/.i^.

THE

SOUTH DEVON

MONTHLY MUSEUM.

VOLUME IV.

JULY TO DECEMBER.

PLYMOUTH :
G. AND J, HEARD ER.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME IV.

Antiquarian Investigations on Dartmoor, 22, 65, 109
Antiquities of the town of Okehampton, 53, 140,

181, 209
Astronomy, Mr. Lancaster's Lectures on 129, 190
Ancient and modern Travelling in Devonshire,
Mr. H. WooUcombe's Lecture on 131

Brandy and Sea-sickness, 201

Crocodile Island, 9, 57

Crisis of the Battle of Malplaquet, The 20

Captain Colquhoun Grant, Extraordinary ad-
ventures of 71
Combustion, Mr. Hearder's Lecture on 82
Coleridge, 242

Departure, The 38

Different Systems adopted in acquiring the

French Language, M. Luce's Lecture on the 131
Dramatic Sketch, A 225

Evils of Ignorance, Mr. H. WooUcombe's Lec-
ture on the 83
Farewell, The 37
Flame, Mr. Hearder's Lecture on 190
Ford Abbey, 227
Fragment, A 234
Filiation of the tribes of man ; embracing those
which preceded the Celtae in Europe, Col.
H. Smith's Lecture on the 277

Geography of Animals, 169

Gas Illumination, Mr. Adams's Lecture on 188
Greek Tragedy, Rev. Dr. Jacob's Lecture on 239
Holingshed's description of EngHsh Roads and
Inns, in the time of Henry VIII., Marv, and
Ehzabeth, " 105

History of the Plymouth Leat, 155

Horses, The ' 281

Insanity, Mr. Swaine's Lecture on 190

Importance of Shakspeare's writings considered
as to their influence on the morals of men,
The 215, 256

Ireland, Mr. Purdon's Lectm'e on 271

Kruger, on the Education of Children, 8

Kean Peep, A 127

Lake of Beer in Ireland, 162

Literary Notice, 225

Longevity of Fishes, 231

Lovers' Leap, A 249
Logical method of enquiry, Rev. B. St. John*s

Lecture on the 273

Meavy Church and Oak, 1

Mewstone, The 97

Moonhght on the Sea, 119

Natural History of the Neighbourhood, 15

Our loved locality, 200 years since, 77

Old-fashioned Generosity, 198

Pride and Vanity, 17

Perambulator, the 31, 155, 241

Plymouth Leat, The 31
Proceedings in the Athenaeum of the Plymouth

Institution, 40, 79, 129, 185, 239, 271

Prospectus of winter Lectures in the Athenaeum, 191

Palace Court, Catte Street, Plymouth, 241

Rhetoric, Rev. B. St. John's Lecture on 85
Resources and Capabilities of Ireland, Mr. S.

Purdon's Lecture on 185

Royal Union Baths, Plymovith, 193
Reasoning as a science compared with Logic

as an artj Rev. R. Luney's Lecture on 274

Spectator, The 1, 193

Scilly Islands, The 4

Shakspeare, Mr. Wightwick's Lecture on 40, 79,

191
Schoolmaster abroad, The 86

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 132, 175

St. Biideaux Chinch, 145

Schoohiiaster at home, The ' 166

Sketches by a Practising Architect, 220, 265

State Prison at Auburn, North America, 242

Tor Abbey, 49

Thirst, 95

Voice from the Mewstone, A 192

Wanderer, The 286

POETRY.

Addresses to Shakspeare, 35

Absent, The 248

Departed, The 104

Dithyrambics, 180

Dead March, The 255

Exorcist of Halstock, The , 212

Eddystone Lighthouse, The 255

Funereal Sketches, 3, 63, 71,85, 118,212, 263

Fair Spirit, The 253

Gord-Afrid and Sohrab, 28

Gladness, To 139

Looking Back, 264

Neuha's return, The 93

Night Attack, A 168

On seeing the name of Robert Emmet written

in- his own hand upon one of his school books, 18

One in Captivity, 94

Phantom Ship, The 63

Pompeii, 121

Parody on Hamlet's Soliloquy, 154

Passing Bell, 263

Quest House, The 118

Retrospection, 230

Song of the Water Spirits, 3

Sonnet, 197

Serenade, 200

Smiles, 254

Truant Fancies, 85

LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.

Meavy Church and Oak.

Entrance to the Chapter House, Tor Abbey.

Cottage on the Mewstone.

Mewstone and Shag Rock.

Samuel Wakeham's House on the Mewstone.

St. Budeaux Church.

Royal Union Baths, Plymouth.

Palace Court, Plymouth.

Autograph of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Printed by G. P. Hearuer.

THE SOUTH DEVON

MONTHLY MUSEUM.

PLYMOUTH, JULY 1st, 1834.
No. 19.] Price Sixpence. [Vol. IV.

THE SPECTATOR, No. VI.
MEAVY CHURCH AND OAK.

The pencil of Mr. N. M. Condy has again furnished
us with the subject of a frontispiece, which, it is pro-
bable, may prove interesting to many of our readers
— not only as a gmphic delineation, but as a memento
of Auld Lang Syne.

The secluded hamlet of Meavy is situated in a
broad valley, on the very edge of the great Devon-
shire moor. It consists of a few neat cottages and
an antique church, surrounded by the " last home"
of many a moorland peasant. Immediately in front
of the church-yard wall is the gigantic Meavy Oak.
This venerable tree, though it has suffered from the
touch of age, still continues proudly magnificent.
It is of an extraordinary circumference, and is com-
pletely hollowed out by the slow^ but never-failing
operations of time. The cavity, as is affirmed by
mine hostess of the " Royal Oak," a little inn stand-
ing hard by, once accommodated nine persons at a
dinner party : it is now used as a turf house. The
lower branches still obey the voice of spring, and
spread their living canopy over a large area of
ground. The topmost boughs, however, are bare,
having long ceased to be hung with the massive
foliage which they bore in the days of their young
lustihood. Over them the all-conquering hand of
time has indeed achieved a perfect victory. They
impress their rifted outline black and cheerlessly

VOL. IV. — 1834. A

2 MEAVY CHURCH AND OAK.

against the deep blue of the heavens, and in some
places, where the bark has dropped away, the core
of the wood displays itself in ghastly whiteness.
When the withered top is beheld against the bright
back ground of a serene evening sky, it wears an
unusually melancholy aspect, which is rendered the
more striking from being contrasted with the vege-
tation yet lingering on the lower branches.

The church contains no monuments of particular
interest ; a neat tablet is placed near the altar, to
the memory of Mrs. Jope, wife of Rev. George Jope.

The only " hostel" in the village is '* The Royal
Oak" which, though of humble exterior, affords com-
fortable acccomodation to the way-worn traveller.
In summer this is a halting place for amateur fisher-
men who stroll from the neighbouring towns to try
their piscatorial skill in the waters of the Plym. He
who is fond of studying character in the kitchen of
a country inn cannot do better than spend a winter's
evening by the blazing peat fire of" The Royal Oak,"
for it will afford him a fine opportunity of remarking
the peculiarities of the untutored children of the
moor ; and perchance he may be treated with a tale
of the pixies which are said to haunt the rugged brow
of Sheepstor''*'.

At a short distance from the church are two layers
of wrought granite blocks, placed octagonally, the
outer edge of the upper layer being about a foot with-
in that of the lower ; these stones doubtlessly
formed the basement of a cross although, in their
present mutilated state, every vestige of that struc-
ture has disappeared. Numerous similar remains
exist at present in the neighbourhood ; the largest
and most perfect is at Buckland Monachorum, but,
as in the present case, the shaft, which it supported,
has been destroyed.

Carrington.

FUNEREAL SKETCHES, No. XXL
SONG OF THE WATER SPIRITS.

There is not a spot on the earth so free
As the fathomless depths of our own blue sea,
Not a home more sweet or a place more fair
Than the grottos of coral weVe builded there.
And carved the posterns with rare device,
And inlaid the roof-trees with pearls of price,
And jewels such as the fiery sun
Ne*er viewed on the crown of Solomon :
Where life is a roll of delight unfurled
In joys not known to the upper world.

When Man, fierce Passion's eldest child.
Mocks the roar of the billows wild,
We love to rise from our shelly cave
To the moonlight side of some heaving wave,
And, reclined in its watery breast, to mark
The luminous tiack of the basking shark;
When the sands of night are well nigh run,
And battle wakes with the morning gun.
And the shark soaring high at break of day
Ready to dart on his coming prey.

Little we feel for their mutual slaughter
Little when hurricanes sweep the water.
Sorrow, is ours for the seaman's doom
Rocked by the swell in his living tomb,
W hen ocean sleeps, and each parched mouth
Gasps in the steam of the sweltering south ;
When, worse than the roar of a hundred blasts.
The spars and the canvass against the masts
Are creaking and flapping all day long,
Like an ominous bird with her funeral song :
When at night the stars, on the traitor wave.
Are as cowslips strewn on an infant's grave :
Then we grieve, while the sea and air
Laugh like demons at their despair.

Eos.

THE SCILLY ISLANDS.

These islands are situated 24 geographical miles,
west, (by compass) from the Land's End of England ;
and when first seen from a ship's deck, resemble rug-
ged rocks running out of the water. They were an-
ciently called the " Cassiterides," or Tin islands, and
Strabo informs us, that, in his time, they were ten
in number, of which nine were inhabited by an en-
terprising people who bartered their tin, lead, and
the skins of their cattle for brazen and earthen wares,
salt, and other things brought from Cadiz by the
Phoenicians.

Other writers have asserted that these islands were
named " Hesperides ;" that they were fertile, popu-
lous, and abounding in mines of tin and lead. When
the Romans had vanquished the Phoenicians, and
obtained a share of the commerce of Scilly, one Pub-
lius Crassus taught these islanders many improve-
ments in their mining operations, which had previously
been carried on at but little depths.

After the Roman legions were withdrawn from
Britain, we hear no more of the Scilly islands for' a
period of 500 years ; during this period, which elap-
sed between the 5th and 10th century, it is conjec-
tured that great changes occurred among these islands,
either by volcanic convulsions, or else from the con-
stant erosion of the waves, by which these rocks are
constantly wearing away. Scilly, in a geological
point of view, may be considered as the rugged gra-
natic summit of a submarine hill, washed by the waves
of a turbulent sea, whose waters, aided by tides and
currents, are continually destroying the land. The
action of atmospherical agencies, the constant chafing
of the waves from the Atlantic Ocean, undermining
the chfFs and grinding the granite fragments into sand
and gravel, which being transported through sounds
and channels, exposed to every wind, accelerate the
work of destruction, and will ultimately reduce these

THE SCILLY ISLANDS. O

islands to a cluster of barren rocks or dangerous
shoals.

However extensive and fertile these islands may
have been in former times, no vestiges of mines, or
other antiquities now exist : they are surrounded by
dangerous sunken rocks, probably the more durable
remains of former islands, which have been swallowed
up by the " remorseless deep.''

In the year 1651, Sir Jno. Grenville and his " Cor-
nish boys" retired to Scilly and set the Parliamentary
fleet and army at defiance ; and although fifty ships
and a large land force, were sent agaist him, he ob-
tained from Admirals Ayscue and Blake honorable
terms of capitulation. On October the 22nd, 1705,
the flag ship of Admiral Sir Cloudsley Shovel and
three other ships of war were wrecked among these
rocks, and all on board perished.

