlf ■!•»&
A flight of beam from llM ferlan of dAj,
And soon lk« onnriiif of tlM spriglitlf eoekft ^«
BrockMv tb moniaf wi^ oar pkaaara yat.
Nor has the aprigktly wiaa erow'd oft aaoagh.
Sea IB giaatflagoaa at faUIeartli itsteepe,
Aad lete theee mriaacholy thoaghti break ia
UpoB oar wealur plcaaana. Ronae the wiaa,
Aad bid kiai ekaaa tkaea fuioiai keaoe for sliaaa.
Fill ap that refeiaad aaTaaqaieh'd Bowl,
Who maay a fiaat b Ua time haa fallea,
Aad Biaaj a BMiaatar; Kerealea aot BMia.

Tk§. If ha deaeaads *jita my groaaiaf braaat»
Like Harealea, he will da^nad to heU—

Atr. Aad ha will raaqaiah all the moastan thera.
Bfothar, yoar eoarafa with thia Hero try;
Ha i^ar oar Hoaaa haa raifa'd two haadred yaara,
Aad ha*8 the oaly Idag shall rale yoa here.

J%y. What aila me, I eaaaot heave it to my hpaf

^Ir. What,b the bowl too heavy ?

Thi§» No ; my heart.

Atr. The wiae wiU lightea it

Tkijf. The wiaa will aot
CaaM aaar my lipa.

Atr, Why shoeld they be ao atraage?
They an aear a-kia.

Thy, A-kia ?

Att, As poasible ; father aad aoa aot aaarer.

Thy. What do yoa aieaa ?

Att, Does aot good wiae beget good blood ?

Thy, *Tia trae.

Att, Toar lipa thea aad the wiae aiay be apkla.
Off with yoar kiadred wiae ; leave not a drop
To die aloae, bewiUei'd ia that bowL
Help him to heave it to hia head ; that*a welL

(ThyetUtdrviks,Adt^oftkm»der, JAettghtt
gomdO

Thy, What poad'roas eriaiae pall heav^ apoa oar
heads?
Natare b ehoak'd with some vast villamy,
Aad all her face b blaek.

Atr. Some lights, aome lights.

Hky, The sky b atoaa'd, aad reab *twizt aig^t aad
days
Old Chaos b retara'd.

Air, It b to see
A yooag Oae bora, more draadfal thaahnself |
That promises great oomibrt to bar ago^
4ad to reatore her empire.

ny. What do yoa Bieaa ?

Air. Goafo^oa I have ia thy bowels made.

Thy, Dixc thoaghti, like Tariea, break iato my auad
With flaadag braada, aad ahaw ma whatha amaaa.
Where b Philbtheaea ?

Air, Ask thy own howeb s
Thoa heard'st them groaa; perhaps they Mir wdl

Thy, Thoa haat aot, Tyraat-what I dare aot aak?
^^. i kiU'd thy 80% aad thoa haat draak hb bhmd.

For the Tabie Boifk

THEATRAUA.

Tom DuarET

Once got fifty guineu (according to tn«
ditionjfor singing a single song to queen
Anne in ridicule of ** the princess Sophia,
electress and duchess dowager of Hanover,**
(as she is called in the oath of allegiance,)
naturally no great &vourite with the then
reining monarch. The only lines of this
satirical production that have coae down
to us are the following ; and, until now
only the two first of the stansa have been
presenred by Durfey's biographers :—

* The erewa^ far tea weighty ^

7or ahoaldara of eighty I
8ha aoald aot aaslaia aaoh a tHV^f t

Bar head, loa^ atrsady

Haa growa ao aaataady

She eaa*t hold a aaaptrai

80 ProffidoMe kept her
Away«— Poor old I>owagar Sophy."

** Merry Tom '' had moot before the king
in the former reign, and Charles II., as is
well known, was yeiy fond of his company,

LiSTos's Marriage.

The following got into circulation just
after Mr. Dston was united to Miss Tyrer
but neyer was published :—

iistoa haa aiarried Faaay Tyrar t
He masu like all the towa, adaiira her,
A pretty actress, darauag virfee I
Bat some^ astoaiah'd at hb Ame&
Of oae, eompai'd with him, 00 small
She acareely aaem'd a wife at all,
Expiaaa*d their woader. hb reply
Show'd that he had «• good reaeea why.*-*
* We aeeds mast whea the devil drives s
Aad siaoe all married mea say, wives
Are of created thiags the worst,
I was resolv'd I woald be carst
With oae as samll as I could get her
The smaller, as I thoaght, the belter.
I aeed aot fear to lay my fiat aa,
Wheae'er *tb aeeded, Mrs. Lbtoa t
Aad siaoe, •like heathea Jew or Carib,
I like a ri(, bat aot a ilpara^riK
I got oae broad as she Is kaf—
Go aad do bettar, if I'm wroag.*

Charles Jevrers, Esq.

One of tbe most singular characters ot
his day was Charles Jennens, Esq^ a sort
of literary Bubb Doddington. Being bom
to a good estate, horn his boyhood he was
ridiculously fond of show and pomp, and

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his style of wntiog was of a piece with hit
style of living. It has been said, that he
^ut together the words of Handel's " Mes-
siah :" that he had something to do with
them is true ; but he had a secretary of the
name of Pooley, a poor clergyman, who
executed the principal part of the work,
and, till now, nas obtained no pait of the
credit. Charles Jennens, Esq. took it into
his head, (perhaps the most rational notion
he had ever indulged,) taat the majority of
Shakspeare*s commentators were mere
twaddling antiquaries, without taste or
talent ; but he adopted an unfortunate way
of proving it: he himself published an
edition of Hamlet, Lear, Othello, and one
or two more tragedies. He was of course
laughed at for his attempt, and George
Steevens tried to show a little of the wit,
for which his friends eave him credit, and
of the ill-nature for which he deserved it.
Jennens published a pamphlet in reply, the
greater part his own writing, which for
years was his delieht and solace : his poor
secretary used to nave the task of reading
it from beginning to end, whenever his
patron called for it, on giving an entertain-
ment to his friends. Jennens commented^
explained, and enforced, as he proceeded.
In some of the biographical accounts of
this personage it is asserted gravely, that
for some time after the appearance of this
tract he carefully looked over the news-
papers every day, to learn if the success
and severity of his attack had not com-
pelled Dr. Johnson, Malone, Steevens, or
Warburton, to hang themselves. This
depends upon the following epigram, writ-
ten at the time, and now only existing in
MS., but which obtained a wide circula-
tion, and is attributed, perhaps correctly,
to Steevens. The only objection to this
supposition is, that if it bad been Steevens's
it is strange how his vanity could keep it
out of the public prints, though after all it
possesses but little merit :^-

** Aftor Mister Charles Jenaene pTodne*d his Defmegf

He saw all the papers at Martji's,
To learn if the critios had had the good senst

To hanf theotiselves b their ofni garters.
Hs thought thej coold never out-live it The mt
I* readj to hang Mauelf, 'cause thej have nof*

When we called Jennens a literary Bubb
Doddington, we ought to have remembered
that Doddington had talents^ but Jenneos
had none.

Ellistov's EpioaAw.

The following has beea handed about as
from the pen of Mr. EUistoo, dow of the

Surrey theatre, tt may be his or it may
not, but whichever way the fact be, it cari
do him no harm to publish it The }H>int
is in the Greek Anthology, though we do
not suppose that Mr. £. went there for it.

The beet Withe,

** What wine do yon esteem the first.

And like above the rest r*
Ask'd Tom— said Dick—** M/ owm is wont.

My friend's is always best.**

Sir John Hill

Was a Polish knight and an English phy*
sician, more celebrated by Garnck's epi*
gprams than by his own dramatic composi-
tions, consisting of two farces. The Maiden's
Whim and The Roui. He wrote books
enough on all subjects ** to build his own
papyral monument,** if the grocers and
trunk-makers had not committed soch
havoc among them, even before his death.
That event was produced by taking bis
own remedy for the gout, and it is thus
commemorated.

On the Death of Doctor HiU.

•* Poor Doctor HiU is dead !"— ** Gkxd lack 1

Of what disorder T— ** An attack

Of goof — ^ Indeed I I thought that bs

Had foand a wondrous remedy.**—

•* Why so he had, and when he tried

He found it true— M* Doctor died f*

GOUT.

The contest among medical men for the
most proper mode of curing this complaint
cannot but produce a smile, when we re-
collect that the afflicted have recourse to
various and opposite remedies with suc-

We have heard of a man who would find
his pains alleviated by drinking a wine-
glass full of verjuice, while a table-spoonful
of wide would torture him almost to dis-
traction.

' There were two counsellors, some yean
ago, who generally cured themselves in a
very pleasant manner ; one, who was ac-
customed to drink water constantly, would
cure himself by drinking wine ; and the
other, who invariably took his bottle or
more of wine a day, was constantly cured
by the use of water.

Others, by living on a milk diet only,
have entirely curea themselves.

Some years ago there was a man in Italy
who was particiUarly succesiful in the corf

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of the goat : his mode was to make his
patients sweat profusely, by obliging ihem
to go up and down stairs, though with
much pain to themselves.

A quack in France acquired great repu«
tation for the cure of this malady, by the
use of a medicine he called " Tincture of
the Moon," of which he administered some
drops every morning in a basin of broth.
It was never used by any but the richest

Ejrsons ; for the price of a bottle full, not
rger than a common sized smelling bottle,
was eighty louis d ors. Furetiere mentions
this quack, and says he possessed many
valuable secrets. He adds, that the sur-
prising cures, to which he was witness, by
the " Tincture of the Moon," astonished all
the feculty at Paris. The operation of this
medicine was insensible.

OF THE

Craben Maka^

No. !!.•

He bad been in Yorkshire dalei.

Amid the winding aeare ;
Where deep and low the hamlets Ue
Bi^neath a litde patch of skj.

And little patch of sUn.— Wobmwobtb.

The Legeni) op the Troller's Gill,

On the steep felVt height shone the fair mooaligkt,

And its beams iUnm'd the dal^
And a silTcry sheen doth'd the forest greca.

Which sigh'd to the mossing gale.

From Bumsars tower the midnight hour

Had toU'd, and its echo was still.
And the elfin band, from faCrie land,

Wss nnoB ElbOton hilL

Twas sdent all, saro the watersT fall.

That with never cessiag din.
Roar and rush, and foam and gnsk.

In Loapsear's tronUed Una.

From his cot he stept, while the hontekoU slept,.

And he earroU'd with boist'roos glee,
Bnt he ne hied to the greea hill's side,

The faerie traia to see.

He went not to n>am with his owa dear aai

Alon( by a pine^lsd scar,
Nor siaf a lay to bis ladye love,

Veath the iifbt of the polar star.

• For No. I., see tba • Banqnat of tke Dead.*

The Troller, I Ween, was a feailess Wight

And, as legends tell, oonld hear
The night winds raye, in the KaaTe KabU eaT*,*

Withoaten a sign of fear.

And whither now are hiw fbotsteps bent ?

And where is the Troller bonnd ?
To the homd gill of the limestone hill.

To call on the Spectre Honnd !

Xnd on did he pass, o*er tite dew^bent gnm.

While the sweetest perfumes fell,
FfWB tke blossoming of the trees which spnnf

in tke depth of tkat kmely deU.

Now before bis eyes did tke dark gill nsa,

No noon-ray pierced its gloom.
And his steps around did the waters sonad

Like a voioe from a kanated tomb.

And then as he stept, a shuddering erept

0*er his frame, scarce known to fear.
For ke once did dream, tkat tke sprite of tke streaji

Had loudly called— Fobbkab 1

An aged yew In tke rongk eti£Ri grew,

A nd under its sombre shade
Did the Troller rest, and with charms unblest.

He a magic cirde made.

Then thrice did he turn where tke streamers MrB,1

Aad tkriee did ke kiss tke ground.
And witk solemn tone, in tkat gill so lone, .

Ha caU*d on tke Spectre Hound 1

Aad a burning brand ke clasp'd in kis kand,

Aad ke nam*d a potent spell.
That, for Christian ear it were sia to hear.

And a nn for a bard to tell4

And a whirlwind swept by, and stormy grew tha sky.

And tke torrent krader roared,
Wkile a kelKsk flame, o'er tke Trollert stalwart fram<

From sack cleft of tke gill was pour'd.

Aad a dreadful tktng from tka diff did spring.

And its wild bark tfcriU'd around—
Its eyes kad tke gtow of tke fires below—

Twas tke form of tke Spectra Hound I

• e e

WkM on Rylstoane's keight gtoWd the morning ligh

And, boma on the mountain air.
The Prioriel beU did the peasants tell

*Twas tke ckaatiag of jnatin prayer.

By peasant men, wkere tke korrid glea

Dotfc its rugged jaws expand,
A corse was found, wkete a dark yew frown'd.
And marks were imprest on tke dead man's braast-

Bnt tkey seem*d not by mortal hand.

• • •

• A care near Thorp. . .., , »_.

t The Northern Lights. ThesS beautiful matao*
are been Tery riTid and frequent of late,
i These two liaes are from a QermaB ballad.
I Bolton Priorie.

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•Vi the ercning calm m fnaml rMlm
Sbwlf stols oPcr th« woodlvd •ecB»—

The ha^bella ware on a asm'-nuule graT*
la * BansaU*t ebareh-yvd f imb."*

That faaeral ptalm ia tk« TMiafoalm,

Which eehoM the dell atoaad,
\Vu his, o'er whoM gnve bine harebells wave,

Who eaU*d oa the Spe«tre Uoaad 1

The abore ballad is founded on % Ira-
dition, very oommon amongst the moun-
tams of Craven. The spectre honnd is
BargegU Of this mysterious personage I
am able to give a very particular account,
having only a few days aeo seen Billy

B y, who had once a full view of it.

I give Uie narrative in his own words; it
would detract from its merit to alter the
language :

BiLLT B *n Adtbktubb.

' You see, sir, as how Fd been a dock-
dressing at Our»ton [Grassington], and Fd
staid rather lat, and may be gitten a lile
sup o' spirit, but I war far from being
drunir, and knowed every thing that passed.
It war about 11 o'clock when I left, and it
war at J[>ack end o'l' year, and a most ad-
mirable [beautiful] neet it war. The moon
war varra breet, and A niwcr seed Ryl-
stone-fell plainer in a' n^y life. Now, ^ou
see, sir, I war passin down t* mill loine,
and I heerd suromut come past me— brash,
biush, brash, wi' chains rattling a' the
while ; but I seed nothing ; ind thowt I to
mysel, now this is a most mortal queer
thing. And I then stuid still, and luik'd
about me, but I seed nothing at aw, nobbut
the two stane wa's on each side o't' mill
loine. Then I heerd again this brush,
brush, brash, wi' the chains ; for you see,
sir, when I stuid still it stopped ; and then,
thowt I, this mun be a Bargest, that sae
much is said about : and I hurried on to-
irards t* wood brig, for they say as how this
Bargest cannot cross a watter; but lord,
sir, when I gat o'er t' brig, I heerd ^ this
same thing again; so it mud either hev
crossed t' watter, or gone round by t* snrinff
heed I [About thirty miles !] And tnen I
uecam a valliant man, for I war a bit freet-
en'd afore; and thinks I, I*li turn and hev
a peep at this thing ; so I went up Greet
Bank towards Linton, and heerd this brush,
brash, brush, wi* the chains a' the way,
out I seed nothing ; then it ceased all of a
^iidden. So I turned back to go hame, but
Vd hardly reached t' door, when I heerd

again this brash, brush, brash, and the
chains going down towards l' Uolin House,
and I followed it, and the moon there shone
varra breet, and / seed its taU! Then,
thowt I, thou owd thing! I can say Ise
seen thee now, so I'll away hame. When
I gat to t' door, there war a girt thing like
a sheep, but it war larger, Ugging across f
threshold of t* door, and it war woolly
like ; and says I, ' git up,' and it wouIdn>
git up— then says I, ' stir thysel,* and it
wouldn't stir itsel 1 And I grew valliant,
and I rais'd t' stick to baste it wi*, and then
it hiik'd at me, and sich oies ! [eyes] thej
did glower, and war as big as saucers, and
like a craelled ball ; first there war a red
riaff, then a blue one, then a white one ;
and these rings grew less and less tiU tkeif
earn to a dot / Now I war nane feer'd on it,
tho' it gira'd at me fearfully, and I kept on
saying * git up,' and ' stir thysel/ imd t*
wife heerd as how I war at t* door, and she
cam to oppen it ; and then this thing gat
up and walked off, for ii war wunre feerd
oV ^ifethan it war o'mel and I told t'

wife, and she said it war Bargest ; but I
niwer seed it since, and that's a true
story!"

In the glossary to the Rev. Mr. Carr's
^' Horse Momenta Cravense," I find the
following — <' Bargettf a sprite that haunts
towns and populous places. Belg. birg,
and geeit, a ghost.'' I really am not a
little amused at Mr. Carr*s derivation,
which is most erroneous. Bargest is not a
town ghost, nor is it a haunter ** of towns
and populous places ;" for, on the contraiy,
it is said in general to frequent small vil-
lages and hiUs. Hence the derivation may
be bergf Germ a hiU, and geitt, a ghost ;
i. e. a hill ghost : but the real derivation
appears to me to be b&r, Germ, a bear, and
geist, a ghost ; i. e. a bear ghost, from its
appearing in the form of a bear or large
dog, as Billy B *s narrative shows.*

The appearance of the spectre hound is
said to precede a death ; which tradition
will be more folly illustrated in my next
legend, << The Wise Woman of littondale."
Like most otht* r spirits Bargest is supposed
to be unable to cross a water; and m case
any of my Craven readers should ever
chance to meet with his ghostship, it may
be as well to say, that unless they give him
the wall he will tear them to pieces, or
otherwise illtreat them, as he did one Joh&
Lambert, who, refusing to let him have the

^ * That bran were ooaimon in Crarai in aacteat
times is eyidrat from one of oor TilUfret beiof called
Bardps. i. e the beards den. I coDRider this cireav
•taaoe ia favonr of my deriration.— T. Q. M.*

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wally was so punished for his want of man-
ners, that he died in a few days.

This superstition has in one instance been
productive of good. A few years ago an
inhabitant of Threshfield kept a huge he-
goat, which the wags of the village would
sometimes turn into the lanes, in the night-
time, with a chain about his neck, to
frighten the formers on their return from
Kettlewell market. They once determined
to terrify a badgei, or miller, as he returned
from the market, by driving the animal
with the chains, fcc. into the lane through
which the man of meal was to i>as8. About
ten o'clock the miller, on entering Thresh-
field with his carty eepies the goat; and
hearing the chains, overwhelmed with tei^
ror, he conjectures it to be Bargest, that
was sent to take him away for his dishonest
dealings; the miller stops his cart, and
kneeling down in it, thus prayed, to the
ffreat amusement of the young rogues be-
hind the wall :— << Good lord, don't let the
devil take me this time, and I'll nevei
cheat any more ; do let me get safe home,
and ru never raise my meal again so extra*
vagantly as I have done of late.'' He did
get safe home, and was as good as his word
till he discovered the trick, when he'returned
to his old malpractices ; exemplifying the
old epigrazs.-*

*■ The davil wm tisk, tha daril a monk wovldte,
TIm devil fot wdl, the deriUmonk wm he."

In the second verse of the legend of '^ The
Troller'a Gill," it is said,

And the eUn bud from faCrie lead
Wm npoa Blbaton hilL '

Elboton is the largest of five or six very
tomantic green hills, that seem to have been
formed by some tremendous convulsion of
nature, at the foot of that fine chain of fells,
which extends from Rylstone to Bumsall,
and is said to have been, firom ** time where-
of the memory of man runneth not to the
contrary," the haunt of faeries; numbers
of these pretty little creatures having been
seen there by several men of honour and
veracity in this neighbourhood, one of
whom hoM had a faery in hi$ hand J The
elfin train has been visible in many parts
of our district, bat I know of* no place they
frequent more than Elboton. One of these
diminutive beings, called Hob, is reputed
to be ft watchful preserver of the farmer's
property, and a most industrious workman.
At Close-house, near Skipton in Craven,
Hob used to do as mudi work in one night
as twenty human workmen could in the
same time ; and, as I have been informed
Dy an individual, who resided there about

twenty years ago. Hob was accustomed to
house the hay, stack the com, and chum
the butter, as well as perform several other
offices, which tended materially to lessen
the labour of the husbandman and the
dairy maid. The occupier of Close-house
at that time, thinking to make Hob some
return for his kindness and assiduity, laid
out a new red cloak for him, which so
offended the good fa^ry, that he ceased bis
labours, and left the place. On the spot
where the cloak was left, the following
stanza was found,

Rob red eeat> Hob red hood.

Bob do jro* M» kann, bet no Borefood.*

Loupscar, alluded to in the third verse, is
a place in the Wharfe near Burnsall, where
the river is pent in with rocks, and boils
along in a confined channel, and then dis-
charges itself into a pool of tremendous
depth, forming, as Dr. Whitaker says ii
his history, ** a scene more dreadful than
pleasing.*' The channel of the Wharfe is in
general craggy, and the river abounds with
similar vortices to Loupscar ; the two most
celebrated of which are the Gastrills above
Grassington, and the Strid, in Bolton
woods. The latter will be recognised by
the poetical reader, as the fetal gulf where
the boy of Eeremond was drowned, whose
story Rogers has versified with such exqui-
•ite jMthos.

"The Troller's Gill" is in Skyram pas-
tures, beyond Appletreewick. 1 visited it
a few days ago, when the torrent was con*
sideiably swollen by the recent heavy rains
amongst the mountains. The roar of the
water, the terrific grandeur of the over-
hanging crags, and its loneliness, united to
heighten the terrors of the place. To an
inhabitant of London, the scene of the
wolf's glen, in the Drury version of " Der
Freischiitz," may give some feint idea of it.
Dr. Whitaker thought Troller's Gill " want-
ed the deep horror of Gordale,'* near Mai
ham. There is certainly more sublimity
and grandeur about Gordale ; biit as ta
horror, I think it nothing to " the Trailer'
Gill." This, however, is a matter of taste.
^ The last verses allude to the beautifu,
and ancient custom, still universally prev**
lent throughout our district, of chanting a
solemn dirge at funerals, till the corpse
reaches the church-yard gateway. I know
of nothing more affecting to a stranger than
to meet, at evening, a funeral train proceed*
ing along one of our romantic vallies, while
the neighbouring rocks are resonant with

• llf . Stoiy, of Gftifravr, hM wnttea a beaetifU
Cn«n fafrr tale, called Tiu HaraUL

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the loud dir^e sung by the fhcDds of the
departed. Long may this custom continue I
Too many of our old customs fall into mis-
use by the ridicule thrown on them by
dissenters, as being popish, &c. ; but I am
happy to say, that in Craven the dissenters
are great encouragers of funeral dirges. In
Mrs. Ileman's sacred melody, " Last Rites/
ihb stanza alludes to the practice :-

Bjr the ehantad pulm tkat fills
Rerermtlj tke aaeimt kills.
Learn, that from hit harvflito doat,
Peanats bear a Vrothtr on
To kit last npoM I

Qrtunngion in Craven, T. Q. M.

Nov. 6, 1827.

The Second Series of

WHIMS AND ODDITIES,

With Forty Original Designs,

BY THOMAS HOOD.

** What demon hath poeaeued thee, that tbon wilt
aerer forsake that impertiaeat castom of pvaaiog ?"

ScrihUrut*

If I might be allowed to answer the
question instead of Mr. Hood, I should
say, that it is the same demon which proi.
▼okes roe to rush directly through his new
volume in preference to half a dozen works,
which order of time and propriety en-
title to previous notice. This book de-
tains me from my purposes, as a new print
in a shop-window does a boy on his way
to school; and, like him, at the risk of
being found fault with for not minding my
task, I would ulk of the attractive novelty
to wights of the same humour. It comes
like good news, which nobody is ignorant
of, and every body tells to every body, and
sets business at a stand>still. It puts clean
out of my head all thought of another en-
graving for the present sheet, though I
know, good reader, that already '* I owe
you one" — perhaps two: — ^never mind I
you shall have '* all in good time ;" if you
don't, I'll give you leave to eat me. With
such ft tender, the most untender will, or
ought to be, as content as '' the blacks of
Niger at its infant rill,'' seated at their
<< white ban,** the thirty-eighth c«f— in Mr.
Hood's book, very near " the end," — a very
inviting one to Shylock-kind of people^
who have not

" •wn, perekanee, nakappx ^^l*« folks eooVd,

And ttca mad* fk«e of netra oorporatioas.'*— pi U9.

Mr. Hood begins-^o be modest-^vrith
pleading guilty to what "he calls '' some
verbal misdemeanours,** and then, leaving
** his defence to Dean Swift, and the other
great European and oriental psiidits,'* puts
himself upon his country. But by whom
is he arraigned, save a few highwaymen \r ,
the ** march of intellect," who sagely affim., '
that << a man who would make a pun would
pick a pocket 1" — a saying devised by some
wag, to the use and behoof of these dol-
drums, who never hear a good thing, but
thev button up their pockets and features,
and walk off with nothing about them of
likeness to humanity but the biforked form.
For capital likenesses of such persons, turn
to the story of " Tim Turpin," and look
first, to pay due honour, at the engravings
of <* the Judges of arsize/' and then at
" Jurors — not con-jurors.*' Portraits of
this order could not have been drawn by
any other than a dose and accurate observer
of character. Indeed, that Mr. Hood is
eminently qualified in this respect, he has
before abundantly testified; especially by
^ The Progress of Cant," a print that must
occupy a distinguished place in a history
of Character and Caricature, whenever such
a work shall be written.* In this new
series of " Whims and Oddities," he pre-
sents a sketch, called *' Infant Genius ; ^— ^
little boy delighted with having rudely
traced an uncouth figure ; such a ^ draw-
ing" as excites a good mistaken mother
to declare, '' the little fellow has quite a
genius, and will be very clever if he only
has encouragement:" — and thus many a
child's talent for fine-drawing — which, at
the tailoring trade, might have secured the
means of living — has been misencouraged
to the making up of fifth-rate artists with a
starvation income. The engraving of the
''Infant Genius ** illustrates the following
poem.

The Progress of Art.

O kappy time I— Art*s early days 1

Wken oVr eaok deed« witk sweet self-praise,

Naroissns-like I knnf I
Wken great Rembrandt bnt little seem il.
And sack old masters all were deem*d

Ae notking to tbe young I

• A « History of tke Art of Caneataring. br J. I
Maleolm, P.S.A.. 1813.** 4to., is by no means wkat te
title parpoAs. Mr. Maleolm waa a wrj wortby mai.
and a diligent compiler of faets on oCker subjects ; bvt,
in tke work alladed to» ke ntteilj failed, from want ol
knowledge and diserimisatioa. Me ooalbaade ckama
ter witk oaricatare, aad vae otkenriae imaAHtntm to
tke task ke nndertock.

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Some wentehj ttrokm— abropt and few
So eaailj and swift I drew,

Saffio*d for mf design ;
Mj sketehXt tnpexfieUl hand.
Drew lolids at a dash— >and tpann'd

A snifaoe with a line.

Not long mj eje was tiras oontrat
Bat grow more critical— my bent

Besaj'd a higlior walk ;
I copied leaden eyes in lead—
Rhnematic bands in wkito and red.

And goaty feet— in «ibalk.

Anon my stndions art for days
Kept making faces—happy phrase,

7or faces sack as mine 1
Aceomplisk*d in the details then
I left the minor parts of men.

And drew the form diTine.

Old gods and heroes— Trojan— Greek,
Figures— long after the antique^

Great Ajaz jnsay feared ;
Hectors of whom at night I dreamt,
And Nestor, fringed enoogh to tempt

Bird-aesters to his beard.

A Bacehns, leering on a bowl,
A Pallas, that oatstai'd her owl,

A Vnloan— Tery lame ;
A Dian stack aboat wifl« •*-»•
With my right hand ^ "' •

(One Williams did the same.)

Bat tir'd of (his dry work at last.
Crayon and chalk aside I cast.

And gare my brash a drink f
Dipping—** as when a painter dips
In gloom of earthqaake and eclipse — •

That is— in Indian ink.

Oh then, what black Mont Blancg arose,
Crested with soot, and not with snows ;

What donds of dingy hue I
In spite of what tho bard has penn*d,
I fear the distance did not ** lend

Enchantment to the view.**

Not Radcliffe*s brash did e*er dftign
Black Forests^ half so black as miae^

Or lakes so like apall;
The Chinese cake dispers*d a lay
Of darkness, like the light of Day

And Martin orur aU.

Yet arehin pnde sostam'd me still,
I gas'd on all with nght good-wiU,

And apread the dingy tint;
* No ho^y Lake helped me to patat*
The Devil snrely, not a saialt

Had any finger ia*tr

Bat eoloars cane 1— like morning liicbt.
With gorgeoos bars displacing night.

Or spring*! enliTen'd scene i
At once the sable shades withdrew ;
My skies got Tery, Tery bloe ;

My trees extremely green.

And waA*d by my cosmetic brash.
How beaaty's check began to blash ;

With locks of aabarn stain—
(Not Ooldsmitk*s Anbam)-«Qt-browB htir.
That made her loTf best of llie fair ;

Not ** lorelieet of tke plainr

Her lips were of rermilioa bne ;
Love in her eyes, and Prossiaa blno^

Set all my heart li fiame I—
A yoong Pygmalion, I adored
ne maids I made— 4mt time was stoiM

With evil— and it camo t

PerspectiTC dawn'd— and soon I saw
My houses stand against its law ;

And *« keeping** aU nakept 1
My beaaties were no longer things
For lore and fond imaginings ;

Bat horrors to be wept I

Ah I why did knowledge opo my cfcs
Why did I get more artist-wise ?

It only serves to hint.
What grave defects and wants are mino;
That I'm no Hilton in design—

la nature no Dewint 1

Thnee happy time I— Art's early days I
When o'er each deed wiU swset self-praiae,

Nareissns-Kkc I hang I
When great Rembrandt but little seem'd.
And such old masters ail were deem'd

As nothing to the young 1

In yerification of the old saying, *^ Once
a man, twice a child," Mr. Hood tells oi
** A School for Adults," — and gives a pic-
ture of aged men, baldheaded and wigged,
whose education had been neglected, study-
ing their A, B, C. A letter from one ot
them at a preparatory school is exceedingly
amusing. The article is preceded by a
dramatic sceae.

8§rvaaL Bow well yon saw
Tonr father to school to-day, kao«lB( Ww apt
He is to play the traaat

Son. Bat is he not
iTot gone to school?

Strvnt, Stand by, and yaa shall sea.

Enter thre» old mM, with taiektlSt iingiug,
AUikrM, Domine, domino, dnster.

Three knaves in a olnster*
80m, O (his is gallant pastime. Nay. eomo m
ta ^hit your school? wa* that voor kaina, ha?

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iff or^ Jim. Pimf,Mr,goodMi.IadMd,iwlMd-

Too ahall to mImoL Awsf witk Un ; add take
riMiriragdups with kin, the whole cluster of them.

U OU Mom, Tov thftn't Bead u, aoir. to jon »hao*t-<

U0UM9M. We beftoneof joef&tlMT.toirebe'jtt.—
Son.
AwMj with *em. I My i and tell their echool-mutresi
What tmaats they ar^ aad bid her pa/ *eai aooadly.

Jtttktf. Ohiohlohf

iMijf, Alael wiU nobody bcffpardoB for
The poor old boys ?

rrooeUsr. Do men oTsaeh lair years here go to school ?

Natim, They wonld die daaees else
These wers grsat sohoUrs ia their yonth ; bat wbea
A(e frows npoa nwn here, their learaii« wastes*
And so deeays, that, if they Ikf natil
Thweseore, their sons send 'ea to sehool agaia;
They'd die as speeeUess else as aew^bora eUldres.

Tmodltr. *Tis a wise aatioa, aad the piety
Of the yooaf men most rare aad eommeadabls t
Tet gire me, as a stxaager, leaTO to b^
Their liberty this day.

Jl9a. *Tb granted.
Hold ap your heads; aad thaak the geatlemaa.
Like scholars, with yoar heels aow.

^(Are«.Oratiaslgratiaslgfatiael [BMI,sMvfi^]
-TnAiinro»Bs»''«yJB.j

No reader of the first series of the
^ Whims and Oddities** can have forgotten
<" The Spoiled Child ** of <« My Aunt Sha-
kerly/' or the unhappy lady herself; and
now we are inforxnea that '' towards the
close of her life, my aunt Shakerly increased
rapidly in bulk : she kept adding growth
unto her growth,
** Giriag a snm of more to that which had loo mneh,**

till the result was worthy of a Smithfield
premium. It was not the triumph, how-
ever, of any systematic diet for the promo-
tion of &t,— (except oyster-eating there is
no human system of «^a//-feeding,)— on the
contrary, she lived abstemiously, diluting
her food with pickle-acids, and keeping
frequent fasts in order to reduce her com-
pass; but they failed of this desirable
effect. Nature had planned an original
tendency in her organisation that was not
to be overcome : — yhe would have fattened
on sour krout.

'' My uncle, on the other hand, decreased
daily; originally a little man, he became
lean, shrunken, wizened. There was a pre-
disposition in his constitution that made
him spare, and kept him so :— he would
have fallen off even on brewer*s grains.

'* It was the common joke of the neigh-
bourhood to designate my aunt, my uncle,
and the in&nt Shakerly, as < Wholesale,
Reiail, and For Expoktatioii ;' and, in
truth, they were not inapt impersonations

of that popular inscription, — ^my anct a

S'antess, my uncle a pismy, and the child
ling < carried abroad/ ^ — This is the oom-
mencement of an article entitled ^The
Decline of Mrs. Shakerly.'*

A story of *« the Absentee," and of the
'' absent tea,*' on a friend*s vbit to him, is
painfully whirosicaL Akin to it is an en-
graving of a person who had retired to rest
coiping down stairs in his shirt, and shorts,
and great alarm, with a chamber-light in
his hand, and the top of his nightcap in a
smothering blaze, exclaiming

" DofCi you tmeU Fire F*

Kaa 1— raa for St. ClemeatTs eogiae I

For the pawabroher's all ia a blasf,
▲ad the pledges avs frying aad singiag^

Oh I how the poor pawners will erase I
Now where eaa the tnraooek be driakiiv '

Was thers ever so thirsty aa elf?-*
Bat he still may tope oa, for I'm thukiaf

That the plugs are as dry as hiouelf.

The eagiaesl— I hear them eome ramUiag i

TherB>k the Pheraizr the Olobel aad the Sat I
What a row there will be, aad a gmmbliag.

When the water doa*t start for a raa I
8ee I there they oome racing aad tearing^

All the street with load Totees u fiU*d s
Oh I it's only the firemen arsweariaf

At a man they*Te ran over aad kill'd !

How sweetly the sparks fly away now,

Aad twiakle like sUrs ia the sky ;
It's a wonder the engines don't play aow

Bat I aever saw water so shy I
Why thers isa't eaongh for a snipe^

And the fira it is fiercer, alas I
Oh I iastead of the New River pipe,

They'have goae— that they have—to the gas*

Only look at the poor little P *%

On the roof-is there any thing sadder ?
My dean, keep fast hold, if yon please,

Aad they won't be aa hour with the ladder I
But if aay one's hot in their feet,

Aadia very great haste to be saVd,
Here's a aiee easy bit ia the street.

Thai If'Adam has lately napav'd!

There is someone— I see a dark shape

At that wiadow, the hottest of al],~
My good woBua, >rhy don't yoa eeeape ?

Never think of yoar booaet aad shawl t
If yoar dress is*Bt perfect, what b U

For oaee ia a way to year hartP
Whea year hasbaad is payiag a visit

Then, at Namber Foorteen, in hb skirtJ

Oaly see bow she throws ont her ckeaeg t

Hsr basias, aad teapots, and all
The meet brittte of ktr goods—or any.

Bat they all break m breauag their fallt

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9mA tkiasB an set waxtHj the b«tt

tnm ft two-Morj window to thivw'*
8ho might lare a good iroa bouad dual^

Vor th*ro's pl«at]r of peoplt below 1
O dMtfl what a Uaatiful flash I

How it ahooe throP the wiadow aad door •
We ehall aooa hear a leraam and a onuh.

Whea the womaa faUa thro* wtih the floor .
There I there I what a roHmj of flam^

And ^ea saddenlj all is obeeai'dl—
Well— rm glad u b/ heart that I eame ^—

But I hope the poor maa is iasor'd 1

There are ballads in the ** New Series '^
that rival <* Sally Brown and Ben the Car-
penter^ in the former volume. Of this class
are ** Mary's Ghost ;" the stoiy of " Tim
Turpin/' mentioned before ; and another of
* Jack Hall/' showing, how Jack was an
undertaker's mute — how Jack sometimes
drove the hearse — how Jack was in leasne
with resurrection-men, and stole the bodies
he buried — ^how Death met Jack in St.
Pancras burying-ground^ and shook hands
with him— how Death invited Jack home
to supper — how Jack preferred going to
the Cfheshire Cheese, and Death didn't —
how Jack was brought to Death's door,
and what he saw there — ^how Jack was
obliged to go in, and Death introduced him
to his friends as ** Mr. Hall the body-
snatcher" — how Jack got off without bid-
ding them eood night— how Jack was in-
disposed— ^how twelve doctors came to visit
Jack without taking fees^-how Jack got
worse, and how he confessed he had sold
his own body twelve different times to the
twelve doctors'how the twelve doctors did
not know Jack was so bad — how the twelve
doctors disputed in Jack's room which
should have his body till twelve o'clock—-
how Jack then departed, the twelve doctors
couldn't tell how— and how, as Jack's body
could not be found, the twelve doctors de.
parted, and not one of them was satisfied.

In the forementioned ballads there are
many " verbal misdemeanours," at which
the author cautiously hints in his preface
with some tokens of deprecation :— '^ Let
me suffgest," he says, ** that a pun is some-
what like a cherry : though there may be a
slight outward indication of partition— of
duplicity of meaning — ^yet no gentleman
need make two bites at it against his own
pleasure. To accommodate certain readers,
notwithstanding, I have refrained from
putting the majority in italics." He is
equally sinful and considerate in his prose :
as, for instance, in the following character,
which fairly claims a place with those of
bishop Earle, sir Thomas Ovexbuiy, and
even Butler.

' A Ballad Sincee

Is a town-crier for the advertising of lost
tunes. Hunger hath made him a wind in*
strument ; his want is vocal, and not he»
His voice had gone arbegging before ha
look it up and applied it to the same trade
it was too strong to hawk mackerel, b«.
was just soft enough for Robin Adair. His
business is to make popular songs unpopu^
lar, — he gives the air, like a weathercock,
widi many variations. As for a key, he has
but one— a hUch-key — for all manner of
tunes; and as they are to pass current
amongst the lower sorts of people, he
m9kes his notes like a country banker's, as
thick as he can. His tones mive a copper
sound, for he sounds for copper; ana for
the musical divisions he hath no regard, but
sings on, like a kettle, without taking any
heed of the bars. Before beginning he
clears his pipe with gin ; and 1^ is always
hoarse from the thorough draft in his throat.
He hath but one shake, and that is in win-
ter. His voice sounds flat, from flatulence ;
and he fetches breath, like a drowning
kitten, whenever he can. Notwithstanding
all this his music rains ground, for it walks
with him from end to end of the street.

** He is your only performer that requires
not many entreaties for a song ; for he will
chant, without asking, to a street cur or a
parish post. His only backwardness is to
a stave after dinner, seeing that he never
dines ; for he sings for br^, and though
com hat ears, sings very commonly in vain.
As for his country, he is an Englishman,
that by his birthright may sing whether he
can or not To conclude, he is reckoned
passable in the city, but is not so good off
the stones."

An incurable joker subjects himself to the
inconvenience of not being believed, though
he speak the truth; and therefore the fol-
lowing declaration of the author of ** Whims
and Oddities" is questionable. He says ; —

''AMaoDoo

Is none of my bugbears. Of the bite of
dogs, laive ones especially, I have a rea-
sonable dread ; but as to any participation
in the canine frenzy, I am somewhat scep-
tical. The notion savours of the same
frmciful superstition tha^ invested the sub-
jects of Dr. Jenner with a pair of homa
Such was affirmed to be the effect of the
vaccine roattei^-and I shall believe what
I have heard of the canine virus, when 1
see a rabid gentleman, or gentlewoman,
with flap ears, dew-claws, and a brush*
tail!

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'' r put no faith in the vulgar stories of

human beings betaking themseWes, through

% doe-bite, to dog-hatuts : and consider the

I smotherings and drownings, that have ori-

I ginated in that fimcy, as cruel as the murders

I for witchcraft. Are we, for a few yelpings,

to stifle all the disciples of Loyola — Jesuits'

bark^-or plunge unto death all the conva^

, lescents who may take to bark and wine ?

*' As for the hydrophobia, or loathing of

water, I have it mildly myself. My head

turns invariably at thin washy potations.

I With a dog, indeed, the case is different^-

, he is a water*drinker ; and when he takes

to grape-juice, or the stronger cordials, may

be dangerous. But I have never seen one

I with a bottle— except at his tail.

I ** There are other dogs who are bom to

, haunt the liquid element, to dive and swim

' —and for such to shun the lake or the pond

I would look suspicious. A Newfoundlander,

! standing up from a shower at a door-way,

or a spaniel with a parapluie, might be in-

i nocentiy destroyed. But when does such

a cur occur?''

I Mr. Hood answers the question himself
by " hydrophobia*' of his own creation,
namely, an engraving of a dog, on whom
he makes *' each particular hair to stand an
end ;" and whom he represents walking
biped-fashion; he hath for his shield, as
Handle Holme would say, an umbrella vtri,
charged with the stick thereof, as a bend or.

** The career of this animal," says Mr.
Hood, " is but a type of bis victim 's-^up*
pose some bank clerk. He was not bitten,
but only splashed on the hand by the mad
foam or dog-spray : a recent flea-bite gives
entrance to the virus, and in less than three
Years it gets possession. Then the tragedy
begins. The unhapoy gentleman first
evinces uneasiness at being called on for
his New River rates. He answers the col-
Ipctor snappishly, and when summoned to
pay for his supply of water, tells the com-
missioners, doggedly, that they may cut it
ofi*. From that time he gets worse. He
refuses slops — turns up a pug nose at pump
water — and at last, on a washing-day, after
flying at the laundress, rushes out, ripe for
hunting, to the street. A twilight remem-
brance leads him to the house of his intend-
ed. He fastens on her hand — next worries
his mother — takes a bit apiece out of his
brothers and sisters — runs a-muck, * giving
tongue,' all through the suburbs — and
finally, is smothered by a pair of bed-
beaters in Moorfields.

** Accordinsc to popular theory the mis-
chief ends not here. The dog's master —
the trainer^ the friends, human and canine

—the bank clerks— the laonJrtma swecit*
heart — ^mother and sisters— the two bed-
beaters— all inherit the rabies, and ruo
about to bite others."

But, is not this drollery on hydropiwbia
feigned ! Is it not true tint a certain boou
maker receives orders every July from the
author of *< Whims and Oddities," for boots
to reach above the calf, of calf so inordi-
nately stout as to be capable of resisting
the teeth of a dog, however viciously rabid,
and with underleathers of winter thickness,
for the purpose of kicking all dogs withal,
in the canicular days ? These queries are not
ursed upon Mr. H. with the tongue of scan- '
dal; of that, indeed, he has no fear, for be
dreads no tongue, but (to use his quota- [
tion from Lord Duberly) the ^ vermicular
tongue.'* This little exposure of bis pre- '
vailing weakness he has provoked, by
affecting to discredit what his sole shakes
at every summer. j

The « New Series of Whims and Oddi-
ties" abounds with drolleries. Its author's
** Forty Designs*' are all ludicrous ; and, '
that they have been engraven with fidelity
there can be little doubt, from his compli-
ment to the engraver. '* My hope persuades
me," he says, *< that my illustrations cannot
have degenerated, so ably have I been
seconded by Mr. Edward Willis; who,
like the humane Walter, has befriended my
ofispring in the wood.*** Though the en-
gravings are indescribably expressive, yet
a few may be hinted at, vix. |

" Speak up, sir !*' a youth on his knees,
vehemently declaring his love, yet in a
tone not sufficiently loud, to a female on a
sofa, who doth •* incline her ear" with a
trumpet, to assist the auricle.

" In and out Pensioners," exemplifying
the " Suaviter in modo,*' and ** Fortiter
in re."

** The spare bed," uncommonly spare.
*• Why don't you get up behind ?" ad-
dressed by a donkey-rider — who does not
sit before — ^to a boy on the ground.
" Banditti," street minstrels.
*' Dust O !*' Death collecting his dust—
critically speaking, this might be object-
ed to.

" Crane-iology ;" a crane, with its bill
calliper-wise, speculathig on a scull, and
ascertaining its developements.

** A Retrospective Review ;" very liten^^
•' She is all heart ;" a very hearty body.
" The last visit ;" quacks.

• This passafe ii qnotisd here from \L\nd feelJaf , aad
frieadly wiahM, towards the worth/ pemm maiSanM
u Ik

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The Angel of DetUli ;** cue of ihem—
▼ery fine.

** Joiners \^ Vicar and Moses.

** Drill and Broadcast ;" nature and art.

**Iiigh-bom and Low-bom;*' odd dif-
ferences.

« Lawk ! I Ve forgot the brandy !** abo-
minably proYoking— only look I
I " Comparative JPhysiology" is " a wan-
dering camel-driver and exhibitor, parad-
ing, for' a few pence, the creature's outland-
lish hump, vet burthened himself with a
bunch of flesh between the shoulders." —

** Oh would Mme power Che gifUe gC as
To tee onnel'i ts otken tee u I**

Mr. Hood's talents are as versatile as his
imagination is excursive : and it would be
difficult to decide, whether he excels in the
ludicrous or the grave. He depicts a
pathetic scene with infinitely delicate and
discriminative touches, and his powers are
evidently equal to a hish order of poetical
grandeur. His *< Sally Holt and the Death
of John Hayloft,** is an exquisite specimen
of natural feeling.

^ Nature, unkind to SaUy Holt as to
Dogberry, denied to her that knowledge of
reading and writing, which comes to some
by instinct. A strong principle of religion
made it a darling point with her to learn to
read, that she might study in her Bible :
but in spite of all the help of my cousin,
and as ardent a desire for learning as ever
dwelt in scholar, poor Sally never mastered
beyond A-B-ab. Her mind, simple as her
heart, was unequal to any more difficult
combinations. Writing was worse to her
than conjuring. My cousin was her ama-
nuensis : and from the vague, unaccount-
able mistrust of ignorance, the inditer took
the pains always to compare the verbal
message with the transcript, by counting
the number of the words.
I " I would give up all the tender epistles
I uf Mrs. Arthur Brooke, to have read one of
Sally's epistles; but they were amatory,
and therefore kept sacred : for plain as she
j was, Sally Holt had a lover.

'< There is an unpretending plainness in
1 some faces that has its charm — an unaffect-
ed ugliness, a thousand times more bewitch,
ing than those would-be pretty looks that
I neither satisfy the critical sense, nor leave
' the matter of beauty at once to the ima^^i-
' nation. We like better to make a new fiau^e
than to mend an old one. Sally had not
! one good feature, except those which John
I Hayloft made for her in his dreams ; and to
judge from one token, her partial fancy was
^ually answerable Ibr his charms. Oine

precious lock— -no, not a lock, but rather a
remnant of very short, very coarse, very
yellow hair, the clippings of a miliury crop,
for John was a corporal-^stood the fore-
most item amongst her treasures. To her
they were curis, golden, Hyperian, and
cherished long after the parent-head was
laid low, with many more, on the bloody
plain of Salamanca.

'* I remember vividly at this moment the
ecstasy of her grief at the receipt of the
fatal news. She was standing near tha
dresser with a dish, just cleaned, in her dex-
ter hand. Ninety-nine women in a hundred
would have dropped the dish. Many would
have flung themselves after it on tM floor;
but Sally put it up, orderly, on the shelf.
The fall of^ John Hayloft could not induce
the fall of the crockery. She felt the blow
notwithstanding ; and as soon as she had
emptied her hands, began to give way to
her emotions in her own manner. Afl9iction
vents itself in various modes, with different
temperaments : some rage, others compose
themselves like monuments. Some weep,
some sleep, some prose about death, and
others poetize on it. Many take to a bottle,
or to a rope. Some go to Margate, or
Bath.

'* Sally did nothing of these kinds. She
neither snivelled, travelled, sickened, mad-
dened, nor ranted, nor canted, nor hung,
nor fuddled herself— she only rocked her-
self upon the kitchen chair !

'< Tne action was not adequate to her re-
lief. She got up — took a fresh chair-^hen
another — and another — and another,-^tiU
she had rocked on all the chairs in the
kitchen.

'' The thing was tickling to both sympa
thies. It was pathetical to behold her gne(
but ludicrous that she knew no better how
to grieve.

*' An American might have thought that
she was in the act of enjoyment, but for an
intermitting O dear I O dear I Passion
could not wriog more from her in the way
of exclamation than the tooth-ache. Her
lamentations were always the same, even
in tone.. By and by she pulled out the
hair — the cropped, yellow, stunted, scrubby
hair; then she fell to rocking-^then O dear !
O dear I — and then Da Capo.

'' It was an odd sort of elegy ; and yet,
simple as it was, I thought it worth a thou-
sana of lord Littelton*s !

" * Heyday, Sally ! what is the matter T
was a very natural inquiry from my aunt,
when she came down into the kitchen ; and
if she did not make it with her tongue, at
jeast it was asked very intelligibly by iief

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eyes. Now Sally had but one way of ad* tfie phantom-ship «p and down tbe Hud-
dressing her mistress, and she used it hero. M>n, suggest to Mr. Hood a story entitled i
It was the same with which she would have ^' The Demon-Ship.'' This he illiistratefl |
asked for a holiday, except that the waters by an enffraring called ** The Flying- l
stood in her eyes. Dutchman, representing the aerial ascent |

" * If you please, ma'am,' said she, rising of a native of the Low Countries, by virtike

up from her chair, and dropping her old of a reversal of the personal graTity, whicfa^ I

curtsey, < if you please, ma'am, it's John particularly in a Uolhinder, has been eom- '

Hayloft is dead ;' and then she began rock- monly understood to have a tendency |

ing again, as if grief was a baby that wanted downwards. Be this as it may» Mr. Hood*s

jogging to sleep." tale is illustrated by the Uil-piece referred I

The many «< stories of storm- ships and to. The story itself commences with 9 ,|

haunted vessels, of spectre shallops, and highly wrought description of a sea-storm* .

supernatural Dutch-doggers — the ^ven- of uncommoL merit, which will be the last I

tures of Solway sailors, with Mahound in extract from his interesting volume that can I

his bottomless barges, and the careerings of be ventured, viz. :—

Twas off the Wash — the sun went down— the sea 1ook*d black and grioi.
For stormy clouds, with murky fleece, were mustering at the brim;
Titanic shades ! enormous gloom I — as if the solid night
Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light !
It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye,
With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky !

Down went my helm^— close reefd — the tack held freely in my haad-*
With ballast snug— I put about, and scudded for the land.
Loud hiss*d the sea beneath her lee — ^my little boat flew fiist,
But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.
Lord ! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail I
What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail I
What darksome caverns yawn*d before 1 what jagged steeps behind*
Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the wind.
Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase,
But where it sank another rose and gallop*d in its place ;
As black as night — they turn to white, and cast against the cloud
A snowy sheet, as if each surge uptum'd a sailor's shroud :-«
Still flew my boat ; alas I alas ! her course was nearly run !
Behold yon fatal billow rise — ten billows heap'd in one 1
With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling, hal,
As if the scooping sea contain'd one only wave at last 1
Still on It came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave ;
It seem*d as though some doud had tum*d its hugeness to a wavel
Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face —
I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base
I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine 1
Another pulses— and down it rush*d-^4n avalanche of bnne*
Brief pause had I, on God to cry, or think of wife and home;
The waters dos'd— end when I shriek'd^ I shriek'd below the foaml

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MR. GLIDDON'S CIGAR DIVAN,
King Street, Covent Garden,

Our readert, whom, between ourselves,
and without flattery, we take to be as social
a set of persons as can be, people of an
impartial humanity, and able to relish
whatever concemeth a common good, whe-
ther a child*s story or a man's pinch of
snuff, (for snuff comes after knowledge,)
doubtless recollect the famous tale of the
Barmecide and his imaginary dinner in the
Arabian Nights* Entertainments. We hereby
invite them to an imaginary cigar and cup
of coffee with us in a spot scarcely less
oriental — to wit, our friena Oliddon*s Divan
in King-street. Not that our fictitious en-
joyment is to serve them instead of the real
one. Quite the contrary ; our object being
to advance the good of all parties,— of our
readers, inasmuch as they are good fellows
in their snuffs,— of our friend, who can
supply them in a manner diffeient from
anv faiod*' else, — and of ourselvet, because

the subject is a pleasant one, and brings ui
ifll together agreeably. Those who have
the greatest relish for things real, have also
the best taste of them in imagination. We
confess, that for our private eating (for a
cigar, with coffee, may truly be said to be
meat and drink to us) we prefer a bower
with a single friend ; but for public smok-
ing, that is to say, for smoking with a
greater number of persons, or in a coffee-
room, especially now that the winter is
coming on, and people cannot sit in bowers
without boots, commend us to the warmth,
and luxury, and conspiracy of comforts, in
the Cigar Divan.

In general, the room is occupied by in-
dividuals, or groups of individuals, sitting
•part at their respective little mahogany
tables, and smoking, reading, or talking
with one another in a considerate undei
lime, in order that nobody may be di%

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tuibeJ. But OD the present occasion we
will have the room to ourselves, and talk as
ffe please. In the East it is common to see
dirty streets and poor looking houses, and
on being admitted into the interior of one
of them, to find yourself in a beautiful
room, noble with drapery, and splendid
wi'Ji fountains and gilded trellices. We do
not mean to compare King-street with a
street in Bagdad or Constantinople. We
have too much respect for that eminent
thoroughfare, clean in general, and classical
always; where you cannot turn, but you
meet recollections of the Drydens and
Hogarths. The hotel next door to the
Divan is still the same as in Hogarth*s pic-
ture of the Frosty Morning; and looking
the other way, you see Diyden coming out
of Rose Alley to spend his evening at the
club in Russell-street. But there is mud
and fog enough this weather to render the
contrast between any thorough&re and a
car^ted interior considerable ; and making
due allowance for the palace of an effendi
and the premises of a tradesman, a person's
surprise would hardly be greater, certainly
his comfort not so great, in passing from
the squalidness of a Turkish street into the
gorgeous but suspicious wealth of the apart-
ment of a pasha, as in slipping out of the
mud, and dirt, and mist, and cold, and
shudder, and blinking misery of an out-of-
door November evening in London, into
the oriental and carpeted warmth of Mr.
Gliddon's Divan. It is pleasant to think,
what a number of elegant and cheerful
places lurk behind shops, and in places
where nobody would expect them. Mr.
Gliddon's shop is a very respectable one;
but nobody would look for the saloon be-
yond it; and it seems in good oriental
keeping, and a proper uaame, when on
touching a door m the wall, you find your-
self in a room like an eastern tent, the
irapery festooned up around you, and views
exhibited on all sides of mosques, and
minarets, and palaces rising out of the
water.

But here we are inside ourselves. What
do you think of it I

B, This is a tent indeed, exactly as you
have described it. It seems pitched in the
middle of the Ganges or Tigris ; for most
of the views are in the midst of water.

J. Yes; we might fancy ourselves a
party of British merchants, who had pur-
chased a little island in an Eastern gulf,
and built themselves a tent on it to smoke
in. ^ The scenes, though they have a pano-
ramic effect, are really not panoramic daubs.
This noble edifice on the left, touched in

that delicate manner with silver, (or Is it
rather not gold ?) unites the reality of archi-
tecture built by mortal hands, with the
fairy lustre of a palace raised by enchant-
ment. One has a mind to sail to it, and
get an adventure.

Jff. And this on the lefL What a fine
sombre effect that mountain with a build-
ing on it has in the background ; — how
dark yet aerial ! You would have a very
solemn adventure there, — nothing under a
speaking stone-gentleman, or the loss of
your ri^ht eye.

O. Well, this snug little comer for me,
under the bamboos ; two gigantic walking-
sticks in leaf! A cup of coffee served by
a pretty Hindoo would do very well here;
and there is a temple to be religious in,
when convenient. Tis pleasant to have
all one's luxuries together.

T. If there is any fault, it is in the
scene at the bottom of the room, which is
perhaps too full of scattered objects. But
ail is remarkably well done; and as the
newspapers have observed, as oriental as
any thing in the paintings of Daniel or
Hodges.

C. Are you sure we are not all Mussul-
men? I begin to think I am a Turk
under the influence of opium, who take
my turban for a hat, and fancy I'm speak-
ing English. We shall have the sultan
upon us presently.

L. With old Ibrahim to give us the
bastinado. I have no fair Persian at hand
to offer him ; and, if I had, wouldn't do
it. But hero's ; he shall have

him.

O. (grinding with unghter.) What, in
woman s clothes, to beguile him, and play
the lute?

L, No; as a fair dealer; no less a pro-
digy, especially for a bookseller. You
should save your head every day by a new
joke; and we would have another new
Arabian Nights, or the Adventures of Sul-
tan Mahrooud and the Fair Dealer. You
should be Scheherezade turned into a man.
Every morning, the prince's jester should
say to you, << Brother Scratch-his-head, if
vou are awake, favour his Majesty with a
handsome come-off.''

JS, I cannot help thinking we are the
Calenders, got into the house full of ladies ;
and that we shall have to repent, and rub
our faces with ashes, crying out, ** 7%i«
is the reward of our debauchery : TkU is
the reward of taking too many cups ol
coffee : This is the revrard of excessive girl
and tobacco."

L, But, aks! in that case we should

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have the repentance without the lady,
! which is unfair. No ladies, I believe, are
admitted here, Mr. Gliddon?

ilfr. O, No, sir; it has been oflen ob-
served to me, by way. of hint, that it was
a pity ladies were not admitted into Eng-
lish coffee-houses, as they are on the con-
tinent ; but this is a smokinfj^ as well as a
coffee-room. Ladies do not smoke in Eng-
land, as they do in the East ; and then, as
extremes meet, and the most respectable
creatures in the world render a place, it
seems, not respecuble, I was to take care
how I risked my character, and made my
Divan too comfortable.

O. And we call ourselves a gallant
nation ! We also go to the theatres to sit
and hear ourselves complimented on our
liberal treatment of women, and suffer
them all the while to enjoy the standing-
room I

C, Women are best away, after all. We
should be making love, while tliey ought to
be making the coffee.

L, Women and smoking would not do
together, unless we smoked perfumes, and
saw their eyes through a cloud of fragrance,
like Venus in her ambrosial mist. This
room, I confess, being full of oriental
scenes, reminds one of other things oriental
— of love and a lute. I could very well
fancy myself Noureddin, sitting here with
my fair Persian, eating peaches, and send-
ing forth one of the songs of Uafiz over
those listening waters.

J. The next time Mr. Gliddon indulges
js with a new specimen of his magnifi-
cence, he must give us animate instead of
inanimate scenes, and treat us with a series
of subjects out of the Arabian Nights-
lovers, genii, and elegant festivities.

Mr. O, Gentlemen, here is a little fes-
tivity at hand, not, I hope, altogether
inelegant. Your coffee and cigars are
ready.

C, Ah, this is the substantial picturesque.
I was beginning to long for something
oriental to eat, elegant or not; an East-
dumpling for instance.

H. I wonder whether they have any puns
in the East.

J. To be sure they have. The elegancies
of some of their writers consist of a sort
of serious punning, like the conceits of
our old prosers ; such as, a man was " de-
^rted for his deserts ;'* or ** graceless,
though full of gracefulness, was his grace,
and in great disgrace."

C But I mean proper puns; pens
worthy of a Pundit.

L. You have it It is part of their daily

expundifure. How can there be men and
not puns T

To pan ii human ; to forftre it, fine.

H, There*s an instance in Blue Beard ;
in a pun set to music by Kelly ;

Fatima, Fo/ima, SM-Umbi lierel

C, Good. I think I see Kelly, who used
to stick his arms out, as if he were request-
ing VOL to see his limbs ; and Mrs. Bland,
whom he used to sing it to — a proper
little Fatima. Come ; 1 feel all the oeauty
cf the room, now that one is " having
something." This is really very Grand,
Signior ; though to complete us, I think we
ought to have some Sublime Port.

Mr. O. Excuse me : whining is not al-
lowed to a true Mussulman.

C. Some snuff, however.

Mr. G. The best to be had.

#F. Take some of mine ; I have cropped
the flower of the shop.

J. You sneeze, (j. I thought you too
old a snuff-taker for that.

C. The air of the water always makes
me sneeze It*s the Persian gulf here.

fF. This is a right pinch, friend C.
I'll help you at another, as-you*ve helped
me.

C. Snuff's a capital thing. I cannot
help thinking there is something providen-
tial in snuff. If you observe, different re-
freshments come up among nations at dif-
ferent eras of the world. In the Eliza-
bethan age, it was beef-steaks. Then tea
and coffee came up; and people being
irritable sometimes, perhaps with the new
light let in upon them by the growth of
the press, snuff was sent us to ** support
uneasy thoughts." During the Assyrian
monarchy, cherry-brandy may have been
the thing. I have no doubt Semiramis took
it ; unless we suppose it too matronly a
drink for Sa-Mere-a-Mis*.

(Here the whole Assyrian monarchy is
run down in a series of puns.)

H. Gentlemen, we shall make the Tour
of Babel before we have done.

L. Talking of the refreshments of dif-
ferent ages, it is curious to see how we
identify smoking with the Eastern nations ;
whereas it is a very modem thing among
them, and was taught them from the west
One wonders what the Turks and Persians
did before they took to smoking; just as
the ladies and gentlemen of these nervous
times wonder how their ancestors existed
without tea for breakfast.

J. Coffee is a modern thing too in the
East, though the usual accompaniment of

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their tobacco. *' Coffee without Tobacco,"
^ quoth Xhe Persian, as our friend's learned
' placard informs us, '* is like meat without
wit."* But coffee is of Eastern growth.
It is a species of jasmin. I remember, in
% novel I read once, the heroine was de-
scribed in grand terms, as '* presiding at
the hysonian altar ;" that is to say, making
tea. This lady might have asked her lover,
whether before his hysonian recreation, he
would not *< orientalize in a cup of jessa-
mine."

/F. I met with a little story in a book
yesterday, which I must tell yo\i, not be-
cause it is quite new or very applicable,

* A qaoUtion from a prospeetiu pnMUhed by Mr.
GliddoB. Ah thia prospectns la written in the ** style
lOciaU" and contains some particulars of his establish-
ment, which onr article has not noticed, we lay a few
[fasKaffes from it before onr readers : —

** The recreation of smoking* which waa introduced
into thia oonntry in an aire of great men, by one of
the greatest and most accomplished men of that or any
other age, was for a long time considered an elegance,
and a mark of good-breeding. Its rery success gra-
dually got it an ill name by rendering tt too common
and popular ; and aiimetbing became neoeasary to give
it a new tnm in its favour. — to alter tht asMciation of
ideas connected with it, and awaken its natural friends
to a due sense of its merits. Two cirenmstanoea com-
bined to effect this desirable change. One was the
discovery of a new mode of smoking bv means of roll-
ing up t&e fragrant leaf itself, and making it perform
the office of its own pipe; the other was the long
military experiem^ in our late wars, which have ren-
dered us so renowned ; and which, by throwing the
most gallant of onr gentry upon the hasty and humble
recreations eagerly snatched at by all campaigners,
opened their eyes to the difference between nal and
imaginary good breeding, and made them see that
whbc comforted the heart of man under sneh grave
circumstances, must have qualities in it that deserved
to be rescued from an ill name. Thus arose the cigar,
and with it a reputation that has been continually in-
ereasibg. There is no rank m society into which it
has not made its way, not excepting the very highest.
If James the First, an uncouth prince, unworthy of his
clever, though mistaken race, and who hated the gal.
lant introducer of tobaooo, did not think it beneath his
princely indignation to write in abuse of it, George the
Fourth, who has unquestionably a better taste for soom
of the heat things in the world, has not thought it be-
neath his prinoely retinement to give the cigar hia
countenance.

•* The art of smoking is a contemplative art ; and
being naturally allied to other arts meditative, hath
an attachment to a book and a newspaper. Books
and newBpapera are accordingly found at the Cigar
Divan; the latter consisting ct the principal daily
papers, and the former of a Fnonrss oollxctiov or
THK MOST SMTERTAiviva pxRioDiCALS. The situation
of the house u unexceptionable, being at oh tqmai dii-
toMcefrom the eitjf a»a the weit end, and in the imme-
diate neighbourhood of the great theatres. Writers of tha
most opposite parlies have conspired to speak in the
Bighest terms of the establishment, on their own pep-
iDoal knowledge; and should any authority be wanting
to induce a reader <rf this paper to taste all the piquant
ndvaatages of fragrance, and fine drinks, and waraith,
and quiet, and literature, which thry have done the
I proprietor the hononr to expatiate on, he may tind it,
if a man of wit and the town, in the person of Yielding ;
rf a philosopher, in that of Hobbes ; if a divine, in that
I 9f Aidrich ; and if a soldier, seaman, patriot, atateam an,
I oreavalier, in the aU-aooompli»hed person of sir Wal-
, tor Raleigh.'*~See also an article in the New Monthly
llagaxme, for January, itfift.

but because it U Eastern, and made me
laugh. I don't know whether it is ia the
jest- books ; but I never saw it before. A
fellow was going home through one of the
streets of Bagdad wiih a forbidden bottle
of wine under his cloak, when the cadi
stopped him. '< What have you got there,
fellow?" The fellow, who had cootrived
to plant himself against a wall, said, " No-
thing, sir.*' << Put out your hand, sir."
The right hand was put out; there was
nothing in it. " Your left, sir." The left
was put out, equally innocent. " You see,
sir,'' said the fellow, « I have nothing."
" Come away from the wail," said the
cadi. «* No, sir," returned he, •* ii wiU
break:'

H. Good. That is really dramatic h j
reminds me that I must be off to the play.

J. And I.

a And I.

O. And I. Well make a party of it
and finish our evening worthily with Shak-
sp>eare; one of the greatest of men, and i
most good-natured of punsters.

L, By the by, Mr. Gliddon, your room
is not so large as in the lithographic print
they have made of it ; but it is more East-
em and picturesque.

/iP". We'll have a more faithful print tc
accompany this conversation, for 1 am re-
solved to be treacherous for this night only,
and publish it. It is not a proper specimen
of wnat my friends coftfd <^\ : hut it b not
unlike something of what iitt-) do; and
sociality, on all sides, will make the best
of it.

LAURENCE-KIRK SNUFF-BOXES.

James Sandy, the inventor of these
pocket-utensils, lived a few years ago at
Alyth, a town on the river Isla, in Perth-
shire, North Britain. The genius and ec-
centricity, of character whicR distinguished
him have been rarely surpassed. Deprived
at an early age of the use of his legs, he
contrived, by dint of ingenuity, not only
to pass his time agreeably, but to render
himself an useful member of society.

Sandy soon displayed a taste for me-
chanical pursuits; and contrived, as a
workshop for his operations, a sort of cir-
cular bed, the sides of which being raised
about eighteen inches above the clothes,
were employed as a platform for turning-
lathes, table-vices, and cases for tools of at)
kinds. His lilent for practical mechanics
was universal. He was skilled in all sorts
of turning, and constructed scvend verv

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curious latlies, as well as clocks and musical
i instruments of every description, which
'' were do less admired for the sweetness of
their tone than the elegance of their woik*
manship. He excelled, too, in the con-
struction of optical instruments, and made
some reflecting telescopes, the specula of
which were not inferior to those finished
by the most eminent London artists. He
likewise suggested some important im-
provements in the machinery for spinning
nax ; and, as before stated, he was the first
who made the wooden-jointed snuff-boxes,
generally called Laurence-Kirk boxes, some
^ of which, fabricated by this self-taught ar-
tist, were purchased and sent as presents
to the roysd family.

To his other endowments he added an
accurate knowledge of drawing and en-
graving, and in both these arts produced
specimens of great merit.

For upwards of fifty years Sandy quitted
his bed only three times, and on these oc-
casions his house was either inundated with
water, or threatened with d|nger from fire.
His unbounded curiosity prompted him to
hatch different kinds of birds' eggs by the
natural warmth of his body, and he reared
his various broods with all the tenderness
of a parent. On visiting him it was no
unusual thing to see singing birds of difier-
ent species, to which he ma} be said to
have given birth, perched on his head, and
warbling the artincial notes he had taught
them.

Naturally possessed of a good constitu-
tion, and an active, cheerful turn of mind,
his house was the general coffee-room of
the village, where the affairs of church and
state were freely discussed. In ^conse-
quence of long confinement his countenance
had rather a sickly cast, but it was remark-
ably expressive, particularly when he was
surrounded by his country friends. This
singular man had acquired by his ingenuity
and industry an honourable independence,
and died possessed of considerable pro-
perty. About three weeks before his death
he married.

INN-YARDS.

For the Table Book.

It was a November morning — sullen and
lowering. A dense fog left the houses but
half distinguishable on either side the way,
as I passed through Holborn to the Sara-
cen's Head, Snow-hill, where I had taken
my place the preceding evening in the— —

coach, in order to pay a long>pro«]sed visit

to my friend and schoolfellow T . My

feelings were any thing but enviable. They
were in a state of eeatouable and almast
intolerable irritation, resulting from all suc-
cessive evils of a shivering and early resig-
nation of enveloping bed-clothes, a hurried
dressing, (productive of an utter fiulure in
the arrangement of the bow of my neck-
cloth,) a trembling band that caused a gash
in my chin with a blunt razor, (all my
others had been officiously packed up by
Mrs. Sally,) a breakfast swallowed stand-
i'^?> (which I abominate, as it stands to
reason it must be unwholesome,) tea that
seemed " as if it never would grow coolp"
though poured out in the saucer, and sun-
dry admonitory twitchings of the bit of
court-plaster on my sliced chin, threaten-
ing the total discomfiture of my habilimen-
tary economy. All these things tended but
little towards rendering my frame of mind
peculiarly equable, while hurrying forward
towards the point of destination, gulpinjg
down fresh (no not fresh) mouthfuls of the
thick yeUow atmosphere, at each extorted
exclamation of disgust and impatience.

At last I arrived in the inn-yard, fully
prepared for an expected look of surprise,
and accompanying exclamation of—-** The
" coach, sir ! why, Lord bless you,

sir, it*s off long ago ; it leaves here at seven
precisely, and it's now nearly half past."
Conceive then what was my agreeable
astonishment when I learned that the real
time was only half past six I I found that,
owing to my anxious fears lest I should be
too late, I had neglected to perceive that
my watch had gained half an hour in the
course of the night; and the shame I now
felt at having thus suffered my irritability to
get the better of me, led me to reflect upon
the patient gentleness of the mild and
amiaole Fanny, (my friend's wife,) who is
indeed a perfect specimen of a delightful
woman. In her are joined those two qua-
lities so rarely united (yet, which, when
they are so, fcrm a gem)^a truly feminine
and gentle heart, and a strone and well-
informed mind. It is trul^ delightful to
see her blend the domestic duties of a
housewife, (the fulfilment of which is ever
graceful in a female,) and the affectionate
attentions of a mother and wife, with lite*
rary information and attainments.

I was called off from this pleasing sub-
ject of reflection by a view of the scene
before me. The coach, a handsome, well-
built Tehicle, stood on one side of the yard
in all the brilliancy of a highly-varnished
claret ground, and burnuha

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The four beautiful, spirited animals belong-
ing to it, with tbeir glossy bright skins
covered with cloths till the moment of
^ putting to/' were then led forth by a feU
low in corduroy breeches, laying in massive
rolls on his large muscular limbs, and ter-
minating in a pair of dull and never-shining
top-boots — a waistcoat which had been of
, red plush, spotted with black; but the
glories of its gules and sable were well
nigh effaced by the long line of successive
cross-quarterings of grease and mud — a
face hard and liny, that looked impenetra^
ble, and certainly conveyed no idea to my
mind of a '* llobin Ostler," who ** never
]oy*d since the price of oats rose,'' much
less could it have ever been ^ the death of
him." He came forward with that slouch-
>i)g g^it and hoarse rasping voice, so well
personified by the admirable and all-ob-
serving Matthews.

Then the coachman appeared— well but-
toned up to the throat in an enormous box-
coat of a whitish drab colour, fiastened with
' immense mother-o'-pearl buttons— a yellow
silk handkerchief round his neck, reaching
iust under the nether lip, and covering the
tips of his ears — a hat with brims, like the
walls of Babylon— «nd an air of affected
nonchaiance, which tells you, that you are
expected to look upon him in a very dif-
ferent light from the attentive '* coachee **
of some few years back. He is now a
complete fine gentleman ; for as the gen-
tleman affects the coachman, why should
not the coachman affect the gentleman?
They are now not to be known apart

The " luggage" is then brought forth and
" loaded" — and all the passengers installed
in their different places. The last direc-
tions aVe given. ^ More last words," and
a paper of biscuits is handed in at the
coach-window to the little boy who is ffoing

to f under the special care or the

coachman, and, as his mamma delightedly
observes, is already become a favourite
with the ** kind-looking lady ** opposite to
him. The small parcel " to be left at Mr.
K— *s at the small white cottage** is snugly
slipt into the coach-pocket— and the final
" all right ** is given from the impatient
passengers " behind." How different is
the quiet and orderly manner in which a
vehicle is thus despatched to go hundreds
of miles, from the dire bustle and utter
^ confusion of tongues** attendant upon the
denarture of a French diligence-
imagine a spacious yard, paved with
stones shaped like enormous '^ sugared al-
monds," jutting out in all directions to the
utt«r annoyance of the Jive poor animals^

or rather skeletons, in rope ham^, which
are about to be yoked to an uncouth ma^ i
chine, looking the complete antipodes of
rapidity of motion— of a colour perfectly I
indescribable, but something approaching '
to a dingy red, intermixed with a rusty,
dusty black— straw peeping out in every
direction ; whether from roof, or sides, or
entangled among the "broken, rickety steps.
which project in awful forewarning o^
grazed shins and sprained ancles. The
Candudeur in his dark blue jacket turned
up with scarlet — leather breeches shining
with the perpetual friction of the saddle —
boots, like brewing vats — a hat, very neady
a ** perfect cone," with a rim, set in the
middle of a regular copse-wood of coal
black hair, surmounting a face whose dark
complexion, fiercely sparkling eyes, and
stiff mustachios, help to give force to the
excessive tension ot muscle in hb counte-
nance, which is actually convulsed with he,
as he sends forth volleys of mct^ and mot- i
bletu at the mmtdit entity on the roof, who
persists in loading the different articles io
exact opposition to all the passionate re-
monstrances and directions of poor Afoii-
9ieur le Conducieur, Femrnet de ehambret
shrieking at the verv top of their voices —
** Gar^om of fifty equally vociferous in
bawling *< On vient I an vietU /" though no
one calls— Comtnuftonoiret insisting upon
the necessity of passports to incr«iulous
Englishmen, with an incessant ** Mmt qmt
diable done, ilfoiutrar/"— Hordes of beggars
shouting forth their humble petitions of
** Pour fioROKr du bon Dieu tin petit Uard,
MatuieurJ" ^'Ak! Seigneur ^ q**ut-ce ^me
fai fait de met cleft /" screams the land-
lady. " Sacrd nom de townerre I tme-4oi,
douc,*^ growls the landlord, in a voice like
the thunder he invokes.

At last the ponderous vehicle b set in
motion amid the deafening clamour of the
surrounding group, and the hideous, un«
relentingly, eternal cracking of the Cois-
duetewr't detested fouet /

M. H*

For the Table Book.
THE TURNPIKE MAN,

•* Good ud bad of «U aorti.**

As the ^ Commissioners" rely on the
trtut reposed in the " Pikeman," 1 imagine
him to be worthy of being shown in the
most favourable colours. Like a ffood
sexton, he must attend to his toll— liLt a

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talesman, know his head of cattle — like a
lottery phze-seeker, be acquainted with his
DumMr — like Fielding's Minos, in his
•* Journey from this world to the next,'*
shut his gate against those who are brought
np improperly to the bar. A modem UiU
pin should scarcely nsk a ride unwittingly
through his demesne.

I In the " dead waste and middle of the
night," when sleep steals over him wearily
how many calls of the coachman, the chaise
driver, the stanhope gentleman, the impor-

I tant bagman, and the drover, is he obliged
to obey I The imperative "Piker —

'"GateT— "Hallo r— are like so many
kjiellt rung in his ear. The clock is a
friend to most men in the various occu*
witions of life; the shadow on the grass
warns the shepherd and hind to retire to
rest; the dial gives the eardener leave
to quit his vegetable and Aoral world in
safety till the succeeding morning; but the
pikeman finds no solace in the instructive
progress of his Dutch-clock, or in the more
nighly favoured one with a window before its
pulselike-pendulum, (as the person with a
window in his breast,) or in the weather
betokening " man and woman,'' who, like
an unhappy couple, never go out together.
Who that has looked upon the pikeman's
contracted span — his little white-painted
but, like a showman's figured canvass — but
shrewdly guesses that the best portions of
his sunside of comforts are on the outside ?
What a Jack in the Box I* He seems in
his room like a singing-bird in a cage. His
cat and dog are his companions, save when
the newsman, postman, or any man, in
short, arrives. Munden's " Crack" is not
to be seen at every turnpike gate. A mag-

f)ie, or blackbird, often nangs and whistles,
ike himself, in stationary captivity. Yet
he is a man of some information. The
waggoner, the duellist, the huckster, and
the Gretna folks, in pursuit of romantic
happiness, sometimes make him useful.
The horse patrol consults him in the way
of business ; few fights occur without his
knowledge; and even the political ex-
press gives him broad hints as to the secret
operations of his majesty's ministers. He
is completely au fait in all common con-
cerns in his vicinity — a local " finffer-post."
Occasionally, I have seen a chubtaced,
curly-headed child playing near his " box"
on the roadside, like idleness in ease, with
lushes and flags round its brow, enjoying

• The original ** Jack \m the Box/* with the nntmef-
frater at the bottom, has disappeared with its ooBtem-
poraiy, the ** Horn Alphabet,^ to the no •mall lom of
aUfood joomg people.

the luxuries of fancied greatness, and twist-
ing leaves and weeds together — emblems
of our varied and united virtues. And
I have beheld a pikeman*s housewife (if
bcr dwelling may be called a house) busily
employed within her narrow sphere to
** keep things straight," and " make both
ends meet,' with an understanding, that
•« all's well that ends well."* And I
"have observed her lovely child, kneeling
before its mother on a stool, with its palms
pressed together, in the grateful attitude of
an acknowledged beneficent Providence.

/ once knew an upright and a civil pike-
man. He had seen better days. — One of
the beauties of education is, that it distin-
guishes a man, however he is placed.'— He
was planed down, as a carpenter might
say, from the knots of pride, to smooth
humanity. To use a beautiful, though
much quoted, apostrophe by Avon's bard,
" I shall not look upon his like again !"
All good characters give useful example :
— ^they teach as they live, and win inferiors
in virtue by the brightness a&c placidity of
their decline and foil.

There is a difference between a Tyburn-
gate official, and a promiscuous sojourner,
who guards the pass of a new, lone road,
through which scarcely a roadster trots.
The cockney keeper of cockney riders, is
rarely without " short cut" and the " ready "
in word and deed. In his short-pocketed
white apron he stands defiance, and seems
to say, •* Who cares t* His knowing wink
to the elastic arm of the coachee, which in-
dicates the " all right l" has much meaning
in it His twirl of the sixpence on his
thumb nail, and rattle of " coppers " for
"small change," prove his knowledge of
exchange and the world.

The pikeman out of town is allowed a
scrap of garden-ground, which he sedu-
lously cultivates. In town, he has not the
liberty of a back door — to be acquainted
with his boundaries, you need only look at
the " Farthing pie gate" for an example.
He may be sometimes seen in a chair, in
front of his domicite, making remarks on
" men and manners." His name hangs on
a thread over his door ; if he is an honest
man, equestrians will appreciate his merits,
and do well if they imitate his philosophy.

J. R. P.

• Coatented in mv littbthOBM,
On ererj call I wait
To take the toll f to ope and thnt
The fire-barr'd tnmpike fate.

RusTio Fsimm

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ROBERT NORTH, ESQ., OF SCARBOROUGH.

This portrait, cop*ed from a picture at
Scarborough by Mr. Baynes, jun., and not
before engraven, is of a very worthy per-
son, whose eccentricitif'S in well doing ren-
dered him in some degree remarkable. Mr.
Robert North, whom it represents, was bom
at that place, of which his finther was vicar,
on the second of November, 1702. His
education was liberal. After completing
his studies at one of the universities ho
visited the continent, and was disting^uished
for refinement of manners and exemplary

benevolence and piety. In the lattor part
of hi • life he sought retirement, and addom
went abroad except to the church, wfaleh he
regularly attended on every occasion when
service was performed. He generally ap-
peared absorbed in meditation, and was
accustomed to make ejaculatory prayers,
or fervent aspirations, as he walked. Onc«
in every year he had a sort of gala-day for
the entertainment of his female iirienda^
whom he charmed by his polite attention
and pleasing conversation. With the next

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morning he rosuined his usual seclusion for
/he ensuing twelvemonth. He lived many
years in full expectation of the commence-
ment of the millennium.

But tnat which has given celebrity to
:he name of the late *' Robert North, Esq."
It Scarborough is the founding, in the year
1 728, of a very useful institution, called "The
Amicable Society/' for clothing and edu-
cating the children of the poor; which under
the government of a president, four trus-
tees, and four wardens, annually elected,
with a fund for its support, arising from the
weekly subscriptions of the members, col-
lections made in the church, and other
voluntary donations, continues to flourish.
The number of children thus clothed and
educated, now in the school, is sixty, and
the number of members two hundred and
sixty-five.

ll»is institution has preserved many
children from the contagion of evil exam-
ple, and enabled them to follow useful oc-
cupations in life with credit and advantage.
Several, who, by their early education at
this seminary, attained a competent know-
ledge of navigation, became mates and
commanders of vessels, and eventually
benefactors and patrons of the institu-
tion.

The exact day of Mr. North's death does
not appear ; but his interment is dated in
the parish -register of Scarborough, 14th
October, 1760.

Mr. Noitli, by a singular codicil to his
will, gives one pair of his silver candle-
sticks to the celebrated Dr. Young, author
of the poem on the Last Day, &c. ; and the
other pair to the Rev. James Hervey, autlior
of the Meditations among the Tombs, &c
" I call these," he says, '* in some measure
legacies to the public, having given them
to persons so well able to employ them for
the benefit of mankind.**

The other legacies by this codicil are
usually in themselves remarkable, and all
ihe bequests are accompanied by remarks,
which denote the peculiar character of the
donor's disposition : for examples—" To the
lady Lowther, of Swillington, a eurioiu
basket made of beads, the product of the
virgin amusements of my grandmother —
and her two sisters— it seeming highly
proper to present a thing, which has gained
the applause of most people, to a person
who I hope has gained the applause of all.
To Mrs. Philadelphia Boycott, my Kerry
seal set in gold, witti Mr, Addison's head
engraven on it— which will be very filly
lepokited in the hands of a lady, whose
ictters arc much celebrated for their wit

and humour. In pursuance of an old pro*
mise, to Mrs. Barbara Tatton a picture in
needleworky which was likewise made at
the leisure hours of wiy aforesaid grand--
mother and her sisters^ and which I suppose
to have been designed for king Charles IL
—the subject of which may perhaps some-
times engage her to reflect on this great
truth, that the finest wit, if it deviate from
the paths of virtue, is but a more elegant
sort of folly. To Mrs. Christiana Hargrave,
spinster^ my silver coffee-pot, silver tea-pot,
the silvei stands for them, and my silver
tea-canisters, milk -pot, and tea-spoons —
bein^: all of them baubles of some dignity
and importance, even to women of sense,
when in complaisance to the customs of an
inconsiderate age they condescend to trifle.
To the Rev. Thomas Adaaj,* reetor of
Wintringham in Lincolnshire, my maho-
gany bureau and bookcase — which may
serve as a cabinet in which to reposit his
manuscripts, till he may think it proper to
make a cabinet of the world. In pursuance
of an old piomise to Mrs. Susannah Adam,
his wife, my gold snuff'-box — but if the
contents of it prejudice her constitution, I
hope she will upon this occasion follow the
example of many fine ladies, who have
many fine things which they never use.
My silver cup and best silver tankard to
Barnabas Legard, of Brompton, county of
York, Esq., a person qualified by experi-
ence to teach our fine gentlemen a truth,
which perhaps many of them will be sur-
prised to hear — that temperance is the most
delicious and refined luxury. To ensign
William Massey, (my godson,) son of the
late Capt. John Massey, of Hull, my
sword ; and hope he will, if ever occasion
require it, convince a rash world that he
has learned to obey his God as well as his
general, and that he entertains too tine a
sense of honour ever to admit any thing
into the character of a good soldier, which
is inconsistent with the duty of a good
Christian.f I give the sum of forty pounds,
to be paid into the king's exchequer. — I
give thirty pounds to be added to the
common stock of our East India company
— which two last legacies I leave, as the
best method I know, though not an exact
one, of making restitution for the injustice
I may have done, in buying (inadvertently)

• The Whole WorVs of the Rer. ThomM A^am hare
been lately fint coUacted b three volt, by the Rer.
W. Smith.

t A brave man thinlce no one his raperior who doei
Mm aa injury, for he ha« it then in hit power to make
himself snperior to the other by foifiTing it

reetctor.

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mj uncustomed goods; and which I
hope will be accepted by the great Judge
of all men, in case I do not meet with a
3etter before I die. — I give the sum of one
Hundred pounds to the person who shall
within four years after my decease make
and publish the beit tragedy, entitled Fir^
tue Trittmphant — wherein among such
others, as the poet shall think proper to
introduce, shall be drawn the character of
a virtuous man unconquered by misfor-
tunes, &c. I give the sum of one hundred
pounds to the person who shall, within four
years after my decease, make and publish
the be9t comedy; wherein — among such
others as the poet shall think proper to in-
troduce— shall be drawn the four following
characters, viz. of a fine gentleman, a fine
lady, a beau, and a coquet ; the two first
to be drawn with a thorough taste for reli-
gion and virtue, accompanied with fine
sense and humour, and to be crowned with
success; the two last with the fopperies
and follies common to persons of these
denominations, and to be made objects of
contempt and ridicule,'' &c*

Ma. NoRTB*s Prizes for the Poets.

NothiBg further appears to be known
respecting Mr. North, except that, through
the ** Gentleman's Maganne " for July,
1734, he proposed, and was the anonymous
donor of fifty pounds, '< as a prize ror the
poets," to encourage them '< to make the
best poem, Latin or English, on Life, Death,

I.

• Besidea tbeae bequests, Mr. Kortik desired that
tiro manuscript-books, eonsisting of misoelUaeous
pieces, aad psrttcuUrly a discourse, the fint and but
parts whereof were oompoeed with a Tiew of their beinc
preached instead of a sermon at his funeral, should
be printed in one Yolume after his decease, at an ex*
pease of one hundred ponnds, and directed the profits
of the books sold to be expended in eausine an impres-
sion to be made of fear sermons by archbishop Sharp
and bishop Bereridge, oontaining a description of the
Jojrt of Hearen and the Torments of the Damned ;
together with some directions how men maj obtain
the one, and escape the other ; the said four sermons to
be printed on good paper, sad in a fair eharaeter,
boond or stitched in strong oorers, and given gratit
among soldiers, sailors, poor persons, and romroon
labourers. He further gave to the archbishop of York
two hundred pounds, in trust, to be applied towards
the building or other uses and serriccs of another
church, or a chapel of ease in Scarborough aforesaid,
provided an/ such church or diapel shouM be erected
within ten /ears after his deceaee. He also gave fiftr
pounds to the Society for promoting Christian Know-
ledge ; and fiftr pounds to the Society for propagating
the Gospel in foreiirn parts. 'M destro the lord aroh-
bishop of York (Huttoo) will do me the honour to
aecept the picture of Pope Gregory I., which has been
commended, and was a legacy to me from the painter,
Mr. John Settrington. I desire the lord bishop of Car-
lisle (OHbaldeston) will do me the honour to accept
myowa picture, drawn by the same hand. •
, Theae particulars, and those preceding, are oontatned
to •* A Biographical Sketch" or Mr. North, printed at
Searborongh by and for John Cole, 1883. Svo. pp. 16.

Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, fix. all tbi>
said subjects jointly, and not any single
one independent of the rest:" and, that
the poets might not be discouraged ** upon
suspicion of ineapacity in their judges,' he
entirely resigned the decision of the best
poem to '* universal suffrage" and election
by ^ vote ;** or, as he is pleased to call it,
in the Magazine for August, " the public !
vote of kingdoms.*' He presumes that this
scheme *' will probably be most agreeable
to the poete themselves, because they wil
be tried by such a number as is not capa-
ble of being bribed, and because this
method of determination will, as he con-
ceives, tend most to the honour of that
poet who shall succeed.*' In October he
prescribes that the voters shah sign a de-
claration, disclaiming undue kLfluence ;
and he suggests, that if the majority of
candidates prefer a determinate number of
judj(es to the public at large, he will accord
to that arrangement, provided they express
their desires with their poems. Accord-
ingly, the Gentleman's Magazine of May,
1735, " informs the candidates, that as the
majority of them are for a decision by a
•elect number of judges, the donor is de-
sirous that Mr. Urban should apply to
three particular gentlemen of unexception-
able merit, to undertake this o£5ce ; ' and
it is announced, that the poems will be
published in ** an entire Magazine Extra-
ordinary f** to render which ** acceptable, to
those who have no great taste for poetry/'
there will be added *< something or general
use.'' In the following July the poems
appeared in the promised ** Gentleman's
Magazine Extraordinary, printed by E.
Cave, at St. John's Gate, for the ben^ oj
the poete ;*' whereto was added, as of ^' gene-
ral use,** agreeably to the above promise,
and for those ** who have no great taste in
poetry,'* the Debates in the first session of
parliament for 1735.

What gratification Mr. North derived
from his encouragement of *' the poets," is
to be inferred from this — ^that, in the supple-
ment to the Gentleman's Magazine of the
same year, 1735, he announced, that other
prizes thereafter mentioned would be given
to persons who should « make and send '*
to Mr. Urban, before the Itth of June, 1736,
the four best poems, entitled ** The Chris-
tian Hero" — viz.

'' 1. To the person who shall make the
best will be given a gold medal, (in-
trinsic value about ten pounds,) wbick
shall have the head of the right hon
the lady Elizabeth Hastings on one
side, and that of James Oglethorpe

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Esq. on the other, with this motto-*
* England may challenge the world,
1736/
** 2. To the author of the second, a com-
plete set of Archbishop riUotson*s
sermons
" 3. To the author of the third, a complete
set of Archbbhop Sharpens Sermons.
And,
'* 4. To the author of the fourth, a set of
Cooke's Sermons/'
In the Magazine of February, 1736, Mr.
North begs pardon of the lady Elizabeth
Hastings, (a female of distinguished piety,)
for the uneasiness he had occasioned Ler by
proposing to engrave her portrait on his
prize medal : being, '^ howerer, desirous
that the poeti should exercise their pens,**
he proposes to substitute the head ot arch-
bishop Tillotson, and ''hopes that Mr.
Ogletnorpe will be prevailed upon to con-
sent that the medal shall bear his effigies.'*
Several of the poems made by '' the poets"
for this second prize appear in the Maga-
zine of the same year, to which readers,
desirous of perusing the effusions elicited
oy Mr. North*8 liberality, are referred.

The "James OgUthorpe, Esq.- whoee
head Mr. North coveted for his prize medal,
was the late general Oglethorpe, who died
in 1785, at the advanced age of ninety-
seven, the oldest general in the service.
Besides his military employments, first as
secretary and aide-de-camp to prince Eu-
gene, and afterwards in Amenca, and at
home during the rebellion in 1745, he was
distinguished as a useful member of the
House of Commons, by proposing several
regulations for the benefit of trade and the
reform of prisons. In 1732 he settled the
colony of Georgia, and erected the town of
Savannah, and arrived in England in June,
1734, with several Indian chie6. This
gentleman's public services at that time,
and his eminent philanthropy, were induce,
ments to Mr. North to do him honour.
The following is an interesting account of
the presentation of the Indians at court.

On the 1st of August, 1734, Tomo Clia-
chi, the king, Senauki his wife, with Too*
anakowki, their son, Hillispilli, the war
captain, and the other Cherokee Indians,
brought over by Mr. Oglethorpe from
Georgia, were introduced to his majesty at
Kensington, who received them seated on
ais throne ; when Tomo Chachi, micho, or
cing, made the following speech, at the
same time presenting several eagles' fea-
IlierSy trophies of thai oountxy.

** This day I see the majesty of your face^
the greatness of your bouse, and the num-
ber of your people. I am come for the good
of the whole nation, called the Creeks, to
renew the peace which was long ago had
with the Engl»h. I am come over in my
old days, though I cannot live to see any
advantage to myself; I am come for the
Kood of the children of all the nations of the
Upper and of the Lower Creeks, that they
may be instructed in the knowledge of the
English.

" These are the feathers of the eagle,
vrhich is the swiftest of birds, and who
flieth all round our nations. These featheis
are a sign of peace in our land, and have
been carried from town to town there; and
we have brought them over to leave with
you, O great king, as a sign of everlasting
peace.

" O great king, whatsoever words you
shall say unto me, I will tell them faith-
fiilly to all the kings of the Creek nations "

To which his majesty graciously an-
swered,

*^ I am ^lad of this opportunity of assnr-
ing you of my regard for the people from
whom you come, and am extremely well

Cied with the assurances you have
ght roe from them, and accept very
gratefiilly this present, as an indication of
their gooid disposition to me and my people.
I shall always be ready to cultivate a good
correspondence between them and my own
subjects, and shall be glad of any occasion
to show you a mark of my particular friend-
ship and esteem."

Tomo Chachi afterwards made the fol-
lowing speech to the queen.

" I am glad to see this day, and to have
the opportunity of seeing, the mother of this
great people.

" As our people are joined vrith your
majesty's, we do humbly hope to find you
the common mother and protectress of us
and all our children."

Her majesty returned a suitably gracious
answer.

The war captain, and other attendants of
Tomo Chachi, were very importunate to
appear at court in the costume of their
own country, merely a covering round the
waist, the rest of the body being naked.,
but were dissuaded from it by Mr. Ogle-
thorpe. But their faces were variously
painted after their country manner, some
half black, others triangular, and others
with bearded arrows instead of whiskers,
Tomo Chachi, and Senauki, his wife, were
dressed in scarlet, trimmed with gold.

On the 17th of the same month Tomo

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Chachi, and the re^t of the Indians, dined
with the lady Dutry at Putney ; and then
waited on the archbishop of Canterbury,
^Potter,) who received them with the ut*
most kindness and tenderness, and ex-
pressed his fatherly conoera for their igno-
rance with respect to Christianity, and his
strong desire for their instruction. liis
grace, though very weak, would not sit
down, the micho therefore omitted speaking
to him what he intended, and only de:iired
liis blessing; adding, that what he had
further to say he would speak to Dr. Lynch,
his grace's son-in-law, and then withdrew.
Me was afterwards entertained at a noble
collation, and had a conference with Dr.
Lynch, expressing his joy,as believiogsome
40od persons would be sent amongst them
10 instruct their youth.

On the 30th of October the Indian king,
queen, prince, &c. set out from the Georgia
uffice, in the king*s coaches, for Gravesend,
to embark on their return home. Duiing
their stay in England, which had been about
four months, his majesty allowed them 20/.
a week for their subsistence. Whatever
was curious and worthy observation in and
about London and Westminster had been
carefully shown them; and nothing had
been wanting to contribute to their diver-
sion and amusement, and to give them a
just idea of English politeness and respect.
In return, they expressed themselves heartily
attached to the British nation. They had
ibout the value of 400/. in presents. Prince
William presented the young micho, John
Towanohowi, with a gold watch, with an
admonition to call upon Jesus Christ every
morning when he looked on it, which he
promised. They appeared particularly
delighted with seeing his highness perform
liis exercise of riding the managea horse,
the Horse Guards pass in review, and the
agreeable appearance of the barges, fcc. on
the Thames on lord mayor's day. In the
«ame ship embarked several relations of the
iilnglish settled in Georgia, with sir Francis
Bathurst, his son, three daughters, and ser*
vants ; together with fifty-six Saltzburghers,
newly arrived from Rotterdam. These
people had been at the German church in
Trinity -lane, where 47/. was collected for
hem.*

MENDIP MINES.

To the Editor.

Sir, The very great entertainment I

havq derived from your Every- Day Book

ndnces me to contribute to your present

^>8atl«maa'» Mogasine, I73i.

publication, if you consider the aocom- j
panying copy from an old record merits « '
place in the Table Book, It formed pan
of a brief held by counsel in a cause,
** Hembory and Day," tried at Taunton
assises in 1820. On referring to the papers I
find that the present Mr. justice Gaselee was
the counsel employed. Some of these old
Mendip laws are recognised in ** Collin-
son's History of Somersetshire."
I am.
Your very obedient servant,

John Pinchaed,
Taunton^ August 24, 1827.

Laws and Orders of the Mendip
Miners.

Be it known that this is a true Copy of
the Enrollment in the King's Exchequer in
the time of King Edward the Fourth, of a '
dispute that was in the County of Somerset, '
Between the Lord Bonfield and the tenants
of ChewtoD and the prior of Green Oare ;
the said prior complaining unto the Kine
of great injuries and wrongs that be had
upon Mendip, being the King's Forrest.
The said King Edward, commanded the
lord Chock the lord Chief Justice of Eng-
land to go down into the County of Somer-
set, to Mendipp, and sit in concord and
Peace in the said County concerning Men-
dipp upon pain of high displeasure. The
said Lord Chock sate upon Mendipp on a
place of my Lord's or Bath, called the
Forge, Whereas he commanded all the
Commoners to appear, and especially the
four Lords Royal of Mendipp (that is to
say) the Bishop of Bath, my Lord o(
Glaston, my Lord of Bonfield, the Lord of
Chewton, and my Lord of Richmond, with
all the appearance to the Number of ten
Thousand people. A Proclamation was
made to enquire of all the company how
they would be ordered. Then they with
one consent made answer, That they would
be Ordered and tryed by the four Lords oi
the Royalties. And then the four Lords
Royal were agreed, that the Commoners of
Mendipp should hem out their outlets as
much the Summer as they be able to Win-
ter, without hounding or pounding upon
whose ground soever they went to takf^
their course and recourse, to which the four
Lords Royal did put their Seals, and were
also ai^reed that whosoever should break
the said Bonds should forfeit to the King
1000 Marks, and all the Commoners theii
Bodies and goods to be at the King*8 plea-
sure or command that doeth either hound
or pound. —

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The old Akcievt Occupation of
MiMERS UPON Mendipp, being the
King's Forrest within the County of
Somerset one of the four Staples of
England which have been Exercised^
tuei and continued through the said
Forrest of Mendipp from the' time
whereof no Man Uving hath no me-
mory f as hereafter doth particularly
ensue the Order ;
F R8T. That, if any man whatsoever he
be that doeth intend to venture his Life to
be a Workman in the said Occupation, he
must first of all crave licence of the Lords
of the Soyle where he doth purpose to
work, and in his absence of his said
Officers, as the lead-reave or Bailiff, and
I the lord, neither bis Bailiffs can deny him.
I 2d Item. That, after the first licence
had, the Workman shall never need to ask
leave again, but to be at his free will to
pitch within the Forrest, and to break the
ground where and in what place it shall
please him, to his behalf and profit, using
himself justly and truly.

3d Item. If any doth begin to pitch or
groof he shall heave his hacks through two
ways after the Rate. — Note, that he that
thiow the hack must stand to the Giidle or
Waste in the same Groof, and then no Man
shall or may work within his hack's throwe :
provided always, that no man shall or can
keep but his wet, and dry Goof, and his
I Mark—

4 re Item. That, when a Workman have
I landed his Oare, he may carry the same, to

* cleansing or blowing, to what Minery it
shall please him, fur the speedy making out
of the same, so that he aoth truly pay the
lord of the Soyle, where it was landed, his

j due, which is the Tenth part thereof —

5Tn Item. That if any Lord or Officer
' hath once given licence to any Man to
I build, or set up an hearth, or Washing-
. house, to wash, cleanse or blow the Oare,
, He that once hath leave shall keep it for

ever, or give it to whom he will, so that lie

doth justly pay his Lot-lead, which is the

Tenth pound which shall be blown at the

Hearth or hearths, and a' so that he doth

keep it Tenantable, as the Custom doth

require —
6th Item. That, if any of that Occupa-

* tion doth pick or steal any lead or Oare to
the value of thirteen-pence halfpenny^ the
lord or his Officer may Arrest all his Lead-
works*, house and hearth, with all his Groo&
and Works, and keep them as safely fur his

• Thhrteem^enee hatfpenmy. Th*M pftrticvlar ram is • ** The exeevtiona, od ordinary oeeiuioiia, were ?»•
tfie satqeet oi bb article iiamediateiy euaiag tke pr^ BKired from thti memorable place, and were performed
MB*. » tke itreet of tke Ok. Batkf, at tbe door of Newicate

own Use; and shall take the person that
hath so offended, and bring him where his
house is, or his work, and all his Tools or
Instruments which to the Occupation be-
longs, as he useth, and put him into the
said house, and set Fire on all together
about him, and banish him from that Oc-
cupation before the Miners for ever—

7tb Item. That, if ever that person do
pick or Steal there any more, he shall be
tryed by the Common Law, for this Custom
and Law hath noe more to do with him —

8th Item. That every Lord of Soyle or
Soyles ought to keep two Mynedrie Courts
by the year, and to swear twelve Men or
more of the same occupation, for the orders
of all Misdemeanours and wrongs touching
the Mynedries.

9th Item. The Lord, or Lords, may
make three manner of Arrests, (that is to
say) ye first is for strife between man and
man, for their workes under the Earth, fcc.;
the second is for his own duty, for Lead or
Oare, wheresoever he find it within the said
Forrest ; the third is upon felon*s goods of
the same occupation, wheresoever he find
it within the same Hill, &c. —

10th Item. That, if any Man, by means
of Misfortune take his Death, as by falling
of the Earth upon him, by drawing or
Stifling, or otheiwise, as in time past many
have been, the Workmen of the same Oc-
cupation are bound to fetch him out of the
Earth, and to bring him to Christian burial,
at their own Costs and Charges, although
he be Forty Fathoms under the Earth, as
heretofore hath been done ; and the Coro-
ner, or any Officer at large, shall not have
to do with him in any respect.

THIRTEEN-PENCE HALFPENNY.

Hangmaii*s Wages.

Jack Ketch a Gentlemav.

Dr. Samuel Pegge, who is likely to be
remembered by readers of the article on
the Revolution-house at Whittington, he
having, on the day he entered his eighty-
fifth year, preached the centenary sermon
to commemorate the Revolution, was an
eminent antiquary. He addressed a paper
to the Society of Antiquaries, on *' the vul-
gar notion, though it will not appear to be a
vulgar error, that thirteen-pence halfpenny
is the fee of the executioner in the common
line of business at Tyburn,* and that,

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tieiefore, it is called hangmmCi wage».^ It
B prop<»ed from this paper to give an ac-
count of the origin of the sayinff.

According to Dr. Pegge, the office of
hangman was, in some paru of the king-
dom, annexed to other posU; for the
porter of the city of Canterbury was the
executioner ibr the county of Kent, tempo-
ribus Hen. II. and Hen. III. ; for which
he had an allowance from the sherifT, who
was reimbursed from the exchequer, of
twenty shillings per annum.* From the
great and general disesteem wherein the
office is held, the sheri& are much obliged
to those who will undertake it, as otherwise
its unpleasant and painful duty must &11
upon themselves. For, to them the law
looks for its completion, as they eive a
receipt to the gaoler for the bodies of con-
demned criminals whom they are to pu-
nish, or cause to be punished, according
to their respective sentences. Sometimes
in the country, sheriff! have had much
difficulty to procure an executioner. In
short, although, in the eyes of the people
generally, a stigma attaches to the hangman,
yet, in feet, the hangman is the sheriff's
immediate deputy in criminal matters, as
his under-shenff is for civil purposes. The
nature and dignity of the office in some
particulars, and the rank of the officer,
called Squire Ketch, will be found to be
supportable, as well as the fee of office.

And 6nt, as regards the sheriff himself.
The sheriff is, by being so styled in the
king's patent under the great seal, an
esquire, which raises him to that rank,
unless he has previously bad the title adven-
titiously. None were anciently chosen
sheriffs, but such gentlemen whose fortunes
and stations would warrant it ; so, on the
other hand, merchants, and other liberal
branches of the lower order, were admitted
first into the rank of gentlemen, by a grant
of arms, on proper qualifications, from the
earl marshal, and the kings of arms, re^
spectively, according to their provinces.
After a negotiant has become a gentleman,
'!Ourtesy will very soon advance that rank,
ind give the party the title of esquire ; and
so it happened with a worthy geniieman,
'br so a hangman will be proved to have
been. This remarkable case happened in
thp year 1616, in the manner following.

Ralph Brooke, whose real name was

This was first practised on tk« 9th of I>aeember, 1783.
See the printed aeooant. Every of these executions I
was told by Mr. Reed, 1785). is attended with an ex-
pease of apwards of niae pounds. Twenty persoos
were haafed at once in February, 1785."— Dr. regge.
* Madox*8 History of <he Excbeqner, ii. p. 373.

Brokesmonth, at that time ^ York herald,"
put a trick upon sir William Segar, ** garter
king of arms," which had very nearly cost
both of them their places. Brooke em-
ployed a person to carry a coat of arms
ready drawn to garter, and to pretend it
belonged to one Gregory Brandon, a gen-
tleman who had formerly lived in Londoo,
but was then residing in Spain. The me«»
senger vras instructea to desire garter to set
his hand to this coat of arms : and to pre-
vent deliberation, he was further to pretend
that the vessel, which was to cany this
con6rmation into Spain, when it had re-
ceived the seal of the office and starter's
hand, was just ready to sail.* This being
done, and the fees paid, Brooke carried it
to Thomas earl of Arundel, then one of the
commissioners for executing the office o*
earl marshal ; and, in order to vilify garter^
and to represent him as a rapacious, negli- ,
gent officer, assured his lordship that those
were the arms of Arragon, witn a canton
for Brabant, and that Gregory Brandon
was a mean and inconsiderable person.
This was true enough; -for he was the
common hangman for London and Middle-
sex. Ralph Brooke afterwards confessed
ail these circumstances to the commis-
sioners who represented the earl marshal ;
the consequence of which was, that, by
order of the king, when he heard the case,
garter was committed to prison for negli-
gence, and the herald for treachery. There
was this previous result, however, that
Gregory Brandon, the hangman. Lad be-
cotoe a gentleman^ and, as the Bastard
says in King John, ^ could make any Joan
a gentlewoman.^

Thus was this Gregory Brandon ad-
vanced, perhaps from the state of a convict,
to the rank of a gentleman ; and though it
was a personal honour to himself, notwith-
standing it was surreptitiously obtained by
the herald, of vrhich Gregory Bramdon,
gentleman, was perhaps ignorant, yet did
it operate so much on his successors in
office, that afterwards it became transferred
from the family to the officer for the time
being ; and from Mr. Brandon's popularity,
though not of the most desirable kmd, the
mobility soon improved his rank, and, with
a jocular complaisance, gave him the title
of eagwre, which remains to this day.

It seems too as if this office had onoe,
like many other important offices of state.

* These arms aetnallj appear in Edmondaon's Body
of Heraldry, annexed to the name of Brntdau^ via.
the arms ot Arragon with a differenoei and th» mm d
Brabant in a eaatoa.

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been hereditary. Shakspeare has (his pas-
eage in Goriolano8> act ii. sc. 1. —

I **ireMfiiw.— Itardns, In a cheap esHmatian, U
worth all your predeoesKora. since Deacalion ; thuoj^h,

[ pL'Tadrentnre, Mine of the best of them were Leitodl-
Urj hangmen.'*

I This looks as if the office of executioner
h»d run in some family for a generation or
, two, at the time when Shakspeare wrote $
and that it was a circumstance well under-
stood, and would be well relished, at least
by the galleries. Tliis might, indeed, with
regard to time, point at the ancestors of
Mr. Brandon himself; for it was in the
reign of king James I. that this person was
brought within the pale of gentility. Nay,
more, we are told by Dr. Grey, in his
I Notes on Shakspeare,* that from this gen-
I tleman, the hangmen, his successors, bore
I Tor a considerable time his Christian name
of Gregory, though not his arms, they
I being a personal honour, till a greater man
arose, viz. Jack Ketchj who entailed the
' present official name on all who have

hitherto followed him.f
I Whether the name of Ketch be not the
provincial pronunciation of Caieh among
the cockneys, may be doubted, notwith-
standing that learned and laborious com-
piler, B. E., gent., the editor of the " Canu
mg Dictionary," says that Jack Kiteh, for
so he spells it, was the real name of a
hangman, which has become that of all his
successors.
! So much for the office. It now remains
to consider the emoluments which apper-
tain to it, and assign a reason why thirteen^'
pence Aa{^)Miiiijr should be esteemed its stand-
ard fee for inflicting the last stroke of the law.
I Before proceeding to matters of a pecu-
niary nature, it may be allowed, per-
haps, to illustrate a Yorkshire saying. It
I was occasioned by a truly unfortunate man,
I whose guilt was doubtful, and yet suffered
I the sentence of the law at York. This per-
I son was a saddler at Bawtry, and hence
the saying among the lower people to a
man who quits his friends too early, and
will not stay to finish his bottle : — " Ue
will be hanged for leaving his liquor, like
the saddler of Bawtry." The case was
this:— There was formerly an ale-house,
which house to this day is called ** The Gal-
.ows House,'* situate between the city of York
and their Tyburn ; at this house the cart used
alvniys to stop, and there the convict and the
other parties were refreshed with liquors ;

• VoL a, p. 168.

1 Tke hanpnaa was known hj the name of Ortgorp
ID the year 161S» as we learn from the Mercorios Aali-
eni, p. £5SL

bat the rash and precipitate saddler of
Bawtry, on his road to the fatal tree^ refused j
this little regale, and hastened on to the
place of execution ; where, but not nntil !
after he had been tamed off, and it was '
too late, a reprieve arrived. Had he |
stopped, as was usual, at the gallows house,
the time consumed there would have been
the mei^s of saving his life. Hewashange<t
as truly as unhappily, for leaving his liquor.
Similar means of refreshment were an-
ciently allowed to convicts, on their pas-
sage to Tyburn, at St. Giles's hospital ; for
we are told by Stowe, that they were there
presented with a bowl of ale, called ^ St,
Oilee^e bowls thereof to drink at their

{>leasure, as their last refreshing in this
ife." Tyburn was the established scene
of executions in common cases so long ago
as the first year of kinj Henry IV. ; Smith-
field and St. Giles's Field wing reserved
for persons of higher rank, and for crimes
of uncommon magnitude, such as treason
and heresy. In the last of these, sir John
Oldcastle, lord Cobham, was burnt, or
rather roasted, alive ; having been hanged
up over the fire by a chain which went
round his waisU*

The executioner of. the duke of Mon*
mouth (in July, 1685) was peculiarly un
successful in the operation. The duke said
to him, ** Here are six guineas for you :
pray do your business well ; do not serve
me as you did my lord Russell: I have
heard you struck him three or four times.
Here, (to his servant,) take these remain-
ing guineas, and give them to him if he
does his work well."

JExeeutioner.--f* I hope I shall.**

Monmonth, — '^ If you strike me twice, I
isaonot promise you not to stir. Pr'yihee
let me feel the axe." He felt the edge, and
said, ** I fear it is not sharp enough.*'

Executioner. — ** It is sharp enough, and
heavy enough.*'

The executioner proceeded to do his
office ; but the note says, '* it was under
such distraction of mind, that he fell into
the very error which the duke had 8<rear«
nestly cautioned him to avoid ; wounding
him so slightly, that he lifted up his head,
and looked him in the face, as if^to upbraid
him for making his death painful ; but said
nothing. He then prostrated himself again,
and received two other ineffectual blows;
upon which the executioner threw down his

• Rapia. See alM Bale's Life aod Trial of Sir Joha
Oldcastle. St. Giles's was then an independent Til-
lage, and is still called St. Giles's in the Fields, to
distinfnish it from St. Giles's, Cripplegate ; beisf bo#
U the ear' ^'-

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axe in a fit of horror ; crying out, * he
could not finish his work :' but, on being
brought to himself by the threats of the
sheriffs, took up the fatal weapon again,
I and at two other strokes made a shift to
separate the head from the body/**

As to the fee itself, *' thirteen-pence half-
penny»hangman's wages," it appears to
dare been of Scottish extraction. The
Scottish mark (not ideal or nominal money,
like our mark) was a silver coin, in value
thirteen'pence halfpenny and two placks,
or two-thirds of a penny ; which plack is
likewise a coin. This, their mark, bears the
same proportion to their pound, which is
twenty-pence, as our mark does to our
pound, or twenty shillings, being two-thirds
of it. By these divisions and sub-divisions
of their penny (for they have a still smaller
piece, called a bodel or half a plack) they
can reckon with the greatest minutenesd,
and buy much less quantities of any article
than we can.f This Scottish mark was,
upon the union of the two crowns in the
person of king James I., made curient in
England at the value of thirteen-pence
Halfpenny, (without regarding the fraction,)
by proclamation, in the first year of that
king; where it is said, that '* the coin of
silver, called the mark piece, shall be from
henceforth current withm tlie said kingdom
of England, at the value of thirteen-pence
halfpeny/'J This, probably, was a revolu-
tion in the current money in favour of the
hangman, whose fee before was perhaps no
more than a shilling. There is, however,
very good reason to conclude, from the
singularity of the sum, that the odious title
of '* bangman*s wages ** became at this
time, or soon after, applicable to the sum
of thirteen-pence halfpenny. Though it was
contingent, yet it was then very consider-
able pay ; when one shilling per day was a
standing annual stipend to many respect^
able officers of various kinds.

Nothing can well vary more than the
perquisites of this office; for it is well
known that Jack Ketch has a poet'Obit in-
terest in the convict, being entitled to his
clothes, or to a composition for them;
though, on the other hand, they must very
frequently be such garments that, as Shak-
speare says, " a hangman would bury with
those who wore them.**§

• Lord Somen's Traott« rol. i. pp. 219, kSO; tks
■oti* taken from the Reyiew < f the reignv of Churloi
■ad James, p 886.

t Mr Ray, in his Itinerary, pre* the fraetioaal
tarts of the Scottish penny.

% The proclamatioa may be seen inStrype's Annala,
*oL iv. p. 384, where the mark-pieee israiacd exaoUy
at thtrteen-penoe halfpeanr.

I OorialiAriW aet. \ ac. 6.

This emolument is of no modem date,
and has an affinity to other droitt on very
dissimilar occasions, which will be oieo*
tioned presently. The executioner*! per-
quisite IS at least as old as Henry Vltl. ;
for sir Thpmas More, on the morning ol
his execution, put on his best gown, which
was of silk camlet, sei^t him as a present
while he was in the Tower by a citiien ol
Lucca, with whom he had been in corre
spondence ; but the lieutenant of thfc Towei
was of opinion that a worse gown would
bego-.d enough for the person who was to
have it, meaning the executioner, aod pre-
vailed upon sir Thomas to change it, which
he did tor one made of frize.* Thus the
antiquity of this obitual emolument, so well
known in Shakspeare's time, seems well
established; and, as to its nature, has a
strong resemblance to a fee of a much
longer standing, and formerly received by
officers of very great respectability. For
anciently *' garter king of arms ** had spe-
cifically the gown of the party on the crea-
tion of a peer; and again, when arch-
bishops, bishops, abbots, and priors, did
homage to the king, their upper garment
was the perquisite even of the lord cham-
berlain of the household. The fee in the
latter case was always compounded for.
though garter s was often formerly received
in kind, inasmuch as the statute which
gives this fee to the lord chamberlain directs
the composition, because, as the words are,
^ it is more convenient that religious men
should fine for their upper garment, than
to be stripped.'*t The same delicate ne-
cessity does not operate in the hangman's
case, and his fee extends much farther thac
either of them, he being entitled to qU the
sufferer's garments, having first rendered
them useless to the party. Besides this
perquisite, there has always been a pecu-
niary compliment, where it could possibly
be afforded, given by the sufferer to the
executioner, to induce him to be speedy
and dexterous in the operation. These
outward gifts may likewise be understood
as tokens of inward forgiveness.

'* Upon the whole," says Dr. Pegge, *« I
conceive that what I have offered above,
though with much enlargement, is the
meaning of the ignominious term affixed
to the sum of thirteen-pence halfpenny,
and I cannot but commiserate those for
whom it is to be paid.**}

•Morv'sUfeofsir
t Stat 13 Kdiranl I
« P«C|e'i Cvialia

Thomas Mom. ^ STL

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THE BUNNINia HOBSB AT MEBUOW, SURREY.

Ilic first point of peculiarity that strikes
(.16 traveller on approaching the " Running
Horse ** is the pictorial anomaly on the
front of the house— the sign represents a
race-horse with a rider on its nack; but
the painter has given us a horse ttanding
as still as most horses would be glad to do
after having been runmng hortet for more
than half a century. Our ** Running
Horse '* then, 9tands hard by the church in
the village of Merrow, (o/im Merewe,)
about two miles from Guildford, in Surrey,
on the road leading from the latter place
to.'London by way of Epsom. It is at the
intersection of the high roads leading to
£pom, to Guildford, to Stoke, and to
Albury, Shere, and Do iking. The latter
road passes over Merrow Downs, upon
which, at the distance of a quarter of a
mile from our hostel, is the course whereon
Guildford races are annually held.

Guildford races formerly attracted a
Tery numerous assemblage of spectators.
The elderly inhabitants of the above-named
ancient borough relate that, such was the
influx of company, not a bed was to be
had in Guildfoid unless secured some

weeks before the sports commenced. From
some cause, the nature of which the good
people of Guildford have never been able
satisfactorily to ascertain, the races have,
for several years, gradually declined in
celebrity and importance, and at present
they are too often but thinly attended. The
programme of the sports, which annually
issues from the Guildford press, is embel-
lished with a wood-cut, an impression I
believe of the same block that has been
used for the last century. The course is
not considered by sportsmen a good one,
but its situation, and the views it commands,
are delightful.

When king George the First was at lord
Onslow's at Clandon, (the adjoining parish,)
he gave a plate of one hundred guineas to
be run for; and this is now the principal
attraction to the proprietors of^ horses.
The members for the borough of Guildford
also give a plate of fifty pounds, and there
is generally a subscription plate besides.

Our hostel, the '* Running Horse ^ at
Merrow, is the place of rendezvous for all
the ^running horses.'' Its stable doors
bear highly diaracteristic and interetti^f

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trophies of the Lonours obtained bj their
former temporary inmates. The best
formed punqtt that ever trod the floors of
Almack s or the saloons of Carlton palace,
are not more delicately turned than the
shoes, (albeit they are of iron,) which, hav-
ing done their duty on the course, and
brought their high-mettled wearers first to
the winning-post, are now securely nailed
anlnst the honoured portals, as memorials
of his success. They are placed heel to
heel, and within the oral is carred, in rude
characters, the name of the horse, with the
day on which he won for his master the
purse of gold. What an assodation of
ideas does the simple record convey I Here,
on a fine warm evening in June, th? even-
ing preceding

* the grtat, tV importaat 4*7,

Bif with th« fste of Joekej aad of hona^**
arrived the majestic '< Cydnus." His fine
proportions were hid from vulgar gaze, by
cloths of purest white. As he walked
slowly up the village street ridden by his
jockey, a stripling of sixteen, his approach
was hailed by the acclamations of the vil-
lage boys, and the calmer admiration of the
men, all looking forward 10 their holiday
I on the succeeding day. "Here, I say;
here, here ; — here comes one of the racers 1
^There's a puHjf creaturl kno — look at
his long legs—liatff, Jem, I say, look what
long steps he do take — ^fancy how he must
gallop, if he walks to-^puriy fellur I — I'm
sure hell win — mind if he don't nowT
Meanwhile the noble animal arrives at the
inn door — high breeding, whether in biped
or quadruped, is not to be kept waiting-*
out comes the host in an important bustle,
with the bright key of the stable door
swinging upon his finger. He shows the
way to the best stall, and then takes his
station at the door to keep out the inqui-
sitive gazers, while the jockey and trainer
commence Uieir tender offices of cleaning
and refreshing the horse after his unusud
exercise of walking the public road. This
done, he is fed, clothed, and left to his
repose upon as soft a bed as clean straw
will make, while the jockey and trainer
adjourn to the house, the admiration of the
knot of idlers who are there assembled to
hear the pedigree, birth, parentage, educa-
tion, and merits of '* the fovourite.^ Other
norses soon arrive, and the conversation
takes a more scientific turn, while the
iockies make their own bets, and descant
learnedly upon those of their masters, till
they betake themselves to rest, <' perchance
to dream" of the important event of the
jMiGoeeding day.

Long beforp ihp dew has left the s^kn*
herbage on the neighbouring downs, the
jockies are busily engaged in the stables;
and before the sun*s heat has exceeded that
of an April noon, they are mounted, and
gently cantering over the turf, with the
double object of airing their horses and
showing them the course over which, in a
few hours, they are urged, at their utmost
speed, in the presence of admiring thou-
sands. What an elating thought for the
youthful rider of ** the fiivourite ;** with ,
what delight does he look forward to the j
hour when the horse and his rider will be
the objects of attraction to hundreds of fiur
one's eyes glancing upon him with looks of
admiration and interest; while, in his dap-
per silk jacket and cap of sky-blue and
white, he rides slowly to the weighing-
place, surrounded by lords and gentlemen
*' of high degree." Within a short space
the vision is realized — more than realized —
for he has won the first heat ^' by a length."
In the next heat he comes in second, but
only ^ half a neck " behind, and his horx
is still fresh. The bell rings again for sad-
dling ; and the good steed is snuffing the
air, and preparing for renewed exertions,
while his rider ** hails in his heart the
triumph yet to come." The bell rings for
starting — ** They are ofi^," cry a hundred
voices at once. Blue and white soon takes
the lead. " Three to one**—" five to one"
— ^" seven to one"— are the odds in his
favour ; while at the first rise in the ground
he gives ample proof to the admiring
'' cognoscenti " that he ** must win.*' A
few minutes more, and a general hum of
anxious voices announces that the horses
are again in sight. <* Which is firsts'—
** Oh, blue and white still."—** I knew it ;
I was sure of it." Here comes the derk of
the course flogging out the intruders within
the rails, and here comes the gallant bay—
full two lengths before the only horse that,
during the whole arcuit of four miles, has
been once within speaking distance of him.
He keeps the lead, and wins the race with-
out once feeling the whip. Here is a mo-
ment of triumph for his rider! he is
weighed again, and receives from his
master's hand the well-earned reward of
his << excellent riding." Tlie horse is care-
fully reclothed, and led back to his stable,
where his feet are relieved from the shoes
which are destined to assist in recording, to
successive generatior>s of jockies, the gafiaat
featSf performed by

•« Heftrtt that thca
Bat feel that pabe

beat hlgk fer pnim.

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Our hostel, faowevefy must not be fhiu
ipitted. — The date inscribed within &e
circle above the centre window is, I think,
1617. (I have a memorandum of it some-
where, but have mislaid it.) The house is
plastered and washed with yellow ; but its
p^bles, Eltsabethan chimnies, and project-
ing bojf window, (a Terv proper Kind of
window for a " running norse,) render it
a much more picturesque building than I
have been able to represent it on the small
scale of my drawing. In front of it, at
about the distance of thirty yards, there was
formerly a well of more than a hundred feet
in depth ; the landlord used to repair this
well, receiving a contribution from all who
made use of it ; but other wells haTe of
late years been dug in the neighbourhoed,
and the use of this has subsequently been
confined to the inmates of the publio4iouse.

ThecburchofMerrow, of which there is
a glimpse in the background, is worthy of
further notice than I hare the means of
affording in the present communication.

November, 1827. Philippos.

WILLIAM CAPON, .
Th£ SCElVfi Paihtee.
To the BdUor.

Sir, — Presuming you may not have been

' acquainted with the late Mr. William

I Capon, whose excellence as a gothic archi-

I tectural scene-painter has not been equalled

by any of his compeers, I Tenture a few

particulars respecting him.

My acquaintance with Mr. Capon com-
menced within only the last five or six
years, but his frank intimacy and hearty
I good-will were the same as if our inter-
course had been of longer date. A memoir
of hin^ in the '' Gentleman's Magaxine,**
seems to me somewhat deficient in its
representation of those qualities*

The memoir just noticed assigns the dttte
of his birth at Norwich to have been
October 6, 1757 ; and truly represents, that
though wanting but ten days of arriving at
the seventieth year of his age when he
died, his hale appearance gave little indi-
cation of such a protracted existence. He
laboured nnder an asthmatic afieotion, of
which he was accustomed to complain,
while his fimd of anecdote, and his jjco^lfr
naivp^ in recitation, were highlv amusing.
His manner of relating many of thv feHies
of the meal monarehs, now deftinct, was
worn to set the table in a roar ; and could
his rfnniniscences be remembered, they
would picsent a detail quite as amusing

as some tifat have recently diverted the
town. Kemble he deified; he confessed
that he could not get rid of old prejudices
in favour of his old friend ; and, to use his
own phrase, ** there never was an actor like
him.'^ I have often seen him in ecstasy
unlock the glazed front of the frame over
his drawing-room chimney-piece, that en*
closed a singularly beautiful enamel por-
trait of that distinguished actor, whidi will
shortly be competed for under the auction-
eer's hammer. Some of his finest drawings
of the Painted Chamber at Westminster,
framed with the richness of olden times,
also decorated this room, which adjoined
his study on the same floor. His larger
drawings had green silk curtains before
them; and these he would not care to
draw, unless he thought his visitors' ideas
corresponded with his own respecting the
scenes he hstd thus depicted. The most
valuable portion of his collection was a
series of drawincs of. those portions of the
ancient ci^ of Westminster, which modern
improvements have wholly annihilaied.
During the course of demolition, he often
rose at daybreak, to work undisturbed in
bis darling object; and henoe, some of the
tones of morning twilight are so strictly
represented, as to yield a haid and unartis^
like appearance.

It was asouTce'of disquiet to Mr. Capon
that the liberalicy of publishers did not
extend to such enlarj^ements of Smith's
Westminster, as his own knowledge would
have supplied. In fact, such a work could
not be accomplished vrithout a numerous
list of subscribers ; and as he never issued
a prospectus, the whole of his abundant
antiquarian knowledge has died with him,
and the pictorial details alone remain.

Mr. Capon was, greatly to his incon-
venience, a creditor of the late Richard
Brinsley Sheridan, of whom he was accus-
tomed to speak vrith evident vexation. He
had been induced to enter into the com.-
promise offered him by the committee of
management of Drury-lane theatre, and
give a receipt barring all future claims.
This galled him exceedingly ; and more than
once he hinted suspicions respecting the
conflagration of the theatre, which evinced
that M had brooded over his losses till his
judgment had become morbid.

But he is gone, and in him society ha>
lost an kmkbte and respected individual.
To the reffret of numerous friends he ex
pired on Uie Q6th of September at hii r^
sidence. No. 4, Nortb-street> Westminsut^
iam^lbc*

Novmler Z, 1837. A. W«

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THE TABLE BOOK.

No. XLIII.

iFrom « Brntus of Alba,'* a Tragedy, by
lom Tate, 1678.]

JUignmy mid Jimr more WUeket, ab<mi to
raiteaitorm.

lUi§, Tb tone wvfpwtprapMliif fir OcttSTB.
Hfl«l M, 7« dMfflilm cf tlM ayttie art t
Look tkst U bo BO oommoB kmrieuo.
But iwA M rad tho Gasptu dUh, ond f ran
Th* Httmuumi killo twoep oodui, raoti and mU.
Speaks goto aUHcktr

^tf. UklUklUklUkl

lit fF* Tke oriokot laarot oar oava, aad cblrpa ao

tdtF.l ttook a raiB, bat eoald aot ttaia mjstooL

8d IT. VOm U.X floanuBod m tk' Are, aad aorei
andkU

iihfF.l feud tkifl BMni apoBoar foraaoo wall
Mjsterloai wonb wiovgkt by a aUipj nail.
Wkoao aifkt^ralk feta kad faided ia Ckat form.

ti W, Thoa*rtqaa«B of Bjstorioi^ gvoat Rafvaa.
Row kaat tkoB atonai'd tko abyao of oar blaok ideae^
Tiaood dodfiaf aataxa tkio* kor bHad *Mapa-road%
ibd bvoagkt kor Baked aad troBbUaff to tko lifkt 1

Ay. Now to oar task—
Staad off t aad, onaekbg^ mpAn poatana maki^
OaawiBff yoar riT«l*d kaaeklaa tiU tkay blood,
WkUat I fkU paootrato to ooaralt mj art.
Aad aaaUor aoaada tooworel for yoor oar.

CctonaHcw.)

Bm§, Tko atorm't ob wiaf, c
tkoNort:

Tu paat tko Alpt alroadj, aad wkirli forward
To tk* Appoaiao, wkoM riftod now U awept
To tk* Talao boBMitk. wkilo eoto aad fokb lie bariod.
rkoB Mjrraa tak*!! to«igkt aa airy marek
To tk* PoBtio ikori for dmgat aad for Bon opeed
Oa mj owa Baploeralek tkoa ibalt bo aoaated,
MTkiek bffidkd tarao to a itood 00 Maagaablo,
Tkat tkoa BW7>ot rwa kirn witk a •pidor'o tkraad.

4a ^. Aad kew if I o*ofUko a bark ia tko waj ?

J^. Tkoa, If aloft tkoa goott. to tiadorooocok
TbofaBBo; bat if tkoa tak*tt a lowor eat.
TkOB aatok tka wkipo off from tka otoomaaa'a kaad,
Aadaawoa kimia tko feaai.

UkW. HaabaUbodroBok'd.

Cifarai rtiritoM.)

iliV- Aya. tkia io mario I BOW Botkkika I koar
Ho ibrioka of ilakiag aaikm. taeklo rvBt.
Badd«« aaUac'd, wkilo tko ooa-ra^aaoia iwift
Saoor ttraP tko daik lood fer tko diTiBf oocpoM.

(lltfo«fcr<it.>
Kb 1 art tkoB tkora. 01 J BMlaaobolj liatar »
Ttoa tUBk*oC tk7 Bap wao abort, aad art aarprM
Vt ted BigM ftOloB alfoadj.
Hon firf to tk* iia. tin tko bkok BMik f

Bam tk' oQ of kaaabk to firal Aa ilonu

TkatwaaBBorrjelapx I kaow tkat oioad

Wao of Bj FHcker'o vndiac^ Friokor roBt U I

O 'tifl aa ardoat Spirit: bat baobrow bis,

*Twao ko iodaood BO drrt to konisk arta.

Ho feaad BO poaoiTO b a dooart f Ua,

Noar a Iobo oak forlora aad tkaador^kfU

WkorodiaeoatiBtod I afajarad tko Oodo,

Aad baaa'd tko orool oraditor tkat ooiM

Mf MoUooi.* oola mbobtoBOO of Bj life.

Bo paoBiood BO fall twolva ToanP abaoiato R^

To baaqaot all Bj ooaooo. bat ka Bod.

For vipcn^ flaik b bow bjobIj feod,

Mj driak of opriaga tkat otnaB fioB aalphSov I

Boiido witk Bidaigkt onuapo a
I BB alBoot bared fer koll'o woret tortaiaa.—
I koar tko wood-ajBpba oryj by tkat I kaov
Mjr okaiB kaa took—

bat day ebon op.
Aad koa^aaly U|M woaada By iabodoae ajea.
lj» W. Now, eoUoo Dobo, doat tkoa vggnn% oar

JUr* Tv** * \Km wreck t O, yoa kava well pe»-

falB'd.

%i W. Myraa aad I boitrid a doad, aadaoar'd
To ladi tke atoiB, wkiek we poreaed to Ik' Cigr»
Wkore to By ttgkt I natek'd tke goUoa globo,
Tkat kigl^ oa SataraPe pillar bla^d r tk* air.

UW, liredtkotanatofMiaarra'efkae.

4<A W, lalaidrik'eentoioCtkeipeUawailc
Tko laspo barat gkaotly bloo, tko faraaee ekook ;
Tko Salamaador felt tke keat redoabbd,
Aad fTbk*d aboat, ao well I plied tke fim.

Ba§. Nowaalkatebrigktdaj.aadloTOBocMkiBa
Too ikallko all my eiiitoni b tke artt
I will iaetraet ye b oaok Byatoryi
Make yo all Ragaaae.

^ff. Hoi Hoi Hoi

A^. Aioood BO, aad I*n doal to oaek kerdola.
There's aa olf-bok, tootk of konaapkrodita^
A braeo of Baadrakee digg'd b felry gnwad,
A laaprey^ ekaia, «ako*e cgge. doad sparka of tkoa
dor

QaoBok'd b ita paaoaga tkro* tko ooU Bid air.
A Barouud*a da, a ooekatrioeTe eoab
Wrapt i* tko dried eaal of a brat otill-boia.

BB(B*aB^

la wkbpere teko tko rest, wkiek aamed alood
Woald frigkt tho day, aad rabo aaotkar stera.
^A Hoi Hoi Hoi Hoi

Sonman^ a wicked Suaema»f ea^op
Eagtua for a ekamu

R^ » By dradgeo 111 OBploy
To fnuoo wilk tkeir boot arte a braodet fer Oea,
Wkbb. wUb tkoa waai'ot it kek'd OB tky left aiak
TraaaoB akaU BO*er aaaoy fkeo, Bwoid aad pob«
Ib Tab atlOBpCi Nataro aloao kara poww
Tky oabstaaoo to dbeolv% aor aka kotaaif
TiU Baay a wbtcivekook katk biaha tky tcnpaa.

•Boroowk

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899 Medeftfc/^er JaunleMperfomeAt
; M7 rmtaninf mqI aspires to noftt like tkea,
I Ib ukaowB wwldi, toseardi tbs mga of Might.
I Admitted to thy dreadfol mytteriMb

I shoeld be aors thaa mcfrtaL
I Sag. VmrmjotSU
IfoDg^st flireliaff racks (m fom a tkeatra)
Lies a sa«f r%\f
I 5os. With honor I have Tieir'd its
Tb blasted aU aad bara as th' oceaa beech,
I Aad eeesBs a raoad tm elres to rerel b.

Sag. With Bij attendants there each waiaiaf boos
Uj dreadfel Coort I hold, and sit ia states—
Aiid when the dire transactions are dispateh'd*
Ovr sanj Spirits ascend to make as siirth
With gambala, daaoea» masks and rerellinf eosfs,
Till oar mad dia strike terror through the waste.
Spreads for and wide to th* difls that bank the main.
And ecarse is lost ia the wide ooeaa's loar.
Here seated by me then shalt riew the sports.
Whilst demoBS kiss thy foot, and swear thee homage.

Ragusa, with the other ffitches^ having
fiidthed the bracelet.

Sag. Frooeed we then to fteian onr black projects.^
View here, till from'jonr green distilling eyes
The poisonotts glanoes osnter on thie bracelet,
A fotal gift for onr projecting son ;-«
Seven hous odd minntes has it steept i' th* gall
Of a Tile Moor swiBe-rooted from his graTo.
Heiw to yonr bloated lips apply it round,
Aad with A* iBreotions dew of your black areatha
Oomvlcat its balefol foree.