The islands and dry rocks composing this group
are very numerous, six only are now inhabited, viz.
St. Mary's, Trescaw, St. Martin's, St. Agnes, Samson,
and Bryer. The inhabitants are computed at 2,600,
of which St. Mary's contains 1,300. Many of the
uninhabited islands support sheep, of which there
may be about 10,000 on these islands ; they have
also some very lean kine, a few horses and asses,
employed for agricultural purposes, particularly in
conveying seaweed from the strand to their fields.
The soil is almost entirely a decomposed granite,
with a little clay, and decompositions from marine
and other vegetables : the produce is a good crop of
potatoes, (of which considerable quantities are ex-
ported) onions and other culinary vegetables. Some
barley, rye, and a little wheat are grown on the best
land. They have also some furze, heath, and a few
stunted shrubs.- The sea is the great mart of these
islands, every living creature depends in a great mea-
sure on the ocean for its support : man lives on fish,
sea fowl and such other food as ships, or the tempest
may bring him : he eagerly fixes his eye on the ocean,

O THE SCILLY ISLANDS.

and if a ship be seen in want of a pilot he is ready to
conduct her to an anchorage, recommending of course,
that of his own island as far superior to any other in
Scilly. If a ship be wrecked he is ready to risk his
life in saving those of the crew, and these islanders
are really less dishonest in cases of shipwreck than
their brethren of the neighbouring coast ; they are
certainly not more extortionate, when their assistance
is required, in perilous times. The great faible of
the Scilly pilot lies in enticing unwary and waveworn
mariners into his sounds, which he represents as
safe places of resort — a statement very equivocal.

When the tide retires, and leaves the rocks dry,
the horse, cow, donkey, sheep, hog, domestic poultry
— all wend their way down the beach, to cull their
scanty fare from the fresh seaweed : pigs may be seen
turning over stones, and crunching unwary crabs,
while ducks and rats follow in the rear and pick up
the fragments. A seaman belonging to H. M. Sloop
Forester, wrecked on St. Martins, very facetiously
named a Httle bay abounding in seaweed, " The Scilly
grazing ground."

The people of these islands are, generally speaking
an industrious, intrepid, and harmless race, leading
a hard life on scanty fare : the men are active and
skilful boatmen, and tolerable farmers in their little
way ; but more frequently find a grave in the ocean
than among their native rocks. The women are mo-
dest, and very industrious, working up the wool of
their shaggy sheep into garments for their families :
they perform all the domestic and much of the agri-
cultural labour, seldom attain a very old age, and
know little of the world or its wants. Each family
has generally a snug little cottage built of rude gra-
nite blocks, and roofed with slate brought from " the
continent," or else covered with straw or fern ; a little
spot is cleared of stones for a garden ; and for all
this a rent of 2s. 6d., per annum, is paid to the pro-
prietors ; no litigious limb of the law could exist here,

THE SCILLY ISLANDS. 7

all their little differences being settled by arbitration.

Some years ago a considerable quantity of kelp
was manufactured here, but since barilla has been so
largely imported into England, the inhabitants of
Scilly have not been able to carry on their kelp ma-
nufactory, it being more profitable to use the seaweed
as manure than to burn it into kelp. Each island
has a school built in the most convenient situation,
for all the children ; here, when unemployed by their
parents, they are taught reading, writing, and arith-
metic, on the Lancastrian system, and at the expense
of the Society for the diffusion of Christian Know-
ledge ; the teacher, who is also parish clerk, receives
a salary of £20 per annum.

On the upper surface of the granite rocks, many
Rock-basins may be seen, with lips to carry off the
rain water. Many kinds of sea fowl breed here and
and find ample food for their young brood. Two
species of Curlew are constant residents. On enqui-
ring of the pilot whether these birds hatched their
young here, he very gravely informed me that " no
man ever found a curlew's nest ! " and in explanation
he said, " when our Saviour crossed the sandy deserts
of Arabia, the curlew followed in his track and obli-
terated the marks of his feet in the sand. Notwith-
standing the pious offices performed by these birds,
Adam Woodcock of " Hegh Town,'' St. Martins,
would not hesitate to shoot a curlew and broil it for
supper.

There is a curious current running northward,
among the Scilly islands, retarding the ebb and pro-
longing the flood tides, making 18 hours northerly,
and only 6 hours southerly, stream every day ; the
consequence of this is, that a warm supply of water
is constantly reaching these islands from the south ;
bringing; considerable quantities of wood perforated
by the Tereda navalis. The sea being of a higher tem-
perature than the air of the islands, heat is given out
which renders the climate of Scilly both mild and
moist.

W.

KRUGER ON THE EDUCATION OF CHILDREN.

Children come into the world in a state of total ignorance ; and
afterwards their minds, as being mirrors of the world, receive a tinc-
ture or cast from the objects it exhibits. Nor can we expect to find
any other pictures and ideas in their minds than what are daily
represented to them ? Hence I conclude, that children must needs
be vicious if only conversant with vicious objects ; as the influence
of example and custom is wonderfully great. In a word, the
minds of children resemble wax, and the examples round them the
seal that makes the impression. In order, therefore, to make the
lines or impressions of virtue and honour as strong as possible in
your son's mind, you yourself must have them deeply engraven on
your own, and constantly manifest them by your practice : as it
would be strange to require of him the reverse of what he observes
in you. What idea can he have of a father who, being guilty of
swearing, punishes his son for that vice ; and who, preaching up
temperance, is himself intemperate? This holds in all actions,
however inconsiderable, *as we know that children ape and mimic
those with whom they converse. It is vain to tell them such things
are allowable in grown persons, but unbecoming in children ; as
vice will thus only be placed in a more engaging point of view,
and the great opinion they form of grown persons makes them
wish to be soon able to resemble them. But can it be imagined
there are any parents who take delight in the vices of their chil-
dren, and train them up therein ? and yet nothing is more certain.
A child scarcely begins to lisp but he repeats the abusive language
he hears from his parents and the servants, which they not only
approve but encourage, imagining there is no harm in it, as the
child is not yet come to his full understanding, and that in him it
is rather pretty and diverting ; but hereafter he will speak out
distinctly what he now only lisps, and leave the parents the sad
regret of having encouraged him in vice. This is equally true in
innumerable other cases ; a child, for instance, begins to cry ; to
pacify him a stick is offered to him to beat the naughty stone that
made him stumble ; with this the child is quieted. But hence
he draws the conclusion, that he may revenge himself on what-
ever gives him uneasiness, whether things or persons. And thus
the desire of revenge is so deeply implanted in his mind, as scarcely
ever after to be eradicated. This is equally true of other vices,
as idleness, negligence, pleasure, prodigality, &:c. all which chil-
dren usually learn of their parents, who wish them to do well in
the world, yet, by their own constant example, implant in them
the seeds of every vice.

CROCODILE ISLAND.

My favourite inn at Oxford was the Golden Cross. The
Angel was admirable in its way; the Star celestial; and the
Mitre fit for an archbishop, — but the snug room on the left of the
inner court of the Golden Cross was superior to them all. There
seemed to be more comfort there than in the gaudier apartments
of its rivals, and the company one met with was generally more
inclined to be social. About eight o'clock in the evening was the
*•' witching time o' night," for at that hour the multitudinous
coaches from the North poured in their hungry passengers to a
plentiful, hot supper. In these hurried refections I invariably
joined. Half an hour very often sufficed to give me glimpses of
good fellows whom it only required time to ripen into friends.
Many strange mortals I saw, who furnished me with materials
for thinking till the next evening; and sometimes I have been
rewarded for the wing of a fowl by a glance from a pair of beau-
tiful, bright eyes which knocked all the classics, and even Aldrich's
Logic, out of my head for a week. Three coaches, I think, met
at the Golden Cross. There was very little time for ceremony ;
the passengers made the best use of the short period allowed them,
and devoted more attention to the viands before them than to the
courtesies of polished life. I made myself generally useful as a
carver, and did the honours of the table in the best manner I
could. One night I was waiting impatiently for the arrival of
the coaches, and wondering what sort of company they would
present to me, when a young man came into the room and sat
down at a small table before the fire, who immediately excited my
curiosity. He called for sandwiches, and rum and water, and
interrupted his active labours in swallowing them only by deep
and often-repeated sighs. He was tall and strikingly handsome.
I should have guessed him to be little more than one or two and
twenty, had it not been for a fixedness about the brow and eyes
which we seldom meet with at so early a time of life. I was
anxious to enter into conversation with him ; for, as I have said,
I was greatly interested by his appearance. I thought I knew
the faces of all the University ; and I was certain I had never met
with him before. He had not the general appearance of a gowns-
man; he was tastefully and plainly dressed; obviously in very
low spirits; and finished his second tumbler in the twinkling of a
bedpost. As the third was laid down before him, I had just
given the preliminary cough with which a stranger usually com-
voL. IV. — 1834. B

10 CROCODILE ISLAND.

mences a conversation, when a rush was made into the room by
the occupants of all the three coaches, and the Babel and confu-
sion they created prevented me from executing my intention. On
that occasion I did not join the party at the supper table. I
maintained my position at the corner of the chimney, very near
the seat occupied by the youth who had so strongly excited my
attention. The company were more than usually numerous ; and
a gentleman, closely muffled up, finding no room at the principal
board, took his station at the same table with the stranger. The
intruder threw off one or two cloaks and greatcoats, and untied
an immense profusion of comforters and shawls, revealing the
very commonplace countenance of a fat, burly man, about fifty
years of age, with great, staring, blue eyes, and a lank, flaxen wig,
of the lightest colour I had ever seen. This personage gave his
orders to the waiter in a very imperious tone, to bring him a
plate of cold beef, and a quart of brown stout, and exhibited va-
rious signs of impatience while his commands were executed.

" Cold night, sir," he said, at length, addressing the youth.
"I've travelled all the way from Manchester, and feel now as
hungry as a hunter."

" It takes a man a long time to die of starvation," replied the
other. " Men have been known to subsist for ten days without
tasting food."

" Tliank God, that has never been my case. I would not
abstain from food ten minutes longer to save my father from being
hanged. — Make haste, waiter ! "

The young man shook his head, and threw such an expression
of perfect misery into his handsome featares, that his companion
was struck with it.

" I'm afraid," he said, " you are unhappy, in spite of being so
young. You haven't wanted meat so long yourself, I hope. —
Waiter, what the devil's keeping you with that 'ere beef? "

" Worse, worse," replied the other, in a hollow voice. " Youth
is no preventive against care, or crime, or misery, or — murder ! ''

He added the last word with such a peculiar intonation, that
the traveller started, and laid down his knife and fork, which he
had that moment taken possession of, and gazed at him as if he
were anxious to make out his meaning.

"Don't judge of me harshly," continued the youth; "but
listen to me, I beseech you, only for a moment, and you will
confer a great obligation on a fellow creature, and prevent misery
of which you can have no conception."

CROCODILE ISLAND. 11

The man thus addressed remained motionless with surprise.
He never lifted his eyes from the deeply melancholy countenance
of the narrator ; and I must confess I listened with no little ear-
nestness to the disclosure he made myself.

" At sixteen years of age,'' he said, " I found myself a denizen
of the wilds. Shaded from the summer heats, by magnificent
oaks of the primeval forest, where I lived; and secured from the
winter's cold, by skins of the tiger and lynx, I had not a desire
ungratified. Groves of orange trees spread themselves for hun-
dreds of miles along our river : cocoa nuts, and all the profusion
of fruits and flowers with which the Great Spirit saw fit to beautify
the original paradise of man, supplied every want. The eaglet's
feather in my hair, the embroidery of my wampum belt, pointed
out to my followers where their obedience was to be rendered :
and I felt myself prouder of their unhesitating submission, and
the love with which they regarded me, than that the blood of a
hundred kings flowed in my veins. I was Chief of the Chactaws
and Muscogulges. My mother was of European origin: her
grandfather had visited the then thinly populated regions of North
America, in company with several hundred bold and heroic spirits
like himself, whose aspirations for the independence and equality
of man, had carried them beyond the dull, cold letter of the law.
His name yet survives in Tipperary ; his boldness was the theme
of song ; and the twelve dastard mechanics, who, at the bidding
of a judge, consented to deprive their country of its ornament and
hero, and to banish him, with all the nobility of his nature fresh
upon him, were stigmatized as traitors to the cause of freedom.
In spite, however, of their cowardice and meanness, they could
not resist displaying the veneration in which they held him, by
entwining his wrists with massive belts ; and even around his legs
they suspended majestic iron chains, which rattled with surpass-
ing grandeur whenever he moved. He had not been long in the
new land to which his merits had thus transferred him, when his
name became as illustrious in it as it had been in his own. The
name of O'Flaherty is still, I understand, a word of fear to the
sleepy-eyed burghers of the law-oppressed towns . But his course
was as short as it was glorious. In leading a midnight attack on
the storehouse of some tyrannizing merchant, he was shot in the
act of breaking open a box which contained a vast quantity of
coin. He fell — and though he lived for several weeks, he kept his
teeth close upon the residence of his followers. He died as a hero
should die, calm, collected, fearless. Even when the cord with

12 CROCODILE ISLAND.

which they had doomed him to perish was folded round his neck,
he disdained to purchase an extension of his life by treachery to
his friends. * An OTlaherty,* he said, * can die — but he never
peaches.' He left a son who was worthy of his father's fame.
Like him he was inspired with an indomitable hatred of tyranny
and restraint ; with a noble and elevating desire to bring back
those golden days, when all things were in common — when man,
standing in the dignity of his original nature, took to himself
whatever pleased his fancy, and owed no allegiance to the debas-
ing influence of the law. From this noble stock my mother was
descended ; and when her beauty and the heroism of her charac-
ter had raised her to be the consort of the Forest King, she seemed
to feel that she was just in the situation for which she was destined
by her nature. The pride of ancestry, and the remembrance of
the glorious achievements which had rendered the names of her
forefathers illustrious, beamed from her eye, and imprinted a ma-
jesty upon her brow which we seek for in vain in females of in-
glorious birth.

" Atta-kuU-kulla, which, in the puerile language of the whites,
means the Little Carpenter, was my father's name. On his head,
when going forth to battle, he wore a paper cap of the most war-
like form, surrounded with miniature saws, and surmounted with
a golden gimlet. When I was born, the infinite nations, and
kindreds, and tongues which confessed his sway, made every
demonstration of satisfaction. The Muscogulges, the Simmoles,
the Cherokees, the Chactaws, and all the other powerful tribes
which bordered on the stately Alatamaha, sent deputies to the
royal residence to congratulate their monarch on so auspicious an
occasion. But, alas! this universal rejoicing was soon turned
into mourning. Amongst those who came as ambassadors from
the neighbouring powers was Sisquo Dumfki, the rat-catcher,
from a kingdom on the banks of the majestic Mississippi. This
man was the most celebrated drinker of his nation. The strongest
casine* seemed to have no more effect upon his senses than the
purest water. At all feasts and solemn entertainments he was the
champion of the Chicasaws. His fame was not unknown to the
leaders of our tribe. My royal father burned with a passionate
thirst for glory — and also for casine. In the happiness of my
birth he challenged Sisquo Dumfki to a trial of their strength of

* Casine, a sort of usquebaugh in great repute among the Indians— and a
very good tipple in its vfay.—Experto crede.

CROCODILE ISLAND. 13

Stomach. For five days and nights they sat unceasingly swallow-
ing the delicious fluid — five days and nights the calumet sent
forth its smoke — never for one moment being lifted from the lips,
save to make room for the cocoa-nut shell in which they drank
their casine. Sleep at last seemed to weigh heavily on the lids
of my royal father, — he was longer in the intervals of applying
the goblet to his mouth, — and at last his hand refused its office —
his head sank upon his shoulder; and his generous competitor,
satisfied with the victory he had gained, covered the imperial
person with a robe of leopard skin, and left him to his repose.
Repose ! — it was indeed his last repose — he opened his eyes but
once — groaned heavily — then shouting ' Give me casine in pail-
fuls,' — for the ruling passion was strong to the latest hour — he
became immoderately sick, and expired. I am afraid to state
how much had been drunk in this prodigious contest ; but it was
said by the court flatterers on the occasion, that they had consu-
med as much liquid as would have supplied a navigable canal
from lake Ouaquaphenogan to Talahasochte ! I was an orphan ;
and though the death of my father had now raised me to a throne,
I was bound by the customs of our nation to revenge it. In this
feeling I was bred ; I w^as allowed even from my infancy to drink
nothing weaker than casine ; my victuals were all seasoned with
the strongest rum, so that by the time I was sixteen years of age
my head was so accustomed to the influence of spirituous liquors,
that they were harmless to me as milk. Sisquo Dumfki was
still alive, and still remained the unrivalled hero of his tribe. His
death was decreed by my mother the very hour my father died ;
for this purpose she imbued my infant mind with unmitigated
hatred of the murderer, as she called him, of my father, and
taught me the happiness and glory of revenge. She talked to me
of attaining her object by tlie hatchet and tomahawk, doubting
perhaps that in spite of the training I had received, I should still
be vanquished by the superhuman capacity of the rat-catcher;
but I was confident in my own strength, and sending a trusty
messenger to the encampment of the Chicasaws, I invited him to
a solemn feast, and challenged him to a trial of strength. lie
came. You may imagine, sir, to yourself the feelings which agi-
tated my bosom, when, in my very presence, on the spot which
was the scene of his triumph, I saw the perpetrator of a father's
murder. Such, at least, was the light in which I had been
taught, since the hour T was first suspended on the aromatic
boughs of the magnolia, to regard the proud, the generous, the

14 CROCODILE ISLAND.

lofty Sisquo Dumfki. How ill founded was my hatred of that
noble individual, you will discover in the sequel of my story.

" On this occasion he did not come alone. At his side, as he
stood humbly before me, and paid his compliments to the queen,
my mother, I marked with palpitating heart and flushing cheek,
the most beautiful young girl I had ever seen. Her limbs, un-
concealed by the foolish drapery in which the European damsels
endeavour to hide tlieir inferiority, were like polished marble, so
smooth and round and beautifully shaped. Round her middle
she wore a light bandage, embroidered with the feathers of the
eagle, and this was the sole garment she had on, save that her
head was ornamented with a beautiful diadem of heron's plumes.
She was so young, so artless, and so ravishingly beautiful, that
she took my heart captive at the first glance. I had at that time
only twelve wives, selected by the regent from my own peculiar
tribe, but several other nations had for some time been importun-
ing me to choose a score or two of consorts from the loveliest of
their maidens, and I had, for some reason or other, delayed com-
plying with their requests. But now I was resolved to marry
the whole nation, so as to secure this most beautiful of her sex.
Alas ! was it not madness thus to give way to these tender emo-
tions, when the first word she uttered conveyed to me the appal-
ling certainty that she was the daughter of my deadliest foe — of
the very being whom it had been the sole object of my education
to enable me to drink to death ! But a second look at the en-
chanting girl made me forgetful of every feeling of revenge. I
spoke to her — I found her soft, sweet, delightful, — a daughter of
the pathless forest, — stately as the loftiest palms that waved their
plumed heads in grandeur to the sky, and pure as the spiral
ophrys, with its snow-white flowers, which blossoms so tenderly
at their feet. Her name was Nemrooma, which in your language
means the spotless lily — mine, I must inform you, was Quin-
molla, the drinker of rum.*'

To be concluded in our next.

15
NATURAL HISTORY OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD.

Continued from page 251 of volume 3.

ORDER ANSERES.

Genus ^ Sterna, Tern.

Sp. 120. St. hirundo, common Tern, or sea Swallow. In the

winters of 1830 and 31 specimens were common in the

Sound and Catwater, after gales of wind ; they remained

here fishing for some days.

St. minuta, Africana dind fssipes, are very rare.
Genus, Anas, Duck, Goose, &c.
Sp. 121. An. cygnus, wild Swan; visits us in severe winters in

flocks.
Sp. 122. An. anser, -x procured here during severe winters,
Sp. 123. An. segetum, > as in those of 1830 and 31.
Sp. 124. An. albifions, ^
Sp. 125. An.fei^ina, Pochard; not uncommon, according to Dr.

Moore.
Sp. 126. An. marila, scaup Duck; generally in winter.
Sp. 127. An. boschas, wild Duck; common in winter; I have

heard of one or two instances of their breeding here.
Sp. 128. An. penelope, Wigeon; common with the last.
Sp. 129. An crecca, Teal ; common with the two last.

The following species make their appearance irregularly,

being forced southwards in proportion to the severity of

the season.
Sp. 130. An. nigra, Scoter, An clangula. Golden Eye, Anfuligu-

la or tufted Duck, An. tadoima, Shieldrake ; An acuta

Pintail.
There are yet other species enumerated by Dr. Moore, of

still greater rarity.
Genus, Mergas, Merganser.

Sp. 131. Mer. merganser; rather rare on the coasts in winter.
Sp. 132. Mer. alhellus. Smew; rather rare, and only in winter

with the last.
The red-breasted Merganser is much rarer than these.
Genus, Pelecanus, Cormorant, &c.

Sp. 133. Pel. carbo, Cormorant, about the Mewstone and Shag-
stone.
Sp. 134. Pel. graculus, Shag ; common with the last, and appears

about the inlets, and in-land in winter.

16 NATURAL HISTORY OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD.

Sp. 135. Pel. bassanus, Gannet; generally seen in the Sound and
inlets in the winter.

If the crested Cormorant be a distinct species, we may
recognise it as a bird of this neighbourhood, as I have
seen specimens from the Shag rock, but the probabilities
are in favour of its being the spring dress of Pel. carbo.

This concludes my notice of the Ornithology of Ply-
mouth and its vicinity. The species which I have recog-
nised as the genuine and unfailing inhabitants or visitors
of these parts amount to 135, while if the sum of the
whole which have been observed in the south of Devon be
required, it may be stated at 232.

CLASS — AMPHIBIA. Linn.

ORDER REPTILIA.

GenuSy Lacerta, Lizard.

Sp. 1. La. agi/is, nimble Lizard ; on heaths and commons. It

will be found pretty numerous on Wembury common and

similar places.
Sp. 2. Jm aquatica, Water-newt, or Eft, " Effet,*' by the vulgar;

found in ponds, but not common.
Genus, Rana, Toad, Frog.
Sp. 3. R. bvfoy Toad; very common in ponds and damp spots.

OR DF.R — SERPEN T£S .

GeniiSf Anguis.