[From the << Fatal Union,** a Trag^edy;
Author Unknown.]

I>irge.

VoUest bodiea are bat gilded day.

Pat away

Bat the preebos diiniag rind.

The inmost rotteaneee remains behind.

Kfaigs, on earth thoogb Oods they be.

Tot b death are 1^ aa we.

He, a thoQsaad Kings before^

Kow bTassaloBto more.

YermbBowinsnltiBglM,

And dig for diamonds to each eyei

Whilst the eoeptre^Maring hand

Caanot thmr broads withstandL

Bare doth obo b odoon wade^

By the regal onctioB nuidei

While aaother dares to gnaw

Ob that tongoe, his people's law.

Tools, ah 1 fools are we that so centnv^

Aaddostrire,

Ib each gandy onumcnt, •

Wha shall htt corpse b the best dish pnseat

ISLE OF WIGHT

To the Ed&ar.

Hat HAaYEST Custok.

Sir,— Perhaps you may deem the follow*
ing simpilar tenure from ** Horsey'f Beau-
ties otthe Isle of Wight, 1626," worth
adding to those already perpetuated in the
SverjfDay Booh^ and your present agree-
able continuation of it.

At the foot of St. John's Wood are two
meadows, on<^ on each hand, the main road
running between them. These meadows
are known by the name of Monk's Meads.
It is a remarkable circumstance, that the
first crop of hay they produce annually is
reaped, not by the owner, nor the person
who may rent the land, but by the tenant
of Newnham farm, which is situated up-
wards of two miles distant, and has no
connection whatever with the land. There
is a legend attaching to this circumstance.
The tale is, that one of the monks of Quarr
was in the habit of visiting the £ftmily that
once occupied Newnham farm, and as his
visits were pretty frequent, and- he was
accustomed to put up his horse at the far
mer*s expense, tie bequeathed to the tenan
of Newnham farm the first crop of hav
which these meadows produce annually,
each meadow to be reaped for his benen*.
every alternate year; and the warrant for
his doing so was to be the continuance of a
rude image in the wall of the house.
Whether this be the legal tenure or not is
another question ; one thing is certain, the
idol is preserved in the wall, the fanner
comes on the specific day for the crop, and
the produce is carried to Newnham.

lam, &c.
Map 17, 1827. Djck DickVSon.

ORIGIN OF HAY-BAND?
For the Table Booh,

Many of our origins and customs are
derived from the Romans. In the time of
Romulus, a handful of hay was used in his
ranks instead of a flag; and his militanr
ensign, who commanded a number of sol-
diers, was called a bandy or ancient bearer.
Thus it will appear, that a twisted band of
hay being tied round a larger quantity of
hay, for its support, it is, agreeably to the
derivation, properly called a haj^bimd.

This word might serve for the tracing a
variety of ** bands,**— as the •* band of

?mtleman pensioners,*'— the ^duke of
ork's band.'* aim nmltiey et eeet.

P.

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BRISTOL HIGH CROSS.

For the Table Booh,

The High Cross, which formerly stood at
Bristol, was first erected in 1373 in the
High-street, near the Tolsey ; and in suo-
ce^ing times it was adorned with the
effigies of font kings, who had been ben^»
fiictors to the city, tIz. king John facing
north to Broad-street, king Henry HI. east
to Wine-street, king Edward Hi. west to
Corn- street, and king Edward IV. south to
High-street

After the original Cross had stood three
hundred and sixty years at the top of High-
street, a silversmith who resided in the
house (now 1827) called the Csstle Bank,
facing High-street and Wine-street, offered
to swear that during every high wind his
premises and his life were endangered by
the expected fall of the Cross ! — A petition,
too, was siffned by several respeetMe eitU
gensi to the corporation for its removal,
with which that body complied with great
reluctaneey and $aw iU demolition with
great regret /

In the year 1633 it was taken down, en-
larged, and raised higher, and four other
statues were then added, viz. king Henry
VI. facing east, queen Elizabeth west, king
James I. south, and king Charles I. north ;
tlie whole was painted and gilded, and en-
vironed with iron palisadoes.

In 1733, being found incommodious by
obstructing the passage of carriages, it was
again taken down, and erected in the centre
of College-green, the figures feeing the
same points as before. On that occasion it
was painted in imitation of grey marble*
the ornaments were gilt, and the figures
were painted in their proper colours.

About the year 1762 it was discovered
that it prevented ladies and gentlemen
from walking eight or ten abreast, and
its final ruin resolved upon; and it was
once more taken down by the order of the
Rev. Cuts Barton, then dean, and strange
to say, as if there were no spot in the whole
city of Bristol whereon this beautiful struc-
ture could be again erected, it was given
by the *' very reverend^ gentleman to Mr.
Henry Hoare of Stourton, who afterwards
set it up in his delightful gardens there.

The following extracts from some old
newspapers, preserved by the Bristol anti-
quary, the late Mr. George Symes Catcott,
are interesting.

^August 21, 1762. — Several workmen
are now employed in raising the walls in
College-green, and taking down the High
CroWy which, when beantified, will be put

up in the middle of the grass-t^ot near the
lower green, about thirty yards firom viLent
it now stands.*'

•* A.D. 1764ir— Epigram:—

• T« people of BrUtol deploie the imd loee
OftheUactaad the qaeeM that onoe reipiad is yow

Croee;
TW 70W patvou thej were, sad tktk nigas wan a»

good.
Like NebnehadDeaer thej're foroed to the wood.
Yoar great mea't great wudom jroa soreljr most pitjw
Who'TO baaiahed what aU mea adoii'd from the dty.*

<* October, 1764.— To the printer (of one
of the Brbtol newspapers)—

** Sir,^-By inserting the following in
your paper you will oblige, &c :^

*• la dajra of fore, whea hanghty Fiaaee waa taaad,
Ta that freat batOe, which from Creeaj'e aemed.
Oar gloriove Edward aad hie Godlike eon
To Englaad added what from Fraaoe they'd woa.
la thia famed reiga the High Craes was ereeted.
Aad for its height aad beauty much reepected.
Saooeediag times (for gratitude thea reigaed
Oa earth, aor wae by all maakiad diedaiaed')
The Croes adoraed with foor patroa kiag%.
80 History assnres the muee that ai^gs ;
Some hoadred yean it stood, to straagea shows
At the palladiam of this tradiag towat
Till ia kiag Charles the firsts uahappy reiga
Twas takea dowB,bat sooa wae raised agaiai
la balk aad height iaereaeed, foar statues mora
Were added to the others, there before t
Thea gilded palisadoAs feac'd it rooad—
A Cioas so Boble grao'd ao other grooad.
There loag it stood, aad oft admir'd had beca»
Till moT*d from theaee to adon the College greea
There had it still remaiaed ; but eaTioos fate^
Who secret piaes at what is good or grsat*
Batsed up the tadia to eoaspire Us foil.
For boys aad aiea, aad dogs defiled it alL
For those fouks ooademaed, ttis aoble pile
Was ia the saered college stow'd a while.
F^om theaoe tbeee kiogs, so very great aad good.
Are seat to grace prood StoartOB*s lofty wood.

Mr. Britton observes, that f^ tbe im*
proTenients and embellishments of this
Cross in 1633 cost the chamber of Bristol
207/. Its height from the ground was
thirty-nine feet six inches. After taking
it down in 1733 it was thrown into the
Guildhall, where it remained till some gen-
tlemen of the Cotlege^green voluntarily
subscribed to have it re-erected in the cen-
tre of that open space ; but here it was not
suffered long to continue, for in 1763 the
whole was once more levelled with the
ground, and throvm into a secluded comer
of the cathedral, so insensible were the
Bristolians of its beauty and curiosity. Mi;

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Hoare expended about 300/L in its remonJ
to and re-erection at Stourton. The present
stracture at Stourton, however, raries in
many particulars from the original Cross. It
constitutes not only an unique garden orna-
ment in its present situation, but is singu-
larly beautiful for its architectural character,
its sculpture, and its eventful history.'*

1821. — A clergyman of Bristol (the Rev.
Mr. Saver) having an occasion to ^rite to
sir R. C. Hoare, bart. received in reply a
letter containing the following paragraph : —
^ I am glad to hear that the citizens of
Bristol show a desire to restore the ancient
monuments of their royal benefactors; pray
assure them, that I shall be very happy to
contribute any assistance, but my onginal
b in such a tottering state that no time
should be lost.''

Thus the beautiful High Cross which
once adorned the city of Bristol may now,
through the liberality of sir R. C. Hoare,
be transplanted (if we may use the expres«
■ion) to Its native soil, after a banishment
of fifty-seven years. Its reappearance in
the College-green would be beautiful and
highly appropriate.

At a meeting of the Bristol Philosophi-
cal and Literary Society on the 19th April,
1827, Mr. Richard Smith read a paper
from Thomas Garrard, Esq. the chamberlain
of Bristol, on the subject of the High Cross,
together with a brief notice of ^ the well
of St. Edith ^ in Peter-street. The latter,
as well as the remains of the Cross, are still

S reserved at sir R. C. Hoare's at Stourton.
lany other interesting particulars may be
found in the Bristol Mirror, April 28, 1827.
August^ 1827. A. B.

ORIGIN OF THE WORD TAILOR,

To the EdUor.

Dear Sir,— Bailey derives «* tmlor from
CttHleff French, a maker of garments :**
but when a boy I remember penectly well,
my grandfather, who was raeetious, and
attached to the usages of the past, ac-
quainting me with his origin of the word
** tailor." He stated it neariy thus s —
^ The term tailor originated between a
botcher (a man that went from farm-house
to iarm-house, and made and repaired
clothes by the day) and bis wife — who,
going to a town fiair without her husband,
returned in a storm at a late hour, all be-
spattered with mud. The wearied botcher
had seaiched for her in vain, till meeting
a neighbour, who told him his wife was
gone home draggletailed« he exclaimed,

* Ood be praised 1 she** where she ougri
to be; but the De'el take the taU-*o'her.
His brother villagers ever after called him
(not the botcher) but the tail o*her — ^henoe
tailor. The Devil among the Tailors per-
haps owes its origin to a similar freak."

Speaking of a taU, the following from
Bailey may not be inappropriate.—*' Kemt^
ish long tails. The Kentish men are said to
have had tails for some generations, by
way of punishment, as some say ; for the
Kentish pagans abusing Austin the monk
and his associates, by beating them, and
opprobriously tying fish-tails to them; in
revenge of which, such appendages grew
to the hind parts of all tnat generation.
But the scene of this lying wonder was not
in Kent, but at Came, in Dorsetshire.
Others again say, it was for cutting off the
tail of &iint Thomas of Canterbury's horse ;
who, being out of favour with Henry XL,
riding towards Canterbury upon a poor
sorry horse, was so served by the common
people. Credat Judaus ApeUa-**

** Animals' tails " were worn at country
festivals by buffoons and sportmakers ; for
which, see ** Plough Monday," in the
Every-Day Book ; and also, see Liston, in
Grojan, ** I could a tail unfold !" &c.
Yours truly,

• • p

For the Table Book.
THE CLERK IN THE DARK.

*' Set forthf bttt not allowed to be sung m
all Churches^ ofaU the people together J^

Com on s time, *twM ftftcnoon,
AbA winter— while tlie wearf day

Daaaed off with Pbab«s--lo the tone
Of « 0*tr theUUa and toswajT^

I went toehorch, aad heard the clerk
Preface the psalm with ^ Pardon wu^

But reallj fricade it ie ae daik.
Do all I maj I eaaaot aeeP*— -

The ** qiure** that used the psalms ts
Not dreamiag to be thus misled*-

Stmek op in chonu jnUlaat,
The elexk*i apology inatsitdl

MOBAL.

•• The foree of habit* should net keep
Our trust m other heads so sure.

That reason maj drop off to sleep.
Or sense enjoy a stneennw

A X

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For the TabU Book.

CINDERELLA.

Of all the narratiYei either of feet or of
fiction there are none, I will pledge my
Teracity, like the Fairy Tales of the Nursery,
for interesting all the best feelings of our
nature, and for impressing an imperishable
and beautiful morality upon the heart. Was
there ever, can you imagine — ^was there ever
a young woman hardened and heartless

I enough to explore a forbidden closet, after
she bad perused the romantic history of
Bluebeard ? Would she not fearfully &ncy
that every box, bag, and bottle, iar, jelly,
and jam-pot was grinning hideously at her
in the person of one of the departed Mrs.

I Bluebeards T In fact, there is not a tale that
does not convey some fine instruction, and,
I would venture to affirm, that does not

, produce more salutary influence on the

' youthful mind, than all that Dr. Gregory
and Mrs. Chapone, Dr. Fordyce and Miss
Hannah More, have ever, in their wearisome
sagacity, advised.

I Of the whole of these enterlaining sto-
ries, perhaps the best, and deservedly the
most popular, is the History of Cinderella.
How deeply do we sympathise in her cin-
ders ! how do we admire her patient en-
durance and uncomplaining gentleness,—
her noble magnanimity in not ananging
her sisters' treuet amiss — for presuming to
be her mUs^treues^-^nd finally, bow do
we rejoice at her ultimate and unexpected
prosperity! Judge then of my horror,
imagine my despair, when I read the New
Monthly Magazme, and saw this most ex-
quisite story derived from the childish folly

I of a strolling player ! The account, which
is in a paper entitled ** DrafU on La Fitte,**
states, that the tale originated in an actual
occurrence about the year 1730 at Paris.
It is to this effect : — An actor, ont iWe-
nard, saw a shoe, where shoes are frequently
to be seen, vii. at a cobbler's stall, and, lika
a wise man, fell deeply in love with it.
He immediately took his stand by the itall
all the rest of the day— but nobody came
for the shoe. Next morning ** Ecce itenim
Crispinus," he was with the cobbler min,
still nobody came: however, to make a
short story of a long one, day after day the
poor actor stood there, till the proprietor of
the shoe applied for it, in the person of a
most elegant young woman; when mon-
sieur Thevenard took the opportunity of
telling her, he admired her foot so mucn he
was anxious to gain her hand ; to this mo*
dest desire she kindly complied, and they

were accordingly married. Thus ends this
pitiful account. He must liave had an in-
ventive &ncy, indeed, who could mannfiic*
ture the sweet story of Cinderella out oi
such meagre matenals— it vras making a
mountain ont of a molehill 1 The gentle
and interesting Cinderella dwindles down
into a girl, whose only apparent merit wsi
her economy in having her shoe palched—
and the affable and affluent prince melts
away into a French actor. Were the prize
of squeezing her foot into the little slipper
only to become the bride of an actor, I
should imagine the ladies would not have
been quite so anxious to stand in her
shoes 1

Now, gentle reader, as I have told yon
what is not the origin of my story, it is hat
incumbent on me to tell you what it.— In i
the thirteenth book of the *' Various His-
tory" of /Elian is the real genuine oarratife
from which Cinderella is derived — it is the
twenty-third anecdote: and the similarity
of the two stories is so great, that, I trust,
a simple repetition of it will prove beyond
a doubt the antiquity, as well as the rank,
of my favourite Cinderella. Of all the
Egyptians, says the historian, Rhodopc
was reckoned the most beautiful ;— 4o her,
when she was bathing. Fortune, eTer fond
of sudden and unexpected catastrophes,
did a kindness more merited by her beauty
than her prudence. One day, when sh(
was bathing, she judiciously left her sheet
on the bank of the stream, and an eagle
(naturally mistaking it for a sheep or a little
child) pounced down upon one of them,
and flew off with it. Flving with it dlrectiji
over Memphis, where king Psammeticns*
was dispensing justice, the eagle dropped
the shoe in the king*s lap. Of course the
king was struck with it, and admiring the
beauty of the shoe and the skill and pro-
portion of the fiibrication, he sent thi^ongh
all the kingdom in search of a foot that
would fit it ; and having found it attached
to the person of Rhodope, he immediately
marriea her.

P.S.— I have given my authority, chapter
ind verse, for my story ; but still fkrther to
dnbstantiate it, lam willing to lay both my
oaine and address before the reader.

Ma. Smith,

^cvember, 1827. LomUnu

• PkaaiBflCiew wMoaaof lli« twehreUa|i of^cyf^
ud reined sboot the yeer 070 a G^ jwt U»jm
before oe poor Freaelimaa's time I— {See hie kietoiT ■
Uerodotu. book S. itav. S and 8.)

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HORiE CRAVENJE.
For the TabkBooh,

IIlTCBIVOSTOHE FE4ST#— COWLIVO

Moons.

On the highest part of Sutton Common,
tn Craten, is a huge block of solid granite,
of about fifty vards in circumference, and
about ten yards high. It is regarded as a
great natural curiosity, and has for gene-
rations been a prominent feature in the
legends and old wife's tales of the neigh-
bourhood. On the west side is an artificial
excavation, called ^ The Chair,'' capable of
containing six persons comfortably, though
I lememMr it once, at a pinch, in a tre-
mendous thunder shower, containing eight.
On the north side is a similar excavation,
called ** The Chum," from its resemblance
to that domestic utensil ; on the top is a
natural basin, fourteen yards in circum-
ference. This stone is the boundary-mark
for three townships and two parishes, viz.
the townships ot Sutton, Cowling, and
Laycock, and the parishes of Kildwick and
Keighley. From time immemorial it has
been customary to hold a feast round
Hitchingstone on the 1st of August, the
amusements at which are of a similar
nature with those of the Tillage feasts and
tides (as they are called in some places) in
the vicinity, as dancing, racing, &c. At a
short distance from Hitchingstone are two
smaller stones, one on the east, called Kid-
stone, the other on the north-east, called
Navaxstone ; whence the three names are
derived I am ignorant.

The inhabitants of Cowling, or Cowling-
head, the village from which the township
takes its name, are known in Ciaven as
** Moons ;*' an epithet of derision, which is
said to have had its origin from the follow-
ing circumstance: — Cowling-head is a wild
mountain village, and the inhabitants are
not famed for travelling much; but it is
told, that once upon a time, a Cowling
shepherd got so fer from home as Skipton,
(six miles ;) on entering Skipton it was a
fine moonlight night, and the shepherd is
said to have made this sagacious remark :
** How like vour Skipton moon is to our
Cowling-head moon.** Be the story true
or not, the inhabitants are called ** Moons ;**
and in the vulgar vocabulary of Craven a
silly fellow is called a *^ Cowling moon.''
Not knowing a single inhabitant of Cow-
tins I cannot speak of their civilisation ; but
it does not say much for their advancement
in knowledge, that the Joannttes have a

ehapel amongst them, and remain tiue to
their profkeUet ; who, as they suppose,

■ is Vot TsaUli'd from the Mrth awhile.
To eouM agMa witk bright oaelooded smile.

While residing a few days at a gentle-
man's house in the neighbourhood, I fre-
quently observed the Cowling Joannites,
with their long beards, rambline up and
down the fells. A friend likened them to
the ancient Druid priests, but I thought
thfnr more resembled goats, and formed no
bad substitute for that animsd, which is
almost wholly banished from the fells of
the district.

H£*S GOT T*OlL>BOTTLE IH HIS PoCKET.

This is a Craven saying, and is applied
to a person, who, like the heathen Janus,
has two faces; in other words, one who
acts vrith duplicity, who will flatter vou to
your foce, and malign you behind your
back. Alas 1 how many are there amongst
all ranks, and in all places, who have '* got
t'oil bottles in their pockets.*^

Swine Harrt.

This is the name of a field on the side ot
Pinnow, a hill in Lothersdale, in Craven ;
and is said to have derived its name from
the following singular circumstance. A
native of the valley was once, at the dead
of night, crossing the field with a pig which
he had stolen from a neighbouring farm-
yard ; he led the obstibate animal by a rope
tied to its leg, which viras noosed at the end
where the thief held it. On coming to a
ladder-style in the field, being a very cor-
pulent man, and wishing to have both
hands at liberty, but not liking to release
the Dig, he transferred the rope from his
hanos to his neck ; but when he reached
the topmost step his feet slipped, the pig
pulled hard on the other side, the noose
tightened, and on the following morning
he was found dead. I believe this story
to be a feet; it was told me bv an aged
man, who said it happened in his feiher's
time.

Sept. 2, 1827. T. Q. M.

THOMAS SMITH,

A Quack Extraoroinart.

For the Table Book.

The following advertisement, somewhat
abridged from the original, which must
have been put forth upwards of a century
ago, abundantly proves, that quackery and
puffing had mane some progress even at
that period z^-

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^In King-Street, Westminster, at the
QueenVarms and Corn-cutter, liveth Tho
mas Smith; vvho, by experience and in-
genuity, has learnt the art of taking out
and cnring all manner of corns, without
pa n, or drawing blood. He likewise takes
out all manner of nails, which cause any
disaster, trouble, or pain, which no man in
England can do the like. He cures the
tooth-ache in half an hour, let the pain be
neTer so great, and cleanses and preserves
the teeth. He can, with Ood*s assistance,
perform the same in a little time.

*' I wear a silver badge, with three
verses ; the first in English, the second in
Dutch, the third in French, with the States
of Holland's crownet on the top, which was
gave' ine as aprea^ent by the States-general
of Holland, for the many curesy.&^. My
name on the badge underwritten,. Thokas
Smith, who will not fail, God willing, to
make out eveiy particular in this bill, &c.

** The famousest ware in England, which
never foils to cttre the tooth- ache in half an
hour, price one shilling the bottle. Likewise
a powder fot cleansing the teeth, which
makes them as ivory without wearing them,
and without prejudice to the gums, one
shilling the box. Also two sorts of water
for curing the scnrvy in the gums ; though
they are eaten away to the bottom, it wiU
heal them, and cause them to grow as firm
as ever, very safe, without mercuiy, or any
unwholesome spirit. To avoid counter-
feits, they are only sold at his own house,
&c., price of each bottle half a crown, or
more, according to the bigness, with direo-
Uons.''-^ar/. MSS.

Smith is mentioned in the Tatler. He
used to go out daily in quest of customers,
and made a periodical call at all the coffee-
houses then in London.

H.M.L.

DUNCHURCH, COW, AND CALF.
To the Editor.

Sir,— I am confidently assured, that the
following coincidences really occur. You
may not perhaps deem them unworthy of
the very small space they will occupy in
your amusing columns, of which I have
ever been a constant reader. T. R.

At Dunekureh, near Coventry, is an inn,
or public-house, called the Dun Coir, which
supplies its landlord with the milk of ex-
istence. He is actually named Duncalf;
the product of his barrels may be, there*
foit, DOt unaptly termed,— mo^Jb^t^t milk.

Miitohniti

or TBB

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XIV.

TbB ClBCULATIOH OF THE BlOOD, ScC

Two thousand years have elapsed since
the time of Hippocrates, and there has
scarcely been aaded a new aphorism tc
those of that great man, notwithstanding
all the care and application of so man^
ingenious men as have since studied medi-
cine.

There exist evident proofs that Hippo-
crates was acqilkahited with the circulaUon
of the blood. Aknelooven, in vindication
of this fiither of medicine not having more
amply treated of this subject in his works,
assigns this reason, that Hippocrates having
many other important matters to discuss,
judged that to enlarge upon what was so
well known, and had been so well explained
by others, was as needless as it would have
been to have written an Iliad after Homer.
It is less requisite here to cite passages as
proofs of Hippocrates's knowledge on this
vital principle in the animal economy, than
to state the fkct of his acquaintance with
it. Briefly it may suffice to merition, that
Hippocrates compares the course of rivers,
which return to tneir sources in an unac-
countable and extraordinary manner, to the
circulation of the blood. He says, that
" when the bile enters into the Uood it
breaks its consistence, and disorders its
regular course/' He compares the admira-
ble mechanism of the blood ^ to dues of
thread, whose filaments overlap each other;"
and he says, that ** in the body it performe
jtut euch a circuit, tdwaye terminating
where it began,'*

Mr. Dutens is of opinion that Plato,
Aristotle, Julius Pollux, Apuleius, and
other ancients, treat the circulation of the
blood as well known in their time. To
that end he cites passages from their writ-
ings, and proceeds to affirm, that, what re-
duces to a very small degree the honour of
Harvey's claim to the discoveiy is, thai
*^ Servetus had treated of it very distinctly
before him, in the fifth part of his book De
Chrietianiemi Reetitntione ; a worl so very
scarce, that there are but few who can boast
of having seen it in print. Mr. Wotton, m
his Reflectiom upon the Aweknte and Mo

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tkTMj cites this passage of Senretus entire.
In this passage Senretus distinguishes threa
sorts or spirits in the human body, and
•ays that blood, ** which be calls a riul
spirit, 18 dispersed through the body by the
anattimotU, or mutual insertion of two
Tesselsy at their extremities, into one ano*
tber/' Here it deserres observation, that
Servetus is the first who employed that
term to express the communication between
the veins and arteries. He makes ** the
expanded air in the lungs contribute to the
formation of blood, which comes to them
from the right ventricle of the heart, by the
canal of the pulmonary artery." He says,
that ** the blood is there refined and perfected
by the action of the air, which subtilises it
and blends iUelf with that vital spiiit,
which the expanded heart then receives as
a fluid proper to carry life every where.'^
He mainUins that ^ this conveyance and
manner of preparing the blood in the lungs
is evident from the junction of the veins
with the arteries in this viscera.'' And he
concludes with saying, that *' the heart having
received the blood thus prepared by the
lungs sends it forth again by the artery of
:ts left ventricle, called the aorta, which
dtttributes it inio all parU of the body."
Andreas Cesalpinus, who lived likewise in
the sixteenth century, has two passages
which completely conuin all that we know
about the circulation of the blood. He ex-
plains at length ** how the blood, gushing
from the right ventricle of the heart through
the pulmonary aite^ to pass into the lungs,
enters anastomosioulv into the pulmonary
veins, to be conveyed to the leh ventricle
of the heart, and afterwards distributed by
the aorta Into all parts of the body.'' Let
it be remarked, that, according to Boer-
haave, the first edition of Cesalpin's book
was at Venice in 1571 ; that is, almost
sixty years before Harvey's work appeared,
who studied at Padua, which is not far
from Venice ; and spent a considerable part
o{ his time there.

Johannes Leonicenus says, that the
4unous Paul Sarpi, otherwise known by the
name of Father Paul, was be who dis-
covered the circulation of the blood, and
first discerned '< the valves of the veins,
which, like the suckers of a pump, open to
let the blood pass, but shut to prevent its
return;*' and that he communicated this
secret to Fabricius. ab Aquapendente, pro-
' %ssor of medicine at Padoua in the six-
teenth century, and successor to Fallopius,
who discovered it to Harvey, at that time
studying physic under nim in the vniversity

SERVETUS.

His Booxa— CnRTsTiANism RcsTTTtrrto
— DeTrinitate Erroribus— DbTri-

lilTATE DiALOOORVK.

Mr. Dutens, in the course of his remarks
on Servetus*s discourse concerning the cir-
euiation of the blood, observes as fmlows :—
*^ Senretus published on this subject two
difierent books. That for which he was
burnt at Geneva, in 1553, is entitled
ChrUtknusm RestUutio, and had been
piinied but a month before his death. The
care they took to bum all the copies of it
at Vienne in Dauphiny, at GeneVa, and at
Frankfort, rendered it a book of the greatest
scarcity. Mention is made of one copy of
it in the catalogue of Mr. de Boze's books,
p. 40, which has been regarded as the only
one extant. I have had in my hands a
surreptitious copy of it, published at Lon<*
don, which' formerly belonged to Dr.
Friend ; in the 143d, 144th, and 145th
pages of which occurs the passage (on the
circulation.) The book is in ouarto, but
without the name of the place wnere it was
printed, or the time when^ and is incom*
plete, the bishop of London having put a
stop to the impression, which, if I mistake
not, was about the year 1780w Care should
be taken not to confound this with another
work of his, printed in 13mo. in 1531,
without mention of the place where, but
supposed to be at Lyons. It. is entitled
De Triniiath Erroribttw Libri Siftteiih per
Miehaelem Serveto, alwt Revmy ob Aragwh
HiMpannm ; and there is along with it ano4>
ther treatise, printed in 1532, entitled Dia*
logonm (U TWnitoto, Lib, 2. de JuHitU
RegtU Chrutij Capitttla 4. per Miehaelem
Serveto, aiiae Revee^ ab AragimH ffupo-
num. This last, which is very scarce, and
sold once for one hundred pistoles, (that is
AOU sterl.) is in the library of the duke of
Roxburgh at London, where I have seen it^
but it contains not the passage referred to,
which is only to be met with in the cor-
rected imd enlarged edition of that work,
published in 1653, and entitled Chrietith
niitni RettitutioJ'

Dr. Sigmond, in a recent vroA, entitled
*<The Unnoticed Theories, of Servetus,"
speaks of a Life of Servetus in the His-
torical Dictionary;* another, ascribed to
M. de la Roche, in the « Biblioih^ue An-
gloise," with extracu relating to Servetus's
Theory of the Cireulaticm ^ the Blood ;
and a third, by M'. D'Artigny, in the '* M6-
moires des Homines lllu8tie$, who extracted

• Of wUek tiMn b u Ki«liih tmnkuiai la 8vo.

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the history of the trial from the archifes of
the archbishop of VieDne in Dauphine.
*^ And I haTe lately read with considerable
pleasure/' says Dr. Sigmond, ^ an Apology
br the Life of Senretus, by Richard Wright ;
not because he adds any thinj^ to our pre-
Tious knowledge of his liiSe and conduct,
but that a spirit of candour and liberality
entitles the Tolume to much consideration.
He has evidently not met with the CArtf^t-
Ofiirait ReMtiiutio.**

In relation to this latter work by Ser?e-
tus, Dr. Sigmond says, '< The late Dr. Sims,
for many years president of the Medical
Society of London, bequeathed to me his
copy of Senretus, to which he has prefixed
the following note : — ' The fete of this work
has been not a little singular ; all the copies,
except one, were burned along with the
author by the implacable Calvin. This
copy was secreted by D. CoUadon, one of
the judges. After passine through the
library of the landgrave of Hesse Cassel,
it came into the hands of Dr. Mead, who
endeavoured to give a quarto edition of it ;
but before it was neaHy completed, it was
seized by John Kent, messenger of the
press, and William Squire, messenger in
ordinary, on the 29tli of May, 1723, at the
instance of Dr. Gibson, bishop of London,
and burnt, a very few copies excepted.
The late duke de Valliere gave near 400
guineas for this copy, and at his sale it
brought 3810 livres. It contains the first
account of the circulation of the blood,
above 70 years before the immortal Harvey
published his discovery.' ''

** In justice to the memory of my late
valued mend,** says Dr. Sigmond, ** 1 must
state my conviction that mis copy is not
the origmal one ; at the same time, I firmly
believe he Imagined it to be that which he
has described. Yet he was well known as
an accurate man, as a judicious collector of
books : and, indeed, to him is the Medical
Society of London indebted for its valuable
and admirable library." Dr. Sigmond's-
correction of Dr. Sims's note is substantial ;
but it may be corrected still further.
Dr. Sims mistook as to the book having
brought 3810 livres at the duke de Val-
liere*s sale. The duke gave that sum for
the book at the sale of M. Gaignat in 1769,
and when the duke*s library was sold in
1784, it produced 4120 livres. Tliere is a
particular account of it in the catalogue of
that collection, bv De Bure, tom. i. p. 289«
hat copy has hitherto been deemed unique.

Dr. Sigmond's tmoiher copy of Serve-
6*s own edition ?

Sigmond's own work, printed last

▼ear, is itself scarce, in oonseqnenoe c
having been suppressed or withdrawn from
publication. * This circumstance, and the
curiosity of its purpose, may render an ex-
emplifying extract from it agreeable :—

*< I have quoted," says Dr. S., << the
wholeof5erotf/ii«*f theories verbatim. Thoae
that relate to the phenomena of mind, aa
produced by the brain, will at this time
nave an additional interest, when Gall and
Spurzheim have attracted the attention of

Snilosophers to the subject* With some
egree of boldness he has fixed upon the
ventricles of the brain, and the choroid
plexus, as the seat of that ray divine which
an immortal Creator has shed upon man, ,
and man alone. The awe and veneration
with which such a subiect must be ap*
preached, are increased by the conviction j
that though we may flatter our fond hopes
with the idea that some knowledge nas
been gained, we are still lost in the same
labyrinth of doubt and uncertainty that we
ever were.

** After giving his description of the pas-
sage of the blood from the right ventricle
of the heart through the lungs, to the left
ventricle of the heart, he gives his reasons
for his belief in his doctrine of the circular
tion, and observes that Galen was nnao*
quainted with the truth. He then com-
mences that most extraordinary passage
upon the seat of the mind. The blood, he
supposes, having received in its pasnge
through the lungs the breath of life, is sent
by the left ventricle into the arteries ; the
purest part ascends to the base of the brain,
where it is more refined, especially in the
retiform plexus. It is stUl more perfected
in the small vessels, the capillary arteries,
and the choroid plexus, which penetrate
^very part of the brain, enter into the ven-
tricles, and closely surround the orig*n of
the nerves. From the vital spirit it is now
changed into the animal spirit, and acts
upon the mass of brain, which is incapable
or reasoning without this stimulus. In the
two ventricles of the brain is placed the
power of receiving impressions from ex-
ternal objects ; in the third is that of rea-
soning upon tiiem ; in the fourth is that of
remembering them. From th^ communi-
cation through the foramina of the ethmoid
bone, the two ventricles receive a portion
of external air to refresh the spirit, and to
give new animation to the soul. If these

• It It eatitM •• Tlie UDSotiecd Hmotm of Scn^
tut, a Dinerution addrencd to tkt Medieal Sod^y ol
Stockholm. By a«orge Sigmond. M.D. late of Jm
CoUogo, Cambridge, and formerlr Praidrator tkt
Rojal Phraioal Society of Kdiaborgh. loadoa, I89S.*
8vapp.8ii.

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fVDtriclcs are oppressed by theintroductiof
of noxious vapour, epilepsy is produced ,
if a fluid presses on the choroid plexus,
apoplexy ; and whatever affects this part oi

I the Drain causes loss of mental power.

** I have transcribed his notions on vege
table and animal life: they are more cuii

i ous than correct. They are contained in
the second Dialogue on the Trinity, which
is remarkable from its being the best proof
that the doctrines of Senretus were com-

' pletely at variance with the Unitarianism
of which he was accused. It is a dialogue
between Peter and Michael, < modum gene
rationis Christ! docens, quod ipse non sit
creature, nee iinitsB potentise, sed Tere ado-
randus, Terusque Deus.'

** He here enters Tery minutely into the
soul, as the breath of life; and the whole
of the theories he has advanced are in sup-
port of the passages in the Bible, relative
to the Almighty pouring into the nostrils of
man the breaUi of life. A long metaphy-
sical and theological discussion, difficult to
be understood, follows ; but not one syllar
ble can be found contrary to the precepts
of Christianity, or to the pure nith he
wished to instil into the mind. In another
part of the work there is a dissertation upon
the heart as the origin of faith, which he
believes, on the authorities he cites from
the Bible, to be the seat of some degree of
mental power. The heart, he supposes,
deliberates upon the will, but the will obeys
the brein.'^

Persons disposed to inquiries of the
nature last adverted to, may peruse a re-
markable paper on the functions of the
heart, as connected with volition, by sir
James MadLintosh; it was drawn up in
consequence of a table conversation with
Mr. Benjamin Travers, and is inserted by
that genUeman in an appendix to hb work
on Constitutional Irritation.*

It remains further to be observed respects
ittg Servetus, that, according to Dr. Si^-
mond, another of his theories was, tliat " m
the blood is the life.'' His notions ''on
vegetable and animal life," are in his work
** De Triniutis Erroribus, Libri VII." 12mo.
1531. This book appears in the ** Biblio-
theca Parriana," by Mr. Bohn, with the
following MS. remarks on it by Dr. Parr.

*Xa«r rarMmmt, I gvn two gniiifu for till
book." 8. P.

• •* Ab liuplrj eoneerainf that dJttaibed State of
th« Vital FaaetioBs, osaal^ deaoaiaated Con^titii-
tio«al Irriutioa. Br Beajamia Traren, F.II.S.
Seaior Samoa to St Tbomea^i Hospital, and Prrai-
icat oTtha Sfedieo-Cbirnrrieal aad Haateriaa Soeietics
«f LoadoB, Iko. teoood edTtioa. Loadoa, lif7*** 8vow

* Servttas was Imnt for this book. Ha Kigbt te a
konetia, bat ka wan aot aa lafideL I have bia
life, ia Latia. writtea bj AUwoerdfla. wblek
•boald be read bj all lebolan aad tme Ckri»
8. P.

Dr. Sigmond's opinion of Servetus evi-
dently concurs with Dr. Parr's. Towards
the close of Dr. Sigmond's Introduction to
his ** Dissertatio, quedam de Serveto com-
plectens,'' he says, ** Of his religious opi-
nions I have but little to say : the bitter
prejudices, the violent hatred, the unmanly
persecutions that disgraced the eariy intro-
duction of a reformcnd religion, have fortu-
nately given place to the milder charities of
true Christianity. The penalty of death,
by the most cruel torture, would not now
be inflicted on a man who oflered to the
world crude and undigested dreama, "^ the
visionary fismcies of a disturbed imagina-
tion ; and these, to say the very worst, are
the sins for which Servetus expired at the
stake, surrounded by the books his ardent
and unconquerable spirit had dared to
compose.

A sincere love of Christianity beams
forth in every page of the work I have be-
fore me* His great anxiety was to restore
religion to that purity, which he believed
it to have lost. The doctrine he opposed
was not that of Christ ; it was that of the
churchmen who had established, in his
name, their own Tain and fleeting opinions
The best proof that Calvin and MelancthoD
had deserted the mild, the charitable, the
peacefnl religion of truth, and that they
followed not the divine precepts of their
gentle Master, was, and is, that they pur-
sued, even "into death, a helpless, poor, and
learned man."

It is well known that Servetus was de-
nounced by Calvin to the government of
Geneva, and that the civil authorities re-
ferred the case back to Calvin. ** At the
instance of Mr. Calvin and his associates
he was condemned to be burnt alive ; which
sentence was executed October 27, 1553.
He was upwards of two hours in the fire;
the wood being green, little in quantity,
and the wind unfovourable.*^ It is not
now the fashion to bum a man for heresy :
the modem mode is to exaggerate and dis-
tort his declared opinions ; drive him from
society by forging upon him those which
he disclaims; wound his spirit, and. break
his heart by continued aspersions; and,
when he is in his grave, award him the re-
putation of having been an amial^e and
mistaken man. ^

• Dr. AdaaClarkat aUtocrapkieal Dial. isLfi,

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LIKES,

On swing in the Table Book the SIgnaimre
o/a brother, IF. W. K.
WbenTer tkot« weU-knowB ekamotera I aee,
Thef sn, nd mmt will be, daw to dm!
Bmt oft !■ thatfrMB Aeld, bmeaCh Uie ahado
Of teedua4MragU, whUst oCk«r yooafiten fta/d.
Bsf« I, a happf lahodlbof, o*«r aivl t/er,
CoMi'd tkoMdatf itgas, which now I raad'aMt OMto!
How oft, noB dw daisied gran I laid.
Foil plMe'd, the W. W. K. Tt* wadi—
When oaoe eepied, how tediona 'twas lo wait
Tka erippled poataaa's weU-knowa shaflli^s gaiti
As, alowlf ereapioi: down the winding lane.
With aneh a slaggidi pace ha oaward caae i
Or if in aekool«'~hi« ling; no sooaer kaanU
Than home, with all ito sweets, to miad tecqrr'd ;
And whilst the lettex^s page its news rerral'd.
The gath'riag drop mj boyish sight eonocal'd I

I fioaiething then whbpei'd. Bill, that life bcgoa
80 well, the sama stiU happily woold ran k
That tho* for jeara tha briay sea dividsb
Or be it good, or ill, that each betide.
The saoM fond heart would throb in either^s breast,
Fondneaa by years and stealing liiae iacieaa'd I
So, as ia early days it first beoame.
Shall it in riper life, be still the same,
That by and by, when we're together laid
'Neath the green inos»>grown pile— tt may be said.
As loD«ly footsteps tow'rds onr hilloek tnm,
** They were in life and d«ath together one !"'

DOVER PIG.
To the Editor.

Sir,*-To tbe fact of the underwiitteo
narrative there are many living uritnesses of
high respectability. Anatomists and phi-
losophers may not think it unnrorthy tneir
notice, and the lovera of the manrellous will
doubtless be interested by a subject which
assimilates with the taste of all.

On tbe 14th of December, 1810, several
considerable falls of the clifis,- both east
and westward of Dover, took place ; and
one of these was attended by a fatal do*
mestic catastrophe. A house, situated at
the base of that part of the cliffii between
Moat's Bulwark and where the Dover Gas
Company's works are built, was buried,
with its inmates, consisting of the father,
mother, and five of their children, and a
sister's child. The father only was dug
from the ruins alive. All his family
perished with the ruin of his household
property.

Behind the house, which stood just clear
of the clifis' base, in an excavation, was a
pig«ety; whicb, whea the cliff fell, was

mliabited by a solitary and rery hi hoir,
supposed to weigh about eiglii aooie. In
the midst of his distress, tise unfortu-
nate owner of the quadruped fingot tbii
animal; and when it occurred to hts re-
collection, BO much time had passed since
the accident, that the pig was numbered
with the dead. In the ensaiDg summer,
on the evening of the 23d of May, some
workmen of the Ordnanee departmeDt,
going home from labour, stopped, as they
had sometimes done before, to contemplate
tbe yet remaining ruin. While thus ea-
gaged, a sound oroke the silence of the
moment. It seemed like the feeble gninl^
ing of a hog. The mefl^stened, and the
sound was repeated, till it ceased to be
matter of doubt Oneof tbem immediately
went to the commanding officer of tbe
Ordnance, and returned with a party of the
miners, who set to Work ; and as soon u
they had cleared away the chalk from }»
fore the ohasra, the incarcerated aoimaJ
came staggering forth, more like the ana-
tomy of a pig than a living one. Its skio
was coverea with a long shaggy coat : tbe I
iris had disappeared from its eyes; and |
the pupils were pale, and had almost lost 1
their colour. Nothing beyond these parti- I
colars was apparent' externally. Wiib
great attention to its feeding, the creature
recovered from its debility, and its coat
fell off, and was renewed as beibre. When
I saw this hog in the following November,
the eyes were of a yellowish tint, and tbe
ins only discoverable by a &int line round
the pupil ; no defect showed itself in the
vision of the orsan : and, but for being told
that the pig before me was the one buried
alive for six months, there was nothing
about it to excite curiosity. To the owner
it had been a source of great profit, by its
exhibition, during the summer season, at
the neighbouring towns and watering-
places ; and, finally, it ended its existence .
m the vray usual to its race, through the ,
hands of the butcher.

I have stated the supposed weight of
this long-buried quadruped at the time of
its incarceration, to be about eight score,
or twenty stone; when liberated, it was
weighed, and had lost half of iu former
quantity, being then four score. A pecu-
liar character of the pig is — its indiscrimi-
nate gluttony and rapid digestion. The
means by which the life of Siis particular
animal was sustained during the long period
of its imprisonment, may be worth t^*
consideration of the xootomist.
I am, &c

S^tember, 1827. K. &

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ANECDOTES.
Juries.

Levinz reports a case in the King's
Bench, " Foster v, Hawden," " wherein the
jury, not «|p:eeing, cast loU for their verdict,
and gave it according to lot; for which,
upon the motion of Levinc, the verdict was
set aside, and the yxn were ordered to at-
tend next term to be uned:''

On an appeal of murder, reported in
Coke, the killing was not denied by the
murderer, but he rested his defence upon a
point of law, viz. that the deceased had
provoked him, by mocking him; and he
therefore contended that it was not murder.
The judges severally delivered their opi-
nions, that it was murder; but the juiy
could not agree. They however came to
the following understanding — ** That they
should bring in, and offer their verdict not
guilty; and if the court disliked thereof,
that then they should all change their ver-
dict, and find him guilty." They brought
in a verdict of Not Guilty, The court de-
murred, and sent them back; when, ac-
cording to the above understanding, they
returned again in a few minutes with a
verdict of OuiUy.

In 1752, Owen, a bookseller, was pro-
secuted by the attorney-general, on inform-
ation, for a libel. The direction of the
lord chief justice Lee to the jury does not
appear at foil length in the State Trials,
but it seems that he ^ declared it as his
opinion, that the jury ought to find the de-
fendant guilty." The jury brought in their
verdict "Not Guilty." The report pro-
ceeds to state, " that the jury went away ;
but at the desire of the attorney-general,
they were called into court again, and ask^d
this leading question : viz. " Gentlemen of
the Jury, do you think the evidence laid
before you, of Owen's publishing the book
by selling it, is not sufficient to convince
you that the said Owen did sell this book."
Upon which the foreman, without answer*
ing the question, said, *^ Not guilty, not
guilty;" and several of the iury said,
"That is our verdict, my lord, and we
abide by it." Upon which the court broke
up, and there was a prodigious shoot in
the hall.

A Question«^Mal-apbopo6.

When Dr. Beadon was rector of Eltham,
in Kent, the text he one day took to preach
from was, " Who art thou T After read-
ing it he made a pause, for the congrega-
tion to reflect on the words ; when a gen-
in a military dress^ who at the

instant was proceeding up Xht middle alslft
of the church, supposing it a question ad-
dressed to him, replied, "I, sir, am an
officer of the sixteenth regiment of foot, on
a recruiting party here; and have come to
church, because I wish to be acquainted
widi die neighbouring clergy and gentry."
This so deranged the divine and astonished
the congregation, that the sermon was
eluded with considerable difficulty.

GLASS.

PKny informs os, the art of making glass
was accidentally discovered by some mer-
chants who were travelling with nitre, and
stoppfd near a river issuing from Mount
Carmel. Not readily finding stones to rest
their kettles on, they employed some pieces
of their nitre for that purpose. The nitre,
gradually dissolving by the heat of the fire,
mixed with the sand, and a transparent
matter flowed, which was, in fiaust, glass. It
is certain that we are more indebted to
chance than genius for many of the most
valuable discoveries.

VARIA.

For the TahU Book.

TovB OP KiHo Alfeeo.

Many Englishmen, who venerate the
name of Alfred, will learn, with surprise
and indignation, that the ashes of this
patriot king, after having been scattered by
the rude hands of convicts, are probably
covered by a building at Winchester, erect-
ed in 1788 for the confinement of criminals.
No one in the neighbourhood was suffi-
ciently interested towards his remains to
attempt their discovery or pieservation.

Old Law BooK9«

It is remarkable, that the oldest book in
the German law is entitled " Spiegel," of
the Looking-glass which answers to our
" Mirror of Justices :" it was compiled by
Eckius de Reckaw, and «is inserted in
Goldastus*s Collectanea. One of the an-
cient Icelandish books is likewise styled
" SpecuUm Regale." There is also in
Schretelius's Teutonic Antiquities a col-
lection of the ancient laws of Poroerania
and Prussia, under the title of" Speculum."
Surely all (his cannot be the effect of puN
accidenL

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CUAICUK Wf LL OF Air AXTORKEr.

Mr. Lambe, an attorney^ who died at
Cambridge in (he year 1800, left about
eleven hundred pounds ; and directed his
executors (three gentlemen of the uniTer*
sity) to appropriate the snm of eight hun-
dred pounas as they might think proper.
For this arduous task he bequeathed them
one hundred pounds each.

S. S. S.

For the Table Book,
* Thau ten ia konielj pkmte who lie Iwlow.*

in Boit Church-yard^ near Chesham, Bucks,

la Memorjr of

If fi. Eliiabeth, Wife of

Mr.EdwaniPiBehbeek.

of Cbesham, who departed this

life 1st OoL 1781, aged 60 yearn

Here a patafal liead b at net.

Its Tiokat tkrobbtags are o'er |
Her daagerons mortified brtast.

Neither tkroba aor aehes aajr mora.
Her erei, whiek she ieldonr could close
Witkont opiates to giro her soiae rest.
An DOW most sweetly oompoeed.
With her whom her soul did lore best

On a Rail in ChcMham Churchward,
la Eemory of Sarah Bachelor, wife of BcDJamta
Hachelor, daaghter of Joseph aad Sarah Sanes, who
departed this life May iSd. 1818, aged S6 yean.

These three lines are on the reverse of
the rail in question :—

My tioie was short aot long ia this world to sUy God
Samoioo'd me aad I was saateh*d away pny God

toUsss
Aad frieads be kmd to my hosbaad aad ehildrea left

behiad.

A plain white marble slab, placed over
the remains of the illustrious Boerhaven, in
St Peter's, Leyden, bears only these four
words in black letters.

Salatifera Boerharii Geaio Saernm.

J.J.K.

A FILL UP
For the Table Booh.

There is nothing I find so difficult to fill
up as my ipare time. Talk as they will
about liberty, it is after all nothing but a
sort of independent mfmi— a freedom we
are better without, if we do not know how
so use it. To instance myself: — the first
thing I do on the cessation of my daily
ATOcatiODi* which terminate rather early, is

to throw my two legs upon one chair, aiul
recline my back against another— when,
after a provoking yawn of most ambiguous
import, I propound to myself with i^^eat
gravity — wnat the deuce shall I do? A
series of questions instantly occur, whicli
are as instantly answered — pfenerally io
the negative. Shall I read Blackstone? —
no : Coke upon Littleton ? — worse sUU :
Feame on Contingent Remainders?— 4iorrid
idea ! — it was recommended the other day
to a young friend of mine, who befo** he
got to the end of the first page was taken
with a shivering fit, from wnidi he has no*

ret recovered^-no, no ; confound the law I
had enough of that this morning-->What*B
to be done then? The Table Book does
not come out till to^morrow^-Soott's novels
(unfashionable wretdi) I don't like, — have
read the Epicurean already twenty times —
and know Byron by heart. Take up my
flute, mouthpiece mislaid, and ean*t play
without— determined to try, notwithstand-
ing it should be my three thousandth
failure ; accordingly, blow like a bellows for
about half an hour^<an make nothing of
it, suddenly stop, and throw the instrument
to the other end of the room — ^forgetting
the glass in the bookcase, the largest pane
of which it goes through with a loud crash.
Still musical, persist in humming a fiivourUe
air I have just thought of— hit the tune to a
T, and immediately strike up a most dc^
lightful strain, beginning ^ Sounds deli*
clous," &c., when a cry comes from the
parlour, *^ We really roust leave the house
if that horrid noise is to be continued !**•—
Rather galled by this rub — ^begin to gel
angry — start up from my two chairs uid
walk briskly to the fireplace — arrange my
hair pettishly — ^then stick my hands in my
pockets, and begin to muse— glass catdiet
my eye — neckcloth abominably out of or-
der, instinctively untie and tie it again— -
tired of standing^sit down to my desk*-
commence a Sonnet to the Moon, get on
swimmingly to the fifth line, and then — a
dead stop— no rhyme to be got, and the
finest idea I ever had in my life in danger
of being lost — this will never do— deter>
mined to bring it in somewhere, and after
a little alteration introduce it most satis-
factorily into a poem I had begun vesterday
on Patience, till, upon reading the whole
over, I find it has nothing whatever to do
with the subject ; and disgusted with the
failure tear up both poem and sonnet in a
tremendous raee. Still at a loss what to
do^at length I have it — got a communica*
tion for the TMe BooA— 111 take a walk
and leave it— Guublmih.

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^tt.

Under serere a£Biction I cannot make up
this sheet as I wish. This day week my second
son was bronght home with his scoli frac-
tored. To-day intelligence has airived to me
of the death of my eldest son.

The necessity I have been under of sab-
ffiitnng recently to a surgical operation on
myself, with a long summer of sickness to
every member of my family, and accumulated
troubles of earlier origin* and of another
nature, have prevented me too often fiom
satisfying the wishes of readers, and the
claims of Correspondents. I crave that they
will be pleased to receive this, as a general
apology, in lieu of particular notices, and in
the stead of promises to effect what I can no
longer hope to accomplish, and forbear to
attempt.

December 19, 1827. W. Hone.

WINTER FLOWERS.

Chbtsanthemuk Ivdicum.

To the Editor.
[

I Sir,— While the praises of our wild, na^
live, simple flowers, the primrose, the tio-
let, the blue bell, and daisy, as well as the
blossoms of the hawthorn, wild rose, and
honey-suckle, have been said and sung in
many a pleasant bit of prose and verse in
the pages of your extraordinary Every'
Day Bookj as connected with the lively
descriptions given therein of many a rural
sport and joyous pastime, enjoyed by our
, forefathers and foremotbers of the '< olden
I time,** particularly in that enlivening and
I mirth-inspiring month, sweet May ; when
I both young and old feel a renovation ot
their health and spirits, and hail the return
of sunshine, verdure, and flowers ; permit
me to call the attention of such of your
readers as are fond of flowers (and there is
no one, who has ^ music in his soul " and
a taste for poetry, that is not) to that highly
interesting plant, the Indian Chrysanthe-
mum, which serves, by its gay blossoms, to
cheer the gloom, and enliven the sadness
of those dreary months, November and
December.

Since the introduction of the Camellia
and the Dahlia, I know of no plant that
produces so striking an effect upon the sight
as the Chrysanthemum. We have now
about forty distinct varietiet cf it id the

country, for the greater part of which we
are indebted to the London Horticultural
Society. Many of the flowers are much
larger than the largest full-blown Provence
rose, highly aromatic, and of extremely
bright, vivid, and varied colours ; as white,
yellow, copper, red, and purple, of all the
different gradations of tint, and several oi
those colours mixed and blended. Some
very fine specimens of this flower hs^e
been exhibited at the society's rooms and
greenhouse. Nothing, in my opinion, could
equal their beauty and splendour ; not even
the well-known collection of carnations and
foreign picot^es of my neighbour^ Ai.
Hogg, the florist.

^is flower gives a very gay appearance
to the conservatory and the greennouse at
this season of (he year, when there is hardly
another in blossom; and it may also be
introduced into the parlour and drawing-
room; for it flowers freely in small sized
pots of forty-eight and thirty-two to the
cast, requires no particular care, is not im-

Satient of cold, and is easily propagated by
ividing the roots, or by cuttings placed
under a hand-glass in the months ot May
or June, which will bloom the following
autumn, for it is prodigal of its flowers ;
the best method is to leave only one flow-
ering stem in a pot.

Ine facility with which it is propagated
will always make the price moaerate, and
render it attainable by any one; there is
much dissimilarity in the form of the flow-
ers, as well as in the formation of the petals
—some flowers are only half spreaa, and
have the appearance of tassels, wnile others
are expanaed fully, like the Chinese aster ;
some petals are quilled, some half quilled,
some are flat and lanceolated, some crisped
and eurled, and others are in an imbricated
form, decreasing in length towards the cen-
tre. There is also some variation in their
time of flowering, some come much earlier
than others.

This plant is not a stranger to the coun-
try, for It was introduced about thirty-five
years ago; but the splendid rarieties, ol
which I am speaking, are new, having been
brought hither, mostly from China, by the
Horticultural Society within these four or
five years ; and as the society has made a
liberal distribution of plants and cuttings
to tne different nurserymen and florists
round London, who are members thereof
they can now be easily obtained. There is
little chance of its ever ripening its seed,
from its coming into flower at the com*
mencement of winter, so that we can only
look for fresh varietiet from India or China

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In conclusion, I will just note down a
Tew that particuUrly engaged my attention,
namely i^

The pure or large paper white.

The large white, with yellow tinged flow-
eret*, or petals round the disk or centre.

The earlT blush.

The golden lotus.

The superb clustered yellow.

The starry purple.

The bright red, approaching to scarlet

And the brown, ^, and purple blended.
I remain, sir, ice,

Paddingim, Jerry Blossom.

December.

No. XUV.

[From ^ Blurt, Master Constable :" a Co
medy by T. Middleton, 1602.]

Lover kept awake by Love.

Ah t Iww eao I sleep f he, who tnlj lotee,
Banu oot the drnj in idle fintasies ;
And wheo the lamb bleatiBg doth bid food night
Unto the cloeing daj, then tears begin
To keep quick time nnto the owl, whose Toieo
Shrieks like the bellman in the lover's ears i
Lota's ejre the jewel of sleep oh I seldom wears.
The early lark is waken*d from her bed,
Belsg onlj hf Lore's plaints disquieted ;
And singing in the moming*s ear she weeps^
Beiag deep in lora, at Lovett* broken sleeps.
Bat sajr a golden slomber chance to tie
With silken strings the oorer of Lore^s eje {
Then dreanu, magician-like, mocking preeent
PlsasttTss, whose fading leaTes more discontent.

Violetta comes to eeek her Husband at the
house of a Curthan.

VioUna,^lmperia, the Curtixan.

Fio. By joor leaTc, sweet Beantjr, pardon mj ez-
enss^ which sought entrance into this honse: good
Sweetness, hare yon not a Property here^ improper to
yvar house ; my husband ?

Jup. Hah I your hnsband here?

Fio. Nay, be as yon seem to be. White Ddtc. with.
ootgalL Do not mock me, fairest Venetian. Cone, I
know he is here. I do not blame him, for your beauty
gilds orer his error. *Troth, I am right glad that yon,
my Countrywoman, hare received the pawa of his
affections. You cannot be hardhearted, loving him ;
Bor hate me. for -I love him too. Since we both love
him, let IS not leave him, till we have called homo tha
ul husUadiy ol a sweet Straggler. Frithee, good
vsMh, nsehim welL

Tmp, So. io, ■»*•

Fto. If he deeervs not tobe nasd w^ (■• Pdhabft
he should deserve it> I'll engage nayMlt, dear Beauty*
to thine honest heart t give me leaTV to lovn him, aad
ru give him a kind of leave to love theau I know hs
hears me. I prithee try my eyea. If tkmy kaow him ;
that have almost drowned theouelvea m their own sal^
water, because they cannot see hink la troth, I'll aol
chide him. If I speak words roogjlier than soft kisseii
my pcaapre shall be to see him kiae thee^ yet to kdd

Good Partner, lodge me b thy private bed ;
Where, in supposed folly, be may and
Determin'd Sin. Thou smilest 1 know thou wilt.
What looeeness may term dotage,— tmly read.
Is Love ripe-gathei'd. aot soon withered.

/fl^. Good troth, pretty Wedhick, tJioa makest mj
little eyes smart with washifig themaelves in briafc I
mar such a sweet face I— aad wipe off that dainty red I
and make Cupid toll the bell for your love-sick beerti
—no, no, no— if he were Jove's own in^le Oaayacde^
fie. fie, fio-ril none. Your Chamber>feUow is withis.
Thou shalt enjoy him.

Ffo. Star of Venetian Beauty, thaaks I

II

I From " Hoffman's Tragedy, or Revenge
foraFaiher,"1631. Author Unknown.]

T%e Sons of the Duke of Saxonff n«
away with Lucibelj the Duke of Austrk't
Daughter.'-The two Dukee, m separeie
purstdt of their children^ meet at the M
oj a Hermit: in which HermU, SaxoiKg
recognises a banished Brother ; at wki^
surprised^ all three are recoucUed, \

AMStrie. That should be Saxon*s tongve.

Sesoug, Indeed I am the Duke of Sasony.

AmtrU. Then than ait father to lasdvioas loaet
That have made Austria child lew.

SoMnjy. Oh subtle Dnke^
Thy craft appears m framing dieexensa.
Thou dost aceuse my young sobs' innooeaea.
I sent them to get knowledge, learn the tongees,
Not to be metamorphoaed with the view
Of flattering Beauty— peradwnture painted.

Amtria. Nok I defy thee, John of Saaony.
My Lncibel for beauty needs no art ;
Nor, do I think, the beauties of her mind
Ever inclin'd to this ignoble course
But by the charms aad forcings of thy sons.

SoTonjf. O would thou would'st wain fain tkf word)
proud Duke I

Hsn^ I hope, great princes, neither of yoa dart
Commit a deed so sacrilegiooa.
This holy CeU

Is dedicated to the Prince of Peace.
The foot of man never piofaa'd thu ioori
Nor doth wrath here with hie consuming voice
Affright these buildings. Charity with Prayer
Humility with Abstinenee oombiaed.
Are here the gvardiaasoC a grieved miad

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diutrUu Father, we oUy Iby ludjn
Duke Jolm of Sexony, reeeire my faift |
£iU oor ean hear the true eonrae, which thjr eoflf
HftTe takes with ae fond and misled ehiU,
I proclaim tniee. Why dost thoe eaUea etaad?
.( thoa mean peaee, gire me thy princely hand.

tewsy. Thoa do I plight thee tmth, and promiae

fiCe((of)rr(«$

Amtria, Nay, bnt thy eyea afree not with thy heart.
Ib TDwa of oombtaation there's a grace.
That shews th* intention in the oatward faoe.
Look chearfoUy, or I expect no league.

Sojnny. First give me leave to riew awhile the
person
Of thb Hermit.— Anstria, Tiew him welL
b he not like my brother Rodcrie ?
I Aftttria. He's like him. But 1 heard, he lost his
I life

Lbttg since in Persia by the Sophy's wars.

Hermit, I heard so maeh, my Lord. But that report
Was porely feign'd ; spread by my erring tongue.
As doable as my heart, when I was yonng.
I am that Roderic, that aspired thy diione ;
That vile false brother, that with rebel breath.
Drawn swoid, and treach'roos heart, threateB*d year
I death.

SoMmy. My brother I— nay then t' faith, old John
' layby

Thy sorrowing thoughts s tarn to thy wonted lein.
And be mad John of Saxony again.
Mad Roderic, art alive ? — my mother's son.
Her joy, and her last birth !— oh, she conjared me
To ose thee thos ; lembraeing Am] and yet I banish'd

thee.—
Body o* me I I was nnkind, I know ;
Bot thoa deserrd'st it then : bat let it go.
Say then wilt leave this life, thas truly idle,
Aad live a Statesman ; thou shalt share in reign.
Commanding all but me thy Sovereign.

Sendt. I thank your Highness; I will think on it •
But for my sins this sufferance b more fit

Saxonjf. Tut, tittle tattle, tell not me of sin.—
Now, Austria, once again thy princely hand i
I'll look thee in the face, and smile ; and swear.
If any of my sons have wnmg'd thy child,
ril help thee in revenging it myself.
But if^ as I believe, they mean but honour,
(As it appeareth by these Jousts proclaim'd).
Then thou shalt be content to name* him thine.
And thy fair daughter I'll account as mine.

Amtriu, Agreed.

Siuoay. Ah, Austria t *twaa a world, when yon and I
Ran these careers; but now we are stiff and dry.

Austfia. I'm glad yon are so pleasant, good my
Lord.

lummy. *Twaa my old mood : but I was soon tam'd
s>d.
With OTer«grieving for this long ket Lad,*
And now the Boy is grown as old as I ;
His Tory Caoe as full of gravity.

C La

By one oC IkrDnk^s MM (bar Lover) A hoMV

OF THK

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. XV.

Ahciekt Surocrt.

Mr. Bernard, principal surgeon to kia^
William, affirms respeGting ancient surgicai
skill as follows i — ,

There is bo doubt but the perfection to
which surgery has been earned in these
last ages, is principally owing to the dis-
coveries which have oeen made in adatomy. I
But the art of curing wounds, to which all
the other parts ought to give way, remains
almost in the same state in which the
ancients transmitted it to us.

CeUus and other ancients have described
a mode of operating for the stone, although
it must be owned that a method, deserving
the preference in many respects, and known
by the name of magmu uppurattu or the

?rand operation^ was the invention of
ohannes de Romanis, of Cremona, who
lived at Rome in the year 1520, and pub-
lished his work at Venice in 1535. The
instrument that we make use of in trepan*
ning was doubtless first used by the an*
cients, and only rendered more perfect by
Woodall and Fabricius. Tapping, like-
wise, is in all respects an invention of
theirs. Laryngotoisy, or the opening of
the laiynx in the quinsey, was practised by
them with success; an operation which,
though safe and neediul, is out of use at

E resent. Galen, in particular, supported
y reason, expenence, and the authority of
Asciepiades, justly applauds it as the ulti-
mate resource in the case of a quinsey.
Hernia intntaiu^ with the distinguishing
differences of the several species of that
malady, and their method of cure, are
exactly described by the ancients. They
also cured the pterygion and cataract, and
treated the maladies of the eye as judi
ciously as modem oculists. The opening of
an artery and of the jugular vein is no
more a modem invention, than the appli-
cation of the ligature in the case of an
aneurism, which was not well understood
by Frederic Ruysch, the celebrated anato*
mist of Holland. The extirpation of the
amygdales, or of the uvula, is not at all a
late invention, though it must be owned
the efficacious cauteries now used in the
case of the former, were neither practised
nor known by tb^ ancients. The method

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we DOW use of treating the fistula lacryma-
lis, a cure so nice and difficult, is precisely
that of the ancients, with the addition that
I Fabricius made of the cannula for applying
[ the cautery. As to the real caustic, which
makes a considerable article in surgeiy,
although Costeus, Fienus, and Sererinus
hare written amply on that subject, yet it
IS evident from a single aphorism of Hip-
pocrates, that this great physician knew
the use of it as well as those who have
come after him: and besides, ii is frequently
spoken of in the writings of all the other
ancients, who without doubt used it with
great success in many cases where we have
left it off, or know not how to apply it.
The cui^ of the varieeM by incision appears,
from the works of Celsus and Paulus Egi-
netus, to have been a familiar practice
among the ancients. The ancients aescribe
the mode of curing the polypus of the ear,
a malady little understood by the moderns.
They were likewise well acquainted with
all kind of fractures and luxations, and the
means of remedying them ; as well as with
all the sorts of sutures in use among us,
besides many we have lost. The various
amputations of limbs, breasts, &c. were
performed among them as frequently and
with as great success as we can pretend to*
As to the art of bandaging, the ancients
knew it so well, and to such a degree of
perfection, that we have not added any
thing considerable to what Galen taught in
his excellent tract on that subject. As to
remedies externally applied, we are in-
debted ^to them for having instructed us in
the nature and properties of those we now
use ; and in general methods of cure, par*
ticularly of wounds of the head, the mo-
derns, who have written most judiciously
upon it, thought they could do no better
service to posterity, than comment upon
that admirable book which Hippocrates
wrote on this subject,

AvcisKT Chemistky.

It is agreed almost -by all, that chemistry
was first cultivated in Kgypt, the country
>f Cham, of whom it is supposed primarily
10 have taken its name, Xi^i<«, Chemia, sha
Ctumioy the science of Cham. TubaU
Jain, and those who with him found out
6e way of working in brass and iron, must
lave been able chemists ; for it was impos-
sible to work npon these metals, without
first knowing the art of digging them out
tf the mine, of excavating them, and of
KftiUDg and separating mem from the

Potable Gold.

From the story of the golden fleece, the
ffolden apples that grew in the gardens of
the Hesperides, and the reports of Mane*
tlion and Josephus with relation to Seth's
pillars, deductions have been made in fa-
vour of the translation of metals; but to
come to real and established fects, it ap-
pears that Moses broke the golden calf, re-
duced it into powder, to be mingled with
water, and gave it to the Israelites to drink :
in one word, he rendered gold potable.

It was objected within a century, thai this
operation was impracticable, and by some
it was affirmed as having been impossible.
But the famous Joel Langelotie affirms in
his works, that gold may be entirely dis-
solved by attrition alone ; and the ingenious
Homberg assures us, that by pounding for
a long while certain metals, and even gold
itself, in pUdn watery those bodies have
been so entirely dissolved as to become
potable. Frederic III., king of Denmark,
being curious to ascertain the fact, engaged
some able chemists of his time to attempt
it. AAer many trials they at last succeeded^
but it was in following the method of Mo-
ses ; by first of all reducing the gold into
small parts by means of fire, and then
pounding it in a mortar with water, till it
was so hr dissolved as to become potable.
This fact is unquestionable ; and probably
Moses, who was instructed in all tne learn-
ing of the Egyptians, became acquainted
with the meUiod from that ancient and
erudite people, from whom the most emi-
nent philosophers of Greece derived their
knowledge.

Mummies,

The art of embalming bodies, and of
preserving them for many ages, nerer
could have been carried so far as it was
by the Egyptians, without the greatest
skill in chemistry. Yet all the essays to
restore it have proved ineffectual ; reiterated
analyses of mummies have (ailed to discover
the ingredients of which they were com.
posed. There were also, in those mummies
of Egypt, many things besides, which fkW
within the verge of chemistry : such as their
Riding,* so very fresh, as if it were but of
hfty years* standing ; and their stained silk,
vivid in its colours at the end of three
thousand years. In the British Museaio

* The aneientu bIm undentood fiM'w^ with
or water gold.^/Ee inaurari arjtento yito, lantuugoi
•rat. Plm. Hikt. NaUr. lib. xuiii. e. & n^iimr.
lib. vU. 0.8.

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there is a moininy covered all over with
filleU of granulated glass, various in colour,
which shows that at that time thev under-
stood not only the making ofglass, hut
could paint it to their liking. These glass
ornaments are tinged with the same colours,
and set off in the same taste, as the dyes
in which almost all other mummies are
painted.

Painting on Cloth,

Their manner of painting upon linen
was, by first drawing upon it the outlines
of the design, and then filling each com-
partment of it with different sorts of gums,
proper to absorb the various colours; so
that none of them could be distinguished
from the whiteness of the cloth. They
then dipped it for a moment in a caldron
full of boiling liquor prepared for the pur-
pose ; and drew it thence, painted in all
the colours thev intended. These colours
neither decayed by time, nor moved in the
washing; the caustic impregnating the
liquor wherein it was aipped, having
penetrated and fixed every colour inti-
mately through the whole contexture of
the cloth.

Imitation o/Preeiout Stones,

The preceding instance is sufficient to
prove that chemistry had made great pro-
gress among the Egyptians. History affords
simihur instances of extraordinary attain-
ment by this wonderful people, who were
so ingenious and industrious, that even
their lame, blind, and maimed were in
constant employment. With all this, they
were so noble-minded, as to inscribe their
discoveries in the arts and sciences upon
pillars reared in holy places, in order to
omit nothing that might contribute to the
public utility. The emperor Adrian attests
this in a letter to the consul Servianus, upon
presenting him with three curious cups of
glass, which, like a pigeon's neck, reflected,
on whatever side they were viewed, a
variety of colours, representing those of the
precious stone called obndianvmf and which
some commentators have imagined to be
cat*9^e^ and others the opal. In this art
of imitating precious stones, the Greeks,
who derived their knowledge from the
Egyptians, were also very skilfiil. They
could give to a composition of crystal all
the different tints or any precious stone
they wanted to imitate. They remarkably
excelled in an exact imitation of the ruby,
the hyacinth, the emerald, and the sapphire.

Gotd-^NUre^Artifieial Hatching, Sfe.

Diodorus Siculus savs, that some of the
Egyptian kings had the art of extracting
gold from a sort of white marble. Strabo
reports their manner of preparing nitie, and
mentions the considerable number of mor- I
tars of granite, for chemical purposes, that I
were to be seen in his time at Memphis.
They likewise, by artificial means, hatched
the eggs of hens, geese, and other fowls, at
all seasons.

Medical Chemistry,

Egyptian pharmacy depended much upon
chemistry ; witness their extracted oils, and
their preparations of opium, for allevi-
ating acute pains, or relieving the mind
from melancnoly thoughts. Homer intro-
duces Helen as ministering to Telemachus
a medical preparation of this kind. They
also made a composition or preparation o«
clay or fuller's earth, adapted to the relief
of many disorders, particularly where it
was requisite to render the fleshy parts dry,
as in dropsy, kc. They had different me-
thods of composing salts, nitre, and alum,
sal cyrena!c or ammoniac, so called from
being found in the environs of the temple
of Jupiter Ammon. They made use of Che
lithai^ of silver, the rust of iron, and cal-
cined alum, in the cure of ulcers, cuts, boils,
defluctions of the eyes, pains of the head,
&c ; and of pitch against the bite of ser-
pents. They successfully applied caustics.
They knew everv different way of preparing
plants, or herbs, or grain, whether for
medicine or beverage. Beer, in particular,
had its origin among them. Their unguents
were of the highest estimation, and most
lasting ; and their use of remedies, taken
from metallic substances, is so manifest in
the writings of Pliny and Dioscorides, that
it would be needless, and indeed tedious,
to enter upon them. The latter especially
often mentions their metallic preparations
of burnt lead, ceruse, verdiffrise, and burnt
antimony, for plasters and other externai
applications.

All these chemical preparations the Eflryp-
tians were acquainted with in their pnaf-
macy. The subsequent practice ot the
Greeks and Romans presents a field too
vast to be observed on. Hippocrates, the
contemporary and friend of Democritus, was
remarkably assiduous in the cultivation di
chemistry. He not only understood its
general principles, but was an adept in
many of its most useful parts. Galen
knew that the energy of fire might hs

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applied to many aseful purposes ; and that,
by the in&tru mentality of it, many secrets
in nature were to be discovered, which
otherwise must for ever lie hid ; and he in-
stances this in several places of his works.
Dioscorides has transmuted to us many of
the mineral operations of the ancients, and
in particular that of eztractine quicksilver
from cinnabar ; which is, in effect, an exact
description of distillation.

For the Table Book.

TALES OF TINMOUTHE PRIORI E.

No. 11.

THE WIZARD'S CAVE.

*■ Here nervr ikinei the tnn ; bere nothing bre^
Unless the nightljr owl. or fntnl nren.
And when they ehewed me this abhorred pit,
Thejr told me, here, at dead time of night,
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissiuf snakes.
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many nrchias.
Would make such fearful and eonfused cries.
As any mortal body, hearing it.
Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.**
Titai Andnmou,

Young Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight,
I Far fam'd for hb ralour in border^ght,
I Bat prattling so sweet on hb mother's knee,
j Aa hb arms twin*d her neck of pure irory.

Now tell me, dear mother, young Walter said.
Some feat to be done by the bow or the blade.
Where foe miy be quell'd or some charm be uadone \
Or lady, or treasure, or fame may be won.

The lady, she gas*d on her war-bom child.

And smooth'd down hb ringlets, and kbs'd him, and

smil'd ;
And she told him high deeds of the Percy brare.
Where the lance e'er eould pierce, or the helm -plume

wave.

And she told wiU Ules, all of
.'bare treasures were hidden in monnt^n or dell |
/here wisarda, for ages, kept beauty in thrall

- <f eath the mould'ring damp of their dank donjon wall.

• —But Ibt thee^ my Walter, by Tiamouthe's towen

Where chant the eowl*d monks all by night and bj

d»y;
In a earem of rack seoop*d under the sea.
Lye treasures in keeping of Sorcery.

It STaQs not (be Croes. ever saintsd and trwa.
It araUa not the pray'rs of the prior Sir Hugh,
It avaib net, O dread I Holy Vifgin's cart,
QitM maaure lug hetd by dark Sathaa b tiMM,

ft ar, far *kieath the sea, ia a deep rocky odl.
Bound down by the ohaias of the stroagaat apeH.
Liee the key of gold oonntlees na sands «■ the sbeva.
And theft it will rest *lUl old UmeiaBoi

Nay, say aot so, mother, eaa heart that U bold
Not win from the fiend all thb iU-gotlm gold ? '
Can no lion-eourd knight^ with his barBoss true.
Do more thaa eowl'd mooks with their beads e'er cas
do?

Now hush thee young Walter, how Ulu to thy sue I
Thy heart b too reckless, thine eye fall of first
Whea reason with courage can help thee ni need.
I will tell how the treasure fhM spell may be frsed.

Full many a long summer with seevted breath.
Saw the flowers bbssom wild on the north mooatan

And the fleetest in chase and the stoatest In figh^
Grsw young Walter, the son of Sir Bobeit the KnigkL

Full nuuiy a long winter of sleet and of snow.
Swept through the eold TaUeya where pines osly

grow;
But beedlees of sleet, snow, or howling Uaat,
Young Walter e'er braT'd them, the flnt ami As bsL

Who b that young knight in the Percy's band?
Who wieldeth the fislchion with master hand?
Who strideth the war^teed in border fight }
^Tb Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Ksight I

Thy promise, dear mother, I claim from thee now.
When my reason eaa act with my blade aad my bev;
But the lady she wept o^er bold Walter her son,
For peril b great where renown eaa be wen.

And the lady ehe toM what to brave kaigUs befci].
Who reckless of life eought the dark treasure eellt
Who fitilittg to conquer the fiends of the cave.
For ever must dwell *neath the grsoa ocean wavSb

No tears the bold bent of young Walter ooaU tail.
And he langh'd at her fearr, aa ia Terieat asoia—
— — Then prepare thy good bamen, my boaay bat*

aon.
Prepare lor thy taah en the eve of Saint Joha.

O loud was the greea ocean's howling din.
When the ere of Saiat Joha was usheT'd in t
Xnd the shrieks of the sea-gulls, high whirling b air
Spread far o'er the land like the screams of despair.

The monks at their Teepers sing loud and shrill,
But the gusts of the north wind are kwder still
And the hymn to the Virgin is kst in the roar
Of the billows that foam on the whttea'd ehora.

Deep rfaks the maiPd heel of the knight n the saai
As he oeeka the dark cell, ana'd with baaaet 9tA

bread t
Aad elaak rings the atod of hb aTVBtayle beght,
As he apvi^a «p the neks ialhe dacknata of a«ht

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Hit p1«iM it is ratm and warea o*er hit crpt^
A ad qsiiilt net tb« heartpblood that Sows ia his breast s
Uablenehsd his proud eja that shines calm and serene,
And floats is the storm his bright mantel of green.

Nov leapicg* now swanring the slipp'rjr steep*
One spring and the kaight gains the first earem keep;
The lightatngs flash ronad him with madd'aing gla^^
And the thoadcrbolts htsa throngh the midaight air.

Down deep ia the rock winds the pathwaj drear.
And Che yells of the spirits seem near and more near.
And the flames from their ejre^balls bnm ghastly bine
As they daaee ronnd the kaight with a wild halloo.

Fierce dragons with scales of bright bamished bmsa.
SUnd belching red fire where (he warrior mast pass ;
Bat rushes he on with hu brand and his shield.
And with lood shrieks of laoghtar they vaaish tad
yield.

Roge hell-dogs eome baying with mnrd'rons notes,

SQlphoreons flames ia their gapbg throats ;

And they spring to. bat shrinks not, brare Walter the

Knight,
And agaia all is snak ia the darkness of aight

Still down winds the warnor ia pathway of stone,
Now menao'd with spirits, now dark and alone ;
'nil far m the gloom of the mnrky air
A pond'roQS lamo sheds anearthly glare.

Thea eager the knight presses on to the flaiae.
Holy mother !— Why shadders his sUlwart frame?
A wide chasm opes *neath hu wond'riag riew,
Aad BOW what arailath hia fakhioa true.

Loudly the eareras with langhter nag;

Aad the eyelen spectres forward springs

Now shrive thee yonag Walter, one moment of fear,

Aad thy doom is to dwell *neath the ooeaa drear.

One instant Sir Walter looks down from the brink
Of the bottomless chasm, thea ceases to shriak i
Doffs hanberk aad basaet, fall fearless aad fast,
Aad darts like aa eagle the heU-gnlf past

Forefead thee, good knight, bat the demon fell
Now rises to ernsh thee from nethermoat hell ;
And monsters moat horrible hiss thee aronad.
And ooil roand thy limbs from the slimy grooad.

A noise, as if worlds in dire conflict crash.
Is heard *mid the raat oceaa's billowy splash i
Bat it qaails aot the heart of Sir Robert's brare aoa.
He will coaqner the flead oa the ere of Saiat John.

In Tala Is helFs rage, strike fleree as It may
The Wisard well kaowa 'tis the end of his sway |
Fc7 the bogle is fill'd with the warrior's breath*
Aad thrice aooaded lood ia the caverns of death.

The magfe eock crows from a brasca bin.
And itahakrs ita broad wings, as it shoats so shnil
Aad dowa siaks ia lightaing the demon array.
And the gates of the oavera ia thnader give way.

Twelva pillars of jasper their eolanms nprear.
Twelve sUtely pillars of crystal dear.
With topaa aad amethyst, sparkles the floor.
Aad the bright beryls stad the thick golden door.

Twelre golden lamps, from the fretted i
Shed a radiant light throngh the caTera gloom,
Twelve altars of onyx their bcease fliag
Rooad the jewell'd thnme of aa tastera kiag.

It may not be sang what treasnres were seen.
Gold heap'd upon gold, aad emeralds greea,
Aad diamoads, and rubies, aad sapphirea ontold.
Rewarded the courage of Walter the Bold.

A haitdred strong castles, a hnndred dmnains.
With far spreading forests and wide flowery plains.
Claim oae for their lord, fairly purehas'd .by right,
Hight Walter, the ion of Sir Robert the Kaight

Be seises die bugle with goMea chain.

To aoand it alond once, twice, aad agaia i

It taraa to a saaka ia hia atartlad grasps

A«< its mouthpiece ia aia'd wi& the sti^g oC the atp London^ Dec, A, 1 827.

The tradition of the ** Wixard*s Cave *
is as fiiiDiliar to the inhabitants and visitors
of Tynemouth, as *' household words. **
Daily, during the summer season, even fair
damsels are seen risking their slender
necks, to ascertain, by adventurous explor-
ation, whether young Walter the knight
might not, in his hurry, have passed over
some of the treasures of the cave: but
alas! Time on this, as on other thingk,
has laid his heavy hand ; for the filing in
of the rock and earth, and peradventure
the machinations of the discomfited ** spi-
rits," have, one or bodi, stopped up tne
dark passage of the cavern at the depth of
ten or twelve feet. The entrance of the
cave, now well known by the name of
" Jingling Geardie*t HoU^^ is partly formed
by the solid rock and partly by masonry,
and can be reached with some little danger
about half way up the precipitous cliff on
which Tynemouth castle ana priory stand.
It commands a beautiful haven, or sandy
bay, on the north of Ijnemouth promon-
tory, badly sheltered on both sides oy feaiw
ful beds of black rocks, on which the oceas
Vats with a perpetual murmur.

MXfeu

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PERSONS OF DISTINCTION.

(JPBIGHTMESS IN DeaTH.

Of German pride we have the following
extraordinary anecdote :^A. German lord
Left orders in his will not to be interred,
but that he might be enclosed upright in a
pillar, which he had ordered to be hollow-
ed, and fastened to a post in the parish, in
order to prevent any peasant or slave from
walking over his bcray.

Taking a Libebtt.

The most singular instance of British
pride is related of a man, known in his
time by the name of the " Proud Duke of
Somerset/* This pillar of*' the Corinthian
capital of polished society" married a se-
Qond wife. One day, with an affectionate
ease, she suddenly threw her arm round
his neck, and fondly saluted him. <' Ma-
dam,** said the unmanly peer, ^ my first
wife was a Percy, and 9he would not have
taken such a liberty."

Royal Dinner Tihe.

The kham of the Tartars, who had not a
house to dwell in, who subsisted by rapine^
and lived on mare's milk and horse-flesh,
every day after his repast, caused a herald
to proclaim, '* That the kham having dined,
j all other potentates, princes, and great
men of the earth, might go to dinner.**

Self-Esteeh.

Some Frenchmen, who had landed on
the coast of Guinea, (bund a negro prince
seated under a tree, on a block of wood for
his throne, and three or four negroes, armed
with wooden pikes, for his guards. His
sable majesty anxiously inquired, ** Do
they talk much of me in France T

Guinea Sovereigns.

The different tribes on the coast of Gui-
nea have each their king, whose power is
not greater than that of the negro prince
mentioned in the preceding anecdote. These
monarchs oflen name themselves after ours,
or adopt the titles of great men, whose ex-
ploits they have heard of.

In the year 1743, there was among them
a ** King William,*' whose august spoujie
called herself *' Queen Anne.** There was
another who styled himself the " Duke of
Marlborough."

This king William was a little Cesar.
For twenty vears he had carried on a war

ilgainst one Martin, wio had dared to at-
tempt to become his equal. At length.
after a famous and decisive general engage-
ment, wherein William lost three men, and
his rival five, Martin made overtures foi
a cessation of hostilities, which was agreed
to, on the following conditions : {

1. That Martin should renounce the title
of kinff, and assume that of captaiOi j

2. Inat captain Martin should never more
put on stockings or slippers when he went
on board European ships, but that this bril*
Hant distinction should thenceforth solely
belongto king William.

3. That captain Martin should give the
conqueror his most handsome daughter in
marriage.

In pursuance of this glorious treaty, the
nuptials were solemnizMl, and kin^ WiU
liam went on board a Danish ship in
stockings and slippers, where he boocht
silk to mak<s a robe for his queen, and a '
grenadier's cap for her ma|estv*R headdress. '
Captain Martm paid a vbit of ceremony to
his royal daughter on occasion of her
finery, and declared she never appeared so
handsome beforoi This wedding ended a
feud, which had divided the sable tribe into
combatants as sanguinary and ferocious as
the partisans of the white and red rose in
England.

Titles.

Until the leign of Constantine, the title
of << Illustrious** was never given but to
those whose reputation was splendid in
arms or in letters. Suetonius wrote an ac-
count of those who had possessed this title.
As it was then bestowed, a moderate book
was sufficient to contain their names ; nor
was it continued to the descendants of those
on whom it had been conferred. From
the time of Constantine it became very com* .
mon, and every son of a prince vras ** illus-
trious.*'

Towards the decline of the Roman em-
pire the emperors styled themselves ** divi- {
nities !** In 404, Arcadius and Honorins ,
issued the following decree :^ |

** Let the officers of the palace be warned
to abstain from frequenting tumultuous
meetings ; and those who, instigated by a
Mcriiegiovt temerity, dare to oppose the
authority of our divinity^ shall be deprived
of their employments, and their estates con-
fiscated.** The letters of these emperors
were called ^ holy.** When their sons
spoke of them, they called them-><< Theii '
father of divine memory;** or '^Tbeu
tUoine father.** They called their otm'
laws <' oracles,** and « celestial ondct."]

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Th<:ir subjects addrewed them by the titles
of ** Your Perpetuity, Ycur Eternity." A
aw of Theodore the Great ordains thus —
''If any magi^tratei aAer having concluded
a public work, put his name rather than
that of Our PerpetmUy^ let him be judged
guilty of high treason.

De Meunier observLS* that the titles
which some diiefe assume are not always
honourable in themselves, but it is suffi-
cient if the people respect them. The king
of Quiterva calls himself the " Great lion -,'
and for this reason lions are there so much
respected, that it is not permitted to kill
them, except at royal huntings.

The principal officers of the empire of
Mexico were distinsuished by the odd
titles of " Princes of unerring javelins ;*'
'* Hackers of men f and ^ Drinkers of
blood.''

The king of Monomotapa, surrounded
by musicians and poets, is adulated by
such refined flatteries, as ** Lord of the Sun
and Moon ;" ** Great Magician f* and
".Great Thief P»

The king of Arracan assumes the title of
" Emperor of Arracan ; Possessor of the
White Elephant, and the two Ear-rings,
and in rirtue of this possession, legitimate
heir of Pegu and Brama, Lord of the
twelve provinces of Bengal; and of the
twelve Kings who place their heads under
his feet.**

His majesty of Ava, when he writes to a
foreign sovereign, calls himself— *'The King
of Kings, whom all others should ob^ ; the
Cause of the Preservation of all Animab ;
the Regulator of the Seasons ; the Absolute
Master of the Ebb and Flow of the Sea;
Brother to the Sun ; and King of the Four
and Twenty Umbrellas." These umbrellas
are always carried befiire him as a mark of
bis dignity.

The titles of the king of Achem are sin-
gular and voluminous. These are a few of
the most striking : — << Sovereign of the
Universe, whose body is luminous as the
sun ; whom God created to be as accom-
plished as is the moon at her plenitude ;
whose eye glitters like the northern star; a
King as spiritual as a ball is round^who
when he nses shades all his people — ^from
under whose feet a sweet odour is wafted,
atc&c.''

Formeriy (says Houssaie) the title of
<< Highness** was only given to kings. It
was conferred on Feidinand, kins of Arra-
gon, and his queen Isabella, of Castile.
Charles V. was the first who took that of
" Majesty ;*' not in qoality of king of Spain,
lot as emperor.

Our English kings were apostrophize<I
by the title of •< Your Grace." Henry VIU.
was the first who assumed the title of
** Highness,'' and at length '* Majesty.'*
Francis L began to give him this last title,
in their interview in the year 1520. Our
first «' Sacnd Muesty " was our ^ Most
dread Sovereiffn, His Highness, the Most
High and Mighty Prinoe, James I.''

The Gaeat Tubs.

Tliis designation of the sovereign of the
Ottoman empire was not conferred, as some
have imagined, to distinguish him from his
subjects. Mahomet II. was the first Turk-
ish emperor on whom the Christians be-
stowed the title of " The Great Turk."
The distinction was not in consequence of
his noble deeds, but from the vast extent oi
his territories, in comparison of those of
the sultan of Iconia, or Cappadocia, his
contemporary, who vras distinguished hy
the title of «'The Little Turk." After the
takinsr of Constantinople, Mahomet II. de-
prived " The Little Turk" of his dominions,
yet he still preserved the title of ** The Great
Turk,- though the propriety of it was de-
stroyed by the event.

AN INSCRIPTION,

Said to kave been dug out of the Ruins oj
a Palaee ai Rome.

Under this monument repose the ashes
of DoMiTiAM, the last of the Cnsars, the
fourth scourge of Rome ; a tyrant, no less
deliberate than Tiberius, no less capricious
than Caligula, and no less outrageous than
Nero.

When satiated with issuing edicts to
spill human blood, he found an amusement
in stabbing flies with a bodkin.

His reiffn, though undisturbed by war,
occasioned no less calamity to his country
than would have happened from the loss of
twenty battles.

He was magnificent from vanity, afiable
fiom avarice, and implacable from cow-
ardice.

He flattered incessantly the soldiery, who
governed him, and detested the senate,
who caressed him.

He insulted his country by his laws,
hearen by his impiety, and nature by his
pleasures.

While living, he was deified; and the
aitasains alone, whom his empress had

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lent to despatch him, could convince him
of nis mortality.

This monster governed during fifteen
yttm"^ ; yet the administration of Titus, the
dcliffht of humankind, was confined to two.

Ye passengert ! who read this inscrip-
ion, blaspheme not the Gods I

DICKEY FLETCHER.
To the Editor.

I hastily transcribe the following, origin-
ally written for the Hull Advertiser, and
printed in that paper for September 27,
1827, and subsequently in some of the
London and provincial newspapers.

On Saturday, September 22, 1827, the
inhabitants and visitants of Bridlington
Quay, by a fatal accident, were suddenly
deprived ofthe services of Richard Fletcher,
the facetious and well-known bellman of
that place, whose singular appearance,
rhyming propensity, peculiar manner of
pronunciation, and drawling and general
originality, have so long been a source of
amusement. In the forenoon of the above-
mentioned day he was following his usual
vocation, with that accustomed gaiety and
cheerfulness for which he was remarkable,
when having occasion to call at the lodging-
house of Mr. Gray, he accidentally fell
down the steps of a cellar-kitchen and
broke his neck. The death of " poor
Dickey,^ and the shocking manner in wnich
it occurred, excited, much commisera-
tion. The deceased was seventy-nine years
of age, and left a widow at the age of
eighty-nine, the relict of a former bellman,
to whom he had been united about four
Jrears — during which period the antiquated
pair formed a striking pattern of attach-
ment. Dickey was a freeman of Hull, and
the manner in which he made up his miiid
to vote for a candidate is deserving of
mention. In the event of a contested
election he was uniformly for the <' third
man ;'' as, he would say, ** the other two
would not think of looking after me, but
for him:*

A specimen of Dickey*s rhyming eccen-
tricities appeared in the Hull Advertiser of
August 5th, 1825; a copy of which, and
the paragraph accompanying it, is here
given :—

** The company at Bridlington Quay art

olten highly ami>sed by th'Jkt eccentnc Kttlc
creature, yclep'd * the bellman.' He it
quite a lion ;— being a poet as well as a
crier. His poetry is uncommonly original,
and if his pronunciation, when improviaiug^
be not so too, it is uncommonly Yorhthire,
which is as good. The following lines arf
a very faithful imitation of the * cry ' this
singular-looking being drawled forth o)
Saturday morning, July 80 :— >

Taok'n oop this forenoon apod nonrtb huu
Two kejret, wieh I cv i* my nai ; —
Wo-herer ni loat 'am mns oooa to roan.
An the/ wl er *nni nffean nn wc can ngren.****

'' Dickey's late marriage was one of the
* largest and the funniest' known in Brid
lington for a long time ; a barouche and
pair were gratuitously provided on the
occasion, as well as a wedding-dinner and
other 0t ctBteroB, Since ' they twain be-
came one flesh,' Dickey has been rery
proud of walking abroad, at &ir times and
public occasions, with * his better part,*
when they generally formed objects of con
siderable attraction to those to whom they
were not particularly known.*'

T.C.

Bridlington^ October, \B'27.

ANOTHER ODD SIGN.^

At Wold Newton, near Bridlington
there is a public-house with the sign of t
crooked billet, and the following lines oi
an angular board :—

First side

When this eomicnl itick grew in tkn wood
Onr A LI was fmh nad very good,
8tcp in and taste, O do nako katta.
For if jon don't 'twill anroly waata.

Second side,

Wbtn yon kava Tiew*d eke otker tid^
Coma read Ala too kafora joa ridai
And now to and wall lat it pn«»
8tep in, kind frianda, and tnka a aLaaa.

BridUngiom.

T.C

• 8aa r#Uf Asal, voL 1. ^ <».

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TO FANNY.

No» Fanny, no, it ms j not b« I

Tlioagli parting brsak ny heart m twain,
TUfl hoar I go* by many a sea.

Divided— B«*er we meet again.

I love thee i and that looh of thine,
That tear upon thy pallid ehcek,

Aaiarea me that I now veatgn
What long it waa my joy to seek.

Oh I once It waa my happiest dream.
My only hope, my fondeat prayer;

11a gone, and like a meteor beam
Hath past, and laft me to despair.

Tet may yon still of joy partaka,
Nor And like me thoee hopes decay.

Which erer, like a dceert lakew
Attcaet the sight to iiide away.

I ooald not brook to see that eye.

So faU of life, so radiant now,
I eonld not see its Instre die,

ABd time's eold hand defaoe thy brow*—

And death will eomc, or soon or Ute,
(I coold not brook to know that hour,}

Bnt, if I do not learn thy fate,
1*11 think thon ne'er canst feel his pow*r.

Test I will fly t tboogh ^ars may roll.
And other thonghta may lote estrange.

Twill give some pleasnre to my soul
To know I caanet eee thee ehaage.

Then fbre thee well, death eaanot bring
One hoar of angoish more to me ;

Since I haTe fdt the only sting
He e*er eoold give^ in leaving thee.

s.

THE PLEASURES OF ILLUSION.

To the Ediior.

Sit, — I am a person unable to reckon
apon the certain receipt of sixpence per
annum, and yet I enjoy all the pleasures
this sublimaiy world can afford. My as-
sertion may startle, but its truth will be
apparent when I declare myself a yisionary^
or, what is called by the world, ^ a castle
builder.'' Many would denounce my pro*
fession as useless and unprofitable; but
he object constantly desired and inces*
santly pursued by mankind is happiness,
which they find as evanescent and delasive
as the silver ol the moon upon the watPrs.

Most men attach to certain states of ex
isttnce every pleasure that the earth can
bestow. Some enter these by laborious
and careful steps, but find them, upon ex-
amination, devoid of the charms which
their enthusiastic imaginations had painted.
Others, more ardent and less calculatins^,
rapidly ascend towards the object of their
wishes, and when their hands are stretched
forth to grasp it they lose their high foot-
ing by an incautious step, and fall into an
abyss of despondence ana are lost for ever.
How different a fkte is mine 1 I have been
the conqueror of nations, without feeling a
pang at the recollection of the blood spilled
in raising me to my exalted situation. I
have been the idol and defender of my
country, without suffering the anxieties of
a statesman. I have obtained the affections
of an amiable girl, without enduring the
solicitudes of a protracted courtship. In
foct, I possess every earthly pleasure, with-
out any of the pains of endeavouring to
obtain them. True it is, that the visions I
create are easily dispelled, but this is a
source of gratification rather than regret.
When glutted with conquest, I sink into
love ; and on these failing to charm me, I
enter upon scenes more congenial to the
des^ires with which I feel myself inspired
Every wish that I conceive is instantly
gratified, and in a moment I possess that
which many devote their whole lives to
obtain. Surely the existence I lead is an
enviable one ; yet many calling themselves
my friends (and I believe them to be such)
would wish me to think otherwise. Some-
times, to gratify their desires, I have en-
deavoured to break the fairy spells that bind
me ; but when I dissipate the mist in which
I am almost constantly surrounded, the
scenes of misery that present themselves to
my view have such an effect upon my
senses, that on returning to mv peculiar
regions they appear doubly del ighttul, from
being cootrastea by those of the real world.

I have obtruded this epistle on vour no-
tice, in vindication of a practice which has
been deprecated by many; solely, as I
believe, from their powers of imagination
being unable to lead them into the abodes
where I so happily dwelU Should you
think it unworthy a place in your miscel-
lany, its rejection will not occasion me a
moment's mortification, at I already possess
a reputation for literary acauirements, far
surpassing any which has been given to
the most celebrated writers that have flou-
rished since the creation of your miserably
world.

November 6, 1827. T. T. B.

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OLD MACARONIC POEM.

To the Editor.

Sir, — I am a literary lounger, and diur«
Dally amuse myself, during about four
hours, in poring over old poetical MSS. in
the British Museum : the result of yester-
day's idle labours was the accompanying
transcript from a macaronic drinking song,
which appean to me a very curious amal-
gamation of jollity and devotion. If yon
coincide in this opinion, perhaps you will
honour its unknown author by inserting it
in your delightful miscellany, whidi, like
the diving bell, restores to the world many
interesting relics of antiquity, and rescues
them from eternal oblivion.

I am, sir, your obedient servant
and constant reader,

Le Flakeub.
Beadhg Room^
Brit. Mus. iVbv.22, 1827.

Fm>m tbeCottos MS. VBSPASuar A.xiv,

Thtra It BO tm that fvofr*
Onewtkev that I do kaowv^
Mort wortkia praiM I tnnrV

Tbaaiftkarjaa^
WhM grapet, as j» nkaj rade.
Their liooare ferthe dotht thed*
Wherafiiaadebdada

All oar good wyao^
Aad wjae, y najo tmat ■%
Caatothe bob for to be
Merie* for ee je aee

Hia oatare ia i
Then pvt Myds all wrath*
For David ihowde aa hatha
iletiAost

Corhomiais.

iff jae tahea with exoene»
Aa Seriptare dothe exprenae,
Caaaethe exeat hevraea

UatotheiBTiidei
Bat thde that take pleaaaxe
To driake it with meaaare,
Ko doate a great treaaare

They Shan it fiade
Then voide joa iJl aadaee,
Driake joar wyae with gladaea .
To take Ihooght ia madaee,

Aad marke well tliaa *.
Aad pat aajde all wrathe^ in. at aapta.

How hriage ya that (a paa
CofdbJaeaadlCae,
la BOW aad erer waa

Thalyfoofaaaa'

8itha that Btirthe hathe bo petn^
Thca let aa oiake good eheaia*
Aad be yea aierie heara*

While that ye eaa I
Aad driake wdl of thia wyae^
While it ia good BBdfyae.
Aad ahowe aoBie oatwarde ayae

Ofjoyeaadbliaaei
Expell from yoa all wrathe, fte. at a

4.

Thia thiage f nU well ye kaa,

Heviaet doUeth mea.

Bat take thia medieiea tbea.

Where'er ye ooaie i
Refreahe yoaraelf therewith*
For it waa aaid loag aathe.
That Tiaam aeait

Ingeaiaau
Thea give aot a eherj
For aider aor perrye,
Wyae aiaketh maa aierie.

To knowe well thia :
Aad pat aayde all wrath% te. at aaf

la hope to have fdcaae
From all oar heviaea,
Aad aiirthe for to eaerease

Bam dele the more^
PalieiBaa orgaaa.
Bbaal cam dthara,
VlBan et mosiea

Vcgatabit eoi.
Bat aorowe, eare, aad atrile
Shortaethe the daya of lifo,
Bothe of Biaa aad of wyfe

ItwiUaotmiat
Thea pat aayde all wrathe, te. at

A Bierie herte ia eaga

I a laatie age,
Aa telleth aa the aage,

ETor for the aoyaea*,
Becaase we ahoald delight
la mirtheb bothe daye aad aight.
He aaith aa hevie fright

Driethe ap the boaea.
Wherfor, let ae alwaya
R^iee ia God« I aaye.
Oar BUfthe eaaaot decay*

If we do thia,
Aad pat aayde all wrathe, $f. ataapr^

Nowe y* that be piaaeata^
lAad God Oamipotaat,
That hathe aa givea aad aaat

Oar dalie foodc^
Whea thovowe aiBBe.weri* al^aa.
H* eeat hia aoa agala^
Os to ladeemc tnm paiie

B,i

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THE TABLE BOOK.

And he it fh« tnw rjM,
Vwa whoiiM dutill*d Mm w jii%
Thftt boofhtB 70W mwIm and mjMb

Yov kaov* well this 1
TkM p«t M7d« ftU imtba»
Tor OfeTid thowd* w iMths
YiAoa kftifieat

Cttr kominb.

for ths 7\Ale Book

THE ORPHANS.

Written on seeing a suAtL Litbooea
PBic Peint of two Female Oefhav
Childeen.;

ANTY BRIGNAL AND THE BEGU
GING QUAKER.

For the TabU Book.

A few years ago a stout old man, with
long grey hair, and dressed in the habit of
the Society of Friends, was seen begging in
the streeu of Durham. The inhabitants,
attracted by the noTelty of a ^ begging
Quaker," thronged about him, and seTeral
questioned him as to his residence, &c.
Amongst them was *' Anty Brignal," the
police-officer, who told him to go about his
business, or he would put him in the kittv*
" for an mposteror/* " Who eTcr heard,'*
said Anthony, «* of a begging Quaker T
^But,'' said the mendicant, while tears
flowed adown his fece, '^ thou knowest,
friend, there be bad Quakers as well as
good ones ; and, I confess to thee, I hsTe
been a bad one. My name is John Tay*

lor ; I was in the hosiery business at N ,

and through drunkenness ha^e become a
bankrupt. The society haTe tamed me
out, my friends have deserted me. I haTe
no one in the world to help me but my
daughter, who lives in Edinburgh, and I
am now on my way thither. Thou seest,
friend, why I beg ; it is to get a little money
to help me on my way : be merciful, as thou
hopest for mercy." " Come, come," said
the officer, ** it won't do, you know ; there's
not a word of truth in it; 'tis all fidse.
Did not I see you drunk at Neviirs Cross
^a public-house of that name) the other
night r " No, friend," said the man of
unsteady habits, ** thou didst not see me
drunk there, but I was there, and saw thee
drunk ; and thou knowest when a man is
drunk he thinks every body else so 1" This
was a poser for the police-officer. The
crowd laughed, and *« Anty Brignal *• slunk
away from their derision, while money fell
plentifully into the escended hat of the dis>
owned quaker.

T.aM.

• ^ is tk« howt oT Mmetm eallid is DariuuB.

LilM two fidr flovrtn thaH gnw ia anM Iom tpoC,
Bent hj fk« bnmt that waf tt thair fraffraaee raaad—

Pala, BuJd, aid IotcIj ; bat bjr all forgot,—
Tktj dioop aeglaetad oa tha dew/ giooad.

Tkas kit aloaa, withoat a friend or gaida
To ehaer than, thioagh llfa*t drear aad rnggad way

Rtaad tkaia two paaiiTa atoafaafa tida hj side,
To tonow Icaea, aad early grie^ a prey.

Low ia the graTa, o'er wbleh tlia aypreie tpreads
Ite glooaij ihadab ia death their pareateelaep ;

Uaooaaeioae aow thej rest their weary heade.
Nor hear their ehildreB sigh, Bor sea then weepb

Aad see, a teardrop geme the yoaager^s eye.
While straggliag fiom ite eoral sell to etait }

Oh, how that peari of seasibUity
lasileaee pleads te erery fiMUag heart.

Not Niobe, whea doom*d by eiael &ta
To weep for ever ia a crystal shower,

Coold elaia aMRia pity lor her haplees states
Thaa does, for yoo, that drop of augie power

Braaftes there oa earth, of hamaa fono poeses^
€>n«» who woald ia those bosoou plaat a thora.

Aad baaish thesoe the hakyoa*s traaqail aast.
While (hey its loas ia secret aagaish SMoia t

Parish the wretch I who with daoeitfal wile
Focaakea iaaooeaoe woald lead aetray.

And roand her lihe a treaeh*roas serpeat ooi]»
Aad haTiag staag, releatlsss haste away.

May yoa the orphaa's friead fiad erer aaar
To gaard yoa safe, aad strew ^r path with floweca

May hope*s bright soa yoar gloomy sBOfaiaf cheer,
Aad shiae ia spkadoar oa yoar ereaiag hoars.

SepLmU

H.B.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

For the Table Book,

JACK THE VIPER.

This is nn odd name for a man, who docs
not bear ihe appearance of a viper, or *' a
snake in the grass." He is a rough sort of
fellow, has been at Waterloo, but did not
obtain a medal. He, nevertheless, carries
the hue of a triumphant soldier, wears an
honest sunburnt face, and might be trusted
with his majesty's great seal, or that of
another description in the British Museum.
He is a lover of ringing bells and swine ;
but without regular employment. A sin-
gular piece of human construction, lone,
and erratic in his love of natuie. A shep-
herd lies down at ease by the sides of his
flocks and fountains, listens to the plaints
I )f injured birds, the voice of water and
.he music of skies, and dreams away his
^ existence, vears of youth, manhood, and
old age. Jack is more tranquil even than
the shepherd. He creeps silently in woods
and forests, and on retired hot banks, in
search of serpentine amusement — he is a
viper catcher. Strange that creatures,
generally feared and shunned by mankind,
should win Jack's attention and sympathy,
I Yet, true it is, that Jack regards them as
, the living beauties of solitude, the lovely
, but startling inhabitants of luxuriant spots
I in the sultry summer. Were we to look
I round us, in the haunts of men, we could,
perhaps, discover beings as fearful and
awakening. Jack has travelled, seen the
world, and profited by his travels ; for he
has learned to be contented. He is not
entirely idle, nor wholly industrious. If
he can get a crust sufficient for the day, he
leaves the evil if it should visit him. The
first time I saw him was in the high noon
of a scorching day, at an inn in Layton^
stone. He came in while a sudden storm
descended, and a rainbow of exquisite
majesty vaulted the earth. Sitting down
at a table, he beckoned the hostess for his
beer, and conversed fieely with his ac-
quaintance. By his arch replies I found
that I was in company with an original—
a man that might stretch forth his arm in
the wilderness without fear, and, like Paul,
grasp an adder without harm. He play-
fully entwined his fingers with their coils
and curled crests, and played with their
forked tongues. He had unbuttoned his
waistcoat, and as dexterously as a fish-
woman handles her eels, let out several
snakes and adders, warmed by his breast,
and spread them on the table. He took
oFhit hat, and others of different sizes and

lengths twisted before me ; some of them
when he unbosomed his shirt, returned to
the genial temperature of his skin ; som^
curled round the legs of the table, and
others rose in a defensive attitude, lie
irritated and humoured them, to express
either pleasure or pain at his will. Some
were purchased by individuals, and Jack
pocketed his gain, observing, ** a frog, or
mouse, occasionally, is enough for a siuike*f
satisfaction.'*'

The *' Naturalist's Cabinet" says, that
** in the presence of the grand duke of
Tuscany, while the philosophers were mak-
ing elaborate dissertations on the danger of
the poisoQ of vipers, taken inwardly, a
viper catcher, who happened to be present,
requested that a quantity of it might be put
into a vessel ; and then, with the utmost
confidence, and to the astonishment of the
whole company, he drank it off. Every
one expected the man instantly to drop
down dead ; but they soon perceived theii
mistake, and found that, taken inwardly,
the poison was as harmless as water.''

William Oliver, a viper catcher at Bath,
was the first who discovered that, by the
application of olive oil. the bite of the viper
is effectually cured. On the 1st of June^
1 735, he suffered himself to be bitten faj
an old black viper ; and after endurine all
the agonising symptoms of approaching
death, by using olive oil, he perfectly re-
covered.

Vipisr's flesh was formerly esteemed foi
its medicinal virtues, and its salt was
thought to exceed every other animaa pro-
duct, in giving vigour to a languid consti*
tution.

Augmt, 1827.

A SKETCH IN SPA FIEIJ>S
To the Editor.

Sir,*— Allow me to draw yonr attention
to a veteran, who in the Egyntian expedi-
tion lost his sight by the ophthalmy, and
now asks alms of the passenger in the little
avenue leadine from Sadler's Wells to Spa
Fields, along the eastern side of the New
River Head.

His figure, sir, would serve for a model
of Belisarius, and even his manner of
soliciting would be no disgrace to the Ro-
man general. I am not expert at drawing
portraits, yet will endeavour by two or
three lines to give a slight conception ol
this. His present height is full aix fcet.

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but in hit youth it must have been nearly
two inches more ; as the weight of about
sixty-five years has occasioned a slight cur-
vature of the spine. His limbs are large
and muscular, his shoulders broad, his
chest capacious, the lines of his counte*
nance indicate intelligence ; his motion is
not graceful, for he apnears to step without
confidence, occasionea no doubt by his
blindness.
I Now, sir, giTe his head no other covering
than a few very short grey hairs, and button
him up close in the remains of a dragoon
dress, and yon have his likeness as exact as
an unskilful artist can give it.

O.
N.B. — An old woman must lead him.

FROM MY NOTE BOOK.
For the Table Book.

MooEE, in his life of Sheridan, tays, that
** he ^Sheridan) had a sort of hereditanr
fancy for difiicult trifling in poetry ; parti-
cularly to that sort which consists in rnym-
ing to the same word through a long string
of couplets, till everv rhyme that the lan-
guage supplies for it is exhausted :" and
quotes some dosen lines, entitled ** My
Trunk," and addressed *< To Anne,'' where-
in a lady is made to bewail the loss of her
trunk, and rhymes her lamentation. The
editor, in a note, says, ** Some verses by
general Fitzpatridi on lord Holland's fa-
ther, are the best specimen I know of this
scherzo." The generates lines I have never
seen, and it is probable they are only in
MS. ; but le Seigneur dee Aeeorde, in his
Bizamires, (ed. 1 585, Paris, Richer, feuillet
27,) quotes sixty lines, rhyming on a very
indecent word from " un certain hure contre
les femmes," composed by Drusac, ^ un
Tolosain rimailleur imitant Marot;" and
who is there stated to have composed 300
or 400 verses on the same subject, and to
the same rhyme. And at feuillet 162 of
ihe same work and edition, the Seigneur
idduces two other remarkable instances of
^ difficult trifling in poetry.'' Speaking of
one of which, he says, ** Vn Allemant
nomm4 Petrus Porcius Porta, autrement
Petrus Placentius, a h\X un petit poeme
laborieux Le possible auquel il descrit Puo-
KAM PoRcoauK CO 350 vert ou environ,
qui commencent tons par P, dont j*ai rap-
port^ oes XVI suiviis pour exemple, et pour

contenter cenx qui oe I'ont pas veu.** Hit
quotation referred to commences with

•■PmoeUfl PitMiQis Pnlobr^ PiDgnat* Vttaof^ **

and concludes with

•* Pingai Poreorft Piogeado Poemato Piifu«. *

The other instances adduced by the Sei-
gneur of this laborious folly, is related also
of a German, by name Christianas Pierius ;
who, says the author, '* depuis peu de
temps a &it un opuscule d'environ milie on
douze eee ven, intitule Christus Cruci-
fixus, tons les mots duquel commencent
par C." Four lines are quoted; they are
as follows :-»

Conita CMtaltdM Cbrisli CoBiUate CanNtna
CoBedAbrstare Oietaivai Cvmiae Certain
CoBfofiuin Conapmram Coaevrrite Cantnt
CoBoiimatani C«lebras C«l«brasq«e Cotlramt.

I myself recollect seeing and copying at
Netting Hill some lines written (I think)
on the battle of Waterloo, (the copy ot
which I have however lost;) whicn, al-
though short, were sufficiently curious.
They were in an album belonging to the
sister of a schoolfellow, (W. O. S.,) and,
as far as I have ever seen, were unique in
their species of the paroocemic genus. The
first line began with *' A," and each subse-
quent one with a successive letter of the
alphabet, and each word alliterated to the
initial letter of the line where it was placed.
The poem went through the whole of the
alphabet, not even excepting X or Z, and
must have required a world of Patience and
Perseverance to Perfect.

Marot, christened Clement, the French
poet, who is said, in a quotation from U
Seigneur des Accords in the foregoing note,
to have been imitated by Drusac, lived in
the reign of Francis I., and was a Protest-
ant. There is a portrait of him at page 161
of *' Les Vrais Portraits des Hommes Illus-
tres " of Theodore de B^, Geneva, 1581,
whereto a short sketch of his life is attached ;
which says, that *' par une admirable f61i-
cit^ d*esprit, eaiu aueune cognoietance dee
langmes ni des sciences, il surpassa tons les
poetes qui Tauoient d^vancd." He was
twice banished on account of his religion ;
and when in exile translated one-third of
the Psalms into French verse. *' Mais au
teste," says Theodore," ayant pass^ presque
toute sa vie i la suite de cour, (oil la pi^t^
et I'honestet^ n*6t gu^res d*audiance,) il ne
sc soucia pas beaucoup de reformer sa vie

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pea Chrltienne, ains se gouuernoit k m
Buiui^re acooutumte mesmes en m Tieil-
leawy et mourut en Tlge de 60 ans i Turin,
oii il t^esfoit retir6 lout la finueur da Lieu,
tenant' du Roi.^ He was a Quercinois,
having been born at Cahors, in Quercj.

The following lines were written after
his death by Jodelle, who was famed for
these *' Ten rapportez.**

QMTcy, !• Cour, to VUdmtmU rUaiven
M« fit, OM tiat, m'tatem, om •ogamt,
QMrey mam lot, 1a aoar to«l mam tMiipt Ml.
PStdaontiMs 01^ at raaiTWt BM vmrs*

Guildhall. — ^Misson, in his ^ M^moires
et Obserfations faites par un Voyageur en
Angleterre,'* published anonymously at the
Hague in 1698, under this bead, accounts
thus philologically for the name ;— >*' II est
A croire que la grande salle 6toit autrefois
dor^y puisque le mot de OuUdwi QUd^aU^
signifie salle DoaEE." To do him justice,
howeTer, after quoting so ridiculous a pas-
sage, I must annex his note, as follows :— >
^ Dautres disent que Guild est un ancien
root Qui signifie ijieoi7»or/; OuUdhaU; la
salle des incorporez ou associez.*' — ^p. 236.

Juliet was no doubt a delectable little
creature, but, like most of the genus, she
was but a flimsy metaphysician. ^ What's
in a name V that depends now-a-days on
the length or age of it The question should
be put to a Buckinghamshire meeting man,
if one would desire to know the qualities
of all the component parts of an Abraham
or Absalom. In some parts of the country,
people seem to think tney haye bilked the
devil, and booked sure places in heaTen
for their children, if^ at their christenings
they get but a scripture name tacked to the
urchins. " In proof whereof,** Esther,
Aaron, and Shadrack Puddy&t, witli mas-
ter Moses Myrmidon, formed a blackberiy*
•ng party that I fell in with a summer back
near BoUey, on the road between Chesham
and Hemel Hempstead. At a farm-house
in Bucks it b no uncommon sight for the
tweWe apostles to be seen tucking in greens
and Incon, or for the tribes of Israel to be
found drunk together in a pot-house. Some
poor drunken-brained bigots would not ac-
cept even the free services of a ploughman,
whose name was not known before the
flood.

NoTEw — ^The names above seem so very
hidicrous, that I have no doubt there wiU
be many sceptics to the belief <if

reality if thb passage be printed ; but I de-
clare positively, on the word, honoor, sad
faith of a man and a genUeman, that they
are as true, real, and existent, as Thomas
Tomkins, or any other the most usual ana
common place. i

J.J.K. I

WHIMSIES.

Am EsSAT on the UvOEESTAVDrVO.

•* HMTiy, I MMot tkUk,*' my Piek,
** WlMt malut my caelM fNW •» tbiek ^
*• Yon do not nedUaet*** ao ji Hany,
■■ How fNOt « M(f they h»w to eany.*

** Old Westminster Quibelxs.*

ToeSi

Af«Uovdldd«riio
To warm at a fii«

Hk too. befora be weal bomoi
Bat tbe maa laid «• No,
If jrmi |raC fir* aad loo

Tofotbir, yoB will ban tbo nam.*

B. C.
Oae did ask, wby B

Wae pat bofora C,

Aad did moeb deeiro to kaoi^-
Why a maa matt 6o,
Before be eaa im,

Aad I tbiak I bare bit oa it mnr*

Tke Red Note.
A BCaa did sanniee^
liat aaotber maa*i eyes

Wore botb of a differeat fiaaoi
For if 4b«y bad beea mateUit
Tbea^alael poor wretcbci,

Hit Booo woald a eet *em ia a iamt.

^ New Westminster QuiiMJt/

The Soldter.

** Tbere b oae loldier hrn^*
Ezdaincd euter Beea,

Aa a foaeral pamed bj tbe door t
Tbea aaid Mr. Browa,
** I r bet yen, a erowa,

1*11 proTo it ia oae adidier awrt*

Setiieei.

Wby orerj ail] j cit
Haa preteaaioaa to wit,

Yoa majr leara if joa liatea to mydii^l
Tbo word actficoe
hlawmeaaafomff.

0e sltiaeBa, bj law, maat bo ■<%.

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THfi TABLE BOOR.

IRISH PIPES.

A young fHend brings me from Ireland
ft couple of pipes, in common use among
the labouring people in Dublin and Clon-
meL Their shape and materials being
wholly different from any in England, they
are represented in the abore engraring,
which shows their exact size. The bowl
part, formed of iron, like the socket of a
candlestick, is inserted in a piece of maho-
gany carved, as here shown, in the shape

of a violin, or a pair of bellows, or other
whimsical form; and the mahogany i«
securely bound and ornamented with brass
wire : to a small brass dhain is attached a
tin corer to the bowl. The tube $s of dog-
wood, such as butchers' skewers are made
of, or of a similar hard wood ; anid, being
morable, may be taken out for accommo-
dation to the pocket, at renewal at plea-
sure. These pipes cost sixpence each.

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The dudeen, or short pipe, the 'Mitlle
tube of magic power,** wherewith the Irish
labourer amuses himself io England, is
thus mentioned in a note on the ** Fairy
Legends and Traditions of the South of Ire-
land," by Mr.CroftonCioker:— «i>ifdMii
signifies a little stump of a pipe. Small
tobacco-pipes, of an ancient form, are fre-
quently found in Ireland on digging or
plougmng up the ground, particularly in
the vicinity of those circular mtrenchmentSy
called Danish forts, which were more pro-
bably the Tillages or settlements of the
native Irish. T^ese pipes are believed by
the peasantry to belong to the Cluricaunes,
and when discovered are broken, or other-
wise treated with indignity, as a kind of
retort for the tricks which their supposed
owners had played off." Mr. Croker sab-
joins a sketch of one of these pipes, and
adds, that " In the Anthologia iiibemica,
vol i. p. 352, (Dublin, 1793,) there is a
print of one, which was found at Bran-
nockstown, county Kildare, sticking be-
tween the teeth of a human skull ; and it is
accompanied by a paper, which, on the
authonty of Herodotus, (Ub. i. sec. 36,)
Strabo, (lib. vii. 296,) Pomponius Mela, (2,)
and Solinus, (c. 15,) goes to prove that the
northern nations of Europe were acquainted
with tobacco, or an herb of similar proper-
ties, and that they smoked it through small
tubes— of course, long before the existence
of America was known.**

No. XLV.

FACETMa.

1.

Holding in Ci^te.

Fint OenL 'Tis well koowB t am • GtatUmu.

Uj latlier wm a mu of itfSOO ayear, and ke beld

•oBMth'uif in eapiU too.
SsoomdOnt. So dots mj Lord wmofUa^—
FooiUh Lord. Najr, bj mj troth, what I hdU ia

e^pttff u worth little or aothiag.

2,

FooTi Experience.

Pmet' Ho that* • firrt a scholar, and next » love, tht
jroar altor b oiChor aa arraat fool or a madaaa.
ifaitor. Bow oama jumx kaaverj by toch ezpen*

Ft09* As flbob do bf aawit lonobod/ toU ■• so,
aadlbdlmK^

3.

Modem Sybariie.

toftlj, 70 TilUuift 1 — the nfoet of

men baro tmadled me over some dama'd aatshdl or
other, that f^re ma ■ocih a jeik ae has half ■Hudoi^

' Spare diet of Spmdarde.

ipamard, Theairbeiag Ihiaaad xarlficdfeMnUj
prorideo as good itomaehi.

SnglUhmm. Aye, and the earth litda or aolhug la
oatisf J *em with i I thiak a eabbaga ta a fawal mmoag
yoo.

SpoM. Why, truly a good eabbaga a laapaetad. Bat
oar people are often Tery loxarioos, they abooad wnj
often.

Sng. O no aoeh matter, faith, Spaaiardl 'death,
iftheygetbatapieceof bee^theythaUhaiVan the
bones oat, and write aaderseath ffara katk bess beef
eaten, as if ;twere a miracle. And if they get bat a
lean ben. the feathers shall be spread before the door
with greater pride than we onr earpets at soma pnaoely
solemnity.

5.
Foolieh Form,

Senani (to my Lord SMol^t OoiOlnum I7s&ar.)
Sir, here's yonr Lord*s footman eome to tell yoa, yoar
Lord's hat is blown out of his haad.

Lord W* ^y did not the footasaa take it op?

VAtt. He durst not, my Lord ; *tis aboro hioL

LmrdW. Where? atop of the efaimnay?

I7«Aer. Abore his offlee, my l4>rd.

Lord W, How does this fool, for want of adfid
greatness, swell with empty eeremony, aad fovtify
himself with oatworksl That a man mnst dig thro
nbbish to eome at aa ass. BngliA FHar.

CaH Booke.
Waiimg wuU, I baTo a new Bible too; aad wbea
nj Lady left her Praetiea of Piety, she gave it ma.

JfoweatiU,
7.
Good ai gueeeing
Nay. good Mr. Constable, yoa an e'aa the InekieBt
at beug wise that ever I knew. NnKertta,

8.
EtiOjfe of Eeeaifi.

i. O eternal blockhead, did yon nerer write Easaya t
fi. I did easay to write Eaaays, bat 1 eaanot say I
writ Eaaaya. JVeweasfle.

0.
Mord words*

Indiaeerptibility, and Easeatial Spisaitadei voi^
which, thongh I am no eompetent jndge of, for want of
langoages, yet I faaey stroof ly ought to meaa aoChlaf
irf«..^^Bel».

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10

16.

ScandaU to Atheitm,

■ ft late learned Doctor; who, thongli Mmself
to great anertor of a Deitj, yet was obeerved to be
eeetinaallj persuadiBf this eort of men [the rakehelly
Idoekheaded Infidels abont town] of the necessity and
tmth of oar religion ; and being asked how he came
to bestir himself so m«ch this way, made answer, that
it was beoanse their ignorance and indiaoreet debanch
made them a Scandal to the Profession of Atheism.

Bekm,

II.

Exctuefor being afraid in a Storm.

Mtuttr, Goarage I why what dost thon call conrage f
Hector himself wonld not haTo exehaaged bis ten yeanP
siege for oar ten day^ storm at sen. A Storm 1 a hnn-
dred thousand fighting men are nothing to its cities
sack'd by fire, nothing. Tis a resbtless coward, that
nttaeks a man at disadraatage ; aa nnaeconntable
magic, that first oonjnres down a maali eonrage, and
then plays the deril orer him ; and, b fine, it is n
Storm I

Mate. Good lack, that it should be all these terriUo
things, aad yet that we should outlive it!

Matter, No goda-merey to our courages thoT, I tell
yon that now ; but like an angry wench, when it had
hulFed and blnster'd itself weary, it lay still again.

13.

Dutch Gallantry

Mat§, What, beat a woman. Sir ?

MoiUr, *Psha, alTs one for that ; if I am profoked,
anger wiU haye iu effMts upon whomaoe'er it light t
10 snid Van Tromp, when he took hU Mistfess a euff
on the ear for finding fault with aa iU-fiuhioned leg ho
nadehor. I liked hia hamonr well.

Enf^VuhBeoity contrasted with a French cm,

a true-bred EngUsh Bean haa indeed the

powder, the essence, the toothpick, the snuff-box j aad
is as idle: but the fnult ie in the fiesb—he has not
the motion, aad looks stiff under nil this. Now a
French Fop like a Poet, is born so, aad would be
known without clothes ; it ie in his eyes, his nose,
his fingers, hu elbows, his heels. They dance when ther
walk, and sug when they speak. We have nothing in
that perfection as abroad ; and our cuckolds, as well
•a our grapes, are but half ripened. Bunabg.

17.

Fandfrl Recipe, prescribed for sick Fancy

The Juice of a lemon that* s civil at seasons.
Twelve dancing capers, ten lunatic reaaons |
Two dying notes of an ancient swnn :
Three eighs, a thousand years kept, if you can ;
Some serepings of Oyges*s ring may pass.
With the skin of a shadow caught in a ginss ;
Six pennyworth of tbonghts untold ;
The jeUy of n star, before it be cold ;
One ounce of conrtUiip from a country daughter;
A grain of wit, and a quart of laughter.—
Boil these on the fire of Zeal (with some beech-codb
lest the vessel burst).— If you can get these ingre-
dients, I will compound them for you. Then, whea
the patient is perfectly recovered, she shall be married
in rich doth of rainbow laced with sunbeams.

13.
Dutchman.

■ rittfaig 9X home in the chimney comer, eus.
»g the fisoe of Duke de Alva upon the jugs, for laying
aa impomtioB oa beer.

14.
Rake at Church,

■ I shall know all, when I meet ksr in the

chapel to-morrow. I am resolved to venton thither
tho* I am afraid the dop will bark me ont again, «•
by that means let the eongregatioB know how mu^
am a straager to the place. Dmr/tk

15.

Lying Traveller

To« do not beHeve bm then? the devU take me, if
these home-bred feUows can be saved s they aeither
kaow nor betVkVe half the creation.

18.

Beauties at Church.

Fair Women in Churehes have as ill effect as fine
Stzangers in Grammar schools: for tho* tho boys keep
OB the humdrum still, yet none of *em mind their lesson
for looking about *em. fa^,

19.

Expedients

I liave observed the wisdom of fhese Moors t for
■ome days ainoo being Invited by one of the chio'
Baahawa to dinner, after meat, sitting by a boge flro*
and feeling his shins to bom, I reqoMtod him to poll
back hia chair, bat he very nnderstandlniily sent for
throe or four maioaa, and removed the chimney.

Bronte.
20.

Mayor o/Queenhorow, a Christian^ giv-
ing ordersjor feasting Hen^^ a Paaan
IRng of Kent, who has innUd himeelfto
the Mayor's taUe.

^glve charge the mutton eome in aQ raw ; the

King of Kent Is aPagan, and most be served so. And
let those offlcen, that seldom or never go to chuch
bdng it In; it will be the better taken.

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21.

Fat Man « device to get a dainty.
I hat* a pnTil«ge. I irasattke tevera tlieotli«r
day ; ia tlM aext room I ameU hot venisoa. I Mat bnC
a drawer to tall Um oompaay, ** oae ia the hoaia with
a great belly loo(ed for a comer,** aad I had half a
paat/ aeat me immediatelf . SSUrffly.

22.
MUerU Servant.
FrUmd. Camelioo, how now, hare joo tamed awaj
joar master ?

Camtlunk No ; I sold mj place. Aa I was thraking
to nm awaj, comet this fellow, aad offsn me a break-
fast for my food will to speak to my master for him.
I took him at his word, aad resigaed mj office, and
tamed over m j hunfer to him immediately. Now I
•enre a maa. Skirlsy.

23.
Walking.
Fine Ledy. I am f lad I am oome hoaia, ibr I am
area as weary with thu walkiaf ; for Ood'a sake,
whereabouts does the pleasare of walkiag lie ? I swear
I hare oftea loof ht it till I waa waary, aad yet I coold
ae*erfindit. T, KUUgrew,

24.
FooUth SukoT.
Aldenum, Bare yoo. Sir.

Suitor, Yoa do aot think ma daam*d. Sir, that yoa
bestow
That salttUtioB on ma f

Aid, Good, Sir, BO.
Whom woold yoa speak with here?

Smt. Sir, my disconna
Points at oas Aldermaa GoreL
Aid, 1 am the party.

Wjt. I andentaad yoa hare a danghter, u
Of most aakaowB perfections.
AUL She is as Hearea nmda her—
SuU, She goes naked thea {
The tailor haa bo hand in her.

C.L.

storied

OF THE

Craben 9ales(.

No. III.

He had beea ia Yorkshire dale

Among the wiading sears.
When deep and low the hamlets lie,
Baaeath a little patch of sky,

Aad little patch of starsw— Woboswobtu.

Proem.
In the summer of 1823 I was residing
lor h few days at a solitary inn amongst the
hiUs of CrareiL One afternoon I had

planned an excursion to a neiglibouring
cave, but was prevented from goinjc tbeie
by a heavy rain which had faillen doriiiK
the whole of the day. I had no friends in
the neighbourhood^ and could not have j
procured at my inn any work worth the i
perusal. The libiary of my landlord was |
small, and the collection not remarkable tot \
being well chosen ; it consisted of Pamela, '
Baron Munchausen, Fox*s Martyrs, the
Pilgrim's Progress, and a few other puUio- ,
aliens of an equally edifying description.
I should have been at a loss how to have
spent the tedious hours, had I not had a
companion. He was a stout, elderly man,
a perfect stranger to me ; and by his con-
versation showed himself poss^sed of a
very considerable share of erudition : his
language was correct, hb remarks strong
and forcible, and delivered in a manner
energetic and pointed. While engaged in
conversation, our ears were stunned by a
number of village lads shouting and halloo-
ing at the door &! the inn. On inquiring of
the landlord into the cause of this disturb-
ance, we were informed that a poor woman,
who was reputed to be a witch, had taken
shelter at his house from the inclemency of
the storm, and that some idle boys, on see-
ing her enter, were behaving in the rude
manner already mentioned.

The landlord having left the room, I
said to my companion, ^ So you have
witches in Craven, sir ; or, at least, thoae
who pretend to be such. I thought that
race of ignorant impostors had been long
extinct, but am sorry to find the case is
otherwise."

The stranger looked at me, and said,
'* Do you then disbelieve the existence oi
witchcraft V

'* Most assuredly," I replied.

^ But you must confess that witchcraft
dldexlsil"

" I do ; but think not*its existing in the
prophetical ages to be any evidence of its
beinu permitted in the present.**

*' But learned works have been written
to prove the existence of it in late times —
You are aware of the treatises of Glanvill
and Sinclair ?"

''True; and learned meo have some-
times committed foolish actions ; and cer-
tainly Glanvill and Sinclair, great as their
talents undoubtedly were, showed no great
wisdom in publishing their ridiculous efiu.
sions, whicn are nothing more than the
overflowings of heated imasinations "

M^ companion seeing I was not to be
convinced oy any arsuments he could ad*
vanoe« but that, like the adder in holy writ.

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I «as '' Jc*af to the voice of the charmer,
chariu he never so wisely/* thus addressed
me : — '* I wot like you, sceptical on the
subject of our present discourse ; but the
doubts I once entertained have long since
vanished ; and if you can attend patiently
to a hbtory I will relate, I think you will
be convinced that witchcraft doet exist ; or
at least has existed in very modem times.**
The stranger then related the story of

The Wise Wouan of Lzttokdale.

" In the vear 1 7 — , in a lonely gill, not
far distant uom Amcliffe, stood a solitary
cottaee: a more wretched habitation the
imagination cannot picture. It contained
a single apartment, inhabited by an old
woman, called Bertha, who was throughout
the valley accounted a wise woman, and a
practiser of the ' art that none may name.'
I was at that time very young, and unmar-
ried ; and, far from having any dread of
her, would frequently talk to her, and was
always glad when she called at my father's
house. She was tall, thin, and haggard ;
her eyes were large, and sunk deep in their
sockets ; and the hoarse masculine intona-
tions of her voice were anything but pleas-
ing. The reason I took such delight m the
company of Beitha was this — she was pos-
sessed of much historical knowledge, and
related events which had occurred two or
three centuries ago, in a manner so minute
and particular, that many a time I have
been induced to believe she had been a
spectatress of what she was relating. Bertha
was undoubtedly of great age; but what
that age was no one ever knew. I have
frequently interrogated her on the subject,
but always received an evasive answer to
my inquiries.

*' In the autumn, or rather in the latter
end of the summer of 17 — , I set out one
evening to visit the cottage of the wise
woman. I had never beheld the interior ;
and, led on by curiosity and mischief, was
determined to see it. Having arrived at
the cottage, I knocked at (he gate. ' Come
in,' said a voice, which I knew was Bertha's.
I entered ; the old woman was seated on a
three-legged stool, by a turf fire, surrounded
by three black cats and an old sheep-dog.
* Well,' she exclaimed, * what brings you
here ? what can have induced you to pay a
visit to old Bertha?' I answered, * Be not
offended ; I have never before this evening
viewed the interior of your cottage ; and
wishing to do so, have made this visit ; I
also wished to see you perform some of
youT incatttatioM.* I pronounced the last
vord ironically. Bertha observed it and

said, 'Then you doubt m^ power, think' mi
an impostor, and consider my incantatiooj
mere jugglery ; you nuiy think otherwise ;
but sit down by my humble hearth, and in
less than half an hour you shall observe
such an instance of my power as I have
never hitherto allowed mortal to witness.'
i obeyed, and approached the fire. I now
gazed around me« and minutely viewed in«
apartment. Three stools, an old deal table,
a few pans, three pictures of Merlin,
Nostradamus, and Michael Scott, a cal-
dron, and a sack, with the contents of
which I was unacquainted, formed the
whole stock of Bertha. The witch having
sat by me a few minutes, rose, and said,
' Now for our incantations ; behold me,
but interrupt me not.' She then with chalk
drew a circle on the floor, and in the midst
of it placed a chafing-dish filled with burn-
ing embers; on this she fixed the caldron,
which she had half filled with water.

^ She then commanded me to take my
station at the farther end of the circle,
which I did accordingly. Bertha then
opened the sack, and taking from it various
ingredients, threw them into the * charmed
pot.' Amongst many other articles I
noticed a skeleton head, bones of different
sizes, and the dried carcasses of some small
animals. My fancy involuntarily recurred
to the witch in Ovid —

Semma, floresqae, et saocos in ooqait acres ;
Addidit et ezeeptas Innk pernocte pniiaa«,
Et itrigb infames ip«s cam carnibns alas,
Vlraeisqae jecur cerri ; qoibus insaper addit,
Ora capatqve norem oomids siscula passas.*

While thus employed, she continued mut-
tering some words in an unknown language ;
all I remember hearing was the word kouig.
At length the water , boiled, and the witch,
presenting me with a glass, told me to look
through it at the caldron. I did so, and
observed a figure enveloped in the steam ;
at the first glance I knew not what to make
of it, but I soon recognised the face of
N , a friend and intimate acquaint-
ance : he was dressed in his usual mode,
but seemed unwell, and pale. I was asto-
nished, and trembled. The figure having
disappeared. Bertha removed the caldron,
and extinguished the fire. ' Now,* said
she, ' do you doubt my power t I have
brought before you the form of a person
who is some miles from this place; was
there any deception in the appearance 7 I
am no impostor, though you nave hitherto
regarded me as such.' She ceased speak-
ing : I hurried towards the door, and said,
'Good night.' * Stop,' said Berfhn, '1

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hare hot done with 'yoi ; I will show you
something more wonderful than the ap-
pearance of this evening: to-morrow, at
midnight, go and stand upon ArnclifTe
bridge, and look at the water on the left
side of it. Nothing will harm you ; fear
not/

" ^ And why should I go to ArnclifTe
bridge ? What end can be answered by it ?
The place is lonely ; I dread to be there at
such an hour ; may I have a companion T

« ' No/

«« Whynotr

^ * Because the charm will be broken.'