Sp. 4. An fragilisy Slow worm, Blind-worm; common under
stones &c. on heaths and in hay fields in summer.

Genus, Coluber.

Sp. 5. Col. natrix, common Snake; frequent in damp spots in
summer and in hedges in winter.

Sp. 6. Col. berus, common Viper, Adder; in dry spots and not
so common as the snake.

I regret that I cannot speak decisively of the absence
or presence of the other British Amphibia. My ignorance
as to the existence of the Frog here is only to be accounted
for by the want of research. Countrymen are impressed
with the idea that Devon does not produce it

Philophysicus.

17

PRIDE AND VANITY.

These qualities are frequently regarded as iden-
tical ; in my opinion, they are widely remote. Pride
is of cold imperious character, and not unfrequently
allied to mental power. Vanity is a weak effeminate
passion, and often connected with imbecility. Pride
repels — vanity labours to attract. Pride is an eagle
that gazes at the sun, and disdains earthly objects —
vanity is a jackdaw, arrayed in borrowed plumes,
and courting the admiration of mankind. It was
vanity, and not pride, that caused Napoleon to pre-
sent his hand to the kiss of his mother, on meeting
her in the gardens of Malmaison, soon after his ele-
vation to the throne. — Pride, from its conscious dig-
nity, would either have waived the ceremony or passed
by disdainfully. It was pride that occasioned the
poet Rousseau to repulse with brutality his venerable
father, when about to embrace him at the door of the
opera-house at Paris, after the successful performance
of one of his pieces. Vanity is allied to contempt —
pride to hatred. Pride is opposed to benevolence —
vanity to sincerity. A proud man is concentrated
in his own thoughts — lives immured in the Bastille
of his prej udices and feelings, and exhibits the callo-
sity of the tortoise,

" As tho' he were author of himself,
And owned no other kin/'

A vain man possesses a soft seductive pliability —
becomes all things to all men — " and crooks the preg-
nant hinges of the knee that thrift may follow fawn-
ing.'' Vanity is sometimes co-existent with amiability
— that is loosely and popularly speaking : and it was
for this purpose that it attracted the admiration of
that apostle of wisdom and philanthropy, Benjamin
Franklin.

A Frenchman is vain, but seldom proud. He assi-
duously lays himself out to please, and strives by all
possible expedients to attract the applauses of a friend,
but he will never afterwards cut that friend in the

VOL. IV. — 1834. c

18 POETRY.

street if he should be shabbily dressed, or recognize
him only to wither him with a look of mingled scorn
and insolence, as is the common practice in a neigh-
bouring country. The Scotch, on the contrary, ge-
nerally speaking, are too proud to condescend to
vanity. They are, we verily beUeve, the least courtly
people in the world. Mr. Hazlitt has seen much of
them, and has described them with his usual power
and discrimination. He says, " Though they argue
upon every thing, and dogmatize upon every thing,
they will cut you short in an argument, by asking
the time of night, and regard your habits and feelings
no more than a bundle of old clothes." A Scotchman
is not only proud of his country's beauty, but also of
its bleak climate and sterile soil. Whatever favoured
spot of earth Donald visits, he is always true to his
own principles — selfishness and nationality.
" His first — best country ever is at home.*'
The great difference between pride and vanity may
be traced through many varieties — a vain man acts
for others — a proud man for himself. Pride is gene-
rally founded on actual possession; vanity seeks
credit for assumption, and is as satisfied to be admired
for trivial as for valuable acquisition. Men become
proud in solitude, but vain in society. Pride is self-
satisfied and self-existent. Vanity lives in the breath
of others, and dies when it is no longer seen; vanity
is in better humour, but pride tells fewer lies ; the
first is more pleasing — the latter safer. Yet, however,
they may generally differ — they agree in this, they
are both disgusting and debasing, since every thing
man possesses is superinduced and adventitious.

I.

ON SEEING THE NAME OF ROBERT EMMET

WRITTEN IN HIS OWN HAND UPON ONE OF Hi's SCHOOL BOOKS.

This was written when he was a light gay boy
Whose voice was to fire the listening band

Of the brave who arose, with tearful joy,
For the rights of their desolate father-land.

POETRY. 19

Ah, little he thought when he traced those words,
That his sun should go down in a sky so dim.

That a scaffold should break his hearfs fine chords,
And the grave of the felon be dug for him !

Ah little he thought, when he wrote that name,

It ever would act as a talisman-spell,
To awaken the blush of his country's shame,

That in vain the Wallace of Erin fell !
Yet, happy in death, since he now no more

Shall gaze with a heart to madness stung,
On the curse that withers his parent shore.

And the tears from her friendless millions wrung ; —

Since he now no more can share or see
The chains from the depth of his soul abhorred —

The chains of the race, whom he rose to free.
When he drew in their name the sacred sword !

Could he now return, and behold the land
For which he had felt with a lover's love —

Could he hear a nation in vain demand
The mercy denied, except above ; —

Could he feel the weight of his country's load —
See her fields of dearth, and her homes of pain —

He would hate the light for the scenes it showed.
And kneel for the boon of a grave again !

And was it for nought that he breathed his last
By the death that the brave most fear to die —

That victorious Guilt with her trumpet-blast.
Gave his name to the winds of infamy ?

Has he won but this — that over his tomb
Even Hate for a moment blushed to smile.

And that they, who had sealed it, mourned the doom,
Of him who died for his Orphan Isle ?

Believe it not ! — Oh, rather believe

That his spirit, like those of the Saints on high.
The cloudy glooms of the grave will cleave

From beneath the Golden Shrine to cry !

Nor yet in earth will his free blood sink —
It shall rise ere long in a fount of flame.

While a nation's hearts of the bright wave drink.
Which for ever murmurs of his name !

And the harp, too long in darkness hung,
Shall awaken in Liberty's sunbright smile.

Till her Martyr's meed of flame be flung
Upon all the winds of his own Green Isle !

Dews of Castalie,

20

THE CRISIS OF THE BATTLE OF MALPLAQUET.

Now was the crisis of this sanguinary day at hand ; all the
cannon roared, and the musketry of both armies was plied with
tremendous activity. I have been told, on the spot, that the
ground trembled with the moving hoofs of thirty thousand horse,
and a dense cloud of dust and smoke covered the heavens, as if
a volcano had been exploding. Columns and single men were
only seen at intervals through the yellow and dense atmosphere ;
the demon of destruction rode exulting in the storm. The hostile
horse now noticed the front of d'Auvergne and instantly charged
it ; but though only formed in part, it withstood the shock and re-
pulsed them. The Household cavalry was already moved by
Marshal Bouflers who, on the intelligence of the wound of Vil-
lars, and the loss of the Redans, had quitted the right and hastened
to the centre ; here he found a certain apathy and indecision ;
and therefore approaching the squadrons of Gensdarmes de
France, the flower of the cavalry in the centre, after addressing a
few words to this resolute band, he placed himself at its head,
and before d' Auvergne had extended his whole front, the
shock reached his line, and the allied squadrons were driven back
to the Redans. There Lord Orkney had taken the precaution to
make his infantry ascend the parapets, by which means, they
were out of reach of the sabre and enabled to pour a destructive
volley upon the gensdarmes, which drove them back in their
turn. These charges were renewed three times, and as often re-
pulsed by the musketry and the cross fire of the batteries on the
flanks. In the third charge, they fell upon a second line, com-
posed of British and Prussian cavalry, brought up by Marlborough
in person, and led on by Bulow and the intrepid Wood. The
routed squadrons had passed between them, and their pursuers
were in turn severely handled by the first corps, who drove them
to seek shelter behind another line which now prepared to charge ;
this consisted chiefly of 13 squadrons of the splendid Gardes du
corps, Gensdarmerie de la garde, Mousquetareis, gris and noirs,
the Chevaux legers and Grenad iers a cheval, almost entirely compos-
ed of nobles above 2000 strong and constituting the king's household
cavalry, and superbly mounted. They had hastened from the right
wing to retrieve the misfortunes of the centre, and had just formed to
receive the broken gensdarmes. Bouflers found the youthful
pretender at the head of the Scottish troop, and with this line
they both advanced again. During this time the allied horse had
rapidly augmented, and Prince Eugene himself led the Germans

CRISIS OF THE BATTLE OF MALPLAQI3ET. 21

through the Redans and formed new lines of horse. Bouflers,
instead of fighting like a private horseman, ought to have charged
with his whole line ; but the Elite came forward almost alone and
furiously dashed through the first and second lines of the allies,
they even disordered the third, but the mass of enemies was
overwhelming and their fire destructive. Broken by the shock,
singly cut down or trampled under foot, they could not conquer,
and in despair drew back with honour though defeated. Other
partial charges were made with less and less success, and when
their opponents were at length fully formed, they moved for\vard
and in one dash, drove the discomfited enemy beyond the rivulet
of Camp Perdu.

Before this event the prince of Hesse, watchinoj the moment
for action, had closely followed the success of Routsan and Lord
Orkney ; and passing through the openings, near the chapel of
Jean Vauquier, he wheeled to the left, and charged the French
right wing in flank; the manoeuvre was successful and the whole
hostile right wing routed. The marquis de Vailiere, Count Cog-
nier and M. de Beauvean, were now rallying the French cavalry,
and Marshal Bouflers was still unwillling to retreat ; though his
right was dispersed, the centre pierced, the left cut off", and many
of the ablest generals, killed or wounded : by obstinately remain-
ing on the field of battle, he exposed the last — the only remaining
army of the state : by retreating he acknowledged a defeat which
the unsubdued spirit of his troops shewed that they denied by
their conduct. At length advice was brought that M. Le Legal,
with 50 battalions on the left, was in full retreat covering the
movement with his cavalry; and then he consented to withdraw
towards Bavai, forming closed columns. M. d'Arlagnar traversed
the woods — the Marshall, with the horse of the centre, crossed
the Hon at Taisnieres, and the Chevalier Luxembourg co-
vered the rear with the reserve ; on the plain of Bavai, beyond
the woods, the columns joined again and halted to collect the
stragglers, and break down the bridges ; the army then crossed
the Honneau. Marlborough and Eugene admired the order and
boldness of the retreat, only one or two battalions were cut in
upon by general Viull nor were they followed beyond the Hon-
neau. Their left wing withdrew towards Quievrain, pursued by
the Hanovarians, who found their horse in three columns on the
heights of Etonges. They charged, and were repulsed by the
Carbineers with the loss of Colonel la Leppe. In the course of
the night and next morning, they crossed the Scheldeand took up
a position between Quesnoy and Valenciennes. C. H. S.

22

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

ABRIDGED FROM A PAPER, IN THE TRANSACTIONS OF THE
PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION, BY REV. S. ROWE, B A.

The extensive tract of hilly country, which occupies so large a
portion of the central districts of Devonshire, has long possessed
an invidious celebrity under the name of Dartmoor, as a region
whose wildness and sterility have grown into " a proverb and a
bye word." This circumstance, however satisfactorily it may
account for the slight and general notices which have been usually
bestowed upon the Forest of Dartmoor by topographers and his-
torians, will by no means justify the neglect of the antiquary ;
since the very barrenness which deters others from any investiga-
tion in a region so unpromising, often secures the most favourable
field for his researches.

Of almost all the relics of Druidical antiquity, the moorland
districts of Devonshire afford specimens, which, generally speak-
ing, have been most imperfectly and unsatisfactorily noticed by
antiquaries. Cornwall has had more justice in the accurate and
laborious notices of Borlase, who has carefully enumerated the
relics of that county ; but our Risdon, in mentioning the curiosi-
ties of Dartmoor, records only three remarkable things : — viz. the
Stannary Parliament seats on Crockem Tor, Childe of Plymstock's
tomb, and Wistman's wood. Yet, on the moor and within its
precincts, are to be found examples of the sacred circle — avenues
— the cromlech — the kistvaen — the rock idol — rock basin —
monumental pillar — the cairn, or barrow — dwellings and track-
ways.

In the classification of Druidical antiquities, precedence seems
due to the Sacred Circle, both for the importance of its object,
and from the circumstance that sacred circles in other places are
usually ranked among the most interesting of such relics. The
sacred circle was evidently a rude patriarchal temple, such as the
genius of the people and of their religion demanded, and for the
construction of which the region supplied ample and congenial
materials. The granite tors of Cornwall and Devon furnished
materials for the apparatus of Druidical worship, abundant in
supply, and suitable in form and quality ; as to form, sublime
from their rudeness and vastness ; and as to durability, imperish-
able as the hill from whence they were raised.

The sacred circles, found on Dartmoor, are of various dimen-
sions, and constructed of moorstone blocks of irregular shapes,
and by no means uniform in size. Taking a general view of

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. 23

monuments of this class in our island, some antiquaries have fixed
the number of stones as varying from twelve to twenty-seven ;
and state that they are more frequently found of the former num-
ber than of any other; this conjecture, however, seems to be much
at variance with conclusions founded on actual observation. We
have found them consisting often, eleven, twelve, fifteen, twenty-
five, and twenty-seven stones. The size of the stones varying
from eighteen inches in height to five feet. The circumference of
the circle varies from twelve yards to one hundred and twenty,
which is the size of the Grey Wethers, the largest yet discovered
on the moor.

The sacred circle sometimes has a cairn or kistvaen within the
inclosure — sometimes is found in connexion with avenues — some-
times in connexion with others — and in one instance it contains
two concentric circles within its circumference. This description
of circle is at once distinguished from the hut circle, or ruined
dwelling, by the position of the stones composing it, which are
always set up at intervals of greater or less extent ; whereas the
hut circles have the stones set as closely together as the nature of
the construction would permit.

The most striking of the sacred circles are those near Sittaford
tor in the centre of the moor, and that on Gidleigh common. The
former are known to the moormen by the name of the Grey We-
thers; and are two circles, whose circumferences almost touch
each other. These masses have been selected with care, being
slabs, tolerably level in the upper edge ; the largest is fallen — it
is four feet nine inches wide, less than a foot thick, and must
have stood about five feet high. Diameter of both circles, one
hundred and twenty feet.

The Gidleigh circle, consisting of stones which are for the most
part pointed, presents a very different aspect from the Grey We-
thers. They are thirty-seven in number, ten of which are fallen.
The highest of those in their original position, is eight feet above
the ground ; the medium height of the largest number is about
four feet and a half, tlie smallest stone is three feet. Diameter of
the circle, ninety feet.

The avenues, or parallel lines of erect stones, appear to have
excited little attention, yet the peculiarity of their appearance
cannot fail immediately to strike a spectator. They are some-
times found singly, and sometimes in pairs, but always in con-
nexion with other British relics, and most commonly with the
sacred circle.

24 ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

These ancient erections, when near streams, were probably
intended for the procession of the consecrated boat ; in situations
remote from waters, it is more probable that they were constructed
for gymnastic performances in connexion with the celebration of
religious worship.

The largest and most perfect relic of this class is in the ancient
British village, near Merivale Bridge. Here is a pair of avenues
parallel to each other, one hundred and five feet apart, running
east and west ; the longest one thousand one hundred and forty-
three feet, the shortest seven hundred and ninety-two feet. The
stones of which they are formed are scarcely two feet above the
ground, placed at irregular distances, but generally about tliree
feet and a half apart. The shortest terminates in a circle, and the
longest has a circle at mid-length. The shortest, at its east end,
has a stone of larger dimensions ; and in the other avenue opposite
to it, is a correspondmg block, although in this it seems at a dis-
tance from the termination of its avenue. The western half of
this avenue is divided at mid-length by a higher stone, and ends
with two stones now recumbent.

A similar pair of avenues, but not so extensive in their plan, is
found, in connexion with other similar antiquities, on the brook
side, below Black tor. The stones there employed in the con-
struction, are two feet and a half high. A stream forms the
western termination of both of these avenues, the southern is to
be traced about one hundred and eighty feet, and the northern,
which is much more perfect and distinct, three hundred. They
are forty feet apart, and run parallel to each other, due east and
west, and each is terminated at the east end by a circle, thirty
feet in diameter, inclosing a cairn. The stones at the head of the
avenues, as in the former example, being of larger dimensions
than the others.

In both these instances the avenues run east and west; but
others are found in the direction of north and south. A single
avenue of this kind occurs on Challacombe down, three hundred
feet in length ; — another on Gidleigh common, four hundred and
two feet in length, and four feet and a half in breadth ; the latter
is formed in connexion with a singular set of concentric circles.
In this locality is another pair of parellel avenues in the same
direction, in which many of the stones are three feet and a half
high, of a triangular shape, the points forming a very acute angle.
It is probable that a considerable portion of the eastern avenue
has been destroyed, as only one hundred and twenty-three feet

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. 25

of it can be traced, while the other can be followed to an extent
of four hundred and thirty-two feet.

Of all our Druidical monuments, purely artificial, the Crom-
lech is that which is the most striking in appearance, and the
most eminently characteristic of the age to which such monu-
ments are usually assigned. The finest and perhaps the only
perfect specimen in Devonshire, is at Shilston, in the parish of
Drewsteignton. The masses whereof it is constructed have been
selected, as adapted for the purpose, in their natural state ; no
tool appears to have been passed upon them, — and this absence
of artificial preparation, contrasted with the indication of great
power exerted in the fabric, confers a venerable rudeness on this
singular and interesting relic.

The Drewsteignton Cromlech is formed of four stones ; viz.
three supporters and the quoit or impost. The impost is forty-
one feet in circumference, and in many parts is from two to three
feet in thickness. From these dimensions a notion may be formed
of the mass thus elevated on the supporters, the lowest of which
stands five feet three inches above the surface, the others being
sufficiently high for a man to stand erect beneath the massive
canopy of the impost. This has an inclination to the westward,
which, with a bevil in the same direction, gives to the surface of
the impost a considerable slope.

This is not only the finest and most perfect specimen in Devon-
shire, but it is generally regarded as furnishing the sole example
of which our county can boast. Could this opinion be established
it would appear singular, if not anomalous, that in a region where
the other Druidical relics are so abundant, this characteristic mo-
nument should so sparingly appear. In the adjoining county of
Cornwall we know they are numerous ; and the most cursory
observer could not visit a single tor on Dartmoor, without per-
ceiving that a want of appropriate and ready materials did not
stand in the way of their erection in this chosen district. The
supposition naturally arising from these circumstances has been
justified, in more than one instance, by the discovery of monu-
ments of this class hitherto unnoticed. On Shaugh moor is one
which, if it be that noticed by Polwhele, is mentioned by that
author only to have its claims disallowed ; but for reasons which
a view of the cromlech will instantly show to be both inapplicable
and groundless. The quoit is doubtless supported in an unusual
manner, resting partly on a natural ledge of rock — but that stone
itself possesses every characteristic of the cromlech quoit, and ap-
voL. IV. — 1834. D

26 ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

parently remains in its original position. At Kam Boscawen,
near Penzance, is a similar monument (figured in Borlase's Anti-
quities,) where the quoit is partially supported by the natural
rock, as in the present instance.

In the ancient ruined village, at Merivale bridge, is a prostrate
cromlech. The quoit, ten feet six, by five feet four inches, has
fallen firom its three supporters, and remains in an angle of 45 * .
Natural circumstances would not satisfactorily account for the
present position of the stones ; the ground being nearly flat the
quoit could not have slipped from a higher spot into its present
site — nor are there, as on tors, numerous blocks of a similar des-
cription promiscuously scattered around ; this is sufficiently
distinct in appearance to attract immediate attention. In the
same village is another conformation of four stones, appearing
like three supporters and a quoit, less decidedly artificial, though
bearing great resemblance to a prostrate cromlech, wherein the
quoit is of much larger dimensions, being no less than sixteen
feet in length, and nine feet eight inches in breadth.

Below Furtor, near the Tavy head, is another fallen cromlech,
about a furlong from the eastern bank. Although surrounded by
scattered masses of granite, its distinction is sufficiently marked.
The quoit thirteen feet by five, remarkably regular in shape, has
fallen with its longest side to the ground, into which it has partly
imbedded itself; the base being overgrown with luxuriant heather.
The supporting slabs are crippled under the quoit, and retain it
in a position less inclined than the former. These slabs are three,
and three only — for there are no similar masses so near, as to ren-
der the monument of a doubtful character ; nor are there any
appearances which would induce the observer to refer it to natural
circumstances. Its site is one of the most secluded spots on the
moor, apart from any other relic of Druidical antiquity.

The Logan stone and Rock idol, though belonging to the
class of Druidical antiquities, can boast of so little, if any, artifi-
cial preparation, that, in an enumeration of the present kind, they
will not long detain our attention. The celebrated specimen of
the first of these monuments, the Drewsteignton logan stone,
might be repeatedly passed, without exciting more curiosity or
attention than any other fine granite mass in the bed of a river.
Advantage was doubtless taken by the Druids, of the natural
circumstances on which this rock was found, and its motion
might have been rendered subservient to the purposes of super-
stition. On the application of considerable strength at its east

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. 27

end, its motion is just perceptible. But it is impossible to traverse
the moor in any direction, without observing many a block, which
once might have been a logan stone, or even now might be easily
made to logg ; — so fantastical and singular are the positions in
which those masses are continually found. Similar observations
will apply to the Rock idol.

Some authors have attributed the formation of the Rock Basin
to nature, by the action of water, and from the decomposition of
some parts of the rock more than others. It seems extraordinary
however, that any one who has examined these singular relics of
antiquity, should advocate an opinion so devoid of the confirmation
of facts. Were the rock basins natural productions, why are they
found so uniform in size ? Why are they so frequently seen on
those parts of granite masses less favourable than other parts to
their natural formation. Their situation is commonly on the
highest spot of the loftiest pile on the tor, very often near the edge
of the block upon which they are formed, — in many instances
with a lip or channel to convey the water over the edge of the
mass, and generally varying in diameter from twelve inches to
thirty-six.

A very fine example, illustrating this general description of the
Dartmoor rock basins, occurs on the north end of the topmost
Great Mistor, one of the loftiest hills of the moor. The basin is
in a most perfect state, in form a circle, three feet in diameter and
eight inches deep. Its sides are perpendicular, its bottom flat ;
having a lip cut in the rock in its northern edge. It would be
most characteristically described as a pan excavated in granite,
and bears such evident marks of artificial preparation as could not
fail to convince an unprejudiced inquirer.

The Rock Pillar, monumental column, maen or men, is
also found on Dartmoor. A striking specimen appears at the
ancient Merivale village ; an unwrought granite shaft, of a taper-
ing form, presenting a rude type of the obelisk, twelve feet high,
and eight feet in girth at the base. On Bair down is another of
these primitive obelisks, twelve feet high ; its general character
and dimensions being similar to the former.