«* What charm r

• ' I cannot tell.'

" ' You will not.'

•* * I will not give you any further in-
lormatioo: obey me, nothing shall harm
you/

«* * Well, Bertha,' I said, * you shall be
obeyed. I believe you would do me no
injury. I will repair to Arncliffe bridge
to-morrow zX midnight ; good night/

I then left the cottage, and returned
home. When I retired to rest I could
Dot sleep; slumber fled my pillow, and
with restless eyes I lay ruminating on the
strange occurrences at the cottage, and on
what I was to behold at Arncliffe bridge.
Morning dawned, I arose unrefreshed and
fatigued. During the day I was unable to
aicend to any business ; my coming adven-
ture entirely engrossed my mind. Night
arrived, I repaired to Arncliffe bridge :
never shall I forget the scene. It was a
lovely night : the full orb*d moon was sail-
ing peacefully through a clear blue cloud-
less sky, and its beams, like streaks of silvery
lustre, were dancing on the waters of the
Skirfare ; the moonlight falling on the hills
formed them into a variety of fantastic
shapes ; here one might behold the sem-
blance of a ruined abbey, with towers and
spires, and Anglo-Saxon and Gothic arches;
at another place there seemed a castle
frowning in feudal grandeur, with its but-
tresses, battlements, and parapets. The
stillness which reigned around, broken only
by the murmuring of the stream, the cot-
tages scattered here and there along its
banks, smd the woods wearing an autumnal
tinge, all united to compose a scene of
calm and perfect beauty. I leaned against
the left battlement of the bridge ; I waited
a quarter of an hour — half an hour — an
houp — nothing appeared. I listened, all
was silent ; I looked around, I saw nothing.
Surely, I inwardly ejaculated, I have mis-
taken the hour ; no, it must be midnight ;
Bertha has deceived me , fool that I am«

why havB I obeyed the beldam ? Thus 1
reasoned. The clock of the neighbouring
church chimed — I counted the strokes, it
was twelve o'clock ; I had mistaken the
hour, and I resolved to stay a little longer
on the bridge. I resumed my station,
which I had quitted, and gazed on the
stream. The river in that part runs in a
clear still channel, and ' all its music dies
away.' As I looked on the stream I beard
a low moaning sound, and perceived the
water violently troubled, witnout any ap-
parent cause. The dbturbance having
continued a few minutes ceased, and the
river became calm, and again flowed along
in peacefulness. What could this mean^
Whence came that low moaning sound?
What caused the disturbance of the river ? I
asked myself these questinns again and
again, unable to give them any rational
answer. With a slight indescribable kind
of fear I bent my steps homewards. On
turning a comer of the lane that led to mj
father's house, a huge dog, apparently oi
the Newfoundland breed, crossed my path,
and looked wistfully on me. 'Poor fel-
low r I exclaimed, * hast thou lost thy
master? come home with me, and I will
use thee well till we find him.' The dog
followed me; but when I arrived at my
place of abode, I looked for it, but saw no
traces of it, and I conjectured it had foand
its master.

** On the following morning I again re>
paired to the cottage of the witch, and
found her, as on the former occasion, seated
by the fire. « Well, Bertha,' I said, * 1
have obeyed you ; I was yesterday at mid*
night on Arncliffe bridge.'

^ ' And of what sight were you a wit-
ness?'

** ' I saw nothing except a slight distnib-
ance of the stream.

*^ ' I know/ she said, * you saw a dis-
turbance of the water, but did you behold
nothing more V

" « Nothing.'

" * Nothing ! your memory foils you.*

<« < I forgot, Bertha; as I was proceed-
ing home, I met a Newfoundland dog,
which I suppose belonged to some tra-
veller.*

" * That dog,' answered Bertha, * never
belonged to mortal; no human being is
his master. The dog you saw was Bar-
gest; you may, perhaps, have heard of
him/

^ < I have frequently heard tales of Bar«
gest, but I never credited them. If the
legends of my native hills be true, a deatli
may be expected to follow his appeararoe *

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^ * You are right, and a death will follow
tb last Dight*s appearance.'

••« Whose death r

** * Not yours.*

^ As Bertha refused to make any further
oommunication, I left her. In less than
three hours after I quitted her I was in-
formed that my friend N , whose

figure I had seen enveloped in the mist of
the caldron, had that morning committed
suicide, by drowning himself at Amcliffe
bridge, in the very spot where 1 beheld the
disturbance of the stream P

Such was the story of my companion ;
the tale amused me, but by no means in-
creased my belief in witchcraft. I told the
narrator so, and we again entered into a
serious discussion, which continued till the
inn clock struck se?en, ^en the stranger
left me, saving, that he could not stay any
longer, as he had a distance often miles to
travel that evening along a very lonely road.

The belief of witchcraft is still rery pre-
▼alent in Craven ; and there are now re-
siding in different parts wise men and
wise women, whom the country people
consult when any property is stolen or lost,
as well as for the purpose of fortune-telling.
These impostors pretend generally to prac-
tise diyination by the crystal, as m the tale
-^a mode of deception which Moncrieff has
Terr ingeniously ridiculed in his *' Tom
and Jerry." Witches and wizards are not
so common as they were a few years ag^
amongst us. The spread of education, by
means of National and Sunday Schools,
goes a great way to destroy superstition.
Few witches were belter known in Craven
than Kilnsay Nan, who died a few years
ago. ^ This old hag travelled with a Guinea
pig in her breast, which she pretended
solved questions, and used at times to open
a witchcraft shop in Bag*s-alley, Skipton :
her stock of spells was not very large, for
it only consisted of her Guinea pig, and
about half a pack of dirty cards.

Littondale, the romantic valley which
forms the scene of the above ^le, is at the
extremity of the parish of' Bumsal, where
Wharfdale forks on into two great branches,
one whereof retains the name of Wharfdale
to the source of the river ; and the other,
which is watered by the Skirfare« (some*
times called the Dtton and Litton B^ch,)
B called littondale. The ancient name
was Amerdale; and by that designation
Wordswoith alludes to it in his " White
Doe,'*

- Th« dmp fork of AmerdAle."

The whole of tie dale is in the parish of
Amcliffe ; so called, according to my great

authority in Craven matters. Dr. Whitaker
from Gajw, an eagle, and cly^f, a rock,
i. e. the eagle's rock ; '< as it afforded many
secure retreats for that bird in iu ridges ii
pterpendicular limestone." The western
side of the valley extends to Pennigent ; on
the skirts of which mountain are many
ancient places of interment, called "• Giants*
Graves,^ thought to be Danish.

During the last summer I took a ride up
Dttondale, principally with a view of in-
specting Amcliffe church, on the venerable
tower of which I had frequently gazed at a
distance. Alas! it is the only venerable
thing about the church, all the rest of which
has been rebuilt in a most paltry and insip^-
nificant style — not an ornament about it,
inside or outside : as Dr. Whitaker traly
says, *< it has been rebuilt with all the
attention to economy, and all the nefflect,
both of modem elegance and ancient form,
which characterises the religious edifices of
the present day.** It is indeed, as the same
historian observes, *^ a perfect specimen" of
a *< plain, oblong, ill-constracted building,
without aisles, choir, column, battlements,
or buttresses ; the roof and wainscotting oi
deal, the covering of slate ; the walls ran-
ning down with wet, and the whole resem-
bling a modern conventicle, which this year
may serve as a chapel, and the next as a
cockpit." The remarks that Amcliffe church
leads the doctor to make ought to be than'
dered in the ears of every '' beautifier" from
Comwall to Berwick upon Tweed :-*

" Awakened by tlie remonstrances of
their ecclesiastioal superior, a parish dis-
covers that, by long neglect, the roof of
their church is half rotten, the lead full
of cracks, the pews falling down, the
windows broken, the mul lions decayed,
the walls damp and mouldy. Here it is
well if the next discovery be not the value
of the lead. No matter whether this cover-
ing have or have not given an air of dignity
and venerable peculiarity to the church for
centuries. It will save a parish assess-
ment ; and blue slate will harmonize very
prettily with the adjoining' cotton-mill 1 The
work of renovation proceeds — the stone
tracery of the windows, which had long
shed their dim religious light, is displace^
and with it all the armorial achievements
of antiquity, the written memorials of
benefactors, the rich tints and glowing
drapery of saints and angels— but to console
our eyes for the losses, the smart luminous
modern sash is introduced ; and if this be
onlv pointed at top, all is well ; for all is—
still Gothic!* Next are condemned the
• RylstoM ciMoel Ub Imm " beftBtUM* in tkb wmy.

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massy oakea stalls, many of them capable
of repairs, many of them wanting none :
*.hese are replaced by narrow slender deal
pewSy admirably contrived to cramp the
tail, and break down under the bulky.
Next the fluted wood work of the roof, with
all its carved enrichments, is plastered over.
It looked dull and nourished cobwebs!
Lastly, the screens and lattices, which, from
a period antecedent to the Reformation, had
spread their light and perforated surfaces
from arch to arch, are sawn away ; and, in
tiie true spirit of modem equality, one un-
distingubning blank is substituted for
separatioM which are yet canonical^ and to
distinctions which ought to be reveretl.'*

In Littondale is the celebrated cave
Doukerbottom Hole : the road leading to
it is steep and difficult to travel for one
anused to hilly countries ; but the tourist
will receive an ample recompense for the
badness of the road, by the splendid views '
obtained from all parts of it of Whernside
and the neighbouring hills. It is some
years since I saw Doukerbottom Cave;
and at this distance of time I fear to at-
tempt a description of its wonders ; but I
remember that the entrance is steep and
rather dangerous; the first chamber very
spacious and lofty, and the roof starred with
beautiful stalactites formed by the dripping
of the limestone ; that then the cavern be-
comes narrower and lower, so much so,
that you have to stoop, and that at the end
the ear is stunned by a waterfall, which
discharges itself into some still lower cave.
I remember, too, that I visited it in com-
pany with an amiable dissenting minister,
and that we were highly amused at the
jokes and tales of our one-eyed guide, Mr.
Proctor, of Kilnsay. I have just been in-
quiring after that worthy and eccentric old
fellow, and find that he is dead. I am
sorry for it; and if my reverend friend
should see this article, I doubt not but he
will lament with me, that poor old Proctor
is gone. For many years he had been
guide to Doukei bottom Cave and Whern-
side.

In Littondale is a ridge of rock, called
Tenant's Ride, from one of the Tenant
family having galloped along it while
hunting. A dangerous feat truly, but not
10 daring as is generally supposed ; for I
am given to understand the ridge is seven
yards wide, and perfectly level. There are
fine waterfalls in the valley. I trust that
31 time will come when Littondale will be
more frequented than at present.

T. Q.M.

December, 1827.

HAGBUSH-LANE

From desire to afford the destroyers of
Corrairs cottage time to reflect, and make
reparation for the injury they bad inflicted
on the old man and nis wife ; and wishiDf^
to absuin from all appearance of strife-
making, the topic has remained till now
untouched.

On the 28th of November Mr. S.« as
the agent of a respectable clergyman
whose sympathy had been excited by
the statements of the Table Book, called
on me to make some inquiries into the
case, and I invited him to accompany me
to Corrairs shed. We proceeded by a
stage to the '* Old Mother Red Cap^**
Camden-town, and walked from thence
along the New Road, leading to lioUoway,
till we came to the spot at the western
corner of Hagbush-lane, on the left-hand
side of the road. We had journeyed !br
nothing — the shed had disappear^ from
the clay swamp whereon it stood. Alonu;
the dreary line of road, and the adjacent
meadows, rendered cheerless by alternate
frosts and rains, there was not a human
being within sight ; and we were at least
a mile from any place where inquiry could
be made, with a chance of success, respect-
ing the fugitives. As they might hare re-
tired into the lane for better shelter during
the winter, we made our way across the
quaggy entrance as well as we could, and
I soon recognised the little winding grove,
so delightful and lover-like a walk in days
of vernal sunshine. Its aspect, now, was
gloomy and forbidding. The disrobed trees
looked black, like funeral mutes mourning
the death of summer, and wept cold drops
upon our faces. As we wouna our slippery
way we perceived moving figures in the
distance of the dim vista, and soon came
up to a comfortless man and woman, a
poor couple, huddling over a small smoul-
dering fire of twigs and leaves. They told
us that Corrall and his wife had Uken
down their shed and moved three weeks
before, and were gone to live in some of
the new buildings in White-conduit fields.
The destitute appearance of our informants
in this lonely place induced inquiry re-
specting themselves. The man was a Lon-
don labourer out of employment, and, for
two days, they had been seeking it in the
country without success. Because Ibey
were able to work, parish-oflicers would
not relieve them; and they were with-
out a home and without food. They had
walked and sauntered during the two
nights^ for want of a pUre to sleep in«

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TUE TA15LE BOOK.

A LAST LOOK AT HAGBUSH-LANE.

aad occasionally lighted a fire for a little
warmtlu—

** The wetM wm not ttf r f rl«B \ nw tho w<»i'i*s law.*

We felt this, and Mr. 8. and myself oontri-
bated a trifle to help them to a supper and
a bed for the night. It was more, by all
its amount, than they could hare got
in that forlorn place. They cheerfully
midertook to show us to Corrall's present
resideDcey and set forward with us. Before

we got out of Hi'gbush-lane it was dark,
but we could perceire that the site of Cor-
rairs cottage and ruined garden was occu-
pied by heaps of gas-manure, belonging to
the opulent landowner, whose labourers
destroyed the poor man's residence and his
growing stock of winter regetables.

. « A man may see how this world

goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears ;
see how yon' justice nuls upon yon' simple

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ihief. Hark in thine ear: change places ;
and handy dandy, which is the justice,

which is the thief fr

* TkroDf ^ Utter'd ckwihi small rioea do apfpesr ;
Robet Md furi'd fowns hide alL PUte sin with gold,
And tlM stnoK laaee ofjastioe hnrtlass breaks :
Ann it in raga, a piginj*s straw doth ]»erc« It"

We found Corrall and his wife arjd child
at No. 3» Bishop 's-place, Copenhagen-street.
The overseers would have taken them into
the workhouse, but the old man and his
wife refused, because, according to the
workhouse rules, had they entered, they
would have keen separated. In " The Form
of Solemnization of Matrimony," it is en-
joined, after the joining of hands, '* Those
whom God hath joined together, let no
man put asunder;" and though this pre-
scription is of the highest order of law, yet
it is constantly violated by parochial autho-
rity. Corrall is sixty-nine years old, and
his wife's lungs appear diseased. Were
they together in the poor-house they would
be as well circumstanced as they can ever
hope or wish ; but, this not being allowed,
they purpose endeavouring to pick up a
living by selling ready dressed meat and
small beer to labouring people. Their
child, a girl about seven years or age, seems
destined to a vagabond and lawless life,
unless means can be devised to take her
off the old people's hands, and put her
to school. On leaving them I gave tne
wife five shillings, which a correspondent
sent for their use :* and Mr. S. left his
address, that, when they get settled, they
may apply to him as the almoner of the
benevolent clergyman, on whose behalf
he accompanied me to witness their situa-
tion.—

This notice will terminate all remark
on Hagbush-lane: but I reiterate, that since
it ceased to be used as the common high-
way from the north of England into Lon-
don, it became a green lane, affording
lovely walks to lovers ot rural scenery,
which lawless encroachments have de-
spoiled, and only a few spots of its former
beauty remain. It is not ** waste '' of the
manors through which it passes, but be-
longs to the crown ; and if the Commis-
sioners of Woods and Forests survey and
inquire, they will doubtless claim and pos-
sess themselves of the whole, and apuro-
priate it by sale to the public service. True
It is, that on one or two occasions manor
homages have been called, and persons

• I am Sony I eaanot remember the initials to this
ntkaaa's letter* which has been accideatally nua-

C

colourably admitted to certain parcels ; ImC
the land so disposed of, a homage could not
legally admit claimants into possession of;
nor could an entry on the court rolls confer
a legal title. Indeed the court rolls them-
selves will, at least in one instance, show that
the steward has doubted his lord's right; mn<l
the futility of such a title has seemdl so ob-
vious, that some who retain portions of Hag^
bush-lane actually decline admission through
the manor-court, and hold their possessioiis
by open seizure, deeming such a holding as
legal, to all intents and purposes, as any
that the lord of the manor can give. Soti
possessors are lords in their own rights
a right unknown to the law of England—
founded on mere force ; which, were ii
exercised on the personalties of passengers,
would infallibly subject successful claimants
to the inconvenience of taking either a long
voyage to New South Wales, or. perhaps,
a short walk without the walls of Newgate,
there to receive the highest reward the
sheriff's substitute can bestow.

or T«

\NCIENTS AND MODERNS

No. XXXV.

Akcient Cbekistkt, &C.

DUtUhtion. — It has been questioned
whether the ancients were acquainted with
this art, but a passage of Dioscorides not
only indicates the practice, but shows that
the name of its principal instrument, the
alembic, was derived from the Greek lan-
guage. Pliny gives the same explanation,
as Dioscorides does, of the manner of ex-
tracting quicksilver from cinnabar by dis-
tillation. And Seneca describes an instru-
ment exactly resembling the alembic
Hippocrates even describes the process of
distillation. He talks of vapours from the
boiling fluid, which meeting with resistance
stop and condense, till they fall in drops.
Zosimus of Panopolis, an Egyptian city,
desires his students to furnish themselves
with alembics, gives them directions how
to use them, describes them, and presents
drawings of such as best deserve to be
employed in practice.

Alcaih and Acids. — Of the substances
"•romiscuously termed lixivial salt, sal alcali.

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fock-salt, Ice, Aristotle speaks,when he says
that in Umbria the burnt ashes of rushes and
reeds, boiled in water, yield a great quan*
tity of salt. Theophrasius observes the
same. Varro relates of dwellers on the
borders of the Rhine, who having neither
sea nor pit salt, supply themselves by
means of the saline cinders of burnt plants.
Pliny speaks of ashes as impregnated with
salts, and in particular of the nitrous ashes
of burnt oak ; adding, that these salts are
used in medicine, and that a dose of lixivial
ashes is an excellent remedy. UippocrateSy
Celsus, Dioscorides, and especially Galen,
often recommend the medical use of sal
alcali. To the mixture of acids and alcali,
Plato ascribed fermentation. Solomon
seems to have known this effect of them,
when he speaks of ** vinegar upon nitre.''

Cleopatra* 9 Pearl, — A convincing proof
of the ability of the ancients in chemistry
IS the experiment with which Cleopatra
entertainea Marc Antony, in dissolving be-
fore him, in a kind of vinegar, a pearl of
very great value, (above 46,460/. sterling.)
At present we know not of any •* vinegar"
that can produce this effect ; but the fact is
well attested. Probably the queen added
something to the vinegar, omitted by the
historian. The aid of JDioscorides, sur-
named Phacas, who was her physician,
might have enabled her thus to gain her
wager with Marc Antony, that she would
exceed him in the splendour and costliness
of her entertainment. But Cleopatra her-
self was a chemical adept, as appears from
some of her performances still in the libra-
ries of Paris, Venice, and the Vatican.
And Pliny informs us of the emperor Caius,
that by means of fire he extracted some
gold from orpiment.

Malleability of Glass. — ^The method of
rendering glass ductile, which is to us a
secret, was assuredly a process well
known to the ancients* Some still doubt
of it, as others have of the burning glasses
of Archimedes. Because forsooth they do
not know how it could be effected, they
will not admit the feet, notwithstanding the
exact accounts we have of it, till somebody
again recovers this lost or neglected secret,
as Kircher and Buffon did that of Archi-
medes's mirrors. Pliny says, the flexibility
of glass was discovered in the time of
Tiberius; but that the emperor fearing
lest gold and silver, those most precious
metals, should thereby fall in their value,
so as to become contemptible, ordered the
residence, workhouse, and tools of the in-
genious artisan to be destroyed, and thus
strangled the art in its infancy, f etrcnius

is more diffuse. He says, that in the tiro^
of Tiberius there was an artificer who made
vessels of glass, which were in their com-
position and fabric as strong and durable
as silver or gold ; and that being introduced
into the presence of the emperor, he pre
sented him with a vase of this kind, sucL
as he thought worthy of his acceptance.
Meeting with the praise his invention de*
served, and finding his present so favour-
ably received, he threw the vase with such
Tioleoce upon the floor, that had it been of
brass it must have been injured by the
blow; he took it up again whole, but
dimpled a little, and immediately repaired
it with a hammer. While in expectation
of ample recompense for his ingenuity, the
emperor asked him whether any body else
was acquainted with this method of pre-
paring glass, and being assured that no
other was, the tyrant ordered his head to be
immediately struck off; lest gold and sil-
ver, added he, should become as base as
dirt. Dion Cassius, on this head, confirms
the attestations of Pliny and Petronius.
Ibn Abd Alhokim speaks of malleable glass
as a thing known in the flourishing times of
Egypt. Greaves, in his work on Pyramids,
mentions him as a celebrated chronologist
among the Arabians, and cites from him
that ** Saurid built in the western pyramid
thirty treasuries, filled with store of riches
and utensils, and with signatures made of
precious stones, and with instruments of
iron and vessels of earth, and with arms
which rust not, and with glass which might
be bended, and yet not broken, &^*'
There is, however, a modem chemical com-
position, formed of silver dissolved in acid
spirits, and which is called eornu luMe, or
homed moon, a transparent body, easily
put into fusion, and very like horn or glass,
and which will bear the hammer. Borri-
chius, a Danish physician of the seven-
teenth centnry, describes an experiment of
his own, by which he obtained a pliant and
malleable salt: he gives the receipt, atid
concludes from thence, that as glass for the
most part is only a mixture of salt and
sand, and as the salt may be rendered due*
tile, glass may be made malleable : he even
imagines that the Roman artificer, spoken
of by Pliny and Petronius, may have suc-
cessnilly used antimony as the principal
ingredient in the composition of nis vase.
Descartes supposed it possible to impart
malleability to glass, and Morhoff assures
us that Boyle was of the same opinion.

Painting on Olass^ — This art, so far as it
depends upon chemistry, was carried for-
merly to high perfection. Of tliis we have

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.itnicmg instances iti the windows of ancient
churches, where paintings present them-
selves in the most ?ivid colours, without
detracting from the transparency of the
glass. Boerhave and others observe, that
we have lost the secret to such a degree,
that there are scarcely any hopes of recover*
ing it. Late experiments go far towards a
successful restoration of this art.

Democriius. — ^This eminent roan, who
was a native of Abdera in Thrace, flourish-
ed upwards of four centuries before the
Chrbiian lera. For the sake of acquiring
wisdom he travelled into Egypt, and abode
with the priests of the country. He may
be deemea the father of experimental phi-
losophy. It is a£Srmed that he extracted
the juice of every simple, and that there
was not a quality belonging to the mineral
or vegetable kingdoms that escaped his no-
tice. Seneca says, that he was tne inventor
of reverberating furnaces, the first who
j^ve a softness to ivory, and imitated nature
in her production of precious stones, par-
ticularly the emerald.

Gunpowder, — ^Viigil and his commenta-
tor Servius, Ilyginus, Eustathius, La Cerda,
Valerius Flaccns, and many other authors,
speak in such a manner of Salmoneus's at-
tempts to imitate thunder, as suggest to us
that he used a composition of the nature of
gunpowder. He was so expert in mecha-
nics, that he formed machines vrhich imi-
tated the noise of thunder, and the writers
of fable, whose surprise in this respect may
be compared to that of the Mexicans when
they first beheld the fire-arms of the Spa-
niards, give out that Jupiter, incensed at
ihe audacity of this prince, slew him with
lightning. It is much more natural to sup-
pose that this unfortunate prince, as the in-
ventor of gunpowder, gave rise to these
fables, by having accidentally fallen a
victim to his own experiments. Dion and
Joannes Antiochenus report of the emperor
Caligula, that he imitated thunder and
lightning by means of machines, which at
the same time emitted stones. Themistius
relates, that the Brachm<ins encountered
one another with thm.der aud lightning,
which they had tht. art of launching from
on high at a conskderaMe Ql«taoce. Aga-
thias reports of Anthemms Tra.Sendib. that
having rallen out with his nei^hbooi^ Zeno
the rhetorician, he set fire to his bouse %^.th
bhunder and lightning. Philai<iiate& speak-
ing of the Indian sages, says, thai when
they were attacked by their enemies they
did not leave their walls to fight them, but
repelled and put them to flight by thunder
and lightning In another plact de alleges

that Hercules and Bacchus attempting re
assail them in a fort where they were en-
trenched, were so roughly received by re-
iterated strokes of thunder and ligfatniog,
launched upon them from on high by the
besieged, that they were obliged to retire.
The effects ascribed to these engines could
scarcely be brought about but by ganpow
der. In Julius Africanus there is a receipt
for an ingenious composition to be thrown
upon an enemy, very nearly resembling
that of gunpowder. But that the ancient:>
were acquainted with it seems proved be-
yond doubt, by a clear and positive passage
of an author called Marcus Griecus, whose
work in manuscript is in the Royal Library
at Paris, entitled " Liber Ignium." The
author, describing several ways of encoan-
tering an enemy, by launching fire upon
him, among others gives the following re- 1
ceipt:— Mix together one pound of live'
sulphur, two of charcoal of willow, and i
six of saltpetre ; reduce them to a very fine
powder in a marble morUr. He directs a
certain quantity of this to be put into a
long, narrow, and well-compacted cover,
and so discharged into the air. Here we
have the description of a rocket. • The
cover with whicn thunder is imitated he
represents as short, thick, but half-filled,
and strongly bound with packthread, which
is exactly the form of a cracker. He then
treats of diflerent methods of preparing
the match, and how one squib may set fir^
to another in the air, by having it enclosed
within it. In short, he speaks as clearly of
the composition and effects of gunpowder
as any body in our times could do. Thb
author is spoken of by Mesne, an Arabian
physician, who flourished in the beginning
of the ninth century. There is reason to
believe that he is the same of whom Galen
speaks.

Generation.

There are two theones on this suotfct
among the modems. Harvey, Stenon, Giaaf,
Redi, and other celebrated physicians,
maintain that all animals are oviparous,
and spring from eggs, which in the animal
kingdom are what seed is in the vegetable.
Hartsoisker and Lewenhoek are of a differ-
ent opinion, and maintain that all animals
spring by metamorphosis from little animals
of extreme minuteness.

The fir&t of these systems is merely a
revival of that taught by Empedodes, a»
cited by Plutarch and Galen, and next ti
him Hippocrates, Aristotle, and Macrobios
The other system, that of anijialcola o

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permalic vermicuU, is but a revival of the
piDious of Democritus and other ancients.
Hippocrates, founding himself upon a
principle universally received by antiquity
t liat nothing arises from nothing, advanced
that nothing in nature absolutely perished ;
that nothing, taking it altogether, was pro-
duced anew ; nothing born, but what nad
a prior existence ; that what we call birtli,
is only such an enlargement as brings from
darkness to light, or renders visible, those
small animalcula which were before imper-
ceptible. He maintains that every thing
increases as much as it can, from the lowest
! to the highest degree of magnitude. These
principles he afterwards applies to genera-
tion, and declares that the larger sizes arise
out of the lesser; that all the parts success-
ively expand themselves, and grow and
increase proportionally in the same series
of time ; that none of them in reality takes
the start of another, so as to be quicker or
slower in growth ; but that those which are
naturally larger sooner appear to the eye,
than those which are smaller, though they
by no means preceded them in birth or
existence.

Polypi, — ^The multiplicity of animation
of which the polypus is capable, jsupposed
to have been discovered by the modems,
was known to the ancients. There are
passages of Aristotle and St. Augustine,
wherein they speak of it as a thing which
they knew from their own experience. The
latter, in his book entitled " De Quan-
titate Aniioe,** relates, that one of his
friends performed the experiment before
him of cutting a polypus in two ; and that
immediately the separated parts betook
themselves to flight, moving with precipita-
tion, the one one way, and the other ano-
ther. Aristotle, speaking of insects with
many feet, says, that there are of these
animals or insects, as well as of plants and
trees, that propagate themselves by sboou :
and as what were but the parts of a tree
before, become thus distinct and separate
trees ; so in cutting one of these animals,
says Aristotle, the pieces which before com-
posed altogether, but one animal, become
all of a sudden so many different indivi-
duals. He adds, that the animating prin-
ciple in these insects b in effect but one,
though multiplied in its powers, as it is in
plants.

The Sexual Syttem of PlunU.
Yivnat IB Venerem fnmdes, omneiqiia Ticuisini
Felix MiwT mmat, nixtant ad mntam palma
Foidera, populeo nispmt popnlos ietv,
Et plataai plataau, alnoqua aasibilat alnns.

ClanitM, dt NwptUt Howrii •< Maxim,

Claudian's verses have been thus fa-
miliarly Englished : — '^ The tender boughrf
live together in love, and the happy trees

Cass their time entirely in mutual em-
races. Palms by consent aalute and
nod to each other; the poplar, smitten
with the poplar, sighs ; whilst planes and
aiders express their affection in the melody
of whispers." This allusion to the *' Loves
of the Plants'* was not a mere imagination
of the old poet: their sexual difference
was known to the old philosophers. ^ Na-
turalists,** says Pliny, **' admit the distinc-
tion of sex not only in trees, but in herbs
and in all plants."

AsTROKOMY— Mathematics — Mecha-
Mics — Optics, &c.

The Vibration of the Pendulum was em-
ployed, for the purpose it is still applied to,
by the ancient Arabians, long before the
epoch usually assigned to its first discovery.
A learned gentleman at Oxford, who care-
fully examined the Arabian manuscripts in
the library of that university, says, '* The
advantages recommending the study of
astronomy to the people of the East weie
many." He speaks of " the serenity of
their weather ; the largeness and correct-
ness of the instruments they made use of
much exceeding what the moderns would
be willing to believe ; the multitude of
their obseivations and writings being six
times more than what has been composed
by Greeks and Latins ; and of the number
of powerful princes who, in a manner be-
coming their own magnificence, aided them
with protection.'' He affirms, that it is
easy ** to show in how many respects the
Arabian astronomers detected the deficiency
of Ptolemy, and the pains they took to cor-
rect him; how carefully they measured
time by water-clocks, sand-glasses, immense
solar dials, and even by the vibratione of
the pendulum ; and with what assiduity and
accuracy they conducted themselves in
those nice attempts, which do so mudi
honour to human genius — the taking tne
distances of the stars, and the measure of
the earth.**

Refraction of Light. — According to
Roger Bacon, Ptolemy, the great philoso-
pher and geometrician, gave the same ex-
planation of this phenomenon, which Des-
cartes has done since ; for he says, that <*
ray, passing from a more rare into a more
dense medium, becomes more perpendicu-
lar.** Ptolemy wrote a treatise on optics
whence Alhazen seems to have drawn
whatever is estimable in what he advance*

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tliout th) refiraction 9f light, astronomical re-
fraction, and the caase of the extraordinary
size ofplanets when they Appear on the hori-
zon. Ptolemy, and after him Alhazen, said,
that ** when a ray of light passes from a more
lare into a more dense medium, it changes its
direction when it arrives upon the surface
of the latter, describing a hne which inter-
sects the angle made by that of its first
direction, and a perpendicular falling upon
it from the more dense medium/' Bacon
adds, after Ptolemy, that '* the angle form-
ed by the coincidence of those two lines is
not always equally divided by the refracted
ray ; because in proportion to the greater
or less density or the medium, the ray is
more or less refracted, or oblieed to decline
from its first direction.'' Sir Isaac Newton
subsequently deducing the cause of refrac-
tion, from the attraction made upon the ray
of light by the bodies surrounding it, says,
^ that mediums are more or less attractive
in proportion to their density."

jitironomie Refraction. — Ptolennr, ac-
quainted with the principle of the refraction
of light, could not fail to conclude that this
was the cause of the appearance of planets
upon the horizon before they came there.
Ilence he accounted for those appearances
fiom the difierence there was between the
medium of air, and that of ether which lay
beyond it; so that the rays of light coming
from the planet, and entering into the
denser meaium of our atmosphere, must of
course be so attracted as to change their
direction, and by that means bring the star
to our view, before it really come upon
the horizon.

fFh^ Stars appear largeet upon the HorU
$son is attempted to be accounted fbr by
Roger Bacon. He says it may proceed
from this, that the rays coming from the
star are made to diverge from each other,
not only by passing from the rare medium
of ether into the denser one of our sur-
rounding air, but slso by the interposition
of clouds and vapours arising out of the
earth, which repeat the refraction and aug-
ment the dispersion of the rays, whereby
the object must needs be magnified to our
eye. He afterwards adds, that there has
bleen assigned by Ptolemy and Alhazen
another more reasonable cause. These
authors thought that the reason of a star's
<^i pearing larger at its rising or setting than
wh^n viewed over head arose from this,
that when the star is over head there are no
imm liate objects perceived between it and
us, so t*iat we judge it nearer to us, and
are not surprised at its littleness; but when
a star is viewed on the horizon, it lies then

so low that all we can see upon eactii intpr-
poses between it and us, which making it
appear at a greater distance, we are sur-
prised at observing it so large, or rather
imagine it larger than it is. I'or the same
reason the sun and moon, when appealing
upon the horizon, seem to be at a greater
distance, by reason of the interposition of
those objects which are upon the surfoce of
our earth, than when they are over head;
and consequently there will arise in our
minds an idea of their largeness, augmented
by that of their distance, and this of course
must make them appear larger to us, when
Tiewed on the horizon, than when seen in
the zenith.

Pertpecthe of the Aneiente. — Most of
the learned deny the ancients the advanUge
of having known the rule^ of perspective,
or of having put them in i».«.etiee, altbongk
Vitruvius makes mention of the principles
of Democritus and Anaxagoras respecting
that science, in a manner that plainly shows
they were not ignorant of them. '* Anaxa- j
goras and Democritus," says he, ** were in-
structed by Agatarchus, the disciple of
Eschylus. They both of them taught the
rules of drawing, so as to imitate from any
point of view the prospect that lay in sight,
oy makinff the lines in their draught, issu-
ing from Ute point of view there, exactly
resemble the radiaaon of those in nature;
insomuch, that however ignorant any one
might be of the rules whereby this was
performed, yet they could not but know at
sight the edifices, and other prospects which
offered themselves in the perapective scenes
they drew for the decoration of the theatre, -
where, though all the objects were repre-
sented on a plain surface, Tet they swelled
out, or retirea from the sight, just as objects
do endowed with all dimensions.'* Again
he says, that the painter Apatarius drew a
scene for the theatre at Tralles, **whidi
was wonderfully pleasing to the eye, on
account that the artist had so well managed
the lights and shades, that the architecture
appeared in reality to have all its projec-
tions/' Pliny says, that Pam^ hilus, who
was an excellent painter, applied himself
much to the study of geometry, and main^*
tained that ** without its aid it was impos-
ttble ever to arrive at perfection in that
art.'' Plinv elsewhere says, that Apelles
fell short of Asclepiodorus in ** the art off
laying down distances in his paintings,**
Lucian, in his Dialogue of Zeuxis, speahf
of the effects of perspective in pictures
and Philostratus, in his preface to hii
Drawings, or History of Fainting, makes
it appear that he knew this science ; and

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his account of Menoetius's picture of the
' tiege of ThebeSy describes the nappy effects
of perspective when studied with care.

Optical Problem* — ^Aristotle was the first
who proposed the famous problem respect-
I ing the roundness of that image of the sun,
which is formed by his rays passing through
a small puncture, even though the hole
itself be square or lriang\ilar. <* Why is
it/' inquires Aristotle, " that the sun, in
passing through a square puncture, forms
Itself into an orbicular, and not into a
rectilinear figure, as when it shines through
a grate 1 Is it not because the efflux of its
rays, through the puncture, converges it
into a cone, whose base is the luminous
circle T"

Squaring the Circle. — ^If there remain
any hope of solving this problem it is
foundea on that discovery ot Hippocrates
of Chios, called the squaring of the LunuUg^
which is said to have first put him in heart,
they say, to attempt the squaring of the
circle. This Hippocrates must not be con-
founded with the &ther of medicine, who
was of the isle of Cos. He who is spoken
of here was a famous geometrician, and
lived about five hundred years before Jesus
Christ.

Anaxagoras appears to have been the
first who dared this enterprise, and it was
when he was in prison at Athens. Pla-
tarchsays positively that he achieved it;
but this must be looked upon only as a
general expression. Aristotle in many
places mentions the efforts of the Pythago-
reans Bryson and Antiphon, who likewise
flattered themselves witn having found out
the square of the circle. Aristophanes
jeers the learned of his time for attempting
to resolve this problem. One of the nearest
approximations to the solution of this pro-
blem is that of Archimedes. He found the
proportion of the diameter to the circum-
ference to be as 7 to 22, or somewhat be-
tween 21 and 22 ; and it is in making use
of Archimedes's method, that Wallis lays
down rules for attaining nearly the souare
of the circle ; yet they bring us not fully up
to it, how fiu: soever we advance. Archi-
medes contented himself with what he had
in view, which was to find out a proportion
that would serve all the purposes of ordi-
nary practice. What he neglected to do,
by extended approximations was afterwards
perform^ by ApoUonius, and by Philo of
Gadare, who lived in the third century.

T%e Squaring of the Parabola is one of
the geometrical discoveries which has done
most honour toArchimedes. It is remaAed
Ui have been the first instance of the reducing

a curve figure exactly into a square, unless
we admit of Hippocrates*s sq«:aring the
lunuke to have been of this sort.

The Burning GUueee^ employed by Archi-
medes to set fire to the Roman fleet at the
siege of Svracuse, Kepler, Nauddus, and
Descartes have treated as ftibulous, thoueh
attested by Diodorus Siculus, Lucian, Dion,
Zonaras, Galen, Anthemius, Eustathius,
Tzetzes, and other eminent authors. Some
have pretended to demonstrate by the rules
of catoptrics the impossibility of it ; but
Kircher, attentively observing the descrip-
tion which Tzetzes gives of the burning
glasses of Archimedes, resolved upon an
experiment; and having, by means of a
number of plain mirrors, collected the sun's
rays into one focus, he bv an iocreased
number of mirrors produced the most in-
tense degree of solar heat. Tzetzes says,
that '* Archimedes set fire to Marcellus*s
navy, by means of a burning glass com-
posed of small square mirrors, movii g
every way upon hinges; which, when
placed in the 8un*s rays, directed them
upon the Roman fleet so as to reduce it to
ashes at the distance of a bow-shot." Buf-
fon*s celebrated burning glass, composed
of 168 little plain mirrors, produced so
considerable a heat, as to set wood in flames
at the distance of two hundred and nine
feet ; melt lead, at that of one hundred and
twenty ; and silver, at that of fifty.

Anthemius of Tralles in Lydia, oele^
brated as an able architect, sculptor, and
mathematician, who in the emperor Justi-
nian*s time built the church ot Si. Sophia
at Constantinople, wrote a small treatise in
Greek, which is extant only in manuscript,
entitled ** Mechanical Paradoxes," whereio
is a chapter respecting burning glasses,
with a complete aescription of the requi-
sites, which, according to this author, Ar-
chimedes must have possessed to enable him
to set fire to the Roman fleet. His elaborate
description demonstrates the possibility of
a fact so well attested in history. Zonaras,
speaking of Archimedes's glasses, mentions
those of Proclus, who, he says, burnt the
fleet of Vitellius at the siege ot ConsUnti-
nople, in imitation of Archimedes, who
set fire to the Roman fleet at the siege of
Syracuse. He intimates that the mannei
wherein Proclus effected this, was by
launching upon the vesseb, from the sur-
face of reflecting mirrors, such a quantity
of flame as reduced them to ashes.

Refracting Burning OUueee were cer-
tainly known to the ancients. Pliny and
Lactantius speak of glasses that burnt by
refraction The former telU of balls ot

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globoff of gtassy or crystal, which exposed
to the sun transmit a heat sufficient to sec
fire to cloth, or corrode away the dead flesh
of those patients who stand in need of
, caustics ; and the latter, after Clemens
' Alexandrinus, takes notice that fire may be
, kindled, by interposing glasses filled with
I water between the sun and the object, so as
to transmit the rays to it Aristophanes,
in his comedy of the Clouds, introduces
Socrates as examming Strepsiades about
, the method he had discovered for getting
^ clear for ever of his debts. The latter re-
: plies, that he thought of making use of a
I burning glass, which he had hitheito used
in kindling his fire ; for, says he, should
they bring a writ against me, 1*11 immedi-
ately place my glass in the sun, at some
little distance from the writ, and set it a
fire.

Ebbatum.

Col. 45S, line 10 fnm the bottom, for ** Hartley Cbai.
moo,** read ** StartUy Common."

For the Table Book.
FREE TRANSLATION

OF A

DRINKING SONG, BY GOETHE.

SUKO BY THE PoET AT A MeRTINO OP

Friends, to join which he and others

HAD TRAVELLED A COMSXDERABLB DIS-
TANCE.

1.

Celeitial rapCvre setzes me.

Your bspiratioii mereljr;
It lifte me to tbe winkiof ttan,

I Mem to tonch them nearlj :
Yet would I rmther stef below,

I can declare riaoereljr.
My oong to sing, mjr gUn to nag

With tlMoe I lore to dearlj.

Then wonder not to tee me here

To prop a eaoee to rightfal t
or all lor*d thiagi oa this lor'd eart^

To roe 'tis most delightfvL
C tow*d I would among je bo

la soora of fertane spiteful i
So here I eame, and here I am.

To make the table qiiite falL

When thos we shduld tofrefhcr iv«K,

Not qnieUj to be snnder'd.
I hoped at other Foet^ loage

Mjjojr, tootshoold be thoadei^J.
To join saeh brothers who would gnd^v

To trarel miles a hvndred I
So eager some this daj to eome,

Through rory haate thej Uaader*d.

Long lire to him who gvards oar litreal

Mj doetMne*s aot learnt newly :
We*ll first do honour to o«r King,

And drink to him most dnlj.
May he his foes without o'eroome*

Withu quell all uamlj ;
And grant support of erery sorU

As we shall senre him truly I

Thee next I give— thou only oue.

Who all thy sex defeatest I
Each lorer deeou right gallaatly.

His mistrees the oompleteat.
I therefore driak to her I love ;

Thon, who some other greetest,
Ke^er drink alono— still think thine ow»

Aa I do mine— the sweetest 1

The third glass to old friends is dnew

Who wd ns when we need iL
How quickly flew each joyona day

With such kind hearte to speed it 1
When fortune's storm was gathering dark

We had less cause to heed it:
Tlifln fill the glass— &e bottle pasa—

A bumper I— wc'tu agreed it I

Since broader, fuller, awells the tide

Of friends* as life adTanoso,
LeCfs drink to erery leaser stream.

The greater that enhaaoes.
With strength united thus we meet,

And bruTe the worst mischances s
Binee oft the tide, must darkly glide

That in the sunlight danceaw

Once more we meet together hen^

Once more in lom united :
We trust that others' toils like ou*i^

Like ours will be requited.
Upon the self-same stream we see

P^ many a mm b sited I
May we the weal of all mea feel.

And with U be delighted.

J.P.CL

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THE TABLE BOOK.

GEORGE BLOOMFIELD.

This portrait of the elder brother of
Robert Bloomfield, <'the Farmer's Boy,"
is here presented from a likeness recently
drawn in water colours from the life, and
commamcated to the Table Book for the
purpose of the present eno^raving.

The late Mr. Capel Lloift, in a preface
to Robert Bloomfidd's "Farmer's Boy,"
relates Robert's history, from a narrative
drawn up by George Bloomfield. It ap-

pears from thence, that their father died
when Robert was an infant under a year
old ; that their mother had another family
by John Glover, a second husband ; and
that Robert, at eleven years old, was taken
by a kind farmer into his house, and em-
ployed in husbandry work. Robert was
so small of his age, that his master said he
was not likely to get his living by hard
labour; his brother George informed his

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THT5 TABLE BOOK.

motW, if 8!i« would let him have Robert,
ke would take him and teach him his own
trade, shoemaking; another brother, Na-
thaniel, offered to clothe him; and the
mother and Robert, who was then fifteen
years old, took cuach, and came to London
to George Bloom field. " I have him in
my mind*8 eye," says George ; ** a little
boy ; not bigger than boys generally are at
twelve years old. When I met him and
hia mother at the inn, (in Bisbopsgate-
street,) he strutted before us, dressed just as
he tame from keeping sheep, hoss, &c.—
his shoes filled full of stumps in the heels.
He, looking about him, slipt up— his nails
were unus^ to a flat pavement. I remem-
ber viewing him as he scampered up~>bow
small he was — little thought that little
fatherless boy would be one day known and
esteemed by the most learned, the most
respected, the wisest, and the best men of
the kingdom." Robert developed his ta^-
lentt under the fostering of George, to
whose protection he was left by their mo-
ther. « She charged me," says George,

^* as I valued a mother's blessing, to watch
over him, to set good examples for him,
and never to forget that he had lost his
fiither." Her injunctions were strictly ob-
served till Robert was eighteen, when
George, having housed him, and taught him
his trade, quitted London, and left Robert
to pursue shoemakins and playing on the
violin. *^ Robert told me in a letter," says
George, " * that he had sold his fiddle, and
got a wife.* Like most poor men, he got
a wife first, and had to get household stuff
afterward. It took him tome years to get
out of ready furnished lodgings. At
length, by hard working, tec. he acquired a
bed of his own, and hired the room up one
pair of stairs, at No. 14, Bell-alley, Cole-
man-street. The landlord kindly gave him
lea? e to sit and work in the light garret,
two pair of stairs higher. In this ganet,
amid six or seven other workmen, his ao»
tive mind employed itself in composing the
Farmer'i Boy^ George, with filial piety
and fondness, tells of his mother's pains to
imbue Robert's mind in infancy with just
principles. '< As his reason expanded,"
continues George, " his love of God and
man increased with it. I never knew
his fellow for mildness of temper and good-
ness of disposition ; and since I left him,
universally is he praised by those who know
him best, for the best of husbands, an in-
dulgent father, and^uiet neighbour."

Tne progress and melancholy termina-
tion of Robert Bloomfield's life tire familiar
to most readers of sensibility : tliey may

not know, perhaps, that his brother George
has long struggled with poverty, and is now
an aged man, overwhelmed by indigence.

Two letters, written to a friend by a
gentleman of Thetford, Mr. Faux, and some
manuscripts accompanying them in George
Bloom field's hand-writing, are now before
me. They contain a few particulars re
specting George Bloomfield and his present
situation, which are here made known, with
the hope of interesting the public in the
behalf of a greatly distresscKl and very
worthy man. The following extract from
oneof Mr.Faux's letters intr<xluces George
Bloomfield's circumstances, and conveys an
idea of his character : it will be seen that
he, too, is a versifier.

** Thetfordy Oct. 15, 1827

^ I have found the letter you allude to,
regarding his application to the oveneen
of St. Peter's. I was rather inclined to
send you a bundle of his letters and poetry,
but I hardly think it fair without first con-
sulting poor old George, and obtaining his
permission. The letter enclosed, in answer
to my invitation to him to be present on
the day the duke of Grafton laid the first
stone of the Pump-room, will show you
what a tAybird he is. His presence on
that occasion would have been highly
beneficial tc him ; but his extreme modesty
has been a drawback upon him through life,
leaving him generally with a coat ' scarcely
visible.* I believe he has been always poor,
and yet a more temperate man never
lived.'*

The following is the note above refier-
red to.

From George Bloomfield to Ma. Faux

<< fFedneiday, 3 o*clock.

^* I was just folding the papers to take
them to Stone, when the Master Fauxes
came in, with great good nature in their
countenances, and delivered their father**
very kind invitation. I feel truly grateful
for the kindness : but when I can, withoo*
offence, avoid being seen, I have, through
life, consulted my sheepish feelings. I have
been accused of * making myself scarce,'
and been always considered an * unsocial '
fellow : it is a task to me to go into a situa-
tion where I am likely to attract attention,
and the observation of men. In childhood
I read of an invisible coat — I ha»c some-
times worn a coat scarceiy vitibk ; but I

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wiDt a coat that would render me hwUihl€,
I hope to be excased without giving offeDcc,
as I should be very ill at ease.

** Mr. Faux would ha?e been presented
with the enclosed papers a fortnight back,
but I waited a favourable opportunity.
This week I had but little work to do.—
Lo, lo 1 here they are."

A poem by George Bloomiield, called
** The Spa," which, being of local interest,
has scarcely passed beyond provincial cir-
cles, indttceo the following public testimo-
nial to his talents and virtues.

Likes addressed to Georos Bumv-

FIELO, BY THE ReT. Mr. PlUMTRRC,

LATE Fellow of Clare Hall, Cam-

BRIDOC

Hmil. aged miBstrel I well thine harp thoifM ttruf,

Tnnefal sad pleasiof Ij of Thetford tang s

Her abbey aimnerj, and her monads of war*

Her late diMOTered. healing, bleaeed. Spa s .

And with a skilfol hand, and master's art.

Hast poorsd the tribnte of a gratefvl heme

Thj talent must not sleep. Resame thj Ijn^

Arnt bid it ia some deeper notes respirs.

Thj grsat Creator and thy Sarioar elaim

The emanations of a poet's flame.

Poets and prophets once were names entwin'd c

Ah, why was virtne e'er from totm disjoia'd?

Ah, why hare Christiaas lent a willing ear

To strains 'twas sia to siag. 'twas sia to hear f

Will Christiaas listen to a Bynm's lay?

To Bkwmfleld, rather, adauratioa pay*

His nraple Tem, with piety eajoia'd.

Mors grate/nl steal on my attentive mnd i

And if it thrills with less tomoltaoaa joy.

It is a pleasare free from all alloy.

Then, aged minstrel, strike thy lyre again,

Aad o*er the laad be heard thy pleasing straSa.

And, oh I may Britaia*s soos thy lay regard,

Aad give the aged miastrel his reward :

Not the oheap recompease of empty praise.

Nor ^ea the crown of a«ver*fiidiag bays {

Bat each as may eifeetaally assaags

The waats and cares of thy deetining aga j

And the last lay that shall thy lyre empfey,

Aaeompaay a ** heart " that nags for joy.

'The hand of the ** aged minstrel" is now
too weak to strike the lyre; nor will his
voice again be heard. Mr. James Burrell
Faux, of Thetford, Norfolk, is anxious for
immediate assistance in George Bloom-
field's behalf; and to that gentleman com-
munications and contributions should be
addressed. All that the Table Book can
do, is thus to make known the necetsitp of
the case, and to entreat pecuniaiy relief
from those who have hearts to fi^ and
ability to give.

THE TABLE BOOK.

No. XLVI^
SERIOUS FRAGMENTS

1.

Misery lays stronger boadsof lore thaa Natr^ { aai
they are more one, whom the same misfcrtaa* y^aed
together, thaa whom the same womb gave life.

H. KUi^nm.

2.

l>ytfi^ Penon,

I mysool
The warm embraees of he ■ flesh is aow»
£r*a BOW fomkiag ; th *« frail body mast
Like a lost feather fiiJl from off the wing
OfVaaity- fr.CkamUHmn.

Withia whose ererUstiqg spriags we shall

Meet with those jojs, vwsc blasted embryos were

Hers Bwde abertive— fF. ChambwUku

Crown deeHned Sy a SpirHwl permnL

I lamw BO more the way to temporal nile,

Thaa he that's bora, aad has his yean oome to hisii

Oa a loagh desart- Ifidttetoa.

5.

To a FoUtrm*
Keep atiU that kdy aad ipmiicalata fifi^
Yon chaste lamp of eternity ; 'tis a treasure
Too preeiooa for death!s jnomeat to partake^
The twiakfiag of short life.— MUdteton.

6.
The fame that a man wias himself is best i
That he ssay call his own : hoaoars pot to him
Make him no more a man thsa his dothes do^
Which are as soon ta'ea off; for ia the warmth
The heat cornea from the body, not the weadst
Bo mam's tiaa fiMM aaat ftiika frnn his eimdaedak

The SOBS of FortBBc.she has seat as ferik

To thrive by the red sweat ofaar own m«rith—

New made Honour.

' foigetfalaesa

Is the moet pleasing ylrtae they caa haTO,
Thatdo spriag np from nothiag ; for by the
Forgectav aU. tkey foi|«t whtape they cane.

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9.

(Ewmefomakeiu

B«f«U*d. dbdftis'd, rad Mt or 10^1 Vli% ]o«f, Omw

Pto|»Ur tfM,
ilad bt (kf Ultan fioir ia loigth to witnaw thU witk

▲h Venw, bot for rrrmMot nto tky Morsd ■■■%
To ftoal • wXLj maidcB't loro I ni^t aeeimnt it

ir.

HerodJeahWf to Miariamme.

RMt dm bchdd CkTsdC and eo«ld*it tlMM ttem
So rare perfoctMo ?— «v'k for loT« flf IhM
I dopcofowidly hate Ihoo

▲ad If the taloi I k«ir bo trao. and blush for to roetto,
Tboa dootmo wrcmg to loayo tbo plaina, aad dally o«t

ofsigbt.
Falio Pario I (bU iraa aoC thjyow, wboi tboa aid I

worooao.
To raago aad ebaago old loro for aow; b«t aov thooo

dajro bo goao. iVef .

10.

Epileptf.

— fo«r [Gmoi's] dioease tbo GodSi ao*or gare to mm.
Bat oaeb a oao oo bad a iplrit too fraat
For all Ua bod7*i paaragoo to aonro it|
Wyob aotoo tbo 0X0000 of TDor amb&tioa*

11.

Wo aia aot triod bot ia oar auoorjr. Ho u a eoa-
aiac ooanbaan, tbat oaa tara wall ia a aarrow rooia.

^aoa.

13
Omy hair*,

— * apoa vboM Mforoad bead
XW Ailk-wUto plodgoof wiadon owooUy oproad^^

13.

Lodiet Dandng,

^— a fiao owoot oarUujvake^ f^atlj sorod
By tbo floll wlad of wbisporiag oUk^—

14.

•— — •barpwlttodPooto; wbooo owoot vorw
llakoi beav^j Oodo broak off tboir OMtar draagbtik
Aad la J tboir oan dova to fbo lowly oartb—

15.
QnoMrei hunt.

Old aoa do aoTor traly doat. aatOI
Tb«robildroabriBfftbfl«babaoo. SIMtg,

16.
To 9faUe Miatnu,

.tbyi

'd oaoo tbo aaoMof bin tbat opako it.—

18.

Cleopatra.
Tbi waatoa <2aoca, tbat aofor loTod for Lovoy.-

19.

Coaent of a Primeem* Xom.

Twao bot b wakiaf droaai*
Wboroia tboa Buidoot thy wiflbos opoak, aot bori
la wbieb tby foolisb bopoo otriTo to pmloaff
A wvet^od boiay c oo oiokly obUdrea play
With beoltb-kiTod toys, wbieb for a tiow dolay.
Bat do BOt oaf* tbo fit.

20.

Changing eoUmr at $udim newt.

Wby bok'ot tboa n<d, aad pale, aad botb. oad aot
tbor?«

21.
/ticA Usurer to Ms Mistress.

I wiU aot 'Joy my trMsvre batia tboa.
Aad ia thy looks I'll oooat it ovory boar;
Aad thy white arms shall bo as baads to bo,
Whereia are mighty loidsbipo forfatod^—
Tboa trtomph, Leoa, richer ia thy loro.
Tbaa all the hopes of txoasars I ]
Merer was happy Leoa rich before ;
Mor over was I ooTOtous till aow.
That I oeo gold oo 'fo^d ia thy hair.

22.

PuritaM.

-^— bis faoe domvro, with baad
Oa bmot, as yon baTo ooea a caatJagpi— hw,
Aiaiiag to ohoat hb aadieao^ waatiag awttcr.
Sigh, to seem holy, tiU bo tbooght oa ooaotbiaf.

23.
Sects
Eteraity, whieh posdcs all tbo world
To aame tbo lababitaots that people it |
Etoroity, whooo aadisooror'd ooaatry
We fools divide before wo ooaae to eeo il^
Maktag oao part ooetala aU bappiaeso.
The other misofy. thoa aaoeea flgbt for it.
AU sects prcteadiag to a right of oboaei^
Tot Boae go williagly to Ufco a part. mm

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24.

Maa It a rafabood both poor aad proad.

Ho traada OB beasta who giTO hua elothea aad fcod ;

Bat th« Ooda eateh him wher«ao6'«r ha larka,

Whip hian, aad aet him to all paiafnl worka :

And yet ha braga ha ahaU ba erowa'd whea dead.

Were «?er Priaoas la a Bridawall biad i

Nothiag ia ainfullr begot bat ha :

Can baaa-born Baatarda lawM Soraraigna be ?

Cnwmt,

25.

fFUkM/or OUcwrUy.

\lvw miaerable a thiag b a Great Maa V—

Take aobj Taxing Greatacea tkejr that plaaaa ;

GiTa DM obteore and aafe and ailimt aaaa.

Aoqaaiataaoa aad eomiMroa let ma have aoaa

With aaj powarfal thiag bat Tibm alone i

My net let Time be feaifal to offead»

And ereep bj me aa by a alomben^g fnand;

Till, with eaaa flatted, to my bed I ateal,

Aa BMa to alaap after a plenteoaa maaL

Oh wretched he who, callM abroad by power*

To kaow himaelf eaa aerer fiad aa hoar I

Straaga to himaelf, bat to all othara kaofwa,

Lenda every one hit life, bnt naaa aoaa ;

So* e'er he taated life, to death he goeat

Aad himaelf loica,e*erhiaualf ha kaowa. Craiaa#.

26.

Mind coMihUed to Goodnen*

— yon may do thia, or aay thiag yoa have a mind
to ; eren ia yoar laataay there ia a aaeret oonaael, lea*
In* that all yonr aetiona. nay all yoar pleaaarae, are
ia aoma azareifa of ▼irtaa— H. KiUigrem,

27.

Returned Pilgrim,

To maa how aweet is breath 1 yet aweeteat of all
That breath, which from hb natiTa air doth fall.
How many weary paoea have I aaeasarad.
How maay known and oaknowa daagan past*
Siaee I oommeaoed my ledioaa pilgrimage.
The last great work of my death-yicildiag age!
Tat am 1 bleat, that my retaniag booea
Shall be rak't np 'm England's peaeafal earth.

^aoa.

28.

Unuy.

Matara ia all ufartor things haft eat
A pitdk or tana, whea they no moie ahall gat
Inereaaa and oflspriag. Unrepaired honsaa
Fall to decay I old cattle oeaae to breed;
Aad aaplcaa traea deay mora frait or needs
The earth woald heartleaa aad iafartUe be.
If It shovld Barer hare a jubilee^
Oaly the Usnrer'a Money 'genders atlU ;
The longer, lutier ; age thb doth not toil.

fla Irrea to eat hb Xoaay'a Moaey*a Momj
Eran to a haadrad gaaarationa raaoh.

29.

Love defined by eontrmrks.

Fit, fie, how heavy b light Lore m me i*
How alow mna awiflDaairat—thb leaden air,
Thb pooderons feather, meny aielaaaholy {
Thb Pasaba, which bnt ia pasaioa
Hath aot hb parliBCt ahapa.— /%.

30.
Good Ftdtk.

What are
Faith

we batoarivartfi/ whea they are
saaeeed, aad that shoald aver 1

81.'
creeping for good news
I kaaw yoar eye woald be first aenradi
ThatTa the aoid*a taater still for gibf or joy.

32.

Foreaken Mietreee*
I thonght the loot perlaetioB of maakiad
Waa ia that maa reatorsd ; aad I have griaTed,
Loat Edea too was not rerived for him {
And a aew Eva, more exoelleat than the first,
Created for him, that he might have all
The joya ha eonld daserra: and ha lbol*d ma
To think that Eva and Edea waa b me t
That he was made for me^ aad I lor him.

Cfsiaaf.

33.

Love eurvhing Hope.

*Tb a vdn gbry that atteada a Lover,
Never to aay ha qaita i and, whea Hope diea.
The gallantry of Love still livee, b eharm'd
With kiadaess b«tb shadow.

34.

fFarriore.
I hate theaa potent madmea, who keep all
Maakind awake, while they by their gnat deads
Axe dramming hard apaa thb hoUow world.
Only to make a aooad to last for agaa.

35.

Life.

What brt wa nva fer f tan Uftf a fiaeat tale*
To eat, to driak, to alaep, lova, aad eigoj,
Aad then la lova ao morel
To talk of thiaga we kaow aot, aad la kaow
Kothia« bat thiaga aot worth the talkiBf oL

Sir R, Feat, jtm.

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36.

42.

Brother^ iupposed dead, received by a
Sister r the ehtnos him a letter^ dUcloeing
•n unworthy action done by him / at which
he standing abashed, she then first congrth
tulates him t

—^ iM# I anet j^m ]ov«» Paidaa tta* m]r*bro-
Iker; I wu to rtj^yM at thia ywir ndiwM, baloM I
Mttld tbftr* with 700 n anotk^r jof.

JI. Kmgrem.

3T.

Person just dead*

'Tirat bat JQ«t MW ho want awaji
I kara not jat had timo to thod a taar;
And yet tha diatance doaa t&« aama appear,
Aa if ha had boen a thonaand years from me.
Tlrna takea no maaamro in eternity.

SirBobmlEcmmri.

38.

French Character*

Ths Fftach are paaataf coortly, ripe of wit ;
Kind, but extreme diaaemblers : yon ahaU haro
A Frenchman docking lower than yonr knee.
At tka inataot nioakbif oir'n yonr rwf akoo-tyea.

39*
Love muit die gentty*

I hoperl yoor great experience, and yonr yeara.
\l oold kare prored patience ratker to yonr aonl,
Tkaa to break off in thia untamed passion.
Howa*er the roagh hand of the untoward world
Hath molded yonr prooeedinga in thia matter.
Yet I am anre the firat intent waa loTe.
Then ainoe the firat spring waa ao aweat and warm,
Iiet it die gently i M'er kill it with a aoora. Anom,

40.
Poetic Diction.

— ^ woittieat poeta

8him eommon and plebeian fbmaof apeaeh*

Every illtberal and affiBCted phraae^

To ebthe thmr naatter ; and together tyo

Matter and form with art and deoeney.

41.
Author Canity.

the fediah Poet, that atiU writ

All hia moat aelMofed Terae in paper royal.

Or parvhment raled with lead, amooth*d with tho

Bound rieUfvph aad atraag with erimaon atrbga |
Kerar 80 bleat aa when he writ and read
Th» ape'Iorediaane of hia braia 1 aad mtot
Bat ioTbff ia Uaaaai; admiring c

Good teit to be husUmdtd

* aa of lions it is said, and eaglea.
That when they go, they draw their aeres aad
Close np, to shon rebating of their aharpneat:
So oar wit'a aharpneaa, which we alionld emplof
la BoUeat knowledge, we ahonld aerer waato
la Til* aad Tnlgar.admirationa.

43.

Impossibility of attaining, a bar to desire.

Notking ia more ordinary, tkan for my Lady to low
her GeaUemaa ; or ilistreaa Aaae, ker father'a man.
Bat if a conn try clown coming op hither, aad seeking
for hia lawyer in Oray's Inn, « should step into the
walks, aad there ahonld chance to spy eome master-
ahip of natare ; aome famed Beauty, that for a time
hath beea the name; he woald stand amased, pcrhapa
wiah tnat hia Joan were each, bat farther woald not be
stined. Impoeaibility would

atop more bold deairea,
Aad queaflh thooe aparka that else would turn to firea.
Edmimd PrtttwidL
44.
7%eory of men's choice in a Beauty,

L—She haa a moat eomplete aad perfect beaatj ;
nor ean the greateat critic ia thia sort find any faall
with the least proportion of her face, but yet ma-
thought I uraa ao more Uken witk it, tkan 1 ahonld be
with aome enriooa well-drawn picture.

9.— TThatla aomewhat strange.

l.~-Ia my mind, not at all ; font n aot ahraya Oat
we are gOTemed by what the general fancy of the
world calls beauty ; for each soul halh aome pi^doau-
aant thonghta, which when they light en on^t that
atrikea on tkem, there ia nothing doea BMyre ti»a««y>
And aa u moaio that pleaaeth not most, which with
the greatest art and akill ia eompoeed ; but tlioBe aira
that do reaemble and atir up aome dormaat paaaioo, to
which the mind a addicted ; so, I beliere. aerer yet
waa any one much taken witk a face, in wkiek he did
not espy ougkt that did rouse ajd pat ia motioa aomo
afllwtioa that hath ruled m hia thoughts^ besidea thoae
featnrea which, only for the aake of common opinioa.
we are forced to aa/ do pleaae. J9. Pr«sfmeft.

C.L.

GENERAL REMINISCENCES

or
THREE, THIRD, avd THRICE.

» Tkriee the brindled cat hath

Thrice to thine and thrice to mine.

And thriee agaia to make vp -'— " TftalqiMni,

The ordinal, caidhnl, or munenJ^TRHEK,
possesses stronger power of associating
application than any other figure in histoty,
or literature. From th^ firai notice of the

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Creation, JElohim is anderstood to signify
the Trinity. When the third day was
created, the sun, moon, and stars, were set
in the firmament. Christ's resurrection was
on the third day, and his crucifixion between
two thicTes. Noah's sons were Shem,
Ham, and Japheth. Job's daughters were
Keziah, Jemima, and Kerenhappuck ; his
comforters were Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zo-
phar. Time is divided into three parts.
The ancients rose at the third hour. The
Brahmins have their Birmah, Vishnu, and
Siva; the Persians their Oromaues, Mithra,
and Mithras; the Egyptians their Osiris,
Isis, and Onis ; the Arabians their Allah,
Al Uzza, and Manah ; the Phoenicians and
Tyrians their Belus, Urania, and Adonis ;
the Greeks their Jupiter, Neptune, and
Pluto. Aristotle, Plutarch, and Macrobius,
wrote on the doctrine of numbers. Clotho,
Lachesis, and Atropos, were three Fates.
The children that endured the fiery furnace
were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
Jupiter's thunderbolt had three forks;
Neptune's trident, three prongs ; Cerberus
three heads. The Pythian priestess sat on
a tripod.* There were the three Parcae ;
the three Furies; three attributes of the
sun, Sol, Apollo, and Liber ; of the moon,
Hecate, Diana, and Luna. David prayed
three times a day. The Hindoos make
three suppressions of the breath when me-
ditating on the triliteral syllable O'M. The
Sabians prayed morning, noon, and night.
Three bows of the head, and three prostra-
tions are peculiar to some nations. In
England, are king, lords, and commons.
The ancients washed their eyes three times;
drunk potions out of three cups. The
Salians oeat the ground three times in their
dance. Three times were allowed for exe-
crations, for spitting on the ground and
sneezing. Juno Lucina was invoked three
times in favour of childbirth. Three steps
were allowed to ascend the throne or tne
altar. Persons dipped ^rice into wells for
cure. Persons were touched thrice for the
king's evil. Three parts of the old world
only were known. The three professions
are law, divinity, and physic. Three chirps
of a cricket is said to be a sign of deatn.
Coleridge makes his mastiff bitch howl
three times for his Lady Christabel. The
papist crosses himself three times. The
raven's croak, or the owl's triad screech,
indicates (it is said) ill omens. Three
crows in a gutter betoken good to the be-
holder. The funeral bell is tolled thrice

• A milkiBy^tool has tkrae left. It it rauenti-
tiowlj left IB tk« field to keep witckce firom iBjnriog

for the death of a man. The third attack
of apoplexy is thought fatal. The third
finger of the left hand bears the marriage
ring. A Latin motto is tria una injuncta.
The witches in Macbeth ask, '* When shall
we three meet again ?*' There are signs of
the Three Crowns, Three Pigeons, Three
Cups, Three Tuns, Three Brewers, Three
Johns. Three Bells, and others, to an infi-
nite aegree. In the church service are
the clerk, curate, and preacher; three
priests serve at the papal shrine. In the
courts of justice are the judge, the jury, and
the culprit. In physic, the physician's
consultation is three. An arbitration is
three. A dual public-house sign is, with
the gazer added quaintly, *' We three
loggerheads be.'' The three warnings
are celebrated. The Jews boasted of Abra-
ham, Isaac, and Jacob. The United King-
dom is England, (Wales included,) Ireland,
and Scotland. Who has not read of Three-
fingered Jack? of Octavius, Lepidus, and
Anthony ? A nest of chests is three. ITie
British toast is echoed by hip 1 hip ! huz-
zah I Three signals decided the fate of
Lucius Junius. In the third year of Cyrus
.the name of Belteshazzar was revealed to
Daniel : his prophecy was, that '' three
kings should stand up in Persia;" and
Daniel mourned three weeks by reason of
his vision. The beast that he saw, had
three ribs in the mouth of it. The house-
holder went about the third hour, and saw
others standing idle in the market-place.
Daniel's petfition was made three times. In
the Revelations, the third part of the crea-
tures which were in the sea and had life,
died. Faith, Hope, and Charity, are three
virtues. The priests' abodes in Eziekel
were three chambeis. In the prophecy it
says, *' A third pafrt of the hair shall be
burnt ; a third part fall by the sword ; a
third part scattered by the wind." Demos-
thenes says, " Three years after, he met
with the same fate as iEschines, and was
^so banished from Athens." History unites
an Aristides, a Cimon, and a Phocion.
Peter's denial was given by the cock crow-
ing thrice. Homer, in his Frogs and Mice^
says,

** Three wmrBke eort aidoned my mptial bed.
Three ions, alas I before their father, dead."

Pope Alexander III., 1182, compelled the
kings of England and France to hold the
stirrups of his saddle when he mounted
his horse. King Richard III. put an
end to the civil wars between the houses
of York and Lancaster, 1483. Peter III.
was deposed Ifg^. Virgil, 56^, lib. tUl

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says, Nascent! cni tret animas Feronia
mater-— ^er letho stemendus erat: and
again, fret uloas— fri6tw nodis. Milton's
three fierce spirits were Ariel, Ariocb, and
RaniieL Lord Nelson's ship, the Victory,
attacked the Trinidad.* Fairs are usually
chartered for three days. Persons used to
walk three times round Horn church. The
pawnbroker has three balls. A hearth has
a poker, tongs, and shovel.f The sentinel
asks — " Who comes there?" thrice, before
he dares level his firelock at the intruder.
Three candles in a room are said to indi-
cate death in the family. The bashaw wears
three tails. The passion fiower has three
spires.

Thus, it will be readily seen, how inti-
mately the number three has been, and is,
connected with events and circumstances,
hypothetical and absolute. Were the sub-
ject worth tracing further, scarcely a poetic
or prose writer, but is liberal in the use of
this number. Considering, however, that
the adductions already given are such as to
latisfy the most fastidious disciples of the
square root, need I perform a triple evolu-
tion in this threefold science of pure and
mixed numbers ? I conclude by apologis-
ing for not having treated the subject like
a lexicographer, in technical and alphabeti-
cal routine. J. tt. P.

December, 1827.

For the Table Book.
DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM.

ISXtvrtvrm (y«f) fifu^ » tug «» m^n^tn-m

Lao. Ev. e. xzL ▼. C

Baric t afftia to the ontat— tbo portala fapa wid^«
▲ad the warriors stream forth ia the rash of their

pride.
The eold recUsss eye of the Roniaa glows red,
At the souad of their deithlike aad trampetless tread t
iTor he kaows that the workiags of freasj are there.
The triamph of death aad the might of despair,
tfeart^-that wildly live oa bat to rkrt ia paia— >
lipe—that laogh, as ia soon, at the liaks of the ehaia—
Aad fall maaj a plane shall yoa eagle let hOl,
Sre she wiag her fierce flight o*er the rift of the wall ;
Ere she soar oa the dark dead of eoaqaest aod rest;
Oa the fock of that temple, the streagth of her hesL

• The Trm Horat are esplaiaed ia the Svery^Dagf

t For the aseof wVioh threepeaae, hcarth-moaej,
wa» ibrmerlr paid.

Tbjr foes ars aranad thce^ fiur eltj Off peaeet-
Tbjr seas are fast siakiag, the wieked faseresee
Yet pnmdir, eT*B bow, thy high-plaee doet thoa hoU,
Girt roaad with the pomp of their tUtl aad their geld
Aad a pearl of rich priee, ea thiae hill-top art thos.
Meet to jewel the erowa of a eoaqacrei^ high brow.
Yet deem aot thjr soas to that haaghtj array.
Will fling thee aaheedcd, anbled for awaj.
ShaU Um proad heathsa tiead when thy praphiM

hare trod?
Shall the namea exalt ia the « Holy of Ood r
No— the hearts of thy ehiUrta are oae,— to hailliaek
The merciless wrath of the QeatilBirattaek.
For the home of their fisthers towen yet ia their sys^
As they lived will e/Uy livsb as they died win tAqr dii^

Bat weak is thiae aroKmr, aad wortUeas tky migkC
A fiereer thaa maa strives agaiast thee ia i^U
And ia raia shall thd ehiefli of thy battle withstsal
The Toioe of his thoader, the bolt ia hia head i
HU wrath kaows ao refage, his might kaows ao hsr.
The stoat spear he rendeth, and bans the swift esr.
Thoa Shalt eramble to aooght ia the da/ of hb wrstli.
Like the reed trampled down ia the whiilwiad's viU
path.

Weep, daoghter of Jodah I Chat tampctt hath eoM.
And It laagheth to soon the mild veageaaee of Beo^
Weep, daughter of Jodah I a Teageaaee eo dread
Is barsting e'en now o'er thy desolate head.
That the ston Romaa eyes it with doabC aad with

fear,
O'er the cheek of the oonqaeror then steals a soft tesr
Aye I the heathea for thee feels a paag of wgrst
»Oae blaae aad thy tea shall for over be aet{

One shoit fliekeriag blaae;»aad thea passeth sway
Thegh>ry of yean ia the work of a day t
The foir erowa of Jaedb lies tiod ia the dost,
Aad shipwreek'd is bow the strong hold of his trost i
Tbo* the foxes have holes, aad the fowls ban a amt.
Yet the • seed of the Promised * finds aowhen le

nst;
Aad despised shall he live oa, la darimses aad aight,
TiU a Salem ison blessed skaU gladdea his sight ;
The coarts of whose honss^ ia their meaeareless girth.
Shall compass the tribes aad the thoosaads of earth ;
When Boae, san m triamph, their voioes shall raise,
Aad BO tnmp shall peal forth save the tiwapct «i

praise.
In a nalm far above, o*er that red eagle's aeet.
MThen the prond eease fom wroag, and the poor ue

at rsst.

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THE TABLE BOOK.
APOSTLE SPOONSL PATIENT COURTSHrP,

To the Editor,

Dear Sir,^In Roger North's Life of hii
orother, Sir Dudley North, (4to. London,
1744y) occurs the following passage, which,
in connection with the account you gave
your readers {Every-Day Book^ vol. i. p.
1 76,) of ** Apostle Spoons/' may be accept-
able to you.

Mr. North, after some opposition, was
elected sheriff of London ; ana after stating
this, his biographer thus proceeds : ** When
all the forms of this snrieval instalment
were over, Mr. North received the honour
of knighthood • . • and, as the custom
of feasting, lately laid aside, was now re-
sumed, Mr. North took a great hall, that
belonged to one of the companies, and kept
hb entertainments there. He had diverse
very considerable presents from friends
and relations, besides the compliments
of the several companies mviting them-
selves and wives to dinner, dropping their
gnineifef mid tMng apostUs* epoons in the
room of them ; which, with what they ate
and drank« and such as came m the shape
of wivea, (for they often grafified a she-
friend or relation with that preferment,)
carried away, made but an indifferent bar-
gain. The ididdle Templars, (because of
his relation to the lord chief justice North,
who was of that Society,) came with a com-
pliment, and a purse of one hundred ^i-
neys, and were entertained. The* mirth
and rejoicing that was in the city, as well
at these feastf v »• ..invate entertainments,
is scarce to be expressed.'*

In perusing this quaintly written volume,
there occur two or three passages, which
deserve to be ranked as aphorisms. For
your own reading I here add them :—

** Better a loss at sea than a bad debt oo
land. The former has no worse conse-
quence than itself; but the other draws
.OSS of time and pains, which might be em*
ployed to more profit.''

** Whoever serves a community, and
does not secure his reward, will meet with
quarrels instead of thanks, for all the good
he may have done it."

Sir Dudley was wont to remark, ** Loff
nothing to heart which you camnot help^**
A most useful principle of life.

I am,&c«

Whitehaven,

J.G.

For the rule Book.

I knew a man that went courting hb
sweetheart the dbtance of three miles every
ereninfT for fourteen years, besides dodging
her home after church, Sunday afternoons ;
making above 15,000 miles. For the first
seven years he only stood and courted in
the door-porch; but for the remaining
period, he ventured (what a liberty after a
septennial attachment 1) to hang hb hat on
a pin in the passage and sit in the kitchen
settle. The weddings a consummation
devoutly to be wbhed — was solemnized
when Robert and Hannah were in their
** sear and yellow leaf." They had no
family ** to cry their fading charms into
the grave." Though their courtship had
been long, cool, and deliberate, they were
not the happiest couple in the village ; to
that union of temper, which is so essential
in wedded life, they were strangers.

« • p

OLD AND FAITHFUL SERVANTS.

' la their daatk tkey were sot dirided."

To the Editor

Sir,— The following memorial I copied
from a tablet, on the right hand side of^ the
clergyman's desk, in the beautiful little
church at Hornsey. The scarceness of
similar inscriptions make thb valuable.

& T. L.

^ Erected to the memory of Mart
Parsons, the diligent, faithful, and
affectionate servant, in a family during
a period of 57 years. She died on
the 22d day of November, 1806,
aged 85.

** Also to the memory of Elizabeth
Decker, the friend and companion of
the above; who, after an exemplaiy
service of 47 years in the same family,
died on the 2d of February, 1809>
aged 75.

** Their rbmaivs, by their mutuat r^

quest, "WZRIL IVrKBRSD IS THE AAUl
ORAVB.''

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OF TBB

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

No. XXXVI.

Merely a cursory mention of all the im-
portant discoveries in geometry, mathe-
maticsy and philosophy, for ^rhich we are
indebted to the ancients, would form a
large book ; yet a few of these particulars
will be adverted to by way of concluding
the series of articles under the present
title.

AmCIEMT PHILOtOPHEBS.

Thale9 was the first we know of who
predicted eclipses. He pointed out the ad«
vantages that must arise from a due obser*
vation of the little bear or polar star ; and
taught that the earth was round, and the
ecliptic in an oblique position.

Pytheai also, by accurate observations at
Marseilles, more than 300 years before
Christ, determined the obliquity of the
ecliptic, by means of the solstitial shadow of
the sun upon a dial. He found the height
of the gnomon was to the length of the
shadow as 600 to 213 1 ; whence he con-
cluded, that the obliquity of the ecliptic was
23^ 49^ When Gassendi was at Marseilles
with the celebrated Peiresc, he reiterated
the experiment, and found it very just.

Tholes went to the Egyptians to be in-
structed in geometry, and himself instructed
them in that science. He showed them
how to measure the pyramids by the length
of their shades, and to determine the mea-
sure of inaccessible heights and distances,
by the proportion of the sides of a triangle.
He demonstrated the various properties of
the circle; he discovered, respecting the
isosceles triangle, that the angles at its base
were equal ; and he was the first who found,
that in right lines cutting one another, the
opposite angles are equal.

jinasimander, the successor of Thales,
was the inventor of the armillary sphere,
and of sun-horoloffes, or dials; he was
likewise the first who drew a geographical
map.

Pythagoras was the first who gave sure
and fundamental precepts in music. Struck
by the difference of sounds which issued
from the hammers of a forge, but came into
unison at the fourth, and fifth, and eighth
percussions, he conjectured that this must
n^ooeed from the difference of weight in

the hammers; he weighed them, and fbuna
he had conjectured right. Upon this he
wound up some musical strings, in number
equal to the hammers, and of a length pro-
portioned to their weight ; and 'found, that
at the same intervals, they corresponded
with the hammers in sound. Upon this
principle he devised the moiiodK>id; an
mstrument of one string, capable of deter-
mining the TarioQS relations of sound. He
also made asany fU^s discoveries in geo-
metry.

Plato by his studies in mathematics was
enabled to devise the analytic method, or
that geometric analysis, which enables us to
find the truth we are in quest of, out of the
proposition itself whieh we want to tesoWe.
He It was who at length solved the fiuaous
problem, respecting the duplication of the
cube. To him also is ascribed the solution
of the problem concerning the trisection of
an angle; and the discovery of conic
sections.

Hipparehus discovered the elements of
plane and spherical trigonometry.

DiopkanteSf who lived 360 years before
Jesus Christ, was the inventor of algebra.
It was from this science that the ancients
drew those long and difficult demonstra-
tions which we meet with in their works.
They are presumed to have aimed at con-
cealing a method which furnished them with
so many beautiful and difficult demonstra-
tions ; and to have preferred the proving of
their propositions by reasonings adaUurdum,
rather than hasard the disclosure of the
means by which they arrived more directlv
at the result of what they demonstratecl.
We meet with strong traces of algebra in
the 1 3th book of Euclid. From the time oi
Diophantes, algebra made but small pro-
gress, till that of Vietus, who restored and
perfected it, and was the first who marked
the known quantities by the letters of the
alphabet. Descartes afterwards applied
it to geometry.

jiristarehus was the first who suggested
a method of measuring the distance of the
sun from the earth, by means of the halt
section of the moon's disk, or tliat j^hasts c I
it wherein it appears to us when it is in itb
quadratures.

Hipparchus was the first who calculatec
tables of the nM>tion of the sun and moon,
and composed a catalogue of the fixed stars
He was also the first who, from the obsei-
vation of eclipses, determined the longi-
tude of places upon earth : but his highest
honour is, that he laid the first foundations
for the discovery of the precession of tl.«
equinoxes.

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THE TABLE BOOK.

jirdkiwtedew discovered the square lyf the
parabola, the properties of spiral tines, the
proportion of the sphere to the cylinder,
and the true principles of staticTi and hy-
drostatics, ms sagacity is evident from
the means he adopted to discover the quan-
tity of silver that was mixed along with the
gold, in the crown of king Hieron. He
reasoned upon the principle, that all bodies
im merged in water lose just so much of
their weight, as a quantity of water equal
to them in bulk weighs. Hence he drew
this consequence, that gold being more
compact must lose less of its weight, and
silver more j and that a mingled mass of
both, must lose in proportion to the quan-
tities mingled. Weighing therefore the
crown in water and in air, and two masses,
the one of gold, the other of silver, equal in
weight to the crown ; he thence determined
what each lost of their weight, and so solved
the problem. He likewise invented a oei^
petual screw^ valuable on account or iU
being capable to overcome any resistance ;
and the screw that still goes by his own
name, used in the elevating of water. He
alone defended the city of Syracuse, by op-
posing to the efforts of the Romans the
resources of his genius. By means of ma-
chines, of his own construction, he rendered
Syracuse inaccessible. Sometimes he hurled
upon the land forces stones of such enor-
mous size, as crushed whole phalanxes ol
them at once. When they retired from the
walls, he overwhelmed them with arrows
Innumerable, and beams of a prodigious
weight, discharged from catapults and ba-
lists. If their vessels approached the fort,
he seized them by the prows with granples
of iron, which he let down upon them'from
the wall, and rearing them up in the air, to
rhe great astonishment of every body,
shook them with such violence, as either to
hreak them in pieces, or sink them to the
bottom. When they kept at a distance from
the haven, he focalized nre from heaven, and
wrapped them in sudden and inevitable con-
Masration. He once said to king Hieron,
'* uive me but a place to stand upon, and
J will move the earth.'' The king was
amazed by the declaration, and Archimedes
^ave him a specimen of his power by
launching singly by himself a ship of a
prodigious size. He built for the kmg an
immense galley, of twenty banks of oars,
containing spacious apartments, gardens,
naJks, ponds, and eveiy convenience re-
laired by regal dignity. He constructed a
4f nere, representing, the motions of the
stars, which Cicero esteemed one of the
inventions which did Uie highest honour to

human gemus. He perfected the manner
of augmenting the mechanic powers, by the
multiplication of wheels ana pullies; and
carried mechanics so hr, that hit wo^
surpass imagination.

Mecdavics.

The immense machines, of astonishing
ibnse, which the ancients adapted to the pur*
poses of war, prove their amazing proA-
ciency in mechanics. It is difficult to
conceive how they reared their bulky
moving towers : some of them were a hun-
dred and fifty-two feet in height, and sixty
in compass, ascending by many stories.
Having at bottom a battering ram, of strength
suificient to beat down walto ; in the middle,
a drawbridge, to be let down upon the
wall of the city attacked, afforded easy
passage into the town for the assailants;
and at top a body of men, placed above
the besieged, harassed them without risk
to themselves. An engineer at Alexan-
dria, defending that city against the army
of Julius CsBsar, by means of wheels,
pumps, and other machinery, drew from
the sea prodigious quantities of water, and
discharged it upon the adverse army to
their extreme discomfiture.

The mechanical enterprise and skill of the
ancients are evidenced oy their vast pynu
mids existing in Egypt, and the magnifi-
cent ruins of the cities of Palmyra and
Balbec. Italy is filled with monuments of
the greatness of ancient Rome.

Ahcxevt Cities.

The finest cities of Europe convey no
idea of the grandeur of ancient Babylon,
which being fifteen leagues in circumfer-
ence, was encompassed with walls two
hundred feet in height, and Aftv in breadth,
whose sides were adorned with f^ardens of
a prodigious extent, which arose m terraces
one above another, to the very summit o«
the walls. For the watering of these gar-
dens there were machines, which raised the
water of the Euphrates to the highest of
the terraces. The tower of Belus, arising
out of the middle of the temple, was of so
vast a height, that some authors have not
ventured to assign iU altitude; others put
it it a thousand paces.

Eebatane, the capital of Media, was eight
leagues in circumrerence, and sunounded
with seven walls in form of an amphi
theatre, the battlements of which were ol
various colours, white, black, scariet, blue,
and orange ; all of them covered with aihuf
or with gold.

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Peraepolis was a city, which all histo-
rians speak of as one of the most ancient
and noble of Asia. There remain the
ruins of one of iu paiaees, which measured
six hundred paces m front, and still displays
relics of its rormer grandeur.

Thi Lake Maais i^Ho thi Pyramids.

The lake Maris was a hundred and fifty
eagues in circuit, and entirely the work of
one Egyptian king, who caused that im-
mense compass of ground to be hollowed,
to receive the waters of the Nile, when it
overflowed its usual level, and to serve as
a reservoir for watering Egypt by means of
canals, when the river was not of sufficient
height to overflow and fertilize the country.
From the midst of this lake arose two py-
ramids, of six hundred feet in height.

The other pyramids of Egypt, in bulk
and solidity so far surpass whatever we
know of edifices, that we should be ready
to doubt their having existed, did they not
still subsist. One of the sides of the base
tff the highest pyramid measures six hun-
dred and sixty feet. The free-stones which
compose it are each of them thiity feet
long. The modems are at a loss to imagine
by what means such huge and heavy
masses were raised to a height of above
lour hundred feet.

The Colossus of Rhodes.
This was another marvellous production
of the ancients. Its fingers were as large as
statues; few were able with outstretched
arms to encompass the thumb. Ships
passed between its legs.

Stupehdous Statues.

Semiramis caused the mountain Bagistan,
between Babylon and Media, to be cut out
into a statue of herself, which was seventeen
stadia high, that is, above half a French
league; and around it were a hundred
other statues, of proportionable size, though
less large.

It was proposed to Alexander the Great,
to make a statue of him out of mount
Athos, which would have been a hundred
and fifty miles in circumference, and ten
miles in height. The design was to make
him bold in his left hand a city, large
enough to contain ten thousand inhabit-
ants ; and in the other an urn, out of which
should flow a river into the sea.

Baidoes^Glazed Wihdows.
In the structures of the ancients, the
hardness of their cement equals that of

marble itself. The finuness of their higb^
ways has never been equalled. Some wert
paved with large blocks of black marble.
Their bridges, some of which still remain^
are indubitable monuments of the greatness
of their conceptions. The Roman bridge
at Card, near Nismes, is one of them. It
serves at once as a bridge and an aqueduct,
goes across the river Gardon, and connects
two mountains, between which it is en-
closed. It comprehends three stories ; the
third is the aqueduct, which conveys the
waters of the Eure into a great reservoir, to
supply the amphitheatre and city of Nismes.
Trajan's bridge over the EHmube had
twenty piers of free-stone, some of which j
are still standing, a hundred and fifty feet '
high, sixty in circumference, and distant
one from another a hundred and seventy.

Among the ornaments and conTeniencei
of ancient buildings was glass. They de-
corated their rooms with glasses, as mir-
rors. They also glazed their windows, so
as to enjoy the benefit of light, without be-
ing injured by the air. This they did very
early ; but before they discovered that man-
ner of applying glass, the rich made use of
transparent stones in their windbws, such
as agate, alabaster, phengites, talc, Sec.

Curious Mechahism.

The works of the ancients in miniature
were excellent. Archy tas, who was contem-
porary with Plato, constructed i^ wooden pi-
geon, which imiuted the flight and motions
of a living one. Cicero saw the whole of
Homer's Iliad written in so fine a character
that it could be contained in a nutshell.*
Myrmecides, a Milesian, made an ivory
chariot, so small and so delicately framed,
that a fly with its wing could at the same
time cover it ; and a little ivory ship of the
same dimensions. Callicrates, a Laoede-
monian, formed ants and other little ani-
mals out of ivory, so extremely small, that
their component parts were scarcely to be
distinguisned. One of these artists wrote
a distich in golden letters, which he en-
closed in the rind of a grain of com*

Microscopes, &c.

Whether, in snch undertakings ts oa»
best artists cannot accomplish without
the assistance of microscopes, the ancients
were so aided, is doubtful, but it is certain
that they had several ways of helping and
strengthening the sight, and of magnifying

• In tb« Bvery-Dasf Book llien is an aeeonnt of the
B6U1S bj which this p«rf»nnnnM caa be affwtnd*

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9maU objects. Jainblichus says of Pytha-
l^oras, that he applied himself to find out
instraments as efficacious to aid the hear-
ing, as a ruler, or a square, or even optic
glasses, U^r^ were to the sight. Flu-
tarch speaks of mathematical instruments
which Archimedes made use of, to mani*
fest to the eye the largeness of the sun;
which may be meant of telescopes. Aulus
Gellius having spoken of mirrors that mul-
tiplied objects, makes mention of those
j Which inverted them; and these of course
must be concave or convex glasses. Pliny
' says that in his time artificers made use of
I emeralds to assist their sight, in works that
! required a nice eye ; and to prevent us
I from Uiinking that it was on account of its
! green colour only that they bad recourse to
i It, be adds, that they were made concave
the better to collect the visual rays ; and
that Nero used them in viewing the combats
of the gladiators.

ScuLPTuac

Admirable monuments remam to us of
the perfection to which the ancients carried
the arts of sculpture and design. The
Niob^ and the Laocoon, the Venus de Me-
dicis, the Hercules stifling Antaeus, that
other Hercules who rests upon his club, the
dying gladiator, and that other in the vine-
yard ofBorghese, the Apollo Belvedere, the
maimed Hercules, and the Equeny in the
action of breaking a horse on mount Qui-
rinal, loudly proclaim the superiority of the
ancients in tnose arts. These excellences
are to be observed upon their medals, their
engrayed precious stones, and their cameoi.

Faihtiho.

Of ancient painting the reliques are so
few and so much injured by time, that to
form a proper judgment of it, is at first dif-
ficult. Yet if due attention be paid to pic-
tures discovered at Rome, ana latterly in
the ruins of Herculaneum, the applause
which the painters of antiquity received
from their contemporaries may seem to have
been merited. Among the ancient paint*
ings in fresco, still at ^me, are a reclining
Venus at full length, in the palace of Bar-
barini ; the Aldovrandine nuptials ; a Co-
riolanus, in one of the cells of Titus*s baths ;
and seven other pieces, in the gallery of
the college of St. Ignatius ; taken out of
a vault at the foot of mount Palatine;
among which are a satyr drinking out of
a horn, and a landscape with figures, both
of the utmost beauty. There are also a

sacrificial piece, consisting of three figures,
in the Albani collection ; and an (Edipus,
and a sphynx, in the villa Altieri ; which
all formerly belonged to the tomb of Ovid.
From these specimens an advantageous
judgment may be formed of the ability of
the masters who executed them. Others,
discovered at Herculaneum, disclose a hap-
piness of design and boldness of expres-
sion, that could only have been achieved
by accomplished artists. Theseus van-
quishing the rainotaur, the birth of Tele-
phus, Ghiron and Achilles, and Pan and
Olympe, have innumerable excellencies.
There were found also, among the ruins of
that city, four capital pictures, wherein
beauty of design seems to vie with the
most skilful management of the pencil.
They appear of an earlier date than those
spoken of, which belong to the first cen-
tury ; a period when painting, as Pliny in-
forms us, was in its decline.

Mosaic.

Of thb work, which the Romans made
use of in paving their apartments, a beauti-
ful specimen, described by Pliny, was found
in the ruins of Adrian's villa at Tivoli. It
represents a basin of water, with four

Si Simeons around its brim ; one of them is
rinking, and in that attitude its shadow
appears in the water. Pliny says, that on
the same pavement the breaking up of an
entertainment was so naturally represented,
that you would have thought you really
saw the scattered fragments of the feast.

Music.

The ancients have the whole merit of
baviuj; laid down the first exact principles
of music ; and the writings of the Pytha-
goreans, of Aristoxenes, Euclid, Aristides,
Nichomachos, Plutarch, and many others,
even such of them as still remain, contain
in them every known theory of the science.
They, as well as we, had the art of noting
their tunes, which they performed by means
of letters either contracted, or reversed,
placed upon a line parallel to the words,
and serving for the direction, the one of the
voice, the other of the instrument. The
scale itself, of which Guy Aretin is the
supposed inventor, is no other than the
ancient one of the Greeks a little enlarged,
and what Guy may have taken from a Greek
manuscript, written above eight hundred
years ajB^o, which Rircher says he saw
at Messina in the library of the Jesuists,
wherein he found the hymns noted oft as

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in the manner of Aretin. The ancient lyre
was certainly \ very harmonious instru-
menty and wa; to constructed, and so full
of variety in Plato's time, that he regarded
it as aangerous, and too apt to relax the
mind. In Anacreon's time, it had already
obtained forty strings. Ptolemy and Por-
phyry describe instruments resembling the
lute and theorb, having a handle with keys
belonging to it, and the strings extended
from the handle oter a concave body of
wood. There is to be seen at Rome an
ancient statue of Orpheus, with a musical
bow in his right hand, and a kind of violin
in his left. In the commentaries of Phi-
lostrates by Vigenere, is a medal of Nero
with a violin upon it. The flute was car>
ried to so high a degree of perfection by
the ancients, that there were various kinds
ot them, and so different in sound, as to be
wonderfully adapted to express all manner
uf subjects.

Tertullian mentions an organ invented
by Aichimedes. <<Beliold;' says TertuU
lian, ** that astonishing and admirable
hydraulic organ of Archimedes, composed
of such a number of pieces, consisting each
; of so many different parts, connected toge-
ther by such a quantity of joints, and con-
taining such a variety of pipes for the
imitation of voices, conveyed m such a mul-
titude of sounds, modulated into such a
diversity of tones, breathed from so im-
mense a combination of flutes ; and yet all
taken together, constitute but one single
instrument.**

That the ancients knew and practised
harmony is evident from Plato, Macrobius,
and other early writers. Aristotle, speak-
ing of the revolutions of the several planets,
as perfectly harmonizing with one ano-
ther, they being all of them conducted by
the same principle, draws a comparison
from music to illustrate his sentiments.
'* Just as in a chorus," says he, ** of men
and women, where all the variety of voices,
through all the different tones, from the
bass to the higher notes, being under the
guidance and direction of a musician, per-
fectly correspond with one another, and
form a Aill harmony.** Aurelius Cassiodo-
rus defines symphony to be '* the art of so
adjusting the base to the higher notes, and
them to it, through all the voices and
instruments, whether they be wind or
stringed instruments, that thence an agree-
able harmony may result.'' liorace speaks
expressly of the bass and higher tones, and
the harmony resulting 'from their concur*
rence. It is true, however, that the ancients
did not much use harmony in concert.

One fine voice alone, accompanied witft
one instrument, regulated entirely by it |
pleased them better than mere musio widi-
out voices, and made a more lively impies*
sion on their feeling minds; and this is
what even we ourselves every day expe-
rience.

The effects ascribed to the music of ^
ancients are surprising. Plutarch reports
of Antigenidas, that by playing on the
finite, he so roused the spirit of Alexander,
that he started from the table, and flew to
his arms. Timotheus when touchinr bis
lyre so inflamed him with rage, that draw-
ing his sabre he suddenly slew one of his
guests; which Timotheus no sooner per-
ceived, than altering the air from the Phry-
gian to a softer measure, he calmed his
passions, and infused into him the tenderest
feelings of grief and compunction for what
be had done. Jamblichus relates like ex-
traordinary effeots of the lyres of Pythagoras
and Empedocles. Plutarch informs us of
a sedition quelled at Lacedemon by the
lyre of Terpander; and Boetius tells of
rioters having been dispersed by the mosi-
cian Damon.

. The delicacy of the ancient airs much
surpassed ours ; and it is in this respect,

f>rincipally, that we may be said to have
ost their music. Of their three kinds of
music, the diatonic, chromatic, and the
enharmonic, there exists now only the first, I
which teaches the dividing the not« into
semi-notes: whereas the chromatic divided
each note into three, and the enharmonic
into four parts. The difficulty there was to
find voices and hands proper to execute the
chromatic kind, brought it first into neg-
lect, and then into oblivion^ and for the
same reason the enharmonic, which was
still more difficult, has not come down to
us. All which now remains of the ancient
music, is that which knows of no other
refinement than the demi-note, instead oi
those finer kinds, which carried on the
division of a note into threes and fours.
The variety of manner in which the ancient
music was performed, placed it in a rank
of dignity superior to eurs. Our modes
are but ef two kinds, the flat and sharp;
whereas the ancients modified theirs into
five, the principal of which were the Ionic,
the Lydian, the Phrygian, the Doric, and
the MoYic ; each adapted to express and
excite different passions : and by that
means, especially, to produce such effects
as 'have been just noticed, and which are
incontestable from the authentic marner in
which they have been recorded.

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NoTS — Here, if it were not necessary
to close this series of papers, they would
be extended somewhat further for the
purpose of relating the long-reaching views
of ttie ancients on other topics ; but no-
thing can conveniently be added save a
passage from the author whose volume has
supplied the preceding materials. ** Hav*
ing received from our ancestors the product
of all liieir meditations and researcnes, we
ought daily to add what we can to it, and
by that means contribute all in our power
to the increase and perfection of know*
ledge."

^neca, speaking eighteen centuries ago,
of '* the inventions of the wbe,^ claims
them as an inheritance. — To me,** he
says, ** they have been transmitted; for
me they have been found out. But let us
in this case act hke good managers, let us
improve what we have received ; and con-
vey this heritage to our descendants in
better condition than it came to us. Muoh
remains for us to do, much will remain for
those who come after us. A thousand
years hence, there will still be occasion,
and still opportunity to add something to
the common stock. But had even every
thing been found out by the ancients, there
would still this remain to be done anew-^o
put their inventions into use, and make
their knowledge ours.*'

MANNERS IN THE SEVENTEENTH
CENTURY.

To the Editor,

Sir, — ^If the following extracts should suit
the Table Book, they are at your service.
Morhtff November f 1827. J. S

1637. llie bishofi of Chester, writing
to the archbishop of York, touching the
entertainment given by the Chester men to
Mr. Prynne, when on his road to Caernar-
von castle, has occasion to mention the re-
ception given to Prynne by the wife of
Thomas Aldersey, the alderman, relates,
''That, on her examination, she swears
thait Peter and Robert Ince brought Prynne
home to her house, where she was sitting
with other gossips, and neither expected nor
invited Pryiine ; neither did eke tend for «
drop of wine for him, or bestowed any
other gif^upon him, but the ofier of a taste
of a pint ofteinef which eke and her gosiipe
were then a drinking."

New Discovery of the Prelaie*e Ttmnuif^
p. 224.

1 637. There came in my tyme to the
coHege, Oxford, one Nathaniel Conopios,
out of Greece ; he was the first I ever saw
drink eoffeCy which custom came not into
England till thirty years after,

1640. Found my father at Bathe extnu
ordinary weake ; I returned home with him
in his litter,

1662. Having been robbed l)y two cut-
throats near Bromley, I rode on to London,
and got 500 tickets printed.

The robber refusing to plead, yt^a pressed
to death,

1654. May. Spring Garden iiWnoythsA
been the usual rendezvous for the ladys and
gallants at this season. 1 now observed how
3ie womeu began to paint themselves, for-
merly a most igpominiotts thing, and only
used by prostitutes.

Mve^

1600. Jan. 16. I staid up till the Mi-
man came by with his bell just under my
window, and cried " Past one of the dock,
and a cold frosty window morning."

When friends parted, they said, *' Godke
with you."

My dining-room was finished with greeu
serge hanging and gilt leather.

Jan. 2. 1 had been early this morning
to Whitehall, at the Jewel office, to choose
a piece of gilt plate for my lord, in return
of his offering to the king, (which it seems
is usual at this time of vear, and an earl
rives 20 pieces in gold m a purse to the
king,) I choose a gilt tankard, weighing 31
ounces and a half, and he is allowed 30
ounces, so I paid 12«. for the ounce and half
over what he is to have : but strange it was
for me to see what a company o/small fees
I was called upon by a great many to pay
there, which I perceive is the manner that
courtiers do get their estates,

September. I did send for a cup of tea
(a China drink,) of which I had never drank
before.

November, To sir W. Batten's to din-
ner, he having a couple of servants murried
to-day ; and so there was a great number
of merchants and others of go^ quality, on
purpose after dinner to make an offering,
which, when dinner was done, we did ;
and I gave tOs. and no more, though most
of them did give more, and did believe that
I did also.

1661. Feb. Sir W. Batten sent my wii^
half a dozen pair of gloves and a pair of
silk stockings and garters for her vaientitm

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May. We went to Mrs. Browne*8,
where sir W. Pen and I were godbthers,
and Mrs. Jordan and Shipman* godmo-
thers. And there before and after the
rhtigteidng we were with the woman above
in her chamber. I did give the midwife
lOt. and the nurse 5t. and the maid 2«.
But forasmuch I eipected to give the name
to the child but did not, I forbore then to
give my plate, which I had in mj pocket,
namely, six spoons and a porringer of
silver.

July. A messenger brought me word
that my uncle was dead. I rode over and
found my unc1e*s corps in a coffin, stand-
ing upon joynt-stools in the chimney in the
hall, but it began to smell, and so I caused
it to be set forth in the yard all night, and
watched by my aunt. In the morning my
finther and I read the wiU ; after that done
we went about getting things, as ribands
and gloves, ready for the burial, which in
the afternoon was done; we served the
people with wine and other things.

November. To church, and heard a sim-
ple fellow upon the praise of church mu-
sique, and exclaiming agtunet metCe wear-
tng their hate on in church.

Civet cats, parrots, and apes, sent as
meeente to ladiei; and gentlemen lighted
nome by link-hoye, Pejpye,

The fiiire and famous comedian, Roxa-
lana, was taken to be the earle of Oxford's
mieeCf as at thb time they began to call
lewd women.

Dined at Chaffinch's hotme warming,
Mvelyn,

1663. October. To GuiUhaU; we went
ftp and down to see the tables. By and
by the lord mayor came into the hall to
dinner^ with the other great lords, bishops,
tec. I set near Creed. We had plenty of
good wine, but it was very unpieasing that
we had no napkins, or knives, nor change
of trenchers, and drunk out of earthern
pitchers and wooden dishes.

1664. Home to bed, having got'a strange
cold in my head, hy flinging off my hat ai
tHnner,

To my lord chancellor's (sir Orlando
Bridgman, lord keeper,) in the garden,
where we conversed above an hour, walk-
ing up and down, and he would have me
walk with my hat on,

1665. At this time I have two tierces
oiclarety two quarter casks of canary, and a
smaller vessel of iaeh i a vessel of ton/,
another of Malaga, and another of white
wine, all in my own cellar.

1666. February. TTifs morning came
up to my wife's bedside little Will Mercer
to be her valentine ; and brought her name
writ upon blue paper in gold letters, done
by himself very prettily. But I am also
this year my wife's valentine, and it will
cost me 5/. I find that Mrs. Pierce's little
fftrl is my valentine, she having drawn me.
But here I do first observe the fashion (tf
drawing of mottoe, as well as names : my
wife's motto was ** Most courteous, most
fair;" mine I have forgot. One wonder I
observed to-day, that there was no mmMifue
in the morning to call up our new mmrried
people, which woe very mean methink§,

1667. June. Find my wife making tea,
a drink which her potticary tells her is
good for her cold and deffnxions.

A flaggon of ol^ and apples drunk out of
a wood cup as a Chrietmae draught,

1669. May. My wife got up by 4 o'c.
to goto gather May Dew, which Mrs. Tur-
ner hath taught her is the only thing in the
world to wash her fiice with. Pq>y9»

1671. To lord Arlington's, where we
found M*lle QueroneuHe ; it was univer-
sally reported, that the fair lady was bedded
one of these nights to the king, who was
often here ; and the stocking flung af^er the
manner of a married bride; however, 'twai
with confidence believed she was first made
a mieee, as they call these unhappy crea-
tures, with solemnity at this time.

1683. I went with others into the
duchess of Portsmouth's dressing-roome
within her bedchamber, wl>ere she was in
her morning loose garment, her maids
combing her, newly out of her bed, his
majesty and gallanU standing about her.

1685. January 26, Sunday, Dr. Dove
preached before the king. I saw this even-
mg such a scene of profuse gaming, and
the king in the midst of his three concu-
bines, as I had never seen before, luxurious
dallying and prophaneness.

February 6. T%e king died. I can never
forget the inexpressible luxury and pro-
phanenesse, gaming, and all dissoluteness,
and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God,
(it being Sunday evening,) which this day
se'nnight I was witnesse of. The king
sitting and toying with his concubines
Portsmouth, Cleavland, and Mazarine, &c.
and a French boy sineing love sonc^ ;
whilst about twenty of the great courtiers
and other dissolute persons were at basset
round a large table, a bank of at least 3000
in gold before them. Mvelyn^

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THE COTTAGE WHEREIN BOBERT BLOOMFIELD WAS BORN,
AT HONINGTON, IN SUFFOLK.

Accompanying the portrait and papers
of George Bloomfield, copied and referred
to in the preceding sheet of the Table
Book^ was a drawing, taken in October
last, of Robert Bloomfield's birth-place.
An engraving of it is here presented, in order
to introduce the following 'memorandum
drawn up by George Bloomfield, and now
lying before me in his hand-writing, viz<,

''Tub Poetical Freehold.

** February 4, 1822, was sold at Honing«>
ton Fox, the old cottage, the natal place of
Robert Bloomfield, the Farmer 9 Boy.

"My father, a lively little man, pre-
cisely five feet high, was a tailor, con-
stantly employed in tnapping the cat, that
is, he worked' tor the farmers at their own
houses, at a shilling per day and his board.
He was a gay knight of the thimble, and
as he wore a fashionable coat with a very
narrow back, the villagers called him
George Narrowback. My mother they
called Mrs. Prim. She was a spruce, neat
body, and was the village school-dame.
Her father found the money, and my father
bought the cottage in the year 1754. lit

died in the year 1766, and, like many othet
landed men, died intestate. My mother
married again. When I came of age she
showed me the title-deeds, told me I was
heir-at-law, and hoped she should finish
her days there. I promised her she should ;
but time rolled, and at length my wife,
after two years of afBiction with the
dropsy, died, and left me with fite infant
children, head and ears in debt. To
secure the cottage to my mother, I per-
suaded my brother Robert to boy the title
and give all my brothers and sisters then
shares and me mine, and this money paid
my debts. The Farmer'i Boy was now
the proprietor; but it was a poor freehold,
for he did all the repairs, and my mother

f»aid no rent. After my mother's death,
saac lived in it upon the same terms, — too
poor to pay rent or be turned out. Isaac
died, and left nine children. Bob kept the
widow in the place, did all the repairs, and
she, also, paid nothing. At length the
bankruptcies and delays of the London

booksellers forced Bob to tell !

I ** The late noble duKe of Grafton

gave my mother a gravestone TliU is al

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' that reniatris to mark the village as the
' birth-place of (iileSj and all that now re-
mains in it belonging to the Bloorofields."

G. B.

With a sentence or two, by way of con-
tinuation to the appeal already made in be-
half of George Bloomfield, it was purposed
to conclude the present article ; but just as
the sheet was ready for the press a packet
of his manuscript papers arrived, and ex-
tracts from these will exemplify his cha-
racter and his necessities. The following
address to one of his old friends is a fair
specimen of his talent for versifying : —

To Mr. Toomas Wisset, op Sapiston,

Psalm Singer, Parish Clerk, avd

Sexton, &c. &c.

Reipeotfiiny I would impmrt,

Ib UagQBfe most befittiog:,
Tha torrovi of ta aehiny haut.

With ean and tioobk wittMU

!*▼« loit tha bott of wivei, d*70 tm.

That fl^er to man waa firea t
▲laa I aha waa too good for mt,

80 aha*a ramo^'d to heaToa.

Bat whila her happiaaaa I traoa,

Fell poFarty pniaaiag.
Ualeaa aaother takaa her plaaa^

Twill be mj attar mia.

ahildraa'a elothaa to raga ara won.
Nor Lara wa wit to mend *em ;
Their tattera fl/ing all forlorn-
Kind Proridanea, defend 'em.

Dear Tom, thoa art St. Andraw'a clerk.

And glad I am to know it ;
Thoa art a wittj rh/miag apark.

The marry Tillage poet.

Haka aoma fond woman to me fly.

No matter what her form be ;
If aha haa loat a leg or eye,

She atill with lore may ehatm ma.

If aha lorea laot*. Oh ! what delight.

What Joy it will afford her.
To dam oar eloihea from mom to night,

And keep na all ia order.

Wottld aoma kind dama bnt hear my plaint,

Aad woald thou to me gire her,
St. Andrew !«-he ahall be my aaiat,

Aad thoa hia clerk for ever.

Dear Tom, may all tiiy joyi iaereaaa^

And to thee be it giren,
Whaa aingittg here on earth abaj <**«aa.

To pitch the key ia Heaven.

George Bloomfield.
V0V. 3. 1803.

Prefixed to some MS. rerses, written
by George Bloomfield in 1808, is the
subjoined account of the occasion that
awakeniHl his muse.

•*The April Fool.

" When on the wrong side of fifty I
married a second time I My best friends
declared it was madness to risk a second
family, &c. &c. We married 7th of Fe-
bruary, 1807. Early in 1808 it was dis-
covered I should ha?e an increase, and
Charles Blomheld, Esq. asked me when it
would happen. I answered, in ApriL I
* Sure/ says he, * it won't happen on the
Firtfi J* — I ielt the force of the remark —
the probability of my being an April Fooi
—and wrote the following lines, and sent
them to Mr. B., from whom I received a
note enclosing another, value one pound.
The note said, ' My daughters are foolish
enoueh to be pleased with your April Fool,
and I am so pleased to see them pleased, I
send the enclosed, &c.' ''

Trifles like these are only of importance
as traits of the individual. The next is
abstracted from a letter to an overseer, with
whom George Bloomfield necessarily cor-
responded, as may be surmised from the
contents.

To Mr. Hayward, Tketford.

Bury St. Edmund's, Nov. 23, 1819.
Sir, — When a perfect stranger to you,
you treated me with great condescension
and kindness, I therefore enclose some
lines I wrote and addressed to the guar-
dians of the poor in this town. They have
assessed all such persons as air not legally
settled here to the poor and church rates,
and they have assessed me full double what
I ought to pay. What renders it more
distressing, our magistrates say that by
the local act they are restrained from in-
terfering, otherwise I should have been
exempt, on account of my age and poverty
So I sent my rhymes, and Mr. Gall, one of
the guardians, sent for me, and gave me a
piece of beef, &c. I had sold the only
coat I had that was worth a shilling, and
was prepared to pay the first seven shillings
and sixpence, but the guardians seem to
think, (as I do.) that I can never go on
paying — they are confident the gentlemen
i.f St. Peter's parish will pay it for me —
bade me wait a fortnight, &c. The pressure
of the times is so great that the poor blame
the rich, and the rich blame the poor.

There is a figure in use called the
hyperbole ; thus we sometimes say of an
old man. ^ he is one foot in the grave, and

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futhpr out.*' I might say I am one foot
m Tnelford workhouse, and t'other out.—
The scripture telb me, that the providence
of God rules over all and in all places,
consequently to me a workhouse is, on my
own account, no such very dreadful thing ;
but I have two little girls whom I dread to
imprison there. I trust in Providence, and
nope both rich and poor will see better
days.

Your humble servant,

George Bloomfielo.

Among George Bloomfield's papers is
the following kind letter to him, from his
brother Robert. The feeble, tremulous
handwriting of the original corroborates its
expressions of illness, and is a sad memorial
of the shattered health of the author of the
Farmer's Boy, three years before his death.

" Shefford, July 18, 1820.
" Dear brother George,

** No quarrel exists — ^be at ease. I
have this morning seen your excellent letters
to your son, and your poem on the Tliet*
ford Waters, and am with my son and
daughter delighted to find that your spark
seems to brighten as you advance in years.
You think that I have been weak enough
to be offended — there has been no such
thii^ I I have been extremely unwell, and
am still a poor creature, but I now force
myself to write these few words to thank
you for the pleasure you have just given
me.

** My son, or my daughter, shall write
•or roe soon.

" Yours unalterably,
^ Brother, and Brother Bard,

•* Rob. Bloomfield."

It may be remembered that Giles, the
'< Farmei^s Boy,*' was Robert Bloomfield
Himself, and that his master, the ** Farmer,*'
was Mr. W. Austin of Sapiston. In re-
ference to his home at tlie farm Roben
wrote, of himself

** thft ploaghmsa •milei,
Aod oft the joke raoe kftnl on vheepMh Oiitt,
Wlo sits joint-tenftnt of the oorner stooU
The eonverse shariiig, though in Duty's school.**

Fanm'aBoy.

The son of the benevolent protector of
Robert in his childhood sunk under mis-
fortune, and George records the fiact by the
fbllowing lines, written in 1820 :—

The Umfobtuitate Faamer.

Whan OiUt attuned his song in rural stnias,

Pe aaag of Sap'ston s gTores* her meads, and plains i

Dssenhed the ranoas sea»aa< as th*.j vJV4
Of honelj jojs and peace domesti*) tnld.
The Fanner there, alas I no more bears rul«.
And no ** joint-tensoUi" sit m ** Duty's lichool:'
No happj labourers now with humble fare
His fire-side comforts and iastrnctioo share.
No longer master he of thoee sweet fields,
Vo more for him the year iu bounty yields.
Nor his the hope to see his children round
With decent competence and comfort crown d.
These scenes and hopes from him for ever flown,
la indigent old age he lives to mourn.

George Bloomfield subjoins, in explana-
tion, on these lines,** My reading inthe Buty
paper of the 6th of Dec. 1820, an advertise'
ment of an assignment for the benefit o-
creditors of the effects of Mr. Willian Au-
stin, gave rise to the above. Mr. A. wai
the young master of Giles, when Giles wa»
the Farmers Soy; and the admirers of rural
poetry, as well in the new as the old world,
nave been made acquainted with the Ausii:
family by means of the poem of that name
Mr. A. held the farm near thirty years, anc

'twas the same that his grandfather till'd.

lie has ten children, some of them very
young. He has been by some accused of
imprudence : but the heavy poor-rates, (he
paid 36/. last year,) the weight of a numer-
ous &mily, and the depreciation of the
price of pioduce, were the principal causes
of his fall. He has been a most indulgent
father, a kind master, and a good neigh-
bour."

Twenty yean after writing the lines to
the « Psalm-tfiuger, Parish Clerk, and Sex-
ton** of Sapiston, George again berhymed
him. Preceding the effusion, is the follow,
ing

Memorandum.

" My old friend Wisset has now entered
his eighty-third year, and is blind, and
thArefore cannot write ; but he sent his kind
regards to me by a young man, and bade
him repeat four lines to me. The young
man forgot the lines, but he said they werf
about old age and cold winter. I sent him
the following : —

Deaa old Baother Bard,

Now clothed with snow is hill and dala.
And all the streams with ice are bound

How chilling is the wintry gale t
How bleak and dnar the scene around

Yet midst the gloom bnght gleams appear.

Our drooping spirits to sustaia*
Hope kindly whispem in the ear

Sweat Spriag will so

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Tit (hut, old friend, with jon and mt
Lifa'a Spring and Samnier both are flown,

Tha marka of wintrjr afs we iee,
Ont locks to ffostj white are grown.

O let OS then our Toicea niie.
For favoon past dM homage bring ;

Thos apend the winter of ovr daya.
Till Ood proeUima n glorions Spring.

Georoe Bloomfield.
January 23, 1823

The MSS. from vrhence the present
selections have been hastily made, were ac-
companied by a letter from George Bloom-
field, written nearly a month ago. They
were delayed by the person who transmitted
the parcel till the opportunity of noticing
them in this work had almost passed. All
that could be done in an hour or two is before
the reader; and no more has been aimed
at than what appears requisite to awaken
sympathy and crave assistance towards an
agea and indigent brother of the author of
the Farmer^s Boy. George's present feelings
will be better representdl by his own letter
than by extracting from it.

2, High Baxter Street, Bury St
£dmond*9, Dec. 5th, \Q27.

To Mb. Houe,

Sir, — ^A gentleman desires me to write
to you, as editor of the Table Book, it being
his wish that a view which he sent of the
little cottage at Honington should appear
in that very curious work. The birth-place
of Robert Bloomfield I think may excite the
interest of some of your readers ; but, sir,
if they find out that you correspond with a
superannuated cold water poet, your work
will smell of poverty.

Lord Byron took pains to flog two of my
brothers, as poachers on the preserves of
the qualified proprietors of literature It is
bought, if he had not been wroth with the
Edinburgh Reviewers, these poor poachers
might have escaped; they, like me, had
neither birth nor education to entitle them
to a qualification.

If, sir, you ever saw an old wall blown
down, or, as we have it here in the country,
if tbe wall '*/a// ofite own accord,** you
may have observed that the first thing the
woikmen do, is to pick out the whole bricks
into one heap, tlie bats into another, and
the rubbish into a third. Thus, sir, if in
what falls from me to you, you can find any
whole bricks, or even bats, that may be
placed in your work, pick them out ; but I
much fear all will be but rubbi<«h unfit for
four purpose.

So much has been said, in the book
published by my brothers, of " the little tai
lor*s four little sons,** who once resided in
the old cottage, that I cannot add much
that is new, and perhaps the little I have to
relate will be uninteresting. But I think i
the great and truly good man, the late |
duke of Grafton, ought to have been more
particularly mentioned. Surely, after near
thirty years, the good tense and benevo-
lence of that real noblemva may be men-
tioned. When in my boyhood, he held
the highest office in the state that a subject
can fill, and like all that attain such pre-
eminence, had his enemies ; yet the more
Junius and others railed at him, the more I
revered him. He was our '* Lord of the
Manor,** and as I knew well his private
character, I had no doubt but he was '' all
of H piece.*' I have on foot joined the fox-
chase, and followed the duke many an
hour, and witnessed his endearing conde-
scension to all who could run and shout.
When Robert became known as the Farwt^
er's Boy, the duke eamestlv cautioned
him on no account to change his habits of
thing, but at the same time encouraged
him in his habits of reading, and kindly
gave him a gratuity of a shilling a day, to
enable him to employ more time in reading
than heretofore. This gratuity was always
paid while the duke lived, and was con-
tinued by the present duke till Robert's
death.

Could poor Robert have kept his children
in their old habits of living, he might have
preserved some of the profits arising from
his works, but he loved his children too
tenderly to be a niggard ; and, besides, he
received his profits at a time when bread
was six or seven shillings per stone: no
wonder that with a sickly mmily to su^^
port, he was embarrassed.

The duke likewise strongly advised him
not to write too much, but keep the ground
he had gained, &c. As hereditary sealer
of the writs in the Court of King's Bencn,
the duke gave Robert the situation of under
sealer, but his health grew so bad he was
obliged to give it up; he held it several
months, however, and doubtless many a
poor fellow went to coop under Robert's
seal. It was peculiarly unfortunate br
could not keep bis place, for I think Mr
Allen, the master-sealer, did not live abov«
two years, and it is more than probable the
duke would have made Robert master*
sealer, and then he would have had suffi*
cient income. The duke*s condescension
and kindness to my mother was very great,
he learned her real character, and called on

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j her at her own cottage, and freely talked of
gone-by times, (her father was an old tenant

I to the duke.) He delicately left a half
S^inea at Mr. Roper's, a gentleman farmer,
to be given to her after his departure, and
when he heard of her death he ordered a
handsome gravestone to be placed over her,
at his expense, and requested the Rev. Mr.
Fellowes to write an inscription. It is thus
engraven : —

BSNBATH THIS StONK

Are deposited the morUl remftins of
Elisabeth Gmybb, who died Dec. S7th, 1808.

Her maiden oame was Manbt, and the was twice
marrif^ Bj her fint husband, who lies boned near
this spot, she was mother of six children ; the jronngest
of whom was Robirt Bloomvisld, the pastoral Poet.
In her honsehold affairs she was a pattern of cleanli-
ness, industry, and good management. By her kind,
her meek, her inoffensire bebariour, she had concili-
ated the sincere good will of aU her neighbours and
acquaintance ; nor amid the busy cares of time was
she erer forgetful of Etenity. But her religion was no
hypocritical serrice, no vain form of woids ; it consisted
in loring Ood and keeping his commandments, as they
hare been made known to us by Jksus C heist.
Reader, go thou awd 4o likewiu.

If ever I was proud of any thing it was
of my mother, nor do I think, strong as is
the praise in the above, it is overdone.
For solid strength of intellect she surpassed
all her sons, and had more real practical
virtues than all of them put together. Kind
Providence spared her to bless me till I
was far on the wrong side of fifty.

I must say a word or two on her sons,
because Capel Loftt, Esq., in his preface to
my brother Nat's poems, has said too much
about them, vh, ^ Beyond question, the bro-
thers of this family are all extraordinarff
men.*' Now, sir,, as I am the oldest of
these brothers, I will tell first of myself. I
wrote a little poem, when near seventy, on
the '<Thetford Spa;" but dreading those
snarling curs, the critict, forebore to affix
my name to it. Mr. Smith, of Cambridge,
printed it gratuitously ; but as soon as it
was discovered I was the author, my ao»

?uaintance styled me the coid water poet,
think my title will do very well. Brother
Nathaniel wrote some poems; unluckily
they were printed and published here at
Bury, and the pack of critics hunted down
the book. Nat has had thirteen children,
and most of them are living, and so is he.
Brother Isaac was a machinist. John Boys,
Esq. gave him in all twenty pounds, but he
died a young man, and left his self-working
pumps unfinished. Eight of his childien
are living.

The old cottage sold to Robert had
been in the family near fourscore years, i
It proved a hard bargain to Robert; my
mother and Isaac occupied the cottage,
and could not pay rent ; and after the death
of my mother, poor Robert was in distress
and sold it : — the lawyers would not settle
the business, and Robert died broken-
hearted, and never received sixpence 1

The lawyers constantly endeavour to
make work for the trade. I believe it
to be true, as some say, that we are now as
much 2aii?-ridden as we were prieat-ndden
some ages ago. I like Charlotte Smith's
definition of the Law Trade. Orlando, in
the *' Old Manor House," says to Carr, the
lawyer, ** I am afraid you are all rogues
together ;" Carr replies, ** More or less,
my good friend; — some have more sense
than others, and some a little more con-
science— but for the rest, I am afraid wa
are all of us a little too much profeMsioruu
rogues : though some of us, as individuals,
would not starve the orphan, or break the
heart of the widow, yet, in our vocation,
we give all remorse of that sort to the
winds.** My last account from Robert's
family says, the lawyers have not yet set^
tied the poor old cottage 1

Nat and I only survive of the little
tailor's *' extraordinary*' children — quite
past our labour, and destitute of many
comforts we used to enjoy in youth. We
have but one step fiirther to fall, (i. e.) into
the workhouse! Yet in the nature of
things it cannot be long ere death will
close the scene. We have had our day,
and night must come. I hope we shall
welcome it as heartily as Sancho in Don
Quixote did sleep, '* Blessed be he who
first invented sleep, it covers a man all over
like a cloak "

I shall indeed be agreeably disappointed
if any one should b^tow any thing upon
Nat, or

Sir, your humble obedient servant,

Geo. Blooufield.

George Bloomfield is in his seventy-
third year, and surely this fact, with the
contents of the preceding columns, will be
sufficient to excite commiseration in feel-
ing and liberal minds. Mr. Faux, a re-
spectable resident at Thetford, in Norfolk,
b represented to me as being his friend,
George Bloom field's own address at Bury
St. £dmund*s is prefixed to his letter
above. Either to Mr. Faux for him, or to
himself direct, the remittance of a little
money immediately would be highly sei*-
viceable. Sometiiing^ however, beyond that

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«9 clearly requisite, and his statement of
htt brother Nathaniel's equal necessities
snould be cdriside.*ed at the sa.nt- time.
There are names dignified by rank and
talents in the list of individuals who ad-
mire the works of Robert Bloom Held, and
should this sheet fall into their hands it is
natural to presume that some of them may
veek out and assist his surTiving brothers
, m sorrowing old age. This, however, may
I not happen, and is not therefore to be
elied upon.

The case of the family of the Bloomfields,
Altogether, is distressing. As this is a
season for present-making and social-meet-
i ing, r venture to suggest that no gift can be
: setter bestowed than on those who are in
(he utmost need ; nor will the pleasures of
a convivial party be lessenea, if, while
I " the glasses sparkle on the board,** a sub-
scription be volunteered towa.ds keeping
the last two brothers of Robert Bloom6eld
from the workhouse during their few re-
I maining years of life. I havb done my
I best to make their distress p ^blicly known,
I and it remains with individuals to do their
, best to relieve it. Anythine left at Messrs.
I Hunt and Clarke's, 4, York-street, Covent
Garden, shall be appropriated as the donors
' may direct. A meeting, and a few active
.ndividuals, would effect much.

Ut January, 1828. •

, EAST AND WEST.
To the Editor.

Sir, — I send you a short and plain de-
monstration, that by travelling eastward or
westward round the globe at a given rate,
(if it were practicable to do so,) a man
might experience a greater or lesser num-
ber of days and nights, than if he were to
remain still in the same spot. This, I may
venture to say, is a fact that very few
people are aware of, and few would believe,
until it were proved.

As " this goodly frame, the earth," turns
round upon its own axis once in twenty-
four hours, and as the circumference of the
globe is divided into 360 degrees, conse-
quently every part of the globe's surface
must travel round its axis at the rate of
fifteen degrees in one hour ; or, which is
the same thing, one degree in four minutes.
Having premised this, we will suppose that
a man sets off at seven o'clock in the morn-
ing, just as the sun rises above the horizon,
And travels westward in the sun's ecliptic

one degree before it sets, he wiU have light
four mmutes longer than if he were to re-
main at the place from whence he set out
and his day, instead of being twelve houri
long, (dividing the twenty-four hours into
twelve day and twelve night,) and closing
at seven o'clock, will be twelve hours and
four minutes, and close at four minutes past
seven. He continues to travel in the same
direction, and with the same velocity, dur-
ing the night, (for he must never rest,) and
that also will t>e four minutes longer than
it would have been had be remain^ at the
place where the sun set till it again rose ;
because, as he is travelling after the son
when it goes down, and from it as the
morning approaches, of course it will be
longer in overtaking him : he will be then
two degrees from the starting place or goal,
which you please, for we intend to send
him completely round the world, and the
sun will not rise the second morning till
eight minutes past seven. His travel
continues at the same rate, and he again
has the sun four minutes longer, ^hich
does not set on the second day till twelve
minutes past seven : this closes the third
day. The next morning (he sun rises not
till sixteen minutes past seven; then he
has travelled four degrees, and his day and
night have each been four minutes longer
than if he had been stationary. Now we
will suppose another roan to have gone
from the same place at the same moment,
(viz. seven o'clock,) taking the opposite
diiection. He travels east to meet the sun,
and at the same rate of travel as our west-
ward bound wight. The sun will go down
upon him four minutes eooner than if he
had remained at the place from which be
started, and eight minutes sooner than
upon the other man : his day will close at
fifty- six minutes past six. He goes on
from the sun as it sinks, and towards it as
it rises, and he will have light four minutes
earlier than if he had stopped when the
sun went down till it again rose, eight
minutes sooner than he would have seen it
at the starting post, and sixteen minutes
sooner than the opposite traveller ; this is
at the end of the second day. He travels
on ; light again deserts him' four minutes
earlier, viz. at forty-eight minutes past six
at the end of three degrees, and the second
morning the sun will rise at forty-four
minutes past six, sixteen minutes earlier
than at the place he started from, and
thirty-two minutes earlier than with the
other man, with whom on the same morn-
ing it does not rise till Mxteen minutes pas«
seven. It is plain therefore, that while th«

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western traveller has onty seen two nights
and two days, the eastern has enjoyed the
same number of each, and more than half
an hour of another day ; and "it is equally
plain that if they continue to travel round
ihe globe at the same rate of motion, the

Western TRAVF.LLfRS
Ibt day begins at 7 o*clurk. morning.
2 8 minute)* past 7.

16 7.

24 7.

32

40

48

eastern traveller will have more days tii3
nighu than the western ; those of Uit
former being proporiionably shorter than
those of the latter. The following shows ^
the commencement and length of each day
to both travellers :—

Eastern Travbllbr*8
1st day begins at 7 o'clock, mormng.

3
4
5
6
7
8
9

10
II
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31

- 57 .

- 4-

- 12-
-20.
-28.
-36-
-44-

52.

8-
-16-
-24-
-32-
-40-
-48-
-56-
- 4 .
-12-
-20
-28-
-36-
-44-

-52.

.7.
7.

•7.

-7.

.«.

-8.

-8.
8.

-8.

-8.

■8.

■9.
9.
-9.
-9.
-9.
-9.
-9.
-9.

10.

10.

10.

10.

10.

10.

10.

11.

30 degrees.

00 degrees.

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

U

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

52 minutes past 6.

. 44
36.
28-
20-
12-

4-
56-
48-
40-
32-
24-
16-

8-

52.

44-

36-
28-
. 20-
12-
4-
56.
48-

40.

32-
24-
16
8-

•6.
-6.
-6.
-6.
-6.
-6.
-5.
-5.
-5.
■5.
-5.
-6.
-5.
-5.
■4.
-4.

4.
•4.
-4.
-4.
-4.
-3.
-3.
-3.
-3.
-3.
-3.

3.
-3.

At the end of this degree, the sixtieth, the
sun rises upon the eastern traveller at three
in the morning, he having had thirty days
and thirty nights. At the same degree it
does not rise upon the western traveller till
eleven in the morning, he having had the
same number of days and nights. When,
therefore, the morning of his thirty-first

WSSTBRN TrAVSLLIR's

32nd day will break at 8 min. past 11, mom.
ai ' 1 R 1 1

day is just breaking, the eastern travelled
has had the sun eight hours. They have
both then had an equal number of days
and nights complete, but the eastern will
have had eight nours of another day more
than the western. Let us try it a little
further. The

EaSTIRN TRAVllLtR'S

32od day will break at 52 min. past 2, mom.
33 44 2.

36 2.

28 2.

20 2.

12 2.

4 2.

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There appears to be two hours' difference every fifteenth day.

WbsTBRM TnAVShLBR's

61 St day will break at 3, r m

76 5

91 "

'^be men would now be together at the
other side of the globe, and would see the
sun rise at the same moment, but he who

Wbstbrn Travbllbr's
106th ilay will brctk at 9 at night

121
1.16
151
166
181

11.

1, morning. 136

3. 151

5. 166

7. 360 degrees. 181

Eastcrn Tra¥vllir*s
61 8t day will break at 11 at night

76 -1 9. ^

7.

had travelled eastward would have ceen a
day and a night more than the other.

Eastern Travbller*s
106th day will break at 5, f. M.
121

3.

1,

11, A

9.

7.

They will now be at the spot where they
started from, the western traveller having
seen two days and two nights less than the
eastern.*

N. G. S.

For the Table Book.

HAGMENA

The hagmena is an old custom observed
in Yorkshire on new year's eve. The
keeper of the pinfold goes round the town,
attended by a rabble at his heels, and
knocking at certain doors, sings a barbarous
song, according to the manner ** of old
king Henry*s days;" and at tDe end of
every verse they shouf Hagman Heigh."

When wood was chiefly used by our
forefathers as fuel, this was the most pro-
per season for the hagman, or wood-cutter,
to remind his customers of his services,
and solicit alms from them. The word
1 ** hag ** is still used among us for a wood,
' and the " hagman '* may be a compound
name from his employment. Some give it
a more sacred interpretation, as derived
from the Greek iym ft^tn, the ** holy month,"
when the festivals of the church for our
Saviour's birth were celebrated. Formerly
on the last day of December, 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 has, however,
l^n given to it by one John Dixon, a

• In this waj, by banyinfc the Jewi round the ^loba
«t a fivta rate, their Sabbath niiKKt be made to fall

•Ve

■poa •Ve same day at the Chrintik^

Scotch presbyterian parson, when holding
forth against this custom, in one of bit \
sermons at Kelso— '< Sirs, do you know ^
what hagman signifies ? — It is the devil to
be in the house : that is the meaning of iti
Hebrew original." It is most probabl/ a
cormption of some Saxon words, which
length of time has rendered obsolete.

Old St. Luke*s Day.

On this day a fair is held in York for all
sorts of small wares, though it is commonly
called << DUh Fair^ from the quantity of
wooden dishes, ladles, &c. brought to it.
There was an old custom at this fair, of
bearing a wooden ladle in a sling on two
stangs, carried by four sturdy labourers,
and each labourer supported by another.
This, without doubt, was a ridicule on the
meanness of the wares brought to this feir, '
small benefit accruing to the labourers at it ^
It is held by charter, granted 25th Jan.. 1 7tb '
Hen. VII. I

St Luke*s day is also known in York by
the name of ** Whip-Dog Day^ from a
strange custom that schoolboys use therv,
of whipping ail the dogs that are seen in
the streets on that day. Whence this ud->
common persecution took its rise is uncer*
tain The tradition of its origin seems very
probable; that, in times of popery, a priest,
celebrating mass at this festival in some
church in York, unfortunately dropped the
pix after consecration, which was rorthwith
snatched up suddenly and swallowed by t
dog that laid under the altar. The profaii*
ation of this high mystery occasioned the
death of the dog ; the persecution, so begun,
has since continued to this day, though
now greatly abridged bv the interference of
some of the minor members of the honour-
able corporation, against the whole species
in that city.

D.A.M.

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CUAPMAN'S "ALL FOOLS."

For the Taffle Book.

In Chapman's "All Fools," 1605, (as
quoted, by Charles Lamb, in Table Book^
voL i. 192y) is the following passage, under
.he title of "I/)ve's Panegyric."—

— — — •• 'tU natare'v secoiid Son,
Caasing a ipriog of Virtues where he sbiDeM ;
And M without the Son, the world** Great Eye,
All ooloun, beaatiet, both of art and aatnre.
Are given in Tain to man ; to without Loto
All beauties bred in women are in rain.
All virtues bom in men lie buried ;
For Love infonu them as the Sun doth eolours,** &o.