To he continued.

28
GORD-AFRID AND SOHRAB.

EXTRACTED FROM A PAPER ON PERSIAN POETRY,
BY MR. NATHANIEL HOWARD.

SoHRAB, a young warrior, the legitimate, but as yet the unac-
knowledged son of the celebrated Rostum, conducting the Turanian
armies against Iran, is opposed in his progress, at the " White
Fortress," by the formidable Hujir, whom the youthful hero
meets in single combat, and, after a hard struggle, overthrows.
Gord-afrid,* a warlike princess and spectatress of the combat, is
plunged in the greatest distress at the discomfiture of the cham-
pion, and resolves to wreak vengeance on the youthful conqueror.
After the overthrow of Hujir, the poet proceeds thus : —

Fair Gord-afrid, the martial maid,

This sad discomfiture surveyed.

Saw her bold Champion captive made,

And shed a bitter flood of woe :
Sighs from the royal maiden came.
And, though keen anguish shook her frame,
It kindled in her breast a flame

To wreak prompt vengeance on the foe.

She sobbed, as if her heart would break ;
While like a tulip blushed her cheek:
What can she do ? In beauteous haste
Her fair round limbs in mail she braced ;
Her head a Grecian helmet f graced.

Mounting her charger, onward pranced
The warrior maid. Poised in her hand

A dazzling light her javelin glanced.

Floating before the Turan band,

A falcon in her flight she came :

" Champions ! if any bear that name,
Give me," she cried " in single fight,
A war-devoted, generous knight.

Who in the lists of arms has thriven : —
Will none the blow of valour deal t
Of all who grace your lines of steel

Will none accept my challenge given ? "

The youthful Hero thus defied.
Was wroth, and bit his lips of pride :

* Gord-afrid literally signifies Warrior-bom.

t Firdausi frequently mentions the " Grecian helmet."

GORD-AFRID AND SOHRAB. 29

** Another deer to strike or kill —

Come on, young Warrior, have thy will."

In burnished helm and cuirass dressed,
Onward his fretted steel he pressed.
In rival gallantry and grace,
The combatants met face to face.
She seemed a knight of comely show,
And twanged alert her golden bow.
And opened all her arrowy play
Against that crested bird of prey.
From right to left, despite his mail,
He rued the pelting iron hail ;
And bitterly that brunt he took.
Still foiled in every thrust and stroke.
At length, to burning frenzy wrought,
His buckler o'er his head he brought ;
Sternly the tempest he withstood,
Though many a point had tasted blood.

With dexterous ease, her bow yet strung.
The maid across her shoulder flung,
Then urged her steed to full career,
And, rising, whirled a wrathful spear
On grieved Sohrab, who stooping low
Hung sideway from the erring blow.

He, like a tiger, in that fray.
Or burst of lightning, on her rose
Dilated in his might, to close

With one dire crash the doubtful day.
He threw his ponderous spear, nor missed ;
The keen point entering at her wrist.
And glancing upward, grazed her breast,
Finding its way out by her crest.

Sohrab, with desperate vigour fraught,
Struck at her girdle-belt so true,
The faithless armour piece-meal flew.
He hurled his spear with giant force.
Which pushed her midway ofl* her horse :

She staggers, — but the spear well caught.
Quickly a scimitar she drew.
And cut the offensive shaft in two.

Stern to the Youth she raised her head,
Though not his equal — fair awhile
False Hope and Fortune seemed to smile,

But, fickle now as ever fled.

The Victor, with his sweeping blow.
Comes in harsh contact with his Foe,

30 GORD-AFRID AND SOHRAB.

Strikes off the helmet from its place,
And sees, surprised, a Woman's face !
Her look, her bloom, her braided hair
Might well a valiant heart insnare.

Sohrab, to hide his blushes, strove,

But largely, deeply, drank of love :

" Yes — Iran's maids have wrondrous charms,

Their beauty matchless as their arms I

Fly not, sweet Valour ! for 'tis rare

A Deer, like you, comes to my snare.

0 tell me, Princess, why you court,

Dread War, — to man e'en dangerous sport? "

Slow to the Youth thus love-assailed,
Her eyes, her visage she unveiled.
For what can baffled lady do.
But set her loveliness to view ?
She baited well her sweet discourse,
With melting words of winning force :
" Warrior I thy bravery's worth I know.
Thou parriest well a VVoman's blow.
Thy soldiers deem me yet a knight,
But if these tresses dark I show,
Soldiers the ready gibe will throw.
And bid dishonour on thee light.

1 should be loath they wrong thy skill, —
So keep my sex a secret still.
Meantime, I tender to thy care

Our fortress, and our treasures there."

When Gord-afrid her veil withdrew.
Her cheeks seemed roses bathed in dew ;

Warm blushing, as when morning dawns,
Shaming the peach in bloom and hue ;
While from her eyes, so like the fawn's.
She laughed up love in every glance,
And plunged Sohrab in strangest trance !
Still to his gaze she lovelier grew —
Still opening graces dawned to view.

" Heed well your promise Maid of W^ar,
The castle's ponderous gates unbar :
And if you reck not what you hear,
Ye know the prowess of my spear.
We snap the reed on which you trust,
And raze your fortress to the dust."

The Princess nought in answer gave.
But turning quick her charger brave
Right to the castle won her way,
Triumphant in her Beauty's sway.

31

THE PERAMBULATOR, No. VIII.
THE PLYMOUTH LEAT.

Every place has its inconveniences of one kind or
another, and many places have their advantages ;
though there are some habitations so unaccountably
select, as to possess every kind of annoyance to sight,
hearing, smell and taste, — damp to the feeling and
unhealthy to the constitution, — without any counter-
vaihng recommendation, to excuse the builder for
such misplacement of his labour.

Our town has its inconveniences ; and the position
of some of its new buildings seems to be chosen upon
the principle just laid down: the excuse of the
builder being, however, that there is every disadvan-
tage of position ; so he has concentrated thereon
every architectural imperfection ; and if two negatives
will make an affirmative, there being choice of nega-
tives of all kinds, it is no wonder that such houses
quickly find tenants.

But the dear old town has its advantages too ;
many and great. A climate of peculiar mildness ;
a fertile neighbourhood, teeming with fruits and
flowers ; a turf of exquisite greenness ; extent
and variety of landscape, almost unexampled ; the
glorious sea rolling in its blue billows, unobstructed,
from the Atlantic, and giving us the easiest and
earliest communication with all parts of the globe,
(the North Pole excepted) and a multiplicity of other
things which should be described by the poet, and
some of which are already enshrined in the pages of
Carrington.

There are also advantages suited to the proser ;
(the yarn spinning writer, a well known character in
the literature of the present, and of most former ages)
and to the inspiration of one of these the present
paper is due. Cold, soft water, in profuse abundance,
is amongst the main recommendations of Plymouth.
Whenever we travel, if, on our journey, we call for a
basin of water to wash the hands ; we presently find

32 THE PLYMOUTH LEAT.

the soap curdle and rise to the surface, and the skin
fret on rubbing the hands together. But here it is
not so ; the water of our leat leaves the skin so
smooth, that it may be compared with oil or milk, as
that of many other streams may to vinegar.

Of this soft and valuable water, the leat pours
into the town pipes, on an average, 45,000 hogsheads
daily ; being equal to a hogshead and a half for each
inhabitant, young and old. That many of us do not
use a quarter of this proportion, is very true ; and
equally so, that we cannot get it ; partly because of
the unlucky position of some of our houses ; partly
because of the incompleteness of the science of hy-
draulics, as applicable to long pipes of varying decli-
vity ; and of the impracticability of laying pipes on
scientific principles, in a town so continually changing
its lines of building. But the chief cause of the defi-
ciency, felt by many of us, is the wanton waste of the
water by others more ad vantageously situated . Some
houses have tanks, with waste pipes, and no cock
nor valve to the supply pipe ; so that the water is
running continually to waste ; and from 30 to 50
hogsheads per house will run away during the time
the water is on, without benefit to any one ; whilst
another house dependent on the same main pipe, and
less favourably situated, will be thus almost entirely
deprived of its supply.

But, in spite of this unfair dealing, most of us are
well and plentifully supplied with this indispensable
requisite for health, comfort and cleanliness. And
the leat water is not less remarkable for purity than
for abundance. The writer of this evaporated a por-
tion of it, some time since, and although well aware of
the excellence of the water, was yet surprised at the
smallness of the residue. He cannot for a moment
lay his hand upon the memorandum ; but from recol-
lection he thinks the quantity was under 2 grains :
of this the greater part was common sea salt ; which
is driven, with the spray, some miles inland in strong
southerly winds. The superior softness of running

THE PLYMOUTH LEAT. 33

water over that of springs, is universally known.
Springs generally contain carbonic acid, which has
the property of enabling water to dissolve earthly
matters, otherwise insoluble. But when the water
runs above ground, exposed to the air, this gas be-
comes dissipated and the earthly matters subside ;
thus purifying the water, so far. Running streams
are also usually accompanied by vegetation; and
the roots of plants seem to draw from it whatever
they can find contributing to their growth : thus
soluble, vegetable, and animal matters, and putres-
cent matters, are got rid of ; and probably salts also.
And whilst the Plymouth leat runs (windings inclu-
ded) more than thirty miles above ground, so rapidly
as to be continually changing its surface, and in a
stream small enough to allow of the full action of
the purifying causes, its whole course is free from
any of those contaminating strata which harden, and
sometimes poison, the waters they conduct. The
waters, for example, that run over chalk, are always
hard, and frequently encrust substances that lie in
them ; and the same effects take place in waters
running over gypsum or plaster of Paris. Every
stick and straw in the Aqueduct at Arcueil, in Paris,
is covered with encrustration. Beds of iron stone
render it unwholsome to drink, (except as medicine)
and unfit to wash with. Rock salt makes it still
more unfit for either purpose ; and beds of mundic,
or of copper or lead ore, poison it. But our leat runs
on granite, slate, and other insoluble stones, all the
way from its origin to the reservoir, where it conse-
quently arrives as pure, as (probably) any stream
upon the face of the earth ; leaving out of the question
the minute portion of salt it takes up from the occa-
sional effects of the southerly wind.

The leat is drawn from the river Mew or Meavy,
which rises on Dartmoor, not a mile south of the pri-
sons, and receives two other brooks before the leat
leaves it. This is cut off near Stenlake farm, to the
right of the Two Bridges' road, about a mile after it

VOL. IV. — 1834. E

34 THE PLYMOUTH LEAT.

enters the moor. It is carried along the hill sides,
southward and westward, nearly parallel to the bend-
ings of the river ; and gathers some streamlets in its
course, until it reaches opposite Sheepstor, whence it
sweeps north westward round the crest of Yanadon,
there it crosses the road, near the meeting of the
Two Bridges' road with that from Ivy Bridge to
Tavistock ; and runs almost parallel with it for about
three miles, when it makes a deep bend to the east,
round the brow of a hill on Roborough down. For
a couple of miles further along the down, it keeps at
some distance from the road, and then runs about a
mile along side it, till it crosses to the westward at
Jump, after which it keeps the western side, and at a
short distance, but following the form of the ground.
On Buckland down we see it, for a good length, by
the road side ; on Manadon hill we hear it dashing
along on the right of the road, and see it at the foot,
whence it makes a wide sweep to the westward, to
clear Townsend hill ; returning through Mutley, and
flowing by the road side along Mutley plain. Its
course thence round North hill, and through the
Five fields to the Reservoir, is familiar to us all ; as
is the Victualling office reservoir, filled from it, in
Five fields lane ; and the grist and other mills and
works depending on it in the town.