Chapman might be acquainted with
[talian poets, but at all events the coin-
cidence between the above and the follow^
ing canzon, by Andrew Navagero, is re-
markable. Navagero was the friend of
Boscan, the Spanish poet: they became
acquainted at Grenada, while Navagero
was there ambassador from Venice. Bos-
can died before 1544; and, as he himself
confesses, he learnt ^he sonnet and other
Italian forms of poetry from Navagero.

Love the MiruTs Snn»

Sweet ladies, to whoee lovely faces

Mature gives charms, indeed.

If thote je would ezeeed
And are desirous, too, of inward graces ;

Te first must ope jour hearts' enclosure,

And give Love entrance there.

Or jre must all despair
Of what ye wish, and bear it with composure.

For as the night than day is duller.

And what b hid by night

Glitters with morning lignt
In all the rich variety of colour i

So they, whose dark insensate boeoms

Love lights not, ae*er ean know

The virtues thenoe that grow.
Wanting his beams to open virtue's blossoms.

Our version is made from the original in
Dolce*s Collection of Rime Diverae, i. 98.
It ought to be mentioned, that Boscan*s
admission of his obligations to Navagero
is to be found in the Introduction to the
second book of his works.

December^ 1827. J. P. C.

NORWICH MOCK ELECTIONS.

To the Editor,

Sir, — At Costessy, a small village, three
miles on the west side of Norwich, there is
AD annual mock guitd on Whit Tuesday.

It takes Its name from the annual mayor s
feast at Norwich, being called the City
Guild, The corporation at Costessy is
composed of the poor inhabitants under the
patronage of the marquis of Stafford, who
has a beautiful seat in this tillage. On
this day a mock mayor is'annually elected ;
he has a proper and appropriate costume,
and is attended by a sworcKbearer, with a
tword of state of wood painted and silt,
two mace-bearers with gilt maces, wi& a
long array of officers, down to the snap-
dragon of Norwich, of wliich they have a
passable imitation. Their first procession
M to the hall, where they are recognised by
the noble femily who generally support
the expenses of the day, and the mock
mayor and corporation are liberally re-
galed from the strong-beer cellar. They
then march, preceded by a band of music,
to the steward's house, where the mock
solemnities Uke place, and speeches are
made, which, if not remarkable for their
eloquence, afibrd great delight by their
absurd attempts at being thought so. The
new mayor being invested with the in-
signia of his office, a bright brass jack-chain
about his neck, the procession is again re-
newed to a large bam at some distance,
where the place being decorated with
boughs, flowers, and other rural devices,
a substantial dinner of roast-beef, plum-
pudding, and other good things, with
plenty of that strong liquor called at Nor-
wich nogg — the word I have been told is
a provincial contraction for ** knock me
down.*'

The village is usually thronged with
company from Norwich, and all the rural
festivities attendant on country feasts take
place. The noble femily before mentioned
promote the hilarity by their presence
and munificence. liie elder members of
the body corporate continue at the festal
board, in imitation of their prototypes in
larger corporations, to a late hour ; and
some of them have been noticed for doing
as much credit to the good cheer provided
on the occasion, as any alderman at a turtle
feast. There is no record of the origin of
this institution, as none of the members of
the corporation have the gift of reading or
writing, but there are traces of it beyond
the memory of any person now living, and
it has been observed to have increased in
splendour of late years.

The fishermen's guild at Norwich has
for some years been kept on the real guild-
day. The procession consists of a great
number, all fishermen or fishmongers, two
of whom are very remarkable. The fir4

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is the mayor : the last I saw was a well-
looking young man, with his face painted
and his hair powdered, profusely adorned
with a brass chain, a nshing-iod in his
hand, and a very large gold-laced hat; he
was supported on the shoulders of several
of his brethren in a fishing-boat, in which
he stood up and delivered his speech to
ihe surrounding multitude, in a manner
that did not disgrace him. The other
personage was the king of the ocean.
What their conceptions of Neptune were,
it is as difficult to conceive as his appear-
ince might be to describe. He was repre-
sented by a tall man, habited in a seaman-
iike manner, bis outward robe composed of
tisbing-nets, a long flowing beard ill ac-
corded with a full-dress court wig, which
had formerly been the property of some
eminent barrister, but had now changed its
element, and from dealing out law on the
land, its mystic powers were transferred to
rhe water. In his right hand he carried
iiis trident, the spears of which were
formed of three pickled herrings. His
Tritons sounded his praise on ail kinds of
discordant wind instruments, and .£oIus
blew startling blasts on a cracked French
horn. The olfactory nerves of the auditors
who were hardy enough to come in close
contact with the procession, were assailed
by '* a very ancient and fish-like smell.*'
The merriment was rude and very hearty.

P. B.

For the Table Book.

Paul's Walkers — Hired Witnesses.

In the reigns of James I. and Charles I.
a singular custom prevailed of the idle and
dissolute part of the community assembling
in the naves or other unemployed parts of
.arge churches. The nave of St. Paul's cathe-
dral bore the name of Paul's Walk ; and so
little was the sanctity of the place regarded,
that if the description by an old author* is
not exaggerated, the Royal Exchange at four
o'clock does not present a greater scene of
confusion. I carry t>e comparison no far-
ther ; the characters assembled in the church
appear to have been very different to those
composing the respectable assembly alluded
to. The author referred to thus describes the
place : <' The noyse in it is like that of bees.

• ITiflroroaroofrKplitt Ifitt, cited ia Pennaat'a Loa
J«B.6tkedBto.fiM.

It is the generall mint of all famous lies,
which are here like the legends popery first
coyn*d and stampt in the church. All in-
ventions are empty'd here and not a few
pockets." " The visitants are all men
without exceptions ; but the principal inha-
bitants and possessors are stale knights, and
captaines out of service ; men of long ra-
piers and breeches."

From the following passage in liudibras*
I should judge that the circular church in
the Temple was the resort of characiefs of
aiv equally bad description :

** Retain all mrts of witneaMs,

That pif i* th* Templet, under treec.

Or walk the romud^ with knights o* th* poata

Aboat the croM-legj^'d knij^hta, their hoata;

Or wait for ciutomert between

The pillar-rows in Lincoln's Inn.**

The cross-legs^ed knights, it is almost
needless to add, are the effigies of the
mailed warriors, which still remain in fine

^►reservation. The " pillar-rows in Lincoln's
nn," I apprehend; refer to the crypt, or
open vault, beneath Inigo Jones's chapel
in Lincoln's Inn, originally designed for an
ambulatory.*!* It is singular to reflect on
the entire change in the public manners
within two centuries. If coeval authorities
did not exist to prove the fact, who would
believe in these days, that, in a civilized
country, men were to be found within the
very seats of law ready to perjure them-
selves for hire ? or that juries and judges
did not treat the practice and the encou-
raging of it with a prompt and just severity *

St. Thomas's Day Electioks.

I

Previous to a court of common council, I
the members were formerly in the habit of
assembling in the great hall of the Guild-
hall. When the hour of business arrired,
one of the officers of the lord mayorV
household summoned them to their own
chamber by the noise produced by moving
an iron ring swiftly up and down a twisted
or crankled bar of the same metal, which
was affixed behind the door of the princi-
pal entrance to the passage leading to thai
part of the Guildhall styled, in civic lan-
guage, the inner chambers. The custon.
was disused about forty years ago. The
iron, I understand, remained until the de-
molition of the old doorway in the last
general repair of the hall, when the giants
descended from their stations without hear

Part III., Canto III., p. tl& ed. 16S4.

by X. J. C. b OMtt UH' ^«L m

t Vide a paptr
% 1. W9.

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ing the clock strike, and the new doorway
was formed in a more conyenient place.
With the old-fashioned gallery, the inva-
riable appendage to an ancient ball, which,
until that period, occupied its proper place
over the entrance, was destroyed that terror
of idle apprentices, the prison of Little
Ea9e. This gallery must be still remem-
bered, as well as its shrill clock in a curious
carved case. Its absence is not compen-
sated by the perilous-looking balcony substi-
tuted for it on the opposite side, an object
too trifling and frivolous for so fine a room
as the civic common hall.

E. I. C.

A DEFENCE OF SLANG.

For the Table Book,

" To think like wise men, and to talk
like common people," is a maxim that has
lon^ stood its ground. What is the lan-
guage of " common people ?" elanff —
ergo, every body ought to talk it. What
is elang P Many will answer that it con-
sists of words used only by the lowest and
most ignorant classes of society, and that
to employ them would be most ungenteel.
First, then, we must inquire a little what
it is to be genteel, and this involves the
question, what is a gentleman ? Etymo-
logically, every body knows what is the
meaning of the term ; and Dekker, the old
English play-poet, uses it in this sense,
when in one of his best dramas he justly
calls our Saviour

•• The fiwt tnte gentifman that ever breathed.**

Dekker's greatest contemporary, in refer-
ence to certain qualities he attributes to
'' man*s deadliest enemy,*' tells us, though
we are not bound to take his word for it,
unless we like it,

** The Prince of Darkness ia a gentleman ;'*

in which he follows the opmion long before
expressed by the Italian poet Pulci, in his
MorganU Maggiore, (canto xxv. st. 16).)

Che geotilezia e bene anehe in inferno.

Pulci seems so pleased with this disco-
very, (if it be one,) that he repeats it in
nearly the same words (in the following
canto, St 83.)

Non eredcr ne to inferno anehffra'noi
Oentilezsa hm «ia.

The old bone-shoveller in Hamlet main-
tains that your only real and thorough

gentlemen are your '* gardeners, ditchers^
and grave-makers ;** so that, after all, the
authorities on this point are various and
contradictory. If it be objected that slang
(otherwise sometimes called fioBh) is em-
ployed very much by boxers and prize-
tigl Iters, teachers and practisers of " the
noble science of self-defence," one answer
may be supplied by a quotation from Aris-
totle, which shows that he himself was well
skilled in the art, and he gives instructions
how important it is to hit straight instead
of round, following up the blow by the
weight of the body. His words upon this
subject are quoted (with a very different
purpose certainly) in the last number of
the Edinburgh Review^ (p. 279.) So that
we need only refer to them. Another ** old
Grecian " might be instanced in favour of
the use of flange and even of incorrect
grammar; for every scholar knows (and
we know it who are no scholars) that Aris-
tophanes in the first scene of his comedy,
named in English The Clouds, makes his
hero talk bad Greek, and employ language
peculiar to the stable : the scnoliasts assert
that Phidippides ought to have said, even in
his sleep, « *ix% »^Mit instead of *tXeif mii*ttt,
which he uses. However, we are perhaps
growing too learned, although it will be
found in the end, (if not already in the
beginning,) that this is a learned article,
and ought peihaps to have been sent for
publication in the Classical Journal.

What we seek to establish is this : — that
the language of the ignorant ig the language
of the learned; or in less apparently parr-
doxical terms, that what is considered slang
and unfit for " ears polite," is in feet a
language derived from the purest and most
recondite sources. What is the chief re-
commendation of lady Morofan's new
novel ? — for what do ladies of fashion and
education chiefly admire it ? Because the
authoress takes such pains to show that she
is acquainted with French, Italian, and
even Latin, and introduces so many apt
and inapt quotations. What is the prin-
cipal aavantage of modern conversation ?
That our ** home-keeping youths " have no
longer '* homely wits," and that they inter-
lard their talk with scraps and words fron.
continental tongues. Now if we can show
that slang is compounded, in a great degree,
of words derived from German, French,
Italian, and Latin, shall we not establish
that what is at present the languaOge of the
ignorant is in fact the language of the
learned, and ought to be the language em-
ployed by all ffentlemen pretending to
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olue-stocking attainments ? We proceed to
do 80 by a selection of a few of the prin-
cipal words which are considered slang or
flashy of which we shall show the etymology.

Blowin — '' an unfortunate girl/' in the
language of the police-offices. This is a
very old word in English, and it is derived
from bl&Kenj German, to bloom or blossom.
Some may think that it comes from the
German adjective blau. The Germans
speak of a blue^e, as we talk of a blacks
eyef and every body is aware that blowina
are frequently thus ornamented.

To fib—VL term in boxing. It means, to
clasp an antagonist round the neck with
one arm, and to punish him with the other
hand. It is from the Italianyf^^/a, a ckup
or buckle. The Italian verb affibiare is
used by Casti precisely in this sense: —
GH qfibia un gran eeffon. (Nov. xliii. st.

as.)

Fogle — a handkerchief— properly and
strictly a handkerchief with a bird's eye
pattern upon it. From the German vogel,
a bird.

Gam — the leg. liston has introduced
this word upon the stage, when in Lubin
Log he tells old Brown that he is ** stiffish
about the gams," We have it either from
the French Jamfe, or the Italian gamba.

Leary — cunning or wary. Correctly it
ought to be written lehry. The derivation
of it is the German Uhre^ learning or
warning. The authorities for this word are
not older than the time of James I.

Max — gin. Evidently from the Latin
maximuSf in reference to the strength and
goodness of the liquor.

To nim — to take, snatch, or seize. It is
used by Chaucer — ** well of English un-
defiled." It is derived from the Saxon
niman, whence also the Grerman nehmen, to
take. We have it in the every-day adjec-
tive, nimble. The name of the corporal in
Shakspeare*s Henry F. ought to be spelled
Nim, and not Nym, (as the cominentators
ignorantly give it,) from his furtive propen-
sity.

Pal — a companion. It is perhaps going
too far to fetch this word from the Persian
palaker, a comrade. It rather originates in
the famous story told by Boccacio, Chaucer,
Dryden, &c. &c. of the friendship of Pala-
mon and Arcyte ; pa/ being only a familiar
abbreviation of Palamon, to denote an in-
timate friend.

To pri ff^io rob or steal. It is doubtful
wlietfaer this word be originally Spanish or
Italian. Preguntar in Spanish is to demand^
and robbing on the hignway is demanding
money or life. Priega in Italian is a pe-

tition— a mode of committing theft without
personal violence. In English tic word
to prig is now applied chiefly to picking
pockets, owing to the degeneracy of modem
rogues : a prig is a pick-pocket.

Sappy — foolish, weak. Clearly from the
Latin §apio^lucus d non Imeendo,

Seedy^^shMyy — ^worn out : a term ased
to indicate the decayed condition of one
who has seen better days : it refers princi-
pally to the state of bis apparel : thus a ;
coat which has once been handsome, when j
it is old is called seedy, and the wearer is |
said to look seedy. It is only a oorniptioi. '
of the French ei-devant — formerly; wiib
an ellipsis of the last syllable. It has no
reference to running to seed, as is com-ij
monly supposed. '

Spoony — silly or stupid — ^is used bom as '
a substantive and as an adjective. Some
have conjectured that it owes its origin to
the wooden spoon at Cambridge, the lowest
honour conferred by that university, the
individual gaining it being entitled to no
other, rather from his dulness than his ig-
norance. Its etymology is in fact to be
found in the Italian word sapond, soap;
and it is a well-known phrase that ** a stii-
pid fellow wants his brains washing with
«oa;9-suds.''

Spree — fun, joke — is from the French
nprit, as every body must be aware in ao
instant.

ro^"*— dress — from the Latin toga, the
robe worn by Roman citizens. Toggeri
means properly a great coat, but it is alsc i
used generally for the apparel. if

We might go through the whole Tocaho- i
lary in the same way, and prove that some {
terms are even derived from the Hebrew, ' )
through the medium of the Jews ; but the
preceding '< elegant extracts ** will be suffi-
cient. It is to be regretted that the Rev.
J. U. Todd has been so hasty in publishing
his second edition of Johnsons Dicfiomiry,
or he might, and no doubt would, after
what we have said, include many words
not now to be found there, and which we
contend are the chief ornaments of our !
vernacular. Perhaps it would be worth
his while to add a supplement, and we
shall be happy to render him any assist
ance.

December, 1827. Philolocus.

DIVINATION BY FLOWERS.

To the Editor,

Sir, — ^There is a love custom still observed
in the village of Sutton Bangor, Wiltt.—

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Two flowers tnat have not blossomed are
paired, and put by themselves — ^as many
pairs as there are sweethearts in the neigh-
t>ourhood, and tall and short as the respec-
tive sweethearts are. The initials of their
names are attached to the stamens, and they
are ranged in order in a hayloft or stable,
in perfect secrecy, except to those who
manage and watch their ominous growth.
If, after ten days, any flower twines the
other, it is settled as a match ; if any flower
turns a contrary way, it indicates a want of
affection; if any flower blossoms, it denotes
early ofispring ; if any flower dies suddenly,
it is a token of the party's death ; if any
flower wears a downcast appearance, sick-
ness is indicated. True it is that flowers,
from their very nature, assume all these
positions ; and in the situation described,
their influeuce upon villagers is consider-
able. I was once a party interested, now

I am

A Flowekbuo.

WALTHAM, ESSEX.

To the Editor.

Sir, — ^Tbe following epitaph is upon a
plain gravestone in the church-yard of
Waltham Abbey. Having some point, it
may perhaps be acceptable for the Table
Book, I was told that the memory of the
worthy curate is still held in great esteem
by the inhabitants of that place.

RzT. IsAAO Courrrr,
Fifteen jean enrate of thU Parish,
Died March 1, 1801— Aged 43 yean.

Shan pride a heap of aevlptared marble raise.
Some worthlen, nnmoarn'd, titled fool to praise^
And shall we not by one poor graTestone sbov
Where pious, worthy Cdlaett sleeps bdow ?

Surely common decency, if they are de-
ficient in antiquarian feeling, should induce
the inhabitants of Waltham Cross to take
some measures, if not to restore, at least to
preserve from flirther decay and dilapida-
tion the remains of that beautiful monument
of conjugal affection, the cross erected by
Edward I. It is now in a sad disgraceful
itue.

I am, &c.

Z.

FULBOURN, CAMBRIDGE.

All Saints' and St. Vioor*s Bells

To the Editor.

On a visit to a friend at Fulboum we
strolled to the site whereon All Saints'
church formerly stood, and his portfolio
furnished me with the subjoined memo-
randa, which by your fostering care may
be preserved.

I am, sir, &c.

Cambridge, May, 1826. T N.

Trinity Sunday, 1766.

This mom in? at five o'clock the steeple
of All Saints* church fell down. An act ot
parliament passed the 22d May, 1775, to
unite the service in St. Vigor's church, and
to enable the vicar and churchwardens to
sell the materials and the bells, towards re-
pairing the church of St. Vigor's -^ the
amount was 1 50/. 0«. 6d, The two broken
bells were sold towards the expenses ; the
otlier three, with the two of St. Vigor's,
and the saints* bell, were new cast by £.
Arnold at St. Neot's Hunt's, and six new
bells were put up on the 9th of May, 1776.
The subscription amounted to 141/.; the
bells cost 262/. 28. Zd, ; the frames 46/. ,
the six new ropes 1/. 15«.; making together
the sum of 308/. 17«. 3d.

The poor inhabitants were so attached
to the old bells, that they frequently watched
them in the evening, lest they should be
carried away and sold ; for the broken bells
lay among the ruins of All Saints* church.
At last their fears subsiding, they neglected
their watching, and the churchwardens set
a waggon in Monk's bam, (hard by,) and
carried away two of them in the night, de-
livering them to the Cambridsre waggon foi
St. Neot's, and returning before morning,
which occasioned the following

BaUad.

There are some fannen in Falbovni towa,
Tbey have latelj sold what was DOt their owa ;
Thej hare sold the bells, likewise the eharch.
And cheat the poor of twiee as mach.

And O I yon Fulboarn fannerfi O I

Some csUte there was left, all for the poor.
They have robb'd them of half, and something more.
Such dirty tricks wiU go hard on their sides.
For the d— 1 will have them, and singe their hides.
And O I yon Fnlbonm farmers O I

Bofore the bells they could be sold.
They were fore'd to swear, as we've been told.
They forswore themselyes— then they eried.
For this, my boys, we shall be tried.

And 0 1 yoa Falboani lamers 0 1

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'JltY«»oia Tifi^, and jwng Twif^the wliiiiinf

I Sayi one to tlk<» other, this night we will renture s
! And Mj» little Oibble-Qabble, I long for to go,
I Bat first I will call my neigAboor Swingtoe;
And 0 1 7011 Fttlbonm farmen O I

In the dead of the night this thieTish crew
Broke into the church, as other thieve* do.
For to steal the bells and sell them all.
May the d— 1 take soch churchwardens all ;
And 0 I you Fulboon farmers O !

This ba*hd is said to have been the pro-
duction of one William Holfe, a labourer.
It was probably written soon after the act
passed. The new peal was brought home on
the 9th of May, 1776, so that it was not a
year from the passing of the act to the cast-
ing of the bells.

After the bill had been perused by coun-
sel, Mr. Edward Hancock, the rector's
churchwarden, conducted it through "both
houses of parliament without the expense
of a solicitor ; sir John Cotton, one of the
members for the county, forwarding it in
the different stages through the House of
Commons. So earnest were the populace
about the bells, (when they were satisfied
they were to have a new peal of six,) that
after they were loaded they drew them a
furlong or more before the horses were put
to the was:gon. The tenor was cast in O
sharp, or old A. Mr. Edmund Andrews
Salisbury rode on the great bell, when it
was drawn up within the steeple, and his
was the first death this bell was rung for ;
he was buried 8th July, 1776. The motto
on this bell is —

** I to the chnrch the living call—
And to the grave I summon all.**

Mr. Charles Dawson was the author of
the complete peal of Piain Bob, called
" The Fulboum Surprise,** with 154 bobs,
and two singles, and 720 changes. The
peal was opened December 7, 1789.

ST. THOMAS'S DAY.
Mb. Dat*s Short Day.

Mr. Thomas Day, of D ^t, Wilts,

used, when living, to give his workmen on
St. Thomas's Day a holiday, a short pint
of his ale, an ounce of short-cut tobacco,
and a short pipe, in remembrance of his
name. " For,'^ said he, — in a couplet de-
cidedly his own,^

• Look ronnd the village where ye may ;
.Daf is th« ahortest day, to-day."

PUCEBON.

A PAGE FROM MY NOTE BOOK.

For the Table Book.

Election Bbibebt.

il
ITie first instance that occurs of this \
practice was so early as 13 Eliz., when one ,
Thomas Longe (being a simple man of
small capacity to serve in parliament) ac- ,
knowledged that be had given the retunung ,
officer and others of the borough for which
he was chosen foub pauii ds, to be returned '
member, and was for that premium elected. |
But for this offence the borough was
amerced, the member was removed, and /
the officer was fined and imprisoned. — < /
iiM<. 23. Hale of ParL 112. Com,Joura. '
10 and 11 May, 1571. ,

WoMDEB-WOBKING PBECEDEMT5, \

<* Unless," said vice chancellor Leach, <

(nth March, 18-26, in Mendizabal o. Ma- I

chado,) ** Unlese I am bound hand and foot |

by precedents, / will not follow sach a |

piactice/' >

Mem. It

1'
Blackstone, speaking of apDrcnticeships,
says, ** They are useful to the common- j
wealth, by employing of youth, and leom-
ing them to be early industrious." '

The same author says, ** These payments J
(alluding to first fruits) were only due if '
the heir was of full age, but if he was
under the age of twenty-one beings a male, .
or fourteen being a. female, the lord was ea-
titled to the waitlship of the heir, and was
called the guardian in chivalry." — Comm. \
book il. G. 5. p. 67. |

DOWEB. II

The sei&in of the husband, for a trtnui' <
tory instant onhf, when the same act which .
gives him the estate conveys it also out of I
bim again, (as where, by a fine, land is '
granted to a man, and he immediately ren-
ders it back by the same fine,) such a seisin
will not entitle the wife to dower : for the
land was merely in transiim, and never
rested in the husband, the grant and render
being one continued act. But if the lanj
abides in him for the interval of but a«ti^^
moment, it seems that the wife shall be en-
dowed thereof. — Black. Comm. book ii
€. 8. p. 132.

The author adds in a note : '' This doc*
trine was extended very far by a jurr is
Wales, where tlie father and son were both

844:

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aatiged o cue cart, but the son was sop-
posed to have survived the father, by ap*
vearing to struggle longest; whereby he
became seised of au estate in fre by sunri-
orship, in consequence of which seisin nis
fldow had a verdict for her dower.'' — Cro.
Eliz. 503 .•

An unintentional Imitation extem-
pore of the 196M aiid 7th stanzas of the
2d canto of Don Juan,

A mother bending o*er her'ehild in prayer.

An arm ontstreich'd to save a conqnir'd foe.

The daaghter^s bosom to the father's lips laid bar^

The Horatii when they woo'd the blow

That sar'd a nation's blood, a yoang girl fair

Tending a dying husband's bed of woe.

Are beautiful ; but, oh, nor dead nor liTing,

Is aught so beautiful as woman wrong'd forgiving.

©rigittal ^oetrpt

For the Table Book.
CIIIIISTMAS.

Old Christmas comes again, and with him brings,
Althongh his visits are in times austen.

Not only recollections of good things.

But beareth in his hands substantial cheer ;

Thoagh short and dark the day, and long the night.

His joyons coming makes all faces brighL

And when yon make your doors and windows fast,
And to your happy cheerful hearih retire,

A paradise is yonrs, safe Irom the blast.
In the fair circle gathering round the fire ;

Whilst these, with social convert books, and wine.

Make Winter's ragged front almost 'diviae !

W. M. VV

; For there she is, the being who hath leant
In lone confiding love and weakness all
On ns — whose unreproaching heart is rent

I By our deed ; yet on our cheek but fall

I A tear, or be a sigh bat spent.
She sinte upon the breast whence sprang the gall
That bi(t«r'd her heart's blood, and there caressing.
For pain and misery accords a blessing.——

Note for the Editor. — " An unintentional
imitation" may sound something like a
solecism, although a very little reflection
will prove it to be far otherwise. I had
been reading Don Juan till I had it by
heart, and nightly spouted to the moon
Julians letter and the invocation to the
isles of Greece. I had a love fracas; a
reconciliaiion, as one of the two alternative
natural consequences, took place, and the
foregoing were part of some propitiatory
measures that effected it. At the time of
writing them I had no more idea of imi-
tating Byron, than has my Lord Chief Justice
Best, in his charge to the jury in a news-
paper cau«e, or crim. con. I wrote them
rapidly, scarcely lifting my pen till they
were finished, and certainly without bestow,
ing a word or thought on any thing, except
the image I pursued; but my mind had
received a deep impression from my late
reading, and my thoughts assumed the form
they did from it, unknown to me. Some
months afterwards,! was reciting the jpassage
from Byron alluded to ; I had heard some-
thing like it; I repeated it; I was more
struck; I rack'd my brain and my lady's
letter-box, and made this discovery.

J. J. K.

I • On a similar taking by the contingency of drown-
mg, Fearne, the elerant writer on *' CoDting<>nt

! Remainders,** has an admirable argument— a uiastei^
piMs of eloquent reasoning.— Edit.

SONNET.

Am Autumnal Midnight.

I walk in silence and the starry nigV.t ;

And travellers with me are leaves alone,

StiU onward fluttering, by light breezes blown.
The moon is yet in heaven, bat soon her light.
Shed through the silvery clouds and on the dark

Most disappear. No sound I hear save trees

Swayed darkly, like the rush of far-off seas
That climb with murmurs loud the rocky steep.
There wakes no crowing cock, nor wateik<dug's bark,

I look around, as in a placid dream

Ecisting amidst beauty, and I seem
Relicred from human weakness, and from sleep,

A happy spirit 'neath the bouhdlens heaven.

To whom not Day alone but Night is given I

W.M. W. .

SEASONABLE STANZAS.

Winter, with hoary locks ana frosen face,

Hath thrown his naked sceptre from his hand ;
And he haih mended now his sluggish pace.

Beside the biasing ynle-block fire to stand.

His ice-bound visage *ginneth to expand ;
And, for the naked pine-branch which he swayed.

He, smiling, halh a leaf-green sceptre planned ;
The ivy and the holly he doth braid.
Beneath whose berries red is many a froliok played.

Now not in Tain hath been the blooming spring.

The fraitful summer and the autumn sere ;
For jolly Christmas to his board doth bring

The happy fulness of the passed year ;

Man's creeping blood and moody looks to cheer.
With mirthful revel nngs each haf«py dome ;

Unfelt within the snows and winds severe ;
The tables groan with beef, the tankards foam.
And Wintef blandly smile* :o cheer the British homo.

W. M. W.

845

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For the Table Book.

The accompanying lines were written in
allusion to that beautiful Oem of Dagley's
which Mr. Croly (page *21 of ihe vol.) sup-
poses a Diana, and which Tassie*s Cata«
logue describes as such. I have, however,
made bold to address her in her no lest
popular character of

EURYDICE.

* nia qaidem dam te fogeret per flamma pnsoepi
Immanem ante pedes hydnim moritnra paella
Scnrantem ripas altl non yidit in herbi.**

Virg. Oeoif . !▼•

Art ean ne*er thine angnUh lall.
Maiden paMing beaatifal I
Sfriye thoa maj'st,— *tis all in raia t
Art shall never heal thj pain <
If erer nay that serpent«tinf
Cease thy snow-white foot to wrinf .
Moamer thoa art doom*d to be
Unto all eternity.

Joy shall never soothe thy frief |
Thoa mast fall as doth the leaf
In thine own deep forest-bower.
Where thy lorer, hoar by bou;
Hath, with songs of woodland g lee^
like the nerer-wearied bee.
Fed him on the fond caress
Of Uiy youth's fresh loTelinasOi

Youth I — ^*tis but a shadow now i—
Kerer more, lost maid, must tho«*
Trip it with ooy foot across
Leafy brooks and beds of moss ;
Never more, with stealthy tread.
Track the wild deer to his bed.
Stealing soft and silently.
Like the lone moon o'er the sea.

Vain thy lover's whisper'd charm ;
Love can never death disarm ;
Hush'd the song he oft hath sang^—
Weak his voice, his lyre nnstrung .
Thtek, then, if so hard to heal
Is the ani^ish thou dost feel.
Think-how bitt«r is the smart
When tnat wowmI is in the hearti

Hampnead,

^otict.

The Ikdex, &c. to the pree^ni i»ohame
oftheTkBLE Book will conclude the work.
I respectfully bid my readers Farewell !

SPORTS AND PASTIMES

OF

THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.

Perhaps I may be excused for noticing
the forthcoming octavo edition of *'Th£
Sports and Pastimes of ENOLAMDy** —
ft work of very curious research and re-
markable information, written and pub-
lished in quarto by the late Mr. Joskpb
Strutt.

The Octavo Edition will be printed
in a supeiior manner, on fine paper, with
at least 140 Engravings. It will be pub-
lished in Monthly Paru, price One Shilling
each, and each pan, on an average, will
contain fourteen engravings. Above half
of the drawings and engravings are al-
ready executed^ and other means are taken
to secure the punctual appearance of the
work. The printer is already engaged oi.
it, and the 6rst part will certainly appear
before the first or February.

«*« This Book can be had of the Pab-
Usher, price 4s, 6d.

A COPIOUS Index will be prepared
and the work be edited by

January 1, 1829.

W. HovR.

846

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GENERAL INDEX.

Abdvotiov, curious respite from execu-
tion for, 621

Abershaw, Jerry, 488, 489

Abingdon, old pariith accompts of, 241

Aborigines, 638

Abraham, heights of, in Derbyshire, 482

Abridgment of a library by Pilpay, 124

Accidents to one man, 478

Accompaniment to roasting, 616

Accommodation extraordinary, 281

Acquaintance table, 189

Actors — acting of old men by children,
677. See Plays

Admiral, lord high ; office and seal of, 287

Adoption of children in France, 110

<* Adrasta,'* old play, 161

Advertisement; at Ghent, 30; letter in
consequence of one, 30 ; singular one,
626, 670, 722, 776

Advice^ danger of giving, 166. 8«*e
Counsels

Affectation, less prevalent among women
than formerly, 179

Airicaa young woman's compliment to
her lover, 94

Age^ reason for not reckoning, 690

Agriculture, British, derived from the
Bomans, 197

<« Ahab," by 8. B. Jackson, 249

Air, and exercise for ladies, 106; philo-
sophy of, 666

Airay, Thomas, Grassington manager,
notice of, 36, 538

Albany and York, duke of, 47; the
dukedom of Albany, 206

Albemarle, duke of, creditable patronage
by, 382

Alcock, Bev. Mr., thb waggish clergy-
man, 317

Alderson, Hut., of Durham, 183

Ale, Prynne ''put into the road of
writing" by, 363; old English, 690;
antiquity of beer, 787

Alfred, tomb of, 781

Alia Bhye, East Indian princess, 674

«AU Fools," old play, 96

Allan-a-Maut, engraving, 68

Allen, Bev. Mr., fatal duel fought by, 361

AUeyn, the actor, ^ master of the bears
and dogs," 249; the Boscius of his
day, 73^ (note)

Alliteration, clever specimen of, 78

Ally, a good one, 816

Almanacs; Liege, 137; curious notices

in French almanacs, 270
Alms-houses, [workhouses;] none before

the Beformation, 196
Amadeus, duke of Savoy, 711
Ambassadors, former custom of, 332
" Ambitious Statesman* (The) " old play,

690
Amilcas the fisherman, 734
Amsterdam, notices of, 493, 644
Amurath, sultan, effect of music on, 1 16
Anaximander, and other ancients, 824.

See Ancients.
Ancients and modems, discoveries of,

443, 466, 474, 606, 616, 621, 637, 685,

602, 617, 633, 650, 666, 730, 776, 785,

808, 824

■ ; mode of writing of the

ancients, 612; superiority of their

music, 616; casualties among, 701
Ancient Britons, See Wales.
Andalnsisy deadly irritation of winds in,

137
** Andronicns," old play, 642
Angel help, 376

Angling, notices concerning, 330
AngouUme, duchess of; anecdote of, 6
Animals, theories on generation of, 810
——I a common effect of attempting

to domesticate wild ones, 309; con-
nection between muscular power and

speed, 309; experiment of music upon,

346
Animated nature, 622
Anne^ queen, 636
Antipathies, instances of, 609
" Antipodes, (The)" old play, 352, 695
Antiquarian Hall, engraving and memoir

of, 70
Antique bronie found in the Thames, 134
Anty Brignai and the Begging Quaker,

796
Aphorisms; by Lavater, 140; by other

persons^ 414, 494, 605. See Counsels.
<<Aposae Spoons." 823
Apothecary or Dramatist, 620
Apparitions, curious narrative of, 365
Apprentices, former maxims for, 281,

282; to be found in sufficient wigs, 631
Archimedes, and other ancients, 825.

See Ancients.

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QSVXBLAL ih liKXa

AretiiteoHm, lyroDght in by the Nor-

maiM, 197
" Arden of FeTefBham,** old (.Uy, 112
Arembarg, duke of, his love of the arts,

ArgyV, casfoms ot, 464

Aristsrehns, and other ascienti, 834.

See Ancients.
Aristotle, former bonflsge to^ 444
Arithmetical notices, 380
Armorial bearings ; of ambastadom, 332;

haring emblems of the deril, 3dO
Armoriei^ formerlj posstssiid bj privmte

lords and gentlemen, 198
Arms Icf the hnmaa body,] one stated to
be broken bj the throbbmgs of rhen
raatismyTl
Armstrong, Dr^ notice o( 469
** Arraignment of Paris,** old play, 268
Arran, earl of, his letter on dnke of

Bnckingbam's death, 263
Arrett% near ManeiUei^ interring the

oamiTal at, 138
Artist's (Tonng), letter from Switzer-
land, 214; letter of one to his son, 479
Arti^ benevolent application of profits

from, 255
Arts and Sdencef, skill of the ancients

in« See Ancients.
Arum, herb called, 599
Ash, (monntain) an antidote to witch-
« cnft,337
Ashbnrtop Pop, 592
** Asparagus Gardeni^ (The) * 598
Assignats, (French) engraving, 519
Astronomy, enrious tract on, 540; an-
cients' knowledge o( 611. See
Ancients.
Astrologers, account of Hart, 88
Atheism, scandals to^ 801
Attraction, 585

Aubrey, John, curious collection by, 195
Audley, Hugh, usurer, life of, 450
Augustus, anecdote of, 530
Anid Robin Gray, ballad of; history of,

100, 101
Aurora Borealis, opinions on, 731
Authors; Mrs. Gharke reading her manu-
script to a bookseller, engraving of, 63 ;
suggestions to author^ 124; their two
wishes, 140; peculiarities of in com-
posing, 341 1 prolific authors, 363
Authors, difficulties of, 476, 501 ; vanity

of, 546, 820
Autograph of Charles Lord Howard of

Effingham, 287
Avarice^ sorts of, 453. See Misers.
Avenues of trees near Scheveling, 645
Avon Mill, WUts, 587

Bachelors; bsehelor^s desk, 512; bod^e
bachelofs, 533 ; miserable home of ba-
chelon, 549; pocket-book of one^ 617

Bacon, gammon of, at Easter, 195

» lord; his judgment on book^
109; his m<^od of oundeusingthoogbi,
341

(Friar) and his servant, 317

Badsjos, (the dean oO 182

Bag^ duel with, 10

Bagdad, effect of music after capture of,
115

Baker, Miss Polly, ficUon of, 45

^akewell, in DerU ; monnmeuts, Ac, in
church of, 613

Baldwin, Svnuei, singular burial o^ 206

BalUdi^ licenses for printing, 393

*< Ballad Singer,** 747

Bank, (country) capital for, 30

— ^- side bear gwden, 245

Banquet given by Whitelock to qaeen ol
Sweden, 276

of the dead,** 673

Babylon, 825

Bacchus^ bronse head of, flrand b the
Thames, 134

Ban^ happy, 472

Baptising, customs tooching, 426

Barbers; description of a barber, 121;

Dudley, barber, at Portsmouth, 203
Bargest, the speotre hound, 742
Bariey-break^ an old pastime, 19
Barnard, lady Ann, poetess, 100
Bamee, Joshua, epitaph for, 430
Barre, (Du) madame^ and the liege

almanac^ 137
Barrington, Georgev notice of, 490
*« Bastard, (The)" old pbty, 600
Bate, Bev. Mr^ three duels fought by,

361
Bath chairman, mock fnnenl of, 21
Bathing, uUlity of, 410; (earth), 695
Battalia, Francis, a stone-eater, 178
Battle ; prise-fighting formerly sometimes
with swords, 248; "* Battle of the
Poets," 204 ; «" BatUe of Alcasar,** eld
play, 243; field of batUe^ 331
Battle-bridge, remains of an elephant

found near, 40
B lyswater, projected improvement at, 108
Bazaar, (Soho) 77
Bear garden, (old) Sonthwark, 245; ot

elector of Saxony, 245
Bear and Tenter, boys' play, 596
Bears, habiU of, 599
Beards on women, superstition abont, 426
Beauty, compliment to, 172; ingenuous
disclaimer of, 621 ; beauties at church,
801
Beaux not always mere coxcombs^ 833;

Eoglish and French, 801
Beckenham, Kent, 883; bridge m road

to, 351
Bed, (celestial) 695
Bede (venerable) a hot spicer, 687
Beer, antiquity of, 787

848

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GENERAL UIDEX.

Bees; ^Parliament of BeeR," old plav,

67 ; a boj bee-eater, ouriooa acoottnt

of, 373
DeestoD, olerk of, 210
Beethoven, masician, memoir of, 516
Begging Quaker, &c^ 795
^ Begin again,*' 211

Behnes, Mr., his bust of dnke of York, 47
Belfast, Easter custom at, 253
Belgrade, siege of, 78
Bell, (diving) origin and notices of, 362

, (Tommy) engraving of, 326

T3eIIow8 end bellows-makene^ 719

Bells. See Ringing.

" Belphegor," old play, 690

Berne, description of, 214

Bemers, dame ^uli% treatise or field

sports by, 196
Best of a bad matter, 381
Beverley, a strong porter, 689
Beverley, SU John of, 687
Bhye, Alia, amiable character of, 674
Bibliomaniac ridiculed, 109
Bibo 8 (General) tale, 258
Bibury, rector of, 251
Bielfield, baron, bis account of the dance

of torches, 54
Bigotry punished, 279
Bilbocquet, a royal amusement^ 588
Bill of fare, 436

<'Billet(Crooked)'' on Penge Common, 335
BillinfipBgate, old satire on, 84
Billy Botts, notice and engraving of« 151
Bilsington Priory, tennre of, 308
Birds ; waterfowl at Niagara, 681 ; Dr.

Fuller's account of one, 558 ; Sandy's

method of hatching their eggs^ 755.

See 8tork% &o.
Bird-catcher, engraTiDg of, 295
— seller, engraving of, 255
; a play in wbi(£ all the characters

are birds, 67; particulars respecting

birds, 294, 296. See Parrots, S;ar-

lingB.
Btrmingham old conjurors, 117
, clubs of, 489 ; manufaptuves,

&0. of, 712
Bisiiops; one misled by a sMnt, 268;

<' bishop of Butterby;* 183; resigua-

tion of one, 466
Black jacks and warming pans, 8

■ letter books, curious criticism on,

213
Blacking, notices about, 632
Blacksmiths; their endurance of fire,

158; Gretna-green blacksmith, 216
Blackthorn, old custom o^ 534
Blake, W , hostler, engraving of, 438
Bleeding; forone's country, 45; practised

by a woman, 71 ; former frequency of,

240: in silence and psalmody^ ih.
Blind Hannah, engraving of. 111
Willie, of Newcastle, 231

Blood, circulation of, notices about, 776

Bloody hand, (the) 129

Bloomfield, George, poet's brother, en-
graving of, 815

, Robert, poet, notice of, 815

<< Blurt, Master Constable;' old play, 784

** Blythe Cockpen," and the marry mon-
arch, 206

Boar's head, enstom concerning, 43, 19i5

Bodmin, royal joke on, 174

Bodies, elements of^ 521

Bogs, remarks on timber in, 93

Bcjlton, John, of Durham, 619

Bonaparte; his grand procession to Notre
Dame, 252; his system of over-goveni-
ing, 367 ; at Torbay, 594

Boaes, curious account of brei^king of
one, 71 ; embalming of, 988; advice for
breaking, 670

Bba-fire, singular one, 381

B loker, Bev. L., notice of, 493

Books; pleasures and cousolition o^ 8»
109; old, with new titles, 34; one
dedicated to the author, 63; proper
standard of, 124; (black letter) naif
criticism on, 213; when first made of
paper, 254; lending of, 65% 558; my
pocket-book, 616; device taken from a
book of prayers, 722, (nqte). S-*e
Doomsday book.

Booksellers, an author reading a mann^
script to one; engraving, 63

Boots, Billy, engraving of, 151

Boots, importance, of shape of, 670

Boswelliana, 542

Bowel complaints, receipt for, 542

Bowring> Mr., his "Popular Servkin
Poetry," 265

Boys; at school, 75; on errands, 75;
account of a boj bee-eater, 373

Brace, Lord, and a farthings 535

Bradenstoke Priory, 116

Brandon, Gregory, hangman, 764

Brass-works, 715

<* Brazen Age, (The)" old play, 224

Bread seals, used by ladies, 45

Breach of promise^ curious case o^ 90

Breakfast, singular dishes at, 309

Breaking of an srm bone by rkemvatism,
71

Brecon, minstrelsy society' at, 169

Breeds, (mixed) curious complaint of, 313

Brentford Hannah, [Blind Hannah,} en-
graving of, 111

Brewer's drayman, character of, 187

Brewing, private^ 386

Bribery, in England, by for^guers« 422

'' Bridal, of Caolchairn," 392; public, 601

Bride^ description of one^ 148

" Bride, (The)" old play, 481

Bridesman, 147, 148

Bridlington, irregular stream near, 115*
enstom at, 705

849

Digitized by

Google

OKKBRAL INDEX.

Bristol, Lent custom at, 313; opulence
and inns at, 536; prince George of
Denmark at^ 636 ; hif;h cross at, 772

Britannia's sap> porter, 206

British Museum, pleasures and facilities
of, 56

poetesses, by Mr. Dyce, 98

— portraits, sale catalogue of, 118

Britons, (ancient). See Wales.

Bromholm« former pilgrimage to, 196

Bromley, bishop's well at, 447 ; engraving
of the chnreh-door, 463 ; extraordinary
ringing at, 678

Bronse, antique, found in the Thames,
134

Brookes, Mr. J., dissection of king's
ostrich by, 309

''Brose and Butter,** a favourite royal
air, 206

Brothers, younger not allowed formerly
to pursue tnules, 197

Brough in Westmoreland ; twelfth-night
customs at, 13; March fair at, 169;
church, 409

Brougham, Mr., his speech on the found-
ing of the Loudon university, 298

Brouwer, a painter, notice of, 6

Bruce, lord Edward, notices about, 627

Brummelliana, 333

" Brutus of Alba,'* old play, 770

Bryan, Daniel, a brave old seaman, 316

Brydges, sir R, epitaph on his daughter,
554

Buckles, notices of, 713

Budeus, (the learned), blunder of, 621

Budge, [Fur] notices about, 632; budge-
bachelors, 633 ; Budge-row, 633

Building estimates should be doubled, 590

Bunyan s Holy War dramatized, 426

Burial in gardens, 644 See Funerals

Burkitt, Dan., an old jigger, 663

Bust tavern, Bristol, 436

Butler, (Hudibras), hint adopted by, 619

Buttons, notices about, 712

Buying and selling, 620

Cabalistic learning, 424

Cabbage and tailors, 236

Cabbage-trees, vast height of, 660

Cairo, characteristic salutation at, 99

Calvin and Servetus, 779

Camberwell Grove, 406

CampbeUy Mr. T., speech of at Glasgow,

379
Campbells, the, 889
Cann, Abraham, wrestler, 664
Canons, near Edgeware, former celebrity

of, 311
CAPITAL extempore, 664
Capital for banking, 30

■ punishments, 228, 230
Capon, William, scene painter, notice of,

769

Caps and hats, fashionable days for new
ones, 239

Captun and lieutenant, mortal duel be-
tween, 362

Cards, fortune-telling, 37

Carew, bdy Elizabeth, 98

Carlisle, customs at, 601

CamivaJ, ceremony of interring, 136, 137

Carthago, Nova, its present to Scipio, 133

Carts, dignity of, 85

Castle-building, 232

baynard, tale of, 635
Coombe, tickling trout at, 331

Casualties of the ancients, 701
Cataracts of Niagara, 680
Catherine de M^ids, vow of, 238
Catherinot, a French pamphleteer, 364
Catholic German universities, 62
Caverns, tremendous one, 625
Cawston church, poor's box in, 374
Centenaries ; medal for the centenary of
the diet of Augsburgh,, 676; centenary
of the revolution, 672
Ceremonies, a true paper currency, 110
Cesar and Amilcas, 733
*• Chabot, Adm. of France,'* old pUy, 417
Chafin, Bev. Mr., his anecdotes about

Cranboume Chase, 16
Chains, hanging in, 489
Chairman (Bath) mock funeral of, 21
Chairs (arm,) 393; curious ones, 632, 725
Challenges, a poetical solicitor's answer

to one, 362. See Duels.
** Challenge to Beauty," old pUy, 663, 726
Chambers, James, the poor poet, 21S
Chancellor, (lord) office of, 365
Chancery, 270; despatch in, 365
Chandler, Mary, a poetess, 100
" Changes, (The)** old play, 209
Characters; of servants at hirings, 89;
national, in compliment, 93, &a; tend*
enoy of former lessons to meanness of
character, 282; character of the old
gentleman, 69; of Kimberley, a Bir-
mingham conjuror, 118; of the barber,
121; of Mrs. Aurelia Sparr, 170; of
Agrestilla, 179; of the drayman, 186;
a literary character, 206; of ''the
good clerk," 281 ; of the Durham pit-
men, 326
Charke, Mn., her autobiography, 63;

farther notices, 129
Charlemagne, privilege granted by, 277;

misfortunes in family of, 613 ■
Charles I., curious anecdote concerning^
360; and treaty of Uxbridge, 675

lU character of, 274; anecdotes

of, 351, 366, 430; procession on his
restoration, 667; his court, 830

■ v., bribery of English parliament

by, 422

Charlestown, ugly dub at, 234; duelling
society at 360

850

Digitized by

Google

, QSNBRAL UTDSX.

Charoflt, M. de, a royal favourite, 670
Chartres, duke of, notice of, C19
Ciiarybdts and Scylla, conflicting de-

scriptiooa of, 321, 353
*' Chaste Maid in Clieapside»" old play,

128
Chastity of Scipio, 133
Chateaubriand, viscount de^ anecdote of,

622
Chatham, earl of, 406
Chatsworth, 482

Chawortb, Mr^ dnel with lord Byron, 361
Cheapside Turk, inquiry for, 97
Cheese and stones^ comparative digesti-
bility of, 178
Chemistry of the ancients, 786, 787> 808
Chequers at pubiic-houses, 433
*' Cherry woman " of long since, engrav-
ing of, 343
Chest, a wonderfully capacious one, 853
Chester, mysteries of, treated by Mr.

Sharp, 7; custom at, 721
Chesterfield, lord, bleeding for his coun-
try, 45
Chiari and rival dramatists, 420
Children, lost, proper means for recover-
ing, 9; adoption of» in France, 110;
former austere treatment of, 197;
customs relating to» 425 ; childi^n and
mother, 635 ; children and split trees,
superstition conoemiog, 647 ; affection
for, 660
Chiltem Huudreds, account of, 325
ChimneySf rare before the Reformation,

195; smokyi bow cured, 286
Chinese ceremonies of salutation, 94;

idol, 314
Christening, customs at, 426
Christian Malford, plague at, 691
Christina queen of Sw^en, curious colla-
tion given to, 276
Christmas customs, 195, 196; pie, 677
Christ's sepulcbre and resurrection, 242
Chrysanthemum Indicum, 783
Churches; church processions, 196;
church-houses before the Beformatiou
described, 196; few built in the cor
rect line, 197; throughout Europe,
pope's grant to Italian architects for
building, 197; organs first used in, 237 ;
(see Organs;) visiting the churches,
239; curious old church accompts, 241 ;
remarks on beautifying, 427; custom
of strewing with rusbee, 553. See
Fonts.
Church-yards, beautiful one at Grass-
mere, 553
Cibber, (Colley) life of his daughter, 63
Cigar divan of Mr. Gliddon, 751
Cinderella, origin of, 774
Circle^ squaring the^ 813
Circulation of the blood, 776
Cities, ancient, 825

« City nightcap,'* old play, 280

Civilization promoted by trade, 520

Clare, Elizabeth, her intense attachment,
229

Clarence, duke of, lord high admiral, 289
dukedom of Clarence, 205

Classes of mankind, how many, 228

Clemency, policy of, 201

Cleopatra's pearl, 809

Clergy, luxurious dress of, 532 ; weekly
expenses of a clergyman, 556; devoted
attachment of one to his flock, 656

Clergyman, a waggish one, 317; duels
fought by, 361 ; office of lord chan-
cellor formerly held by, 365

"aerk, (the good)" 281

Clerk's desk, 512

Glerkenwell, ancient river Fleet at, 38

Clerks and parsons, anecdotes about, 331

Clocks, difference between, accounted
for, 619

Closing the eyes, 428

Clothes, economical allowance for, 334

Clubs, the ugly, 132, 234; parliament,
140; the silent, 234; the duellistsT in
Charlestown, 361 ; at Birmingham, 459

Coaches, in 1684, 85 ; coach and steam
travelling compared, 131

Coachman, considerate, 487

Coats, how speedily made, 457

'* Cock and Pynot" public-house, 671

Coin, (old silver) how to read inscrip-
tions of, 226

Coke, sir Edward, immense fan used by,
197

Colas, a celebrated diver, 324

Cole, Mr. J^ his «< Antiquarian Trio,'*
263, 265

Colliers of Dnrham, account of, 326

Colossus of Rhodes, 826

Colourf, the Isabella colour, 279; philo-
sophy of, 617

Columns, 'engraving of a curious British
one, 175

Comets, philosophy of, 650

Commerce, tendency of, 520

Companies, certain uses of, 115

Compliments, 98; a natural compliment,
172; compliment to a young laird, 542

Condemnation, criminal, stupefaction at-
tending, 229

Confession of Angsbunh, medal about,
575

Conjurors, (Birminffbam) 117

Conscience, force o^ 69, 201

Constable's "^ Miscellany," 57

Controversy, 494

Convents, ambition of the nuns in, 239

Cooke, Rev. T., inquiry about, 68; notice
of, 203

Cookery aided by mnrio, 516

Cookesley, Mr., patron of Mr. W. Gifford,
26

851

Digitized by

Google

OiESnB&AL IHDEZ.

Cooks for the royal table, 169
Copernican system, €33
Copper mines, valuable, in Cornwall, 329
Corde]iers> their li&ts of candidates how
, arranged, 349
Cordon, sanitary, 661, 662
Corineus, a Tmjan giant, 732, 728
Cornwall, valuable iiiinos in, 829; suf-
fered little in recent pressure, 830;

parsons and clerks in, 381 ; wrestling

in, 664
Corporations, anatomy c^ 262; fSofols kept

by, 691
Corpuscular philosophy, 537
Corral— a |)Oor cottager, fe06
Cortoaius Lodovick, a lawyer, fuBerol of,

350
CottAgevv, ungnlar difficulties of one,

607, &c
Coulonr, in Golconda, celebrated for dia«

monds, 414
Counsels and cantions, 494, 60S, 690, 653>

686, 828
Oounter, tradesman's duty behind, 283
Country, bleeding for, 6; parties and

p^casires, 179; little known, 364; for-

mer manners of country gentlemen,

196; country (satire), 819 ; dances, 430
Court banqnet, innocent gaiety at, 276
Courtier, shrewd, 208; hnmiliation of

one, 501
Courts of jastiee^ oontiiitt of feeHogs in,

229
Courtship, patient, 823
Covent Garden, gambling-houses formerly

in, 43
Coventry, psgeant vehicle and play at, 6
Coward, Nathan, glover and poet, 544
Cowper, the poet, two letters of, 876
Crabbe, poet, criticism on, 342
Crabbing for husbands, 647
Cranboume Chase, notice and engraving

of emigration of deer from, 15; town

and parish of Cranboume, i6. ; bloody

cffray in the chase, 16; origin and

history of the ohase, 18
Craven, (Skipton in) theatrical company

in, 35; legend of, 258
Craven, notices of, 586, 775; stories of

the Craven dales, 741, 802
Creditors, unblu&hing impudence of one,

334
Cresses, green-grocers* devices with, 304
Cries, London ; engraving of the " young

lambs" seller, 198; of the bird-seller,

255; of the oherry-wom&ti, 848; of the

old water-carrier, 367; old London, 630
Criminals, capital, feelings of before and

after han^g, 228
Criticism, ktlling, 740
Cromwell, Oliver, anecdote of, 10
Crown lands, under Elisabeth, 290, 291
Cruelty relenting at music, 115

Crusades, effects of, 196
Crystal summer-house, 541
Cuckoo-pint, a plant, 599
Cumberland, weddings, 397; customs of,

601, 694
Cups, gold and maple, exchange of at

coronations, 308
Cup and ball, a roysl amusement, SSS
Cushion dance described, 81
Customers, how to be considered, 283; a

spruce mercer and a lady oostomer,

284 ; invitation of customers, 314
Cyrus, his love of gardening, 644

Dabshelim, king of India, library o^ 124

Dairy poetry, 533

Danoages for breach of promise by a
negro, 90

Danby, earl of, and the revolatioB, 671

Dancing, goose-dancing desoribed, 41*,
the dance of torches, 54; eashion
dance, 81; liay-day dance of milk-
maids, 279; particular wedding dances,
397; country dances, 430; profound
study of minuets, 446; dancing round
the barrow, 618

Darwin, Dr., his ** Botanic garden," 644,
(note.)

Davenant, sir W., his description of
London, 84

*< David and Bethsabe," old play, 805

*' David's Sow, (As drunk as)" ezplained,
190

Davy, (old) the broom-maker, 640

D'Ajcy, Mr. J., and the revolution, 672

Death; •« Death's Doings," 120; horrsr
at mention of, 212; description of a
deathbed, 213; banqnet of the deed,
258; custom of laying salt m the
dead, 262; singular disj^wal of a roysl
corpse, 288; singuUr phaotassss or
figures of the dead, 355

Death and virtue, dialogue between,
424 ; superstitions tooohing death, 464

Decimals, 382

Decker, the dramatist, excellence o^ 179

Dedication, curious, 63

Deer, emigration of from Cranboume
Chase, notice and engraving of, 15;
driven from the Highlands, 877 j their
abhoirence of sheep, ib^ 378

*< Defeat of Time, (The)" 582

Defoeana, 282, 313

Delaval (Sir) and the monk, 800

Democritus, notice of, 810

Denton castle, seat of Fairfax, 344

Deposits, a well-kept one^ 622

Derbyshire, notices respecting, 426, 482,
655,661,672

Descent, canons of, 446

** Desolation of Eyam, (The)" 655

Despotism, virtuous, 674

« Devil*s Law Case, (The)" old play, 480

852

Digitized by

Google

QBNSRAL INDEX.

Devil's punch-bowl in Sonrey, 487

*' Devil," often assumed as a surname,

with correspondinjo^ arms, 349
Devonshire, butterfly hunting in, 339;

wrestling, 622, 664

-, duchess of, compliment to,

172

-y earl of, and the revolution,

671

Dial, ancient, 424
Diamond cut diamond, 325
Diamonds, where and how found, 414
Diarrbeoa, receipt for, 542
Diligence and delight, 365
Diligence (French; described, 506
Dining on Coke, 446; royal dinner time,

790
Dinner, mysterious privacy of, 212
Diopliantes and other ancients, 824. See

Ancients.
Directions; pious direction posts, 270;

a particular direction, 338
Discoveries of the ancients and moderns,

456, 474, 505, 521, 537, 585, 602, 617,

633, 650, 666, 730, 776, 785, 808, 824
Discount for cash, 142
Disease, philosophioal observation under,

356
Diseases, passing patients through trees

for, 647
Dishes for the royal table marked, 189
Disputation to be avoided, 494
Distillation, ancients' knowledge o^, 808
Ditton, (Thames) great resort of anglers,

830
Diver of Charybdis, account of, 353
Diving-bell, origin and notices of, 382
Diversions, political origin of some, 596
Doctor degraded, 734
Doctors, dilemma against, 41
" Dodypol, Doctor," old play, 449
Drge of Venice, marriage of, 226
Doicoath, valuable mine in Cum wall, 829
Domitian, (the emperor) inscription for,

791
'* Don Quixotte,'* old play, 643
Doomsday-book, dissertations on, 305
Dorking, Leith hill, near, 473
Dormer, judge, 203

Dover Clifis, hunmne warning against,225
Dover pig, 780

** Downfall of May-games," 273
^— — of Robert, earl of Hunting-
don, old play, 400
Draining the fens, elTeot of, 72
Dramatists; rival Italian damatists, 420 ;

dramatist or apothecary, 620; Drama,

See plays.
Drayman, brewer's, description of, 187
Drayton, his sarcasm on tmde, 282
Dreams, a black dream, 477
Dresden, elector's bear-garden at, 245
*< Drunk as David's So«," 190

Drunkards, the place they go to, 270;
warning to, 412

«* Duchess of Suffolk," old play, 292

Duddlestoue, John, of Bristol, 536

Dudley [a barber] of Portsmouth, 203

Duels; singular mode of duellmg with a
bag, 10; interesting account of duels,
360; poetical answer to a challenge,
362; of Sir B. SaokviUe and Lord £.
Bruce, 527, &c.

Dulwich coUege, and the founder, 248,
249. 335

Duinplings,Norfolk, by whom to be ea en,
178

Dunchurch cow and calf, 776

Dungeons for prisoners formerly in oastles
and monasteries, 196

Durfey, Tom, notice of, 739

Durham, engraving of Tommy Sly of,
166; Hut. Alderson bellman of, en-
graving, 183; Eivet bridge in, engrav-
ing, 207 ; ecclesiastical survey of see
of, 208; account of the pitmen in
county of Durham, 326; visit of James
I. to the city, $40; Durhamiana, 619

Dustman, happy compliment by, 172

Dutch compliments of salutation, 99;
Dutch royal gardens, 644; Dntoh trees,
fisheries, &C;, 644, ho, ; Dutch cnstoms,
696; Dutch gallantly, 801

Dyoe, Alexander, his specimens of
British poetesses, 99

Early rising, 398

Earning the best getting, 404

Earth-bathing, 695

Earthquakes, opinions on, 731

East Indies^ amiable native monftroh in,
674

East Grinstead old play bill, 69

Blaster, antipathy to the Jews at, 195;
Easter ceremonies, 239, Slo^ 251, 277

Eating, adrioe against excess of, 41;
fire-eaters, 157 ; stone-eaters^ 177

Ecbatane, oitv of, 825

Echo, (moral; 619

Eclipse, [race- horse] engraving and ac-
count of, 309, &c.

Economy, equally necessary with indus-
try, 1 73 ; onrioQS instance of» 453. See
Misers.

Edmonton, inhospitable styles of, 455

Education, how conducted before the
Reformation, 195; lamented by a mu-
latto, t6.

«< Edward the Third," old play, 440

Eels, (Bush) 526

Effingham, Lord Howard of, his auto-
graph, 2S7

Eggs, peculiar mode of hatohing, 755;
artificial hatching by the ancients, 767

£^yptians in France, description ot^ 239

£idon, lord anecdote o^ 446

853

Digitized by

Google

U£NSKAL IlfDKZ.

EI Dorado of Hteratnrey 371
Eieotricitj, 733

Elephanty rf>maio8 of, fonnd near Battle-
bridge, 40
Elizabeth, queen, siTnile used by, 110;

washing poor's feet by, 240
Elm-tree, oelebrated one, 625
blvet bridge, Darham, 207
Emblems and mottoe, 45; emblems used

by senranU at hirings, 87, 102
Emigration, Highland, 575
Emperors and kings, ill-fated ones, 612,

613
" English Monsienr," 579
Epilepsy, dinorder of great mind% 818
Epit^hs; by Dr. Lowth on his daughter,

69 ; extempore one on a French general.

317; others, 422, 424, 430, 466, 488,

491, 5U5 513, 5d9« 542, 544, 551, 554,

555, 562, 563, 564, 597, 619, 669, 677,

693, 791
Erasmus, notices of, 514, 584
Errors, clerical, 317
Esop in Ruflsia, 643
Eternity, 818
Ether, doctrine of, 666
Ethiopians, mode of salutation by, 98
Etiquette, cut down by civilization, 110;

nearly fatal excess of, 369; Spanish,

541
Etymology; of rarions English words,

237; of words of necessity from the

German, and of those of luxury from

the French, tfr.
Evelyn, extraota from, 829, &&
''Every Man in his Humour," original

scene of, changed, 151
Ewarfk old port, 172
Excuse, a good one, 398
Executioner, 763
Execution, case of revlTal after apparent

execution, 228; former frequency of,

490
Excursions of tradesmen, limits of, 284
Exercise and air recommended to ladies,

105
Ex-Thespianism, 691
Eyam in Derb., notices of, 655, &c.,729
Eyes; closing the eyes, 428; guard

against an evil eye, 706
Eyre^ chief Justice, notice of, 490

Facetiffi, 800

Fairs, former importance of, 103

" Fairies, tale of the," 582

''Faithful Shepherd, (The)" old play,
677

" Faithful Shepherdess, (The)" old play,
724

Falcon tarem, site of, 249

Falls of Niagara, 680

Families, former discipline in, 197; sin-
gular abandonment of family, 212;

picture of desolation in, 328 ; iH-fated
royal ones, 613; Wilkie's picture of
one, 669

Fanatic, (fasting) 67

Fans, former size and application of, 197

Fare, biU of, 436

Fares of ticket porters, 10

Farmers in 1782, and in 1822, 232

Faro Straits, 322, 323

Farthings, 189 ; one found by a lord, 635 ;
the broad farthing, 668

Fashion, a gentleman's, 585

FasKng, extraordinary, 67; faat-pndding
iind Friar Bacon, 317

'< Fatal Jealousy," old play, 704

"Fatal Union, (The)" 771

Fate, plea and answer respecting, 414

'< Father's Home, (A)" 85

Father and son, 430

Favourites, a singular one, 670

»* Fawn, rThe)" old pUy, 626

Feast, a fearful one, 260

Feathers, 71

February, advice for, 126

Fees, the best of, 270

Feet, washing of, at Vienna, 239 ; and at
Greenwich by queen Elizabeth, 240

Felons, sensations of, before and tJi^
hanging, 228

Female friendship, 182

Fens^ goose-herds in, 70; effect of drain-
ing in, 72

Ferguson, Sir A., letter from Sir Walter
Scott to, 668

Figures and numbers, 380

of the dead, singular narrative o(

365

Filching, core of, 557

Filey, in Yorkshire, 733

Filial custom, 313

Fill-up, (a), 782

Fingers, numbering by, 381

Fire, water mistaken for, 681

Fires in London, 699; "burning the
witch," 705

Fire-damp, explosions of, 328

Fire-eaters, 157

Fish-street, (Old) 84

Fish, royal reason for not eating, 558

Fishermen, sarcasms upon, 285 ; Lucan'a
description of one, 733

Fishing-towns^ Dutch and English, 646

Fitzgerald, 0>1^ and CoL Kingi duel be-
tween, 362

** Five days Peregrination," &c^ 560

Fleet river at Clerkenweil, 38

Fletcher, Dickey, 792

*< Floating Island, (The)" 690

Flogging, formerly, at Oxford, 197

Flora, games of, 271; indictment and
trial of Flora, 273

Flowers, singular attention to, by the
pitmen, 327; Time's source of pleasure

854

Digitized by

Google

QBNERAL INDEX.

from, 583; mode of preserving, 716;
winter flowers, 783
Fly-berry plant, 72
Fiy-boAt, (the Maiden) 694
Font, of Harrow Chnrch. 79 ; of Becken-
ham church, 383; of West Wickham
chnrch, 407 ; of Grassmere, 550

Foot-ball, formerly played in London
streets, 85

Fop and wit, union of, 333

Forces, doctrine of, 585

Furests,ancient and decayed, in Scotland,
576,577. See Trees.

Forrest, , author of "Five Days'

Peregrination," 560

Fortune; cards for telling fortunes, 37
how to be commanded, 174; fortune
favours the brave^ or butterfly hunt*
. ing, 339

** Fortune by Land and Sea," old play,
150

Fownes, Thomas and his fox-hounds, 17

Fox, the quaker, 381

Fractures, singular advice about, 670

Franklin, Dr^ anecdote of, 45

Fraock Elan, isle of, 389

Fraser, Simon, brother of lord Lovat, 31 7

French; nobility, 66; valentines, 103;
adoption of cluldren by, 110; transmi-
gration of French noblesse. 121 ; cere-
monies in France, 136^ 251; present
inmble of ranks among, 181; former
hospitality to travellers, 198; nation-
ality of, 252, 253; decorum of in
crowds, ib,g almanacs, statements of,
270; diligence, def^cription of, 756

Friar Bacon and his servant, 317

Friendship; destroyed by advice, 165;
on the nail, supposed meaning of, 382

Fritters in France and England, 136

Fruit, market for at London and Paris,
479

Funerals ; mock, of a Bath chairman, 21 ;
of a French general by a British sailor,
316; a cheerfal one, 350; customs
touching, 467, 550, 601, 743; consoU
tion from funeral processions, 654

Furniture of old times, 706

Furs; tippets and scarfs, 532

Futurity, peep iuto^ 37

Ghige, viscount, his fSte of the quintain,
502

Gallantry, Dutch, 801

«< Game at Chess," old play, 161

Gaming, curious notice about gambling
houses, 43; gaming for funeral ex-
penses, 382

Gfunmon of bacon, Easter custom of, 195

Gkols. See Prisons.

Gardens; summer garden of Peter the
Great, 643; love of gardens, 644;
Dutch royal garden, 644

Garlands, May-day, 271, 272, 275; fune-
ral, 467, 560
Garrick plays, selections from, contributed
by Mr. G. Lamb, 56, 67, 80, 96, 1 1 2, 128,
150, 162, 178. 192, 209, 224, 243, 256,
280, 291, 304, 320, 338. 352, 368, 394,
400, 417, 440, 449, 467, 480, 500, 514,
530, 547, 578, 595, 610, 642, 663, 676,
690, 704, 724, 737, 770, 784, 800, 817
Geese in the fens, management of, 71;

goose-dancing in Scilly islands, 41
Geikie^ Mr., a meritorious artist, 58
Grems of the twelve months, 161
Genders, 556

Genius; unrewarded, 158; chance a great
patron of, 211; distresses of men of,
476; genius and good temper, 621
Gentleman, (The Old) character of, 59
** Gentleman Usher/' old play, 500
«< Gentleman of Venice," old play, 467
Gentry; heralds formerly kept by, 195;
former manners and oppressions of,
196; austere treatment of their child-
ren, 197
George, prince of Denmark, notice of, 536
George I., anecdote of, 203

IL, and his cooks, 189

Germain, lord George, anecdote of, 205

Germany, universities in, 62

Giants in lord mayor's show, 719

Gibbs, alias Huck'n, Dr., 277

Gibbeting, 490

Gibbon's << Decline and Fall," 558

Giffordy William, death, and memoir of,
22

Gifts ; new.year, 7 ; wedding, 39/

Gilding without gold, 713

Gilpin, (Mrs^) riding to Edmonton, 454

Gimmal ring, engraving, 415

Gin act, efi^ect of passing, 539

Ginger beer, receipt for, 236

Gipsies, health and happiness of, 105; in
Epping Forest, 428

Gipsy [a stream] in Yorkshire, 116

Gladiatoryn England, 248

Glass windows, rare before the Keforma*
tion, 196; discovery of, 781; skill of
the ancients in, 809, 812, 826

Gleaning or leasing cake, 587

Glenstrae, laird of, 233

Gliddon, Mr., cigar divan of, 551

Glisseg, in Wales, thd happy valley, 176

Glorious memory, (the) 6')4

Gluttony, instances of, 589 ; glutton and
echo, 619

« God keep you.** old salutation, 195

<< God save tha King," author of, 113

Goethe^ his philosophy of life, 199

Grog and Maj^g of Guildhall, 719

Gk>ld found in Scotland and Cornwall,
329; skill of the ancients in arts re-
lating to, 786

« Golden A.^e, (The)" old play, 339

855

Digitized by

Google

GKNKItAL IITDBZ.

Golden tooth, learned disputes about, 227
Go]doni and rival dramatiits, 420
Gone or goiog* 987
Good>eating pemicioof, 139; domestic

dialogue on irood living:^ 411
Good Fridajr» 239, 241
Good nature and frood temper, 621
Goodrick, St., a bishop misled by, 208
Goodrick, sir H., and tbe Revolution, 672
Goose-fair at Nottingham, 604, (note.)
Goraip and Stare, the, 446; ooniment on

literary fpossip, 668
Gi'St Hog s ilr^ account of Iloganh's tour,

666
Gout, notices on, 740
Government, simplioiit and wisdom of,

623, &0.
Gozai, Italian dramatist, 420
Graham, Dr., lecturer, ()96
Grammar explained, 478
Granger, Rev. Mr., the Ltnnssos of Dritiiih

portraits, 266
Grapes in Covent Garden, &c., 484. Sec

also 430, 728
Gnssbopper on Change, explanation of,

683,684
Grassington theatricals, 638, 717
Grassington manager, [T. iOray] 66
Grassmere, beauty of, 663
Gratitude in birds, 296
Gravity mistaken for wisdom, 197
Gravity, doctrine of, 686
Great Unknown discovered, 163, &o.
Greatness, tax on, 819
Green, W., artist and author, 665
Green-grocer's devices, 304
Greenland, English sailors in, 316
Greenock Adam and Eve, antiquity of,

269
Gregory, old name for the hangman, 765
Gregory,(01d) selfishness of defeated, 120
Gresham, sir Thomas, a deserted child,

683
Gresham committee^ notice by, about lost

children, 9 «

Gretna green, blacksmith and marriages,

216, 218; parsons, 477
Grey, lady Jane, table book of, 2
Grief, expressive silence of, 230
Grinstead, (East) old play bill, 69
Grosvenor, earl, and Mr. GiiFord, 29
Groves; onapicturesque one, 404; groves

and high places, 404
' GuardUn, (The)" old play, 209
Guards, Swiss, monument Cf, engraving,

127
Guildford raees, 767
Guildhall, curious explanation of, 798
Guilty, stupefaction on verdict of, 229
Guinea sovereigns, 790
Gunpowder, antiquity of, 810
Guns; air-guns, 666; notices concerning,
guns^ 713

Gwennap, in Comwsll, productive mine
in, 329

Hackerston's cow, 639
U.igue, fine woods near, 644
Hagman Heigh, new year's eve custom, 4
Hairdresser. See Barber.
Halfpennies, 189

Hall, (Antiquarian) of Lynn, engraving
and notice of, 70

, Thomas, his ""Funebria Florm,** 273

Ham and Stilton, 90

Hammond, the poet, notice of» 470

Hampstead, Shepherd's WeU at, 191;

the place of groves, 406
Hands; peculiarity of the barber's hand,
123; the bloody hand, 129; reason far
preferring the right hand, 140
Handkerchief, white cambric, 661
Hanged and unhanged, mankind divided

into, 228
Hanging in chains, 489; inducement \o
hanging, 642; hanging the shuttle, 626
Hangman aud his wages, 763
Hannah, (Blind) notice and engraving of,

111
Hard fare, 177

labour, varied by different tread-
mills, 378
Hare's footi an antidote to witcbonft,

337
Harp, notices of, 168
Harpham, St. John's well at, 687
Harris, James, 666
Harris, Renatus, organist, 130
Harrow church, engraving of its old fontv

79
Harrow, dancing round the, 513
Hart, the astrologer, 68
Harvest- catch, in Norfolk, 681
Hatred, to be insured by advici^ 165
Hats; substitute for the shovel ha:, 605
Hawking, ladies formerly devoted to, 196
Hay-band, origin of, 771
Health, imporiance and means of, 105,

139
Heart, perpetual mntion o^ 686; case
containing Lord Bruce's heart, 527;
instance of heart-burial, 629; disposal
of sir W. Temple's heart, 644
Heat, how counteracted at 8 am, 541
Heaving, in wrestling, exph ne 1, 666
'< Hectors, (The)" old play, O^a
Hedgehog, celestial, 314
Hell-bridge, in the Highlands, 468
Henley, (Orator) advertisement of, 722
UenliBy, in Arden, custom in, 88
Henry II., character of, 491

■ III. of France, amusements of,

688

• IT., anecdotes of, 201

• VIII. and his peers, 700
. IX., notice of, 370

856

Digitized by

Google

OBNSRAL INDBX.

Heralds formerly in the train of nobility

and gentry, 195
Herefordshire, new-moon onsiom in, 197
Heriot, curioiks register conceruing, 4U9
Hermits, 711

Hero, singular ono of an old play, 193
Heroism and humanity, 816
Herrings, curing and virtues of, 285
Herv^ Peter, artist, letter respecting, 424
Hervey, Rev. J^ notices of, 597
<« Hey for Honesty," old play, 611
* Heywood, Thomas, his exeeUeaoe as a
dramatist, 151, 179
Buh park, or a tanner's villa, 382
<" Hierarchic of Ansels," old play, 193
High admiral, (lord; office and seal of, 287
Highlands; legend ot^ 145; wedding
146; tartans nearly obsolete in, 147;
customs in, 233, 272; deer and sheep
in, 377; contempt Ujt table liUEuries
in, 378; highland scenery, 388. High-
• lands; See Scotland.
Highwaymen nearly extinct, 489
Hill, sir John, physician, notice of, 740
HUl, Bev. Mr., killed in a duel, 361
Hindoo husbandmen, 348
Hipparchus, and other ancients, 824.

See Ancients.
Hippocrates, curious advice of, 670
Hiring of servants at statutes, 86, 102
History of Rome, doubt on, 621 ; pleasing

passage of history, 635
Hobby horses, obsolete toys^ engraving

of, 343
Hobday, Mr., artist, exhibition of, 344
Hobson, (old) pleasant conceits of^ 210
Hoby, sir Edward, 289
** Hoffman's Tragedy, or Revenge for a

Father," old play, 784
Hugarth, and engraving from his picture
or lord Lovat^ 119; curious notices of,
559, &c
Holidays; how spent in Ireland, 346;
their utility, 347; the benevolent
Greek philosopher, 348
Holland, customs of, 696. See Dutch,
Holt, John, a great ringer, 679
Holwood, seat of Mr. Pitt, engraving and

notices of, 726, 735
Holly tree, carrying of, at Brongh, 13
Home, a father's, 85; spells of home, 108;

praises of, 548
Hood, T^ sonnet to, 534; Plea of the
Fairies, bv, 584; *< Whims and CMdi-
ties" of, 744
Hoppins, David, a singular parodist, 685
Horace, pious parody of, 584
Horm CravensB, 775
Horns, emblems of kingly power, 624
Homechurch, 42

Horses ; engraving and account of the
race-horse Eclipse, 309, &c; their

cular power, ib.; difference between
theoretic standards and occasional ex-
cellence, 310; insurance of, 311 ; great
weight of the heart of Eclipse^ <6.;
singular examination of horses, 330;
marks of age of, 693

Horsedealing, laMtude of deceit in, 520

Horsham gaol, 461

Horticulture recommended, 644

Hostler, derivation of, 437

Hot meals, 157

Hotels. See Taverns.

Hounds, first fox-bounds in the west,
18

Hour-glasses for pulpits, 843, 251

Houses and accommodations of old times,
706; oountry-houses lead to poor-
houses, 590

Howard of Effingham, lord, [lord high
admiral] autograph of, 287, &o.

Howitt, William and Maiy, their Poems,
623, 655

Human life^ 199

Humanity and heroism, 816; humanity
sometimes nearly lost in forms, 3\j9

Humour, definition of, 559

Hunter, John, the anatomist, 309

Hunting; description of buck^hnntiog in
Cranbourne Chase, 17

** Huntingdon Divertisement," old play,
705

Huntsman, Mr. Woodford's, 510

Husbandman, (T<he retired) engraving,
423

Husbandmen in India, 348

Husbands, a happy one, 635; crabbing
for husbands, 646; evidence of affec-
tion for one, 686. See Wives.

Hut, Alderson, of Durham, 183

Hydrophobia, 748

Hvatt, Sophia, her poetical enthusiasm,
'359

Hy-jinks^ a Scotch amusement, 234

Hygrometer, now, 13

Hypochondria, 460

I, the pronoun, danger of wearing it out,
171

Ideas, (innate) 474

Idols, (Chinese) 314

Illusion, pleasures of, 793

Imagination ; its transforming power, 5, 8

Immersion instead of interment, 206

Imperial drink, receipt for, 236

Imperial fate, 612

Improvisatore, extraordlnwy, 211

Inch, derivation of, 189

India, library of the king of, 124; hus-
bandmen of, 348

Indians— and William Pens, 623, &c;
adventure of some» 681; Indians at
Court in 1784» 761

swiftness connected with great mus- 1 *< Indictment of Flora,^ a dialogue, 273

857

Digitized by

Google

OKKBRAL INDEX.

Indalffences (popisb) not always ill

applied, 207
InduBtrj vain withont thrift, 173
** Infant genins," 744
Infants, offerings to, 425; picture of a

deserted one, 583
Inishail, isle of, 388
Innate ideas, 474
Innocent (Pope) III., 874
Inns, rare before the Reformation, 196 ;

poor's boxes formerly at, 196, 374
of the Bomsns, &o^ 433, 434^ 439;

seeking lost sign of one, 619; good

ones the result only of great travelling,

686; inn yards, 755
Inscriptions on old silver coin, how to

read, 226
Intellect, march of, 30, 341
Intemperance, corrected by echo, 619
Interlaken, beauties of, 214
Interment, superseded by immersion, 206
Invasion and volunteers, 442
Ireland, bogs in, 93 ; customs in, 253, 262,

426; custom of lord -lieutenants ot;

332; Irishmen on a holiday, 346;

Irish tobacco pipes, 799
Islington, rights of parish of, 610, 808
Italian architects^ pope's grant to, for

building churches, 197
Italian dmnatists, 420

Jack the Viper, 796

Jack Ketch a gentleman, 763

" Jack Drum's entertainment," old play

208
Jack-o'-Lent, 135
Jamaica, speculation for warming-pans

''in, 8
James I., rudeness of his court to wo-
men, 195; at Durham, 340
— - II4 notices of the Stuart papers, 369
January, general prescriptions for, 41
Japanese mode of salutation, 94
Jeffries, Judge, a judge of music, 131
Jeggon, Dr., anecdote of, 414
Jemmal ring, 415
Jennens, Charles, notice of, 740
Jemingham, Mr., notice of, 101
Jests ; great merit of suppressing offvu-

sive ones, 140; effect of wealth on

their success, 174
Jews, Easter custom against, 277
Jew's barn, 430
John, (St.; a custom on St. John's eve,

464; Su John of Beverley's Well at

Harpham, 687
"John (King) and Matilda," old play.

56, 402
John Bull, specimen of, 188; indecorum

and rudeness of in crowds^ 253
Johannites, notice of, 775
Johnson, Dr.^ ** an odd kind of a ehiel,"

542

Jones, Rev. M , Berkshire miser, 604

Joy, madness from excess of, 256

Jubilee, (Revolution) 672

Judges, hunting their Own venison on
circuit, 34; immense fans formerly
carried by, on circuit, 197 ; a singular
decree of one, 446; curious desoripi ion
of one, 542; a candid judge^ 690;
Juries the better judges, 590

Juries, the better judges, 590 ; decisional
of Juries, 781

Justice, (impartial) 203

Justices of peace, former furniture of
their halls, 196; arithmetical eeiimale
of, 366; female, 700

Juxton, bishop, notice of, 610

Kalm, Swedish traveller^ description of
Niagara, 680

Keats, the poet, 405; epitaph oa him-
self, 539; notices of, 600, 629

Kelly, Miss, notices respecting, 442, 448

Keston Cross, 431

Ketch, Jack, 763

Kicking, in wrestling, barbarous, 664. 665

Kimberley, Francis^ Birmingham oon-
juror, 118

King, (The) and the private gentlemaD,
366

King, Col., and CoL Fitzgerald, duel be-
tween, 362

— ^ Dr., Atf pun, 126

Kings and emperoi«, ill-fafed onesb 612,
613; kings in Africa, 790

"King's Arms," 430

Kirkby, 633

Kirby Malhamdale chareh-yard legend.
258

Moorside, death of duke of Buck-
ingham at, 263

Kircmer, his account of a nuurelloos
diver, 353

Kissing, in Ireland, on Easter Mondaj,
253

Knowledge, defends from the juggle of
forms, 110; even a little of it useful,
379; importance of a knowledge of the
world, 412

Labour, hard, greatly varied by different
treadmills, 378

Labour and luds, 494

Lacteals in a mole, 510

Ladies, in winter like tea^kettlei^ 76; air
and exercise for, 105 ; lady of the hill.
146; character of Mrs. Aurelia Bparr,
a maiden lady, 170; thehidy and tnm*
badour, 227; the white lady, 359. See
Women.

Lang, David, the Gretna-green black-
smith, 216

Lairds, compliment to a young one, 542

Lamb, Mr. C., lively letter to, 97

858

Digitized by

Google

GSNXRAL INDEX.

Lambert, (parliamentary) monument to,

261
^' Lambe (Young) to sell/' a London cry,

198
Lamond of Cowel, tradition of, 233
lAnoaater, dukes of, AO; and York,

houaes of, tfr.
Landlady, agreeable, 562
Language, without words, 234; English,

distinct derivations of, 237; genderu

in, 656
Lansberg, Matthew, Liege almanac by,

137
Lanterns, court order for, in the streets,

207
Laplander's mode of salutation, 93
Lapstone, beating the, 43
Lark, the eyeniiig, 311
Last tree, 44; last deer of Bcann Doran,

377
*< Late Lancashire Witches, (The)" old

play, 97
Lauron, Marcellus, artist, 255
Lavater, aphorisms by, 137
Laurence Kirk snuff-boxes, 754
Law of kindness, 662
Lavrsuit, effect of, 67
Law and poetry, 446; remark on law-
books, 781
Lawyers, two, 652
lioaping, curious instance of, 554
Learning, and large libraries, 109; for-

merly united with pjsdantry, 197; a

mulatto deploring his education, 313;

a little learning not dangerous, 379
Leathart, Mr., ** Welsh Penillion of," 168
Leaves scorched by summer-showers, 541
Lee Penny, The, engraving, 486
"Legends, Scottish," 388
Leceistershire, custom of, 262
Leeds, duke of, (earl of Danby), vindica-
tion of, 672
Leodi, M. B„ new hygrometer by, 13
Lent, customs in, 313
Jack o', puppet formerly thrown at,

135
Leith Hill, near Dorking, 473
Lettered stones, curious ancient one, 176
Letters, address on one, 338
Lettsom, Dr., notice of, 557
Lewis, St^ disposal of his body, 288
Leybourne, W. de, first Englishman

styled admiral, 288
Liars, incredible, 734
Libels, actions for, formerly rare, 195;

dramatic libel, 201
Libraries, cautions about forming, 109;

that of the king of India, 124
Licenses, for enacting plays, 34; for

printing play-bills, 292, 293
Liege almanac, 137
Lieutenant and captain, dreadful duel

between, 362

Life, 199; recovered after hanging, 228}

description of, 819
Light, philosophy of, 618, 811
Lilly, his account of the astrologer Hart,

68
Limbs, advice in case of one broken, 670
Linnet fancy, 294
Listen, William, crier of, *< young lambs,"

198
Listen, Mr., 739

Literature, a great bargain of, 370 ; a
literary character, 205; foolish labour
in, 428, 797
Living well, 430
Lloyd, T. Esq., curious pillar restored

by, 176
Loadstone, opinions on, 732
Loaf-stealing, an old Christmas game, 196
Loddon church, poor's box in, 875
London, described in 1634, 84; modem
improvements in, 107; musicians in-
corporated in, li4; cries, see Cries;
university, founding of, 297; notice of
London watermen, 314; London mer-
chants a hundred years since, 325;
London holydays, 347 ; fruit markets
of London and Paris, 483; old London
cries, 630; a London watchman, 676 ;
fires in London, 699; Londiniana, 708;
gianU in Guildhall, 719. See Bank-
side, Battle* bridge, Clerkenwell, Co-
vent Garden, Islington, &c.
'* London Chanticleers," old phiy, 128
Long, sir Walter, of Drayeot, his st}le

of travelling, 197
Longevity, clerical, striking case of, 12;

longevity of a Highlander, 521
''Looking Glass for England and Lon-
don," old play, 321
Lord chancellor, office of, 365

high admiral, powers and seal of, 2S7

Lord Mayor's show, giants in, &c., 719
Lords and ladies, vegetable, 599
Lost children, notice about, 9
Lottery, madness from success in, 256
Lovat, lord, engraving of, 119; claimant

to the Utle, 317
Love; loves of the negroes, 90; music
requested for a love dialogue, 257;
refinements of Spanish love, 369
''Love for Love's sake," old play, 368,

394
"Love Tricks," old play, 500
Love, David, walking stationer, 503
Lovers, hostility of time to, 583
"Love's Dominion," old play, 642
"Love's Metamorphosis," old play, 547
Lowth, bishop^ his epitaph on his daugh-
ter, 69
Loyola, Ignatius, and his boot, 670
Luck and labour, 494
Lucerne, monument of the Swiss Guatds
at, 127

859

Digitized by

Google

owntBATi nrDXj^

Tjpng; why Thames Ditton called lying
DittOD, 330; how to be reformed, 366

Lynn, Antiquarian Hall oU 70; Btiiy
BooU of, 151; May-day at, 271

Lyttleton, sir George, notice of, 709

Mao Colda, Alaister, 3S9

Maodonald, John, a Highlander ,521

Donalds and Campbells, 389

— Gregor of Glenstrae, 233

Fhadian, captain, 391

Macham, discoverer of Madeira, 13d

Macrae^ captain, and sir George Bamsay,
fatal- duel between, 362

Madeira, discoverer ol, 138

•'MadDog,'*747

Madness, raving, from a lottery prissy 256

Madrid, carnival in, 137

Magpies, superstition relating to, 191;
anecdote of one^ 718

Maid of Honour, cnriuns patent te one^
621

"Maid Marian," letter respcctinf^ 419

Malacca, salutation in, 98

Mallet, David, notice of, 469

Malmi^ury abbey school, tradition about,
116

^'Mamamouchi," old play, 530

Man, description of, 819

«Man in the Moon,** tract called, 540

Mankind, only two classes of, 228

Manners in Oliver Cromwell's time, 10;
before the Beformaiion, 195; of old
times, 706, 829

Manufactures, celerity of processes of,
457; of Birmingham, 712

Manuscripts, an author reading one to a
bookseller, engravings 63; curious ac-
count of Stuart manuscripts, 369 ; cu>
rions restoration of one, 622

Maps, a curious old one, 253

March, first of, 283; fair, at Brongh, 159

of intellect, 60

Marden, (Milton and) hundred of, 289

Mariner, (an ultra) 508

Mark, St., customs on St. Mark's eve,
464, 494, 540

Markets, (fruit) of London and Paris,
483

Marlow, poet, merit of, 663 (note.)

Marot, Clement, French poet, notice of,
797

Marriages, a new plan for, 11; account
of late duke of York's, 53; breach of
promise of marriage, 90 ; in HighUtnds,
146; at Gretna Green, 216; of the
doges of Venice, 226; perplexing ones
in relationship, 238; vulgarity of a
court lady's consenting to marriage,
369; Welsh, 371; Cumberland, 397;
corious case of re-marriage^ 409; the
Gimmal Bing, 415; a happy marriage,
472; Gretna Green parsons, 477; old

eostoms at, 534, 588,601; nngallant

toll on brides, 636; marriage under

the protectorate, 667
"Married Bean, (The)" old play, 72tf
MameiUes, custom at» 136; interesOi^

history of, 270
Martin, St, and the Devil, 499
Mary, Peter, and, 546
** Master of the bears and dogs," 249
Master of the revels^ license by, 30, 3<i
Masters, an amiable one, 205
Matlock, 482

Matrimony. See Marriage^.
Matorin, conversations of, 341
Maundy Thursday, 239. Ac,
Maxims of meanness, 281, 282
May-day, customs on, 271, ftCf 279, 3H

629
Mayor's feast, temp. Elizabeth^ 723
Mazarine, cardinal, easy patronage by,

203
Meals ; hot meals, 157 ; taken with mya-

terions privacy, 212
Meanness formerly taoghi for niom]%

281, &e.
Mechanical power, 457; aneienta* knaw-

ledgeof,811,825,826
Medals; a commemoration medal of diet

of Angsburgh, 575
Medicine, skill of the andenta in, 7S6»

787
Melancthon and Calvin, 782
Melons, varieties and weights o^ 485
Memory with stupidity, instance of, 709
Memonmdum books, 1
Menage, advice of, touching poetry, 670
Mendip mines and Miners, 762
Mercer of London, old picture of, 265
Merchandise, unfavourable tendencies of,

282
Merchsntu, (London) a hundred yssn

since, 325
Merrow, in Surrey, 767
Metastasio, memoir of, 211
Meum et Tuum, 539
Mice, field, for preventing injuries fh>m,

648
Michaelmas day, customs on, 646
Microscopes, whether kuown to the

ancients, 826
Milk, in America, 654
Milky Way, the, 602
Mill, the haunted, 652
Millhouse, Robert, his Poems, 495
Milton, hundred of, 288, 290
Mines; workers in coal-mines deeeribed,

827; fatal explosion in, 328; in Great

Britain, 329; descent into, 463; Meo*

dip mines and miners, 762
Ministers, cheap patronage by, 293
Minstrels, euriouc regulations for, 168
Mint, test of old silvor coui at, 226
Minuets, laborious study of, 446

860

Digitized by

Google

OEKSBjIL inobz.

Miron, Francis^ boldness and impuoity
of, 201

Misers, notices of, 450, 453, 473, 491, 535,
604

Misery, — a bond of affection, 817; trial
thiOQub, 818

Miseries of travelling, 131

Miss, designation of, 830

Mitcheson, Tommy, of Durham, 553

Modems and ancients, discoveries of,
443, 456, 474, 505, 515, 521, 537, 585,
602, 617. 433, 650, 666, 730, 776, 786,
808, 824

Moeris, (Lake) in Egypt, 826

Moles^ lacteals in, 5 1 0

Mompesson, Rev. W^ and wife, 655, &o.

Monarchs, most ancient of, 582; ill-fated
ones, 612, 613$ a pure and exemplary
one, 674

Monasteries, ireqnent and pioos bleedings
in, 240

Money, rareness of due care of, 453

Monkey, gallant comparison with, 701

Monks. See Monasteries-

Monmouth, duke of, 765

Monson, William, alias Billy Boots, 151

Montmoreooi,Ann, anecdotes of, 501, 518

Month's mind, a mass for the dead, 242

Month's, twelve gems of the, 160

Moon, new, customs on, 197

Moon, philosophy of, 651; tincture of
moon, 741 ; moonlight view of Niagara,
686

Moore, T^ the Poet, remarks on, 341, 342

Moorfields and Laundresses, 85

Mops or Statutes for hiring servants^ 86,
102

Morals, former system of, for tradesmen,
282, &c.

More, sir T., notice of, 365, 766

Mortality through duels, stated, 360

Mosaics of the Ancients. 827

Mother-wit better than learning, 286

'* Mothering Sunday," 313

Mother and her children, 635

Mottos and emblems, 45

lilount Vernon, why so called, 309

Mountain ash, an antidote to witchcraft,
337

Mug-houses, described by a foreigner, 189

Mulattos, curious lamentation of one, 313

Mulgrave family, founder of, 382

Mullally, Jack, an Irish landlord, 347

Mummies, 786

Music; anecdotes of, 113; comparison of
some much-admired, 114; musicians
incorporated, i6. / some effects of mu-
sic, 115; in churches^ 131; notice of
the harp, 168; mischievous musical
crash, 174; effects of, on rudeness and
ignorance, 231; changes in church
music, 243; requested for a beautiful
love-dialogue, 2*7; of birds partiou-

larzed, 295; expetiment of, on ani-
mals, 346; superiority of the ancient,
515, 827; musical anecdotes, 516;
memoir of Beethoven, 517; the music
which old Time delights in, 582

Muokerry, lord, his receipt to cure lying,
366

Mustard and cress seeds, devices witb,
304

My Pocket Book, 610

Mysteries, dramatic performed at Coven-
try, engraving of, 6; dramatised, 471

Nails and nail-makers, 715

Nail, to be a friend upon the, 382

Names, of places, explained, 78; cnrtail-
ment of baptismal names, 193; substi-
tution of classical for baptismal ones,
349 ; the name of ''devil," often assumed,
ffr./ scriptural, &c, 798

N isb, T., on herrings in 1699, 285

Nationality, 580

Nature, animated, 522

Navarino, descrip ion of, 686

Necromancy, 162

Negroes, loves of, 90; salutation of two
negro kings, 99

Nelson, lord, pnnctnality of, 398

Nettleton, custom at, 43

New-moon, customs on, 197

New-year, ode to, set to music, 3; cus-
toms on, 4

Newcsstle, Blind Willie of, 231

-, duchess of, notices of, 99, 139

Newsman, description and engraving oU
31

Newspapers, varieties and interest of, 31,
33; reading the newspaper, engraving,
399; newspaper orthography, 525;
ciassifioation of readers of newspapers,
699. See Advertisements.

Newstead abbey, female enthusiast at,
359

Newtonian philosophy and the ancients.
See Ancients.

Niagara, cataracts of, 680

Nicolai, M., bookseller, morbid phantasms
of, 355

Nightingale, poet's mistake about, 294

Nimeguen, two ravens at, 44

Nixon's prophecies, notice o^ 526

Nobility, French, remarks on, 66

Nominative case, 141

Norfolk dumpliogsb digested by a stone-
eater, 178

Norfolk, custom in, 581

Normans, what derived from, 197

Northumberland, custom in, 329, 425

Norwich Guild, 723

Notre Dame^ grand Easter ceremony in,
251

Nottingham, custom at, 504 (note); Not-
tingham and the revolution, 671

861

Digitized by

Google

OUIXBAL INDEX.

NottiDghaiDy earl of, 288
Nambers and figures, 380
Nunneriefl^ giria formerly educated in,
196

Oaks, fine ones in Holland, 644

Oddities of (renins, 212

^Oddities, Whima and," by T. Hood, 744

Offerings to infants, 425

Offices, estimates of value of, 452

Offices and trades specified in Dooms-

daybook, 308
Oglethorpe, general, notice of, 761
O'Kelly, CoL, his celebrated racehorse

aud parrot, 31 1
Old age, a fair price for burning it out at

the stake, 343
— — gentleman, (the) character of, 59
— -* women, ridicule of, De Foe's cen-
sure of, 10
**Old England for ever," pamphlet called,

591
Opinions, former authority of, 444
Opium-eater, the, notices of, 553
*' Oranges, The Three/' play called. 420
Oran-outang, extraordinary one, 378
Orde^ Mr., an amateur artist, 255
Organs, celebrated ones, 130; address to

a barrel organ, 403 ; notices of, 237
Orleans, duchess of, ingenuous disdaiuer

by, 621
Osnaburgh, bishopric of, 49
Odtend, siege of, 279
Ostler, derivation of, 439
Ostrich, (the king's) di85ection of, 309
Oiho,earlof York, 49
^'Ough," (the syllable) many ways of

pronouncing, 344
Ounce, derivation of, 189
''Outlandish knight," 65
Oxford, mayor of, 309
0>'8ter cellars, entertainment of, 434

Padua, cheerful funeral at, 350

Page's lock, near Hoddesdon, curious
chair at, 632

Pageant vehicle and play, representation
of, 6

Painters, scene for, 328

Painting on cloth and glass, by the an-
cients, 787, 809, 827

Palindrome explanation and instance of,
499

Pamphleteers, a singular one, 364

Paper books not before the tenth cen-
tury, 254

Papers, (Suart) curious account of, 369

Parents' affection,635, 660. Sec Children.

Parenthesis, explanation of, 286

Pdris garden. South wark. 245

Paris and London, fruit markets of, 483

Parish aocompts, 241

Parishes^ abuses in, 427

Parliament, dubs, 140 ; anecdote of royal
aversion to, 350 ; bribery o^ by Oharies
v., 422

« Parliament of Bees," old play, 304

Parodies, pious, of Horace, 684

Parr, Dr., early model of, for style, 699

Parrots, Col. O'Kelly's most remarkable
one, 311

Parsimony. See Misers.

Parsons and clerks, anecdotes about, 331.
See Clergymen.

Parsons, Joe, the samphire-gatherer, 226

Parties of pleasure, a successful one, 27tf

Party of pleasure, interesting, 559

Passion-week, 239, &c

Pastoral and tragi-comedy, definitiona of,
725

Patients, philosophical observation of
their diseases by, 356

Patriotism, fervour and judgment of, 201

Patronage, (cheap) 203

Paulian, (Father) his account of a stone-
eater, 177

Pavy Labathiel, 677

Pawning, valuable resource of, 453

Peak's hole, 421

Peal (dumb) of Grandsire Triples, 678

Pearce, Dr. Zachary, H. Walpole's ridi*
oule of, 5; anecdote of, 466

Pearl, Cleopatra's, 809

Pedantry formerly the associate of Isara-
ing, 197

*« Peep into futurity," 37

Pegge, Rev. S., revolution centenary ser-
mon of, 672, 673, 763

Pemberton, sir J^ lord mayor, 424

Penge Common, ''Crooked Billet" on,
335

Penn, William, and the Indians, en-
graving, 623

Penny, (The Lee) an antique, descriptioo
of, 486

Pens, how carried anciently, 254; their
introduction, i6.

Penthaney, Anthony, a miser, notice of,
473

Pepys, extracts from, 829, &c.

** Perhaps," its importance in the science?,
124

Perfection, the steps of, 525

Pesce, Nicolo, the diver, and the royal
gold cups, 353

Peter the Great, summer garden of, 643

Peter^honse college, anecdote touching.
546

Phantasms, singular case of, 356

Philadelphia, origin of, 624

Philippos, 767

Philippine Islands, salutations in, 98

" Phillis of Segros," old phky, 400

Philosophy s of ancients and modema.
See Ancients. Philosophy of a iairyt
584

862

Digitized by

Google

0£NERAL INDKX.

Piiippsy William, founder of the Mai-
f^rave family, 382

Phlebotomy. See Bleeding.

Phrenology, 165

Physicians, curious jealousy of soniei
137; a benevolent one^ 657; two phy-
tnciane, 652

Pickpockets, 530

Piokworth, Mr. C, letter to, 717

Picture dealer, trade catalogue of» 118

Pie, Christmas, 667

Pikeman, or tunipike-man, 756

Pilffrimagee, intense interest of '^ Pilgrim's
frognea,** 109; pilgrimages formerly
in England, 196; a curious one. 238

Pilpay's abridgment of a library,' 124

Pine apples, 483

Pipeslndge^ or prejudice against new
water-conveyance, 367

Pipes, Irish tobacco, 799

Pisoatoria, 733

Pitt, Mr. W., notices of, and of his seat
at Holwood, 728

Places, names of tome explained, 78;
high places and groves, 404

Plague at £yani« 655, &c., 729

Planets, illustration of^373; material of
one^ 540

Planting in Scotland, 577 ; planting re-
commended, 644, 649

Platina, the historian, anecdote of, 349

Plato, mode of studying, 501 ; Piato ai)d
other ancients, 824. See Ancients.

Plays ; representation of a pageant vehicle
and play at Coventry, 6 ; licence fur
enacting plays, 34; curious play-bills,
69, 129, 292, 318; origin and progress
of theatrical representation, 153; not
a third of old dramatic treasure ex-
hausted, 179; supposed libels in, 201*
202; an author's correct estimate of
one, 286 ; one of nine days' represen-
taiioo, 369; a straightforward critic
upon, 402; at Linton and Grassington,
538: play-wrighting, 620; acting of
extraordinary children in plays, 677 ;
performance of plays at Christian Mai-
ford, 691; definition of pastoral and
tragi-comedy, 725; expedients and
difficulties of players, 691; selections
contributed by Mr. C. Lamb from the
Garrick plays, 417, 440, 448, 467, 430,
500, 514, 530. 547, 578, 595, 610, 642,
663, 676, 690, 704, 724, 770, 784, 800,
617} Garrick's collection of. See
Garrick plays.
Plea of the Fairies," 584

Pleasures of Illusion, 793

" Pottinff Parlour, (The)" 671

Plough Mondi^, 41

Plurality of Worlds, doctrine of, 602

Poaching, vindication of, 472

'* Poetesses, (British)** by Mr. Dyoe, 98

Pockets, pickpockets, and pocket-hand-
kerchiefs, 630

Poetry, Bowriiig's popular Servian poetry,
265; poetry and fact, 323; thou and
you in, 530; rule for criticism, 670;
diction of, 620

Poets; advice to one from one younger,
124; estimate of various poets, 341;
minor poets not useless, 342; dlBtresaee
of, 476; an athletic poet, 554; reward
of an ingenious onei 530^ encoorage-
ment to poets, 760

Poland, custom in, 160

Politeness, 621

Polkinghome» a famous wrestler^ 664

Polypi, 611

Poor's boxes, notices and engravings of,
874

rates, none before the Reformation)

195

Pope, Alexander, notice of, 469

Port wine, £ wart's excellent, 172

Purtaferry, Easter custom at* 253

Porter recommended, 206

Porters, (tickot) regulations and f»res
of, 10

Portraits, British, Rodd's sale catalogue
of, 118; picture of taking, 640

Portuguese mysteries, 571

Posts, (road) scripture texts on, 270

Potatoes, proper treatment of in frost, 9

Potter, Dr., university flogger, 197

Pound, derivation of, 189

Powell, the fire-eater, 157

•» Mr., a notorious duellist, 361

Preacher (Puritan) 818

Prescription of money, instead of pli vsic,
557

Presents, new-year's, 4; wed(1ing^ 397,
601; to infants, custom of, 425

Pretender, curious paternal notices of^
372

Pride, remarks on, 714; instances of, 790

Priests in France, former hospttaliiy of>
195

Princesses, mode of carrying, 501

Printing, licenses for, 292, 293

Prison walls, 364

Prisons^ ancient and modem, 460

Private and public, 366

Prize-fighting, with swords formerly, 248

Processions at funerab, 654; at the re-
storation, 667; on centenary of the
revolution, 673

Professors in German universities, -62

Prognostications, effect of a few success-
ful ones, 138

Promise^ breach of, curious ease of, 90

Pronoun, first personal, not to be worn
out, 171

Pronunciation^ at the old Grassington
theatre, 36; extreme irregularity of
the English, 844

8.63

3K

Digitized by

Google

GENERAL INDEX.

Property, fixed and moveable, remarks

on, 173
Protestant German Uniyersities, 62
Prynne, William, notice of, 363
Publio-houses, 433, 434, &c., 440
Public and private, 366
Publishers, bow dispensed with, 364
Paddle*dock, dnke of, 060
Pudsey, bishop, notice of, 208
Pulpits furnished with hour-glasses and

clocks, 243, 251; pulpit desk, 512;

pulpit in the rock, 662
Punch bowl. Devil's, 487
PuQctilio, Spanish, 541
Punctuality recommended, 398
Punishments, capital, solemnity and ter-
ror of, 228, &c.
Puns, not unnatoral in grief as well as

joy, 56
Purple of the ancient*^, 732, (note.)
Purvis, William, op " Blind Willie," tlie

minstrel, 231
Pye, Mr., curious anecdote from, ot

Charles I., 350
Pye-stealer detected, 210
Pyramids of Egypt, 826
Pythagoras, power of his music, 516;

Pythagoras and other ancients, 824.

See Ancients.
Pytheas and other ancients, 824. See

Ancients.

Quakers; The Three Quakers, 439;

quakers under William Penn, 623,

&c. ; origin of the term quaker, 629
'* Quarter of an hour before," 398
Qualities, sensible doctrine of, 506
Queen's college, Oxford, custom at, 43,

195
Qneenborough, curious account of, 563
Questions, danger of asking, 171
Quid pro quo, 430
Quin, his apology for a dancer's absence,

8; his nnfeeling jokes, 16., 9; noticett

of, 470, 709
Quintain, the, 502, 534
Quipoes explained, 470

Race horses. See Horses.

Radnor, lord, anecdote of, 45

Rain, effect of, 541

Rainbow at Niagara, 683, 685

*' Ram Alley," old play, 663

Ramsay, sir George, killed in a dnel, 362

Rand wick near Stroud, custom at, 277

Ratting, 281

Ravens, at Nimegnen, 44 ; tradition re-
specting two at home, ib, ; anecdote of
one at Hungerford, 413

Ravensboume, sources of the, engraving,
735

Raynal, Abb^, anecdote of, 45

Beading aloud, remarks on, 139

Realities resembling dreams, 229
Rebellion, (The)" old play, 677

Red-herring on horseback, an old dish,
195 ; enlogium of red-herrings, 285

Reformation, manners and customs be-
fore, 195 ; progress of, 242

Regent's-street and park, 107, 103

Relationship» involvement of by marriage,
238

Religion, 414

Request, modest, 734

Restitution, better late than never, ^^]
for ease of conscience, 201

Retrospect, 92

Return made to a parish circular, 1S9

" Return, the Soldier's," 702

Revels, master of, licence by for enacting
plays, 84

Revenant (Le) 22S

Revenge^ wishes of, 98

Reverie, 232

Revival, after hanging at the gallows, 228

« Rewards of Virtue^* old play, 80

Rheumatism, asserted effect of, 71

Rhodian Colossus, 826

Rhodope and Cinderella, 774

Rhone, river, Scipio'e shield found in, 132

Rhubarb, and the Turk in Cheap8ide,97

Rich man defined, 173

Richardson, the first public fire-eftter, 158

Riches, good and bad effect of, 174

Riddle and explauation, 205

Ridicule, 501

Right hand, reason for preferring, UO

Rigi, in Switzerland, iuscription on buok

Ringing, memorial of, at Bromley, 070;

anecdotes of ringers, 679
Rings; the Gimmal riug, engraving and

notice of, 415
Ri&ing, (early) 398
Rivers, opinions oh, 763
Road-posts inscribed with texts, 270
Roasting, musical, 516 .

Robertson, J., a friend of Thomson, 604
"Robin Gray, (Auld)* curious acoount

of, 100
Robin Hood*s bower, 243
Rodd, Mr. H., picture-dealer, 118
Rollan, Madame, a celebrated dancer, 0
Roman antiquities, 40 ^

Romans, customs of, 433; ^•'^^^

Roman emperors, 612; doubts on »^

man history, 621; Roman rem*"*

727, 729, 735
Romuald, St.,711
Rooms, former lownets of, 84
Rope-riding at Venice^ 540
Rosamond, (Fair) 158
Rouen, Easter custom at, 24&
Round robin, ancient custom of, 349
Royal Society, 276
Royal families, ill-tated ones, 613

864

Digitized by

Google

GKMERAL IXUKX.

« Boyal King: and Loyal Sul.ject, (The)"

uld play, 663
Hubens, liberality and kindness of, 6
Runaway mops or statutes, 88
Ruptures, curious application for, 647
Rural delights, 354
Rashesy houses and churches strewed

with, 553, &0.
Russia, Esop in, 643
Rutty, Dr., a Quaker, confession of, 669
Rydal Mount, seat of Wordsworth, 552

Sackville, sir E., and lord Bruce, duel

between, 527
Saddles, rules touching, 593
Sailors, 563
, custom of when in Greenland,

315 ; generous feeling of one for a dead

enemy, 316; their remonstrance by a

round robin, 345; anecdote of an Iri^h

one, 350
St. Bride's churc^ • , admirable organ in, 1 3 1
St. David's day, 167
St. Giles Hill, near Winchester, fair at,

102
Saint Giles's bowl, 765
St. Goodrick misleading a bishop, 208
St^ Jerome's description of an organ, 237;

conjecture about his dragon, 269
Saint John's Well, at Harpham, eiigraT-

ing, 687
St. I^wrence church, capital oigan in, 131
St. Margaret's at Cliff, 225
St. Mary church, admired oi^gaa in, 131
Saint Bomuald, 711
St. Sepulchre's bell, at executions, 82
Saints, a poor female one, 376
"Sally Holt," a story, 749
Salt, the terror of spectres, 261, 262;

custom of putting salt on the dead, 262
Salutation, different modes and forms of,

93, 195; curious one by lord Lovat,
120; lively lecture on the English
mode, 278
Samphire, gathering, 225, 226
Sandy, James, an extraordinary artist, 754
Sanitary cordon, 661, 662
" Sappho and Phaon," old play, 547
Satellites, 603

** Satiromastix," old play, 352
Saville, sir G., letter to, 660
Sawston Gross, 455
Saxons, customs of, 433
Scaffold, the criminal's view from, 230
Scandal, a grand receptacle of, 123; pic-
ture of, 445
Scarborough, custom at, 202
Scarfs and tippets, 532
ScheveUng scenery, 644
Schmidt, celebrated organ-builder, 130
" School of Adults," 745
Schoolboys, 75 ; at Malmsbury, tradition
about, 116

Schools, rare before the Reformation*
195; chastisement in, 501 ; schoolboys'
anticipations of home, 548
Sciences and arts, skill of the ancients in.

See Ancients.
Scilly Islands, custom in, 41
Scipio, anecdote and shield of, 132
Scot, John, a fasting fanatic, 67
Scotland, story of the Scotch soldier, 143;
utility of the Scottish hospital, 143:
customs on the new moon in, 197;
' amusements called hy-jtuks in, 234;
an old and corrected map of^ 253;
Scotch Adum and Eve, 269; some
gold found in, 329; Scottish legends,
388 ; customs in, 426, 434, 486 ; Scotch
lairdfl and judges, 542 ; Highland emi-
gration, 575 ; forest of Scotland, 576.
See Highlands.
Scott, sir Walter, letter of, to sir A. Fer-
guson, 668

, Thomas, shepherd, anecdote of, 669

Scripture t«xU. how hung up formerly
in houses, 195; inscribed on road-
posts, 270
Sculpture of the ancients, 827
Scylla and Chary bdis, ancient and mo

dern descriptions of, 321
Sea bull, 350

weed, address to, 226

Seals ; bread seals, 45; seal of lord high

admiral, 287
Second-sight, 391
Secrets worth keeping, 371
Sects, exdttsiveness of, 818
Seigneurs, the benevolent one, 66
Seignories in England, dreadful abusef

and oppressions formerly in, 196
Selden, notice of, 700
Self-devotion, clerical, 682
Self-esteem, 790
Selling and buying, 520
Sensualist and his conscience, 619
Sepulchral remains, 41, 42
Servants, appropriate addresses of differ-
ent ones, 89 ; description of statutes or
mops for hiring, 86, 102; servant*
maid's pocket-book, 616; old and faith-
ful servants, 823
Servetus and his works, 777
Servian popular poetry, 265
" Seven Champions of Christendom," old

play, 244
Session court of, satire on judges of, 542
^Shakerley, my aunt," 746
Shakspeare, a fault in, 151 ; contempo*
rary dramatists of, 179; a giant among
giants,! 79; time's rival, 584
Sham-fij^hts and invasion, 442
Sharps Mr., his dissertation on Coventry

pageants, 6
Sheep, aversion of deer to, 377, 378;
their injury to young woods, 576;

865

Digitized by

Google

OKVKRAL IITDSZ.

raparstitioa toac)iinf|^ rh^ep and mio^,
648; theep-flbaariii]; in CuinberiAud,

694
ShaepsluuilDi. Whittle, 548
Shepherd's well, UanipsteMl, 191
Shepherd*, how paid lormerly, 197
Sherbet, reeetpt for making, 236
SheriflTs trompeto exphUn^ 197
Sheriffii, female, 700

Shield of Soipio found in the Bhone, 132
''Ship, (The)" order of, 29
Sliipa* dekcent of one OTer Niagara falla,

680
Shirlej Common, broom-maker's at, 639
bbirta, wearing two in trayelliog, 69U
5<hoeblacka, notices reepeottng, 632
Shoemaker^ an ambitious one^ 680
Shoes, old, eurioHS application of, 688
Shorlaud, Lord, old legend and mouu-

ment of, 664, 673
Showers, summer, 641
ShroTO Tuesdaj, 136
Shute, bishop of Durham, pan on, 142
Shuttle* hanging the, 626
Siam, summer-house in, 641
Sight, (second) 391
SigDi, expUnation of a modem one» 336;

one near Skipton, 318; odd signs, 206 ;

sitni-seeking, 620; curious eSgns^ 638,

666, 792
Silchester, Hants, Roman station, 692
Silent club, (the) 234
Sliver, how silver coin teited, 2*26; found

in Cornwall, 329
•'Silver Age, (The)" old play, 338
Simcoe, general, notice of, 626
Singing, test of exoellenoe of, 619
Singing birds. See Birds.
** Single hair/' for angling, an enthusiast

on, 330
« Sir Giles Ooosecap," old play, 679
Skating, 76

Skimmington, procession called, 694
Skipton in Craven, theatrical comfMtny

at, 36; custom in, 314. See Craven-
Sleeves, pockets formerly in, 630
Smith, sir Sydney, and old Dan Bryatt,

316
Smith, Thomas, a quack, 775
Smoking, much used in 1634, 85
Smoking and snuffing, oriental temple

for, 761, 764; antiquity of smoiuog,

800
Smoky chimniee, how cured, 286
Smyth, Capt. W. H., his acconnt of

Scylla and Charybdia, 323
Snitzler, an honest organ-builder, 427
Snuff and tobacco, proposed history of,

194
Snuffing and smoking. 761,&c. ; Laurence*

kirk snuff-buxes, 764
Snuff box, (my) engraving and descrip-
tion of, 96

Snuffers, (curinns old) aeeouat and en-
graving of, 320
Snuffing candles^ curious proeeas of^ 174
Soames, Dr. master uf Peterhoose, 646
Society simplifitnl by eavilisation, 110
Soho baaaar, 77

Soldier, (Scotch) story of, engraving, 143
Soldiers; a soldiers age^ 690; a auiaiei'a

return, 702
Somerset, pnmd duke of, 790
Soo» father and« 430

Sophia Charlotte^ sister of George L, 654
Sontham, custom in, 88
Sonthey, poet, residence of, 665
S|«-field8, sketch in, 796
Spaniards, spare diet of, 800
Spanish mysteries, 471; punctilio^ 041
Sparr, Mrs. A., a maiden lady, 170
Sparrow, address to, 182
Spectrology, 366
Speculation, folly of, 690
Spells of bome^ 108

Spinning, teuuity of, 467

Spit, novement of to music, 516

" Spoons Apostle," 823

Sporting, 142

Spring, the voice of, 813

Spring Gardeusb a former Yauxhall, 3C0

Stag-hunting, near Bean Doran, 377

Stage-ooaoh adventurei^ 132

Standing mannerly before parents, 197

Stanley, Bev. T., rector of Eyam, 729

Stanmore toll-honse, engraving of, 86

Starch- wort, an herb, account of, 699

*< Stare and Gossip^ tbe," 445

Starlinfra, battle of, 331

Stars, fixed, the^ 602, 819

Statesmen, model of, 629

» small faiming ppomislwi

called, 603

Statistics, curioos, 270

Statutes for hiring servants^ account o(
86, 102; stupendous oue% 826

Stealing to restore, 117

Steam-engines, 467

Steel manufacturers, 714

Stephens, hit mode of writings 341

<< Steps retraced," 238

Stilton, (ham and) 90

Stocking, tbrowiiig of, 149

Stoke Lyne, lord of manor of. 278

Stones,sepulchralaccumnlatious of stones^
42 ; acconnt of a stone-eater, 177; aat»>
biography of one, 177

Stones, (precious) ancients' imitatioa of»
787

Stories, (long) 619

Storks, habits and treatment of, 646, 696

Storm in 1790, 384

Stourbridge fair, 103

Stratford-upon-Avon Chnreh, engraving
of, 223

Streams, irregularity of some^ 115

866

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eSHERAL IIVDXZ.

Street circulaTS, 238

Strutt, Mr^ new edition of his ** Sports
and Pastimes," &c, bj editor of the
Table Book, 503
Stuart papers, interesting account of, 369;

the onfortanate line of Stuarts, 613
Students in German universities, 62
Studley statute for hiring servants, 87
St jle^ error respecting, 30
StyleSi for writing on table*book8, 1
Suicide never ooourringamonggipsies, 105
Sumatra, oran-ontang of, 378
Summer drinki^ receipts for, 236
Summer ; summer-house at Siam, 641 ;
summer showers, an effect off^ IA\\
summer garden of Peter the Great, 643
Sunday^ diversions on, 245, 247
Suppers, a light and early one, 334
Sup-porter» a sign motto, 206
Surgery, skill of the ancients in, 785, 787
Surnames, various cases of that of the
** devil/* in families, and arms oorre-
spondeuty 349
Surveys, of see of Durham, 208; in

Doomsday-book, 305
Sweetheart-seeing, 494
Swimming, Kircher's account of a man

web-handed and web-fboted, 353
Swiss guards^ monument o^ 127
Switxerhiudy an artist's letter f^m, 214
Sword-dancing in Northumberland. 329
•*SybU's Leaves," 37
Sympathy, supposed effect of, 581
System for shopkeepers, 281, 282
Table Book, explanation of, 1; design of
the present, 2 ; editor^s disclaimer of
various publksations in his name, 382;
editor of about to publish a cheap
edition of «*Strutt's Sports and Pas-
times," 503 ; editor^s severe domestic
afflictions, 783
Table rock at Niagara, 685
Tadloc's tread like pavier's rammers, 188
Tailors and cabbage, 236
Tailor, origin of the word, 773
Talbot inn. Borough, 437
••Tales, (Early Metrical)*' notice of, 57
Talker, the selfish, 171 ; talking, at times,

how difficult, 181
Talldogton, Crcorge, casualties, that be-
fell, 478
••Tancred and Gismnnd,'* old play, 161
Tanner, appropriate name for his villa, 382
Tanner, Dame, gleaning cake of, 587
Tartans, now little used in the High-
lands, 147
Taste, its power and value, 43
Tasting days, 638
Taverns and inns, notices of, 435, &c.,

439, ftc.
Taylor, J^ of Birmingham, notice of, 712
Tempers of birds, how ascertained, 296
Temple church, organ in, 180

Temple of Health, Dr. Graham*% 695;

for smoking, Mr. GUddon's, 751
Temple, Sir W., disposal of his heart, 644
Tenter, (Bear and) boys* play, 596
"TethyV Festival," old pUy, 321
Test of talent, 286
Texts of scripture; formerly writtmi in

apartments, 195; on roud-posts, 270
Thales and other ancients, 824.
Thames, river, shut oat state of, 84;

bronae antique found in, 134
Thames Ditton, the resort of anglers, 330
Theatres, one projected at Edinburgh,
157; advice respecting formation of,
•6/ curious circumstances of a lire at
one, 369. See Plays.
The thing to a T," explanation of, S
Thomas, Elisabeth, poetess, 99
Thomson, poet, notices of, 468, 603, 708
Thorwalsden, monument by, 127
Thoulouse, cruel custom at, 277
Thou and you, in poetry, 580
Thread and thread-makers, 710
Throwing the stocking, 149
Thucydides, testimonial to, 824
Thunder, opinions on, 730
''Thyestes,*' old play, 737
Ticket porters, regulatimis and fkres of, 10
Tickling trout, 331
Tides, opinions on, 731
Tie and bob wigs, 631
Tighe, Mrs., poetess, 100
Timber m bogs, remarks on, 93
*<Time, the defeat of," 582
Tin mines, m Cornwall, 329
Tippets and scarft, 532
Titles, new, to old books, 34
Titles, 790

Tobacco, much used in 1684, 85 ;' snd
snuff, proposed history of, 194; anec-
dotes of dealers in, <d./ or a subsOtute,
ancient use of, 800. 'See Ancients.
Toll, ungallant) 536

Tollard, (royal) formerly a royal sest, 18
Toilet, Eliaabeth, poetess, 99
Tomarton, former dungeon in, 196
TomkinB, an unrelenting creditor, 384
Tommy Bell, engraving of, 326
-^— - Sly, engraving of, 166
Tonga Islands, custom in, 413
Tootb,(thegolden)leainCd disputeon,227
Torches, diuice of, 54
''Tottenham Court," old play, 291
Toupees, how formerly stiffened, 197
Tours, a curious one, 560
Townseod, (Bow street) evidence by, 489
Trade, good and ill of, 620
Trades, younger brothers formerly not
bred to, 197; and offices specified in
Doomsday-book, 308
Tradesmen, deviation from ancient rule
of, 120; competition between, 194;
<'The Tradesman," by Defoe^ 282

867

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OXMSIVAL INDBZ.

Tradition, pictnre of, 597
Tn^i-comedy and pastoral comedy, 725
**Traitor, (The)*' old play, 704
Transmigration, explanatory of antipa-
thies, 510
Trashing, 588

Travellers, former hospitality to, in

France, 19$; before the Reformation

wereentertainedatreligious houses, 196

Travellinir by coach and steam compared,

131
Travelling, precantions for, 590, 581
Tread-mills, different standards of labonr
in, 378

Treasure- digging, patent for, 621
Treaties; one between W.Penn and the
Indians, 623, treaty of Uxbridge, 675

Trees, tasteful disposal of, 404; Rkeletons
of, 577; a memorable elm, 625; noble
trees near Amsterdam, 645; super-
stition about passing patients through
a split ash, 647; trees poetically and
nationally considered, 649; height of
the cabba?e tree, 650

Trinls, of Flora, 273; of a negro for
breach of promise, 90; for life, im-
pressions under, 229

Tricks of the Fairies, 584

"Triumphant Widow,(The)*'oldplay,530

TroUer's Gill, (The) 741

Tromp, Van, gallantry of, 800

Trout, tickling, 331

"True Trojans, (The)" old play, 578

Trumpets formerly sounded before lords
and gentlemen, 197

Tuileries, massacre of Swiss Guards at, 127

TumnU, 41, 42

Turk in Cbeapside, inquiry for, 97; the
Great Turk, 791

Turks, consolation under persecution bv,
227; a terror to Christendom, 243, 288

Tumpikeman, (The) 736

Tutor for tradesmen, 281, 282

Tuum et Meum, 539

Twelfth-night custom at Brongh, 13

"Twins, (They old play, 579

"Two angry women of Abingdon," old
pUy, 178

"Two Tragedies in one," old play, 244

Ugliness, iiat/' admission of, 621

Ugly dub, 132, 234

Umbrella, clergyman's, 465

Unhanged and hanged, two classes, 228

Universities, in Germany, 62; flogging in,
197; founding the London, 297

Unknown, (thegreat) discovered, 153, &c.

Usurers ; life of one, 450 ; a liberal one, 818

Utopia, (sir T. More*s) blander about, 621

Uxbridge, town and treaty of^ 675

Valediction, 200

Valentines, 103

Valle Crucis abbey, pillar near, 175

Vanithee (wife) Jack Mullally's, 347

Vauxhall, a dramatic sketch, 219
Vega, Francis de la, adveniuivs of, 50S

f Lopez de, mysteries of, 471

Vehicle, (pageant) and play, notice and

engraving of, 6
Venice, 540; the doge's marriage, 226
Venison, hunted better than shot, 17;

potted, curious notion about^ 581
Vines, notices about, 430, 728. See

Grapes.
Viper's poi'ton, 796
Vernon, admiral, patron of General

Washington, 309

, mount, why so called, 309

>, a musician, anecdote of, 9

Vienna, customs in, 9

Views of a felon on the scaffold, 230

Village new-year described, 46

"Virgin Widow,** old pUy, 161

Virginia, deliberate duel In, 361

Virtue and Death, dialogue between, 424

"Visiting the churches/' 239

Voice, restoration of, by anchovy, 685

Volnnteer reminiscences, 442

Vortices, doctrine of, 603

W, (the letter) 205

Waggery, ancient, 210

Wagstaff, Mr. E., 507

Wake-llobin, a plant, 599

Wakefield, custom near, 425

Wales, character of the ancient Briton*,
168; notices of the Welsh Harp, •&.;
minstrelsy society in, 169; ancient
British pillar, engraving of, 175

Walker, (Willy) and John Bulton, 619

Waller, sir £., his tomb at Beaconsfield,
649

VVallis, lady, her correct estimate of her
comedy* 286

Walpole, Horace, letter of, about extor-
tion in Westminster abbey, 5

Walpole, sir H , and Hogarth, 559, 560
> sir R., notice of, 510

Walls of plaster advised for fruit, 485
Walsli, Mr.H., his satire on corporations,

262
Wamphray, in Scotland, great hiring fair

at, 102
Wards, court of, abuses of, 452
Warming-pans for Jamaica, 8
•'Wars of Cyrus," old play, 725
Wanrickshire,statQtes or mops in, 86, &o. ;

custom in, 647
"Washing of the feet" at Vienna, 239;

at Greenwich by queen Elizabeth, 240
Washington, general, notice of, 304
Watchmen, (London) 676
Water, prejudice against pipe-conveyance

of, 367; having the effect of fire, 682
Water carrier, (old) engraving o^ 367
Waterloo-bridge, intended opening to, 107
Watermen, ancient misconduct of, 84 ;

watermen hundred years ago, 314 •

868

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OENERAIi INDEX.

Wafson, bisKopi letters of to duke of

York, 66

'WatfiODyToniyaD eminent dramatiBt, 193
'Waverley, more than ten years unpub-
lished, 214; Waverley novels acknow-
ledged by sir Walter Scott, 153
Wax-work and extortion in Wesiminster

abbey, 6
Way to grow rich, 174
Way* posts with texts on them, 270
Wealth, good and bad effects of, 174
Weather, a new hygrometer, 13
Webster, the dramatist, excellence of, 1 79

> Dr., of St. Alban's, 120

Weddings. Highland, 146; Welsh, 396;

Cumberland, 897. See Marriages.
Wesley, John, his return of plate, 20
West, Gilbert, notice of, 406
Westminster abbey, curious letter of H.
Walpole about, 6; burial fees of, 167
Westmoreland, belief of witchcraft in,

337
Weston, the royal cook, 189
"Weston Favel History, Ac," remarks

on, 697
''Whims and Oddities/' by T. Hood, 694
. Wbitelock, collation by to queen ol
Sweden, 276
Whittiogton, revolution honse at, 671
, Whyte, Mr. S., his account of Mrs.
Charke, 63
Wickham (West) church, 406
^iggd [asii] tree; iu virtues against

witchcraft, 337
Wight, isle of, custom in, 771
Wigs, 122; formerly general, 631
Wild man of the woods, an extraordinary
one, 378

— , Jonathan, first victim to a law, 118
Wildman, Mr., first purchaser of Eclipse,
311

> Colonel, benevolent conduct
of, 369
Will, Wil1-be-S0y memoir of, 70
Willie, (Blind) of Newcastle, 231
Willy-Howe, in Yorkshire, legends

about, 41
Wilson, comedian, anecdote of, 286
Wilson, Rev. Mr., curious tract by, 640

^ professor of moral philosophy,

notices of, 664
Wiltshire abroad and at home, 116
Wiltshire, custom in, 613
Windows, rarely of ghiss before the Re-
formation, 196
Winds, iiTitating effect of some, 137
Wine, effect of, 412
Winter's day, description of, 74; winter

flowers, 783
"Wit in a Constable," old p^ay, 97
Witchcraft, how to recognise a witch, 337 ;
preventives of, %b,f decree against,
486; *< burning the witch," 706; guard

against witchcraft, 706; the wi^ie wo-
man of Littondale, 802

Wives, last resource of one, 226; use of
a wife and children, 283; Mr. E. Wag-
staff's, 607; lively letter from one,
636; consolation for loss of one, 654 ;
evidence of affection in wives, 686;
a wife taking liberties, 790

Wizard's Cave, 788, 789

Wolfe, general, how his death wound
received, 126

Wolves; forests burnt in Scotland to ex-
terminate them, 676

Wolverhampton church, valuable organ
in, 131

Women; ungallant ridicule of the ''old
woman,** 10; poniards worn by, in
Spain, 137 ; improvement of, 179 ; for-
mer education of, 196; former court
rudeness to, 196; former amusements
of, 196; prodigious fans used by,
197; a lady customer and a spruce
mercer, 284; situation of a woman
in India, 349; former refinement
of court ladies in Spain, 369 ; customs
at lying-in, 426; former freedom of
society with men, 434, 436 ; Egyptian
compliment to, 617; ingenuous ad-
mission of ugline^ by one, 621; a
young one's pocket-book, 616; women
sheriffs and justices, 700 ; antiquarians'
supposed dislike to, ib,g dower of wo-
men, 701 ; an amiable woman described,
766; '«The Wise Woman of Litton-
dale," 8U3. See Wives.

Wood, Ant. h, his dislike of women, 700

Wood, Nicolas, a glutton, 689

Wordsworth, (poet) notices of, 661

Worfield, longevity of vicars of, 12

Worlds, plurality of, 602

Wragg, Mary, 384

Wrestling, 622, 664

Wright, (Mrs.) her description of Niagara
falls, 683

Writers, correct estimate by one of her
own work, 286. See Authota.

Writing-tables, 1 ; Peruvian substitute
for, 470; writing-desks, 611, 512

Yard, derivation of the term, 189

Yarmouth, long famed for herrings 286

Years, reason for not counting, 6^0

York, cardinal de, notice of, 369

^1 duke of, engraving and notices of,

47 ; list of dukes of York, 60

York, and the revolution, 671

Yorkshire, new year's eve custom in, 4;
fairies in, 41 ; Yorksbire Gipsy, (stream)
116; customs in, 464, 486, 688, 667

Young, (Mr. S.) of Keston Cross, 432

•* Young lambs to sell," a London cry, 198

<* Your humble servant," when first used
in salutation, 196

Youth, illiberal teachers of, 281

869

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INDEX TO THE ENGRAVINGa

Aldenoo, Hot^ of Parbam, 183
Antiqaarian Hall, 70
Antiqae bronxe found in the Thames, 134
■ another riew, 135

Armorial b6arin^^278
AQicsbai^h, (Diet oO commemoradon

medal of, 675
Barleyeoni, air John, 58
Bath chairman, mock faneral of, 21
Bear garden, in Southwark, in 1574, 246

• ,in 1648, 247

Beckeuham chorch-^ard, porch of, ZHS

' church, font of, 386

— — — road, bridge over, 351
Berne, arcades in, 214
BiUr Boots, 151

Bird-catcher, (London) in 1827, 295
Blake, William, ostler, 438
BUod Hannah, 111

WilUe, of Newcastle, 231

Bloomfield, Geom, 815
B/omlej, Bishop^ well at, 447

■ church door of, 463
key, 465

— — memorial of a peal rang at, 6T8
Broom-maker's at Shirley common, b'39
Bruce, lord Edw^ oase containing his
heart, 527

■ appearance of the
heart, 529

Buckingham, duke of, house In which he

died, 263
Burnsal Lich-gate, 550
Charke,Mri^ Colly Gibber's daughter; 63
Ciiatham-hill, Star inn on, 813
Cigar Divan of Mr. Gliddon, 751
Cooksb John, saddler, of Exeter* 591
Coward, Nathan, 543
Cranbourne Chase^ emigration of deer

from, 15
"Crooked Billet," on Penge Common, 335
nesk,(my)511
Kclipse, the race-horse, 310
Klvet Bridge, Durham, 207
Fleet river, (ancient) at Clerkenwell, 38
French asdgnat, 519
Gilpin, Mrs , riding to Edmonton, 454
Gimroal ring, 415
Grassmere font, 550
Uagbush-Uine, Islington, view in, 607

■ a last look at, 607
Harpham, St. John's well at, 687
Harrow church, font of, 79

Hervey, (author of meditations) birth-
place of, 598
Hubby-horses for children, crier of, 343

Hogarth, embarkmg at Iile of Grain, CS9
Holly-tree^ carrying of at Brough, 14
Holwood, seat of Mr. Pitt, 726
Howard, of Effingham, lord, aaiograph

of, 287
Husbandman, the retired, 423
Interlaken, houses in, 214
Keston Cross, 431
Lee Penny, (the) 486
London cries, 255

cherry woman, 843

<<London Cries, (old)" 630

Another figure, 680

Lovat, lord, 119
May-day, at Lynn, 271

dance, 279

Millhouse, Robert, 495
Mompesson, Catherine^
Eyam, 655

*s pulpit in the rock, 662

ber toiab at

Monument at Lucerne, 127
Newsman, 31

Newspaper, reading the, 399
North, Bobert, of Scarborough, 758
Pdgeant vehicle and play, 6
Pedestrian costume, 214
Penn, W-, and the Indians, 423
Pillar, ancient British, 175
Poor's-box in Cawston church, 374
in Loddon ehnroh, 375

Quintain, (the) 502
Ravensbourne, source of the^ 735
Revolution- house, at Whittington, 671
*< Running horse, (the)*' at Merrow, 767
Seal of the lord high admiral, 287
Servants, hiring of, at a statute fair, 102
Shepherd's well, Hampstead, 191
Shoriand, lord, monument of, 573
Sketch, (A) 479
SnufF-box, (my) 95
Snuffers, pair of old, 319
Soldier, (Scotch) story of, 143
Stanmore toll-house, 86
Stratford-upon-Avon churcb, 223
Swiss costume, 214
215

Tobacco-pipea, Irish, 799
Tommy Bell, 326

Slv,of Durham, 166

Tree, fash) used as a charm, 647

Yelocitas, (the) fly-boat, 694

Water-carriers, (old) 367

Watson, George, Sussex calculator, 703

West Wickham church, 406

York, duke of, 47

^« Young lambs to sell," 198

870

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIQAN

iillHil

30015068324477

BOUND

•JUN20 1933

UBRAHY

i

1

I

I