The history of an object which has so effectually
contributed to the health, comfort, and increase of
the town, cannot be uninteresting to the inhabitants ;
but the details of this will require another perambu-
lation. All that we can say here is, that it was cut
in the golden days of Queen Bess, under the direc-
tion of Sir Francis Drake, and at the expense of the
Corporation.

J. P.

35
ADDRESSES TO SHAKSPEARE;

SUPPOSED TO BE SPOKEN, TO THE POET^S STATUE, BY THE
TRAGIC AND COMIC MUSES.

TRAGIC MUSE.

Supreme Magician of the human soul,

Whose might instinctive sunder'd the controul

Of native ignorance ; and, in one mind.

Did congregate all knowledge of thy kind !

Great master of the passions, in whose breast —

Externally the seat of happy rest —

Dwelt all the elements of anger's fire;

Of jealous rage and mad ambition's ire;

Of mighty sorrow dignified in woe ;

Of suffering meekness yielding to the blow;

Of deep relentless malice — generous love —

Fierce as the eagle — gentle as the dove : —

First of my votaries ! The tragic muse

Would now approach thy form, and pay her dues

Of reverence unto thy deathless name,

Dear son of Memory : great heir of Fame !

Thee would she cherish as her only one,

And almost grieves thou art not hers alone :

Ev'n now, the partner of her claim on thee

Arrests her words : — Speak, joyous Comedy : —

COMIC MUSE.

Shall s|ately Tragedy, with solemn tone.
Proclaim thee hers — or wish thee hers alone ?
For me (more generous) I'm content that she
Should have what's hers, and leave what's mine to me.
Still have we each a greater cause for pride
In Shakspeare's half than any whole beside ;
For show, mid other poets any he
Whose whole half equals Shakspeare's moiety.
Ah ! thou beloved form ! the Comic muse
Now, smiling, bends before thee. Thou'lt excuse
Her mirthful greeting, for those sweet lips tell
She was a mistress whom thou lovedst well.
Her didst thou oft invoke with laughing eye
And brow full beaming with wit's pleasantrie ;
^ Nor did she e'er refuse thy pen t'inspire,

I Till quite exhausted of her comic fire.

36 THE FAREWELL.

She left the insatiate mind to seek supply-
In the deep stores of sister, Tragedy !
And had she more the mighty bard to grant
Than I — before I left his mind in want ?
Ah, no ! — but since, to speak it, she is loth —
I'll speak it for her — he exhausted both ;
* And to the end of time he still shall be.

In mirth or woe, supreme amid supremacy.

G. W.

THE FAREWELL.
A SHANDEAN FRAGMENT.

When I consider, how much of the comfort and
joy, which we experience in this world, is derived
from our habiHty to inconvenience and misery — that
some of the purest dehghts we can possibly know
are ehcited in adversity — that Love has never been
so extatic as when nursed by misfortune — that Pity
could not sigh without a cause — nor Charity exist
without distress — nor Gratitude without obligation ;
— when I consider all these, I am almost prompted
to exclaim, ^ Tell me not that Heaven itself is free
from sorrow ! '

If any one maintain that I consider wrongly, let
him explain, why a man pays three shillings and six
pence at the pit door of a theatre, to be cheated into
melancholy, by the representation of fictitious tragedy.
There is sufficient cause for tears in the accidents of
real life, without seeking additional motive in the
acting of Mr. Macready — we seek it nevertheless.

It is incompatible with our present nature to sup-
pose a state of mere ease, — at least, to enjoy one —
for we cannot truly enjoy without appreciating, and
we cannot appreciate the sweets without an occasi-
onal taste of the bitters of life. In the soil of uncer-
tainty we sow the seeds of speculation — There is
mental excitement to preclude despondency, and to

THE FAREWELL. 37

balance anxiety we have the blessings of Hope. The
bliss of reunion with those we love, after long absence,
has been experienced by most people, and even
separation has an occasional charm : — Was it not
the very parting with thee, fair Solacer, that made
me know I loved thee ? There was a something
allied to happiness — (a sad sweetness, I grant,)
which I experienced on bidding thee adieu — It was
the very luxury of melancholy — I had a sanction to
evince my feelings, and an opportunity of observing
thine.

— Not that any thing was brought to a positive
conclusion: — I might have married one of the Calais
fishwomen, on the following day, without breaking
a vow. No declaration was verbally made — not a
soft speech uttered. We took a kiss under the
sanction of custom ; and wished one another a simple
" good bye,'' as ordained by common civility. But,
then, (as you well know, Madam,) there is a certain
way of doing things — or rather, instinct does them
for us in such a manner, as to leave no doubts con-
cerning the proper inference to be drawn.

For mine own part, I could not persuade myself
that I was wrong in suffering my wishes to go hand
in hand with my hopes — I summoned up my modesty
to accuse my demerits — I called forth her charms to
arraign my presumption — 'Twas evident I was guilty
on both points ; and yet I felt assured that I was
condemned on neither : —

"Then,'' said I, "she must be a weak, indiscrimi-
nating, thoughtless creature, to bestow her affections
on so unworthy an object as myself ! " — Every iota
of the charge was substantiated against her : — but
was it for me, who had just benefitted by an unac-
countable stretch of mercy, to withhold it in the
present instance ? Though palpably guilty, I had
been acquitted myself— It was but fair I should acquit
her likewise.

We parted on the deck of the Calais steam boat ;
and never surely was a purer flame elicited in so
smoky an atmosphere ! —

38 THE FAREWELL.

THE DEPARTURE.

It was not until we were fairly under weigh, that
I recovered from the state of mental embarrassment,
into which I had been thrown by a violent coUision
of pain and pleasure ; nor could I, even then, fully
make up my mind, as to whether my causes for sor-
row were greater or less than my reasons for joy.
Certain it was, however, that my motives for leaving
England received additional force from the very cir-
cumstance which damped my inclination for the jaunt
— by which you will at once perceive that profit and
not pleasure was the end I had in view.

Heaven be praised for all things ! — most particu-
larly for withholding from me, what, in the heat of
my discontent, I have often denominated as Heaven's
best gift — an independent fortune. I have arraigned
Fate as partial ; men as tyrannical and selfish ;
women as insensible and vain ; and have unhesita-
tingly pronounced myself as the most ill used of
God's creatures. In conclusion, I have only to add,
Heaven be praised for all !

Let people say what they will of the philosopher's
stone, so that they do not compare its beneficial
power with that of woman's love, which makes us
look back upon the anxieties, disappointments, and
regrets of years, as so many causes for self congra-
tulation.

The wind was directly in our teeth — Twas not a
half-penny matter — Away we went ; paddling along
in duck-like majesty ; rapidly overtaking all the
saihng boats, which, going over thrice the distance
we went ourselves, made not one third the way : —

— Had I sought through the works of all the
amatory writers, which have appeared since Petrarch,
I could not have met with a better illustration of the
force and virtue of love than was here afforded me : —

Inclination was as strongly opposed to my going
abroad, as the wind was to the progress of our vessel.
The vessel went on nevertheless — so did I — not be-
cause I could not help it — for, had I been on foot.

THE FAREWELL. 39

the propelling motive would have been equally strong
— In short, I was urged forward by a power which
till now had never actuated me ; at least in such a
degree : —

For, I believe, we have all of us been more or less
subject to the influence of love — nay, madam, even
Johnson once felt " the tender passion ;" why then
should you deny it? Besides 'tis difficult to say
where partiality ends and love begins ; for rest assu-
red, that when you ran up stairs the other day in
search of the embrocation for the bruised arm of your
brother's friend, it was something more than pity
which enforced you to it ; and had you yourself ap-
plied the remedy, you would most probably have
found it so. Beware, then, madam — if you have re-
solved to keep Cupid at a distance — beware how you
are induced to admire the bravery of one man, or to
feel for the miseries of another ; for, in so doing, you
have unquestionably divulged to the little blind god
the secret of your vixlnerability. But why should
you make any such resolution ?

Love, madam, is to the heart, what inoculation is
to the body ; the one counteracting depravity ; the
other, disease. Do not talk about the mischief w\\\Q\i
it causes amongst as ; for though it has thrown many
men into a fishpond, it has saved many more from
the gallows.

Tristram .

40

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

PROCEEDINGS IN THE ATHEN^UM.

The Committee, actuated by a laudable desire of allowing the
public more generally to benefit by the talent of this institution,
have determined on the delivery of a summer course of lectures in
the Athenaeum, to v^hich ladies, as well as gentlemen, are admit-
ted ; the course will consist of fourteen lectures, as follow : —

June

July

Sept.

5.

Mr. Wightwick,

Shakspeare.

12.

Mr. Hearder,

Combustion.

19.

Mr. H. WooUcombe,

Evils of Ignorance.

26.

Rev. B. St. John,

Rhetoric.

3.

Rev. B. St. John,

Rhetoric.

10.

Mr. Lancaster,

Astronomy.

17.

Mr. H. WooUcombe,

Ancient Travelling.

24.

M. Luce,

On the different systems
adopted in acquiring the
French Language.

31.

Mr. Adams,

Gas Illumination.

17.

Mr. S. Purdon,

Resources and Capabilities

14.

Mr. Swain,

UI lleltlllU.

Illustrations of Natural Phi-
losophy.

21.

Mr. Hearder,

Flame.

28.

Mr. Lancaster,

Astronomy.

4.

Mr. Wightwick,

Shakspeare.

June 5th. — Mr. Wightwick's Lecture on Shakspeare.
The lecturer commenced his paper in the following words: —
What a subject is before me I how bestirring in interest I how
boundless in extent ! how diversified in feature ! how august in
celebrity ! Like to the Pontic sea, which feels no ebb, but flows
right onward to the Hellespont, so Shakspeare's fame proceeds,
with course uninterrupted, and amplitude ever augmenting — pro-
gressing with the progress of time, and increasing with the increase
of knowledge. The most imaginative of English poets ; the most
genial of our wits ; the most profound of moral philosophers ;
he has left us in the possession of a treasure, which '* age cannot
wither, nor custom stale its infinite variety." If pride be ever
justifiable J Englishmen have indeed just reason to exalt them-

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 41

selves on the swelling wave of Shakspeare's fame ; but it is a ques-
tion whether we are justified in thinking the more of ourselves be-
cause a highly favored child of nature and humanity happened to
be born at Stratford upon Avon. Though we may secretly joy in
the circumstance, it were better to regard our great dramatist as
a citizen of the intellectual world at large — the child of one all-
pervading Nature ; and, therefore, the pride of all nations. Genius
should not be shackled by nationality. Cabinet ministers and
statesmen may look to the exclusive glory of an individual king
and a single people ; but Shakspeare — as an unsophisticated pain-
ter of the heart's emotions — is the property, as he should be the
pride of the world.

Before we enter upon our critical employment, let us ascend
the highest eminence of general observation, and take, as it were
a bird's-eye view or coup d'oeil of the immense and varied pros-
pect which the drama of Shakspeare affords. The first thing
which strikes ou r attention is the general prevalence of the most
marked contrasts : — green meads and granite rocks — " gorgeous
palaces" and beggars' huts — parterres industriously cultivated in
some parts, and in others distinguished by slovenly neglect — here
enriched with nature's most beautiful enamelling, and there dis-
figured by a dungheap — mountains, noble in their elevation and
fearful in their precipitousness, exhibiting, on their otherwise impo-
sing fronts, some common place trifle or artificial meanness — " so-
lemn temples" furnished with 'scutcheons of ludicrous device —
majestic rivers bearing on their progressive surface the toy ships
of children — and cascades, insulted in their downward course by
the interposition of tin cullenders ! —

Nor are the contrasts of his excellencies, the one with the other
less remarkable in their juxta-positions, than his beauties and
meannesses. Let us cause to pass before our " mind's eye" in
unclassified review a line of his more distinguised characters.
Like the witches in Macbeth, let us fill our chauldron with the
varied ingredients, necessary to invoke the spirits of " Tragedy,
Comedy, History, Pastoral, Pastoral comical, Historical Pastoral,
scene individable, or poem unlimited" — the list which my hear-
ers will recognise as that of our old friend Polonius. The charm
being " wound up" let the vision appear : —

First, behold the opposites of innocence and lasciviousness ; the
luxurious Cleopatra and the delicate Imogen —

Next, the representatives of aristocratical and natural dignity ;
the pompous hero of Corioli, and the modest Harry of Agincourt :
VOL. IV. — 1834. F

42 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

following these, we have the meditative Hamlet and thoughtless
Mercutio; and the melancholy Jaques, hiirring into the woody
covert, to avoid the gibes and humorous frivolities of Gratiano,
Touchstone and a crew of merry jesters.

And here, is *' withered murder" ushering forward the fear-
fraught and relenting Macbeth, who cowers before his undaunted
and remorseless Partner, as impenetrable to the sting of conscience
as Isabella, the noble heroine of Measure for Measure, is to the
instigations of sin. Following these are the credulous Othello
and his designing ancient — the merciful Portia and the inexorable
Shylock — the passionate Lear and his heartless daughters — the
inflated Bolinbrokeand humbled Richard — the conscience- stricken
Clarence and guilt-glorying Glos'ter.

" And here comes Romeo, without his roe, like a dried herring/'
What a contrast have we here, with Hotspur the rough contemner
of " metre ballad mongers," whose only desire, in lieu of a melt-
ing mistress, is to embrace the mailed Prince Harry " with a
soldier's arm, and make him shrink beneath the courtesy." Next
we see the flying forms of a whole host of " VVaterflies," bullies,
and braggarts (among whom we recognize our friends Pistol and
Parolles) hasting with most politic alacrity before the gallant
Faulconbridge, whose very name acts a spell upon our manliest
feelings.

As the very essence of earthly grossness and imaginative mon-
strosity we are now confronted by the revolting figure of Caliban
— a grovelling combination of bridled ferocity, revenge, and sen-
suality. And, see; — his opposite in that ** tricksy spirit," (whose
couch is a cowslip's bell) the dainty, delicate Ariel. And here
comes "Puck," "that merry wand'rer of the night," Queen
Mab and her equipage, with all the fairy subjects of Oberon and
Titania,

Nor let us fail to greet, with a smile, the simple Audrey ; and,
with a kiss, the witty Rosalind. Can we refuse our pardon to the
self conceit of Malvolio, or our admiration for the modesty of
Orlando ? These are followed by Sir Andrew Aguecheek, whose
name bespeaks his quality, admirably foiled by the mellowness of
that true toper Sir Toby Belch. The meagre minded Shallow,
with his cousin Slender, come next — but, how now ? — wherefore
this gap in the procession — Is it then at an end ? Are Slender
and Shallow then to have no foil ? Hark ! whence this puffing,
as one of whose obesity somewhat retards the rapidity of his
progress : — " Ah ! now we see 'tis true ; " for the burning Beacon

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 43

— the everlasting bonfire of Bardolph's nose — announces the entry
of him, whose " means are slender, but whose waist is great '^ — of
him, equally noted for the sack he consumed and the good hu-
mour he excites — whose wit is the cause of wit in others ; but
whose honesty bears about the same proportion to his argumenta-
tive ingenuity as the ha'penny worth of bread to the two gallons
of sack : yet, can we better spare a better man. Here he comes
with the self proclamation of " Sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack
FalstafF, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and the more
valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff : " there he stands —
"tho' last not least" — unimitated, inimitable; a compound of
much that is mean and of all that is merry; with scarcely a true
virtue, yet not to be detested ; a coward and a liar, yet not to be
despised ; a glutton, yet not graceless ; one, to whom we may not
proffer love or esteem ; but whom we reprove or abuse, with feel-
ings similar to those of a partial father, who checks the wayward-
ness of a boy, while he rejoices in his boldness of spirit or cunning
ingenuity. Hence, old Jack, for the present : Bear slowly hence
thy " ton of flesh," with the sympathy of all, who can forget thy
failings in consideration of thy matchless wit.

Being restricted to space, we now proceed to a very interesting
portion of the lecture, viz. that in which Mr. Wightwick treated of
Shakspeare's dramas as acting plays.

I now proceed to examine the plays of Shakspeare, as acting
plays, separately so considered ; and it were as well I should
submit to the society my idea of what an acting play should be.
And first, (to follow the example of the Cookery Book, which
enjoins us, when we would make hare soup, first to catch the
hare) I would recommend the dramatist, when he would write a
play, first to decide on its point — i. e. some principal event inclu-
ding a crowning and conclusive catastrophe, which, in its conduct,
shall exhibit the progressive workings of some natural passion ;
and, in its final developement, shall illustrate the importance of
some moral principle — Not that virtue is always to have its imme-
diate or temporal reward ; but that the curtain shall in no case
fall upon the unexposed and unreproved conduct of vice. A mere
string of events — however some of them may be striking — unless
it be connected with something paramount — unless it exhibit, or
enable us to conceive, a perfect and probable conclusion, — must
be unsatisfactory. A dramatist, guilty of this error, only emulates
the dandyism of a Bond Street Lounger, who, with a magnificent
bunch of seals at one end of his chain, has no watch at the other.

44 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

I regret my inability to speak of Shakspeare in conjunction
with the Greek dramatists.

A carelessness in regard to the unities of time and place will
be therefore imputed to my being unacquainted with the virtue
of their observance, as shewn in the reasonings of the Greek critics
and the tragedies of Eschylus. That the extravagant violations of
them occasionally committed by Shakspeare are defensible no
one will maintain — immediate transitions from pne country to
another would puzzle us, even in these wonderful times of steam,
gas, and vacuum — they smack too much of harlequinade. Ne-
vertheless we may be too precise on this point ; and altho' the
prompter's whistle should be entrusted with no more magic than
will give us the instantaneous advantage of a moderate hackney
coach fare, I see no reason why the music between the acts should
not give us time to cross the Straits of Dover.

Neither does it appear that we should be extreme in the en-
forcement of probabilit J/ y though it were certainly a virtue to keep
possibility ever in view. Of course, in those more poetical com-
positions, originating in an author's imagination, and addressed,
not so much to our optical, as to our mental vision, as we do not
look for likelihood we are not offended by extravagance. The
introduction of supernatural agency has a Grecian precedent and
a Shakspearian passport, though it would be now subject to con-
siderable hazard. A palpable ghost, however, whose rising must
be accompanied by the creaking of a windlass, and who shews
himself to the audience, while on the stage he is supposed to be
merely seen by the one conscience striken individual whose guilt
has deranged his wits — this, surely is an unnecessary violation
of propriety — nor can I see, why the spectator should partake
ivith Macbeth in the sight of Banquo's ghost any more than in
that of the " air drawn dagger which led him to Duncan."

As to the construction of a piece, my architectural vice includes
me to be, perhaps, too particular, and to draw too offensive a
parallel between the five acts of a play and the five stories of a
house. As in the one case I would have a progressive increase
of richness from the basement to the cornice, so, methinks a play
should exhibit a gradual developement of plot, a continual in-
crease of interest, and a catastrophe, exceeding in excitement,
letting the curtain fall ere that excitement shall have dwindled.

Now, Sir, if I have enumerated what will be acknowledged as
a string of essentials, it will be in the same moment permitted,
that Shakspeare is too generally and often very grossly at fault.

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 45

His plots are carelessly contrived, intricate, or disjointed. His
carelessness evinces itself in his frequent use of short explanatory
scenes, where such explanations might with moderate ingenuity
have been interwoven with the main tissue.

It will also be allowed, that his plots are weakened by an in-
equality of interest, frequently evincing a greater impatience to
conclude, than desire to perfect. The most striking events some-
times endanger the general effect, owing to the insipidity of what
follows them : and we may imagine the actors in some instances
to have commenced ere the author had concluded. We find him
occasionally soar with increasing energy through the first, second
and third acts, when he bursts like a sky-rocket — falls through
the fourth act like the sparks, and through the fifth like the stick.
If his rapid transitions from country to country be allowable, what
shall we say to his voracity in swallowing at once a period of many
years ? His extreme brevity in the dispatch of years is singularly
contrasted by his prolixity in ordinary matters of a moment ; and
his rapid relentings and easy convictions are similarly opposed
by some scenes of passionate abuse, as tiresome in their length
as they are offensive in their coarseness. Dilation is, in fact, as
much our author's fault in some instances, as huddled up brevity
is in others. Again, no one can pardon, even under any consi-
deration, his perpetual punning, his long plays upon words, and
the introduction of silly conceits in passages, otherwise impassioned
and affecting. Often have we to lament the debasement of a sub-
lime thought by the use of a mean expression ; and too frequently
the application of language still less suitable to the characters
who are supposed to utter it, than to the character of any mixed
audience assembled to hear it. Richard the Third certainly me-
rited no very delicate handling: but, as the ladies who abused
him were of lofty dignity and blood royal, they should have taken
other models than the " Syrens of Billingsgate."

The great coolness with which a deed of blood is occasionally
dispatched admits of no defence : neither can we approve of the
very prodigal manner in which he sometimes strews the stage
with dead bodies. His cutting and maiming is at times so ex-
travagant, that we doubt whether most to greet it with ridicule or
disgust. We "sup full of horrors, till direness and alarm, once
familiar cannot now fright us."

In the sameness of some of his contrivances to work out a plot
we are left to mfer his carelessness as to the perfection of the more
mechanical parts of a play. The expedient of young ladies in

46 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

aiding themselves by darkness and male disguise offends by its
repetition. The deceptive likenesses which he also institutes
between brother and sister, between men unknown by their wives,
and between servants, mistaking themselves, and mistaken by
others ; all this far exceeds allowance : " The Comedy of Errors'*
is a Comedy of Absurdities. Shakspeare, in fact, took any thing
for game which accidentally started up before him ; and seems to
have revelled so joyously in the pleasures of the mere chase, that
he cared not for the insignificance of that which he pursued.

Now, while no one can deny that the faults above cited are
faults, and therefore, by consequence, that Shakspeare's plays are
pervading in faultiness, many will feel inclined to defend the au-
thor, on the score of the times in which, and the peculiar circum-
stances under which, he wrote: in the anticipation of which 1
beg them to distinguish between a defence of Shakspeare and a
defence of his works. That the author himself never fancied he
had done what was critically defensible, is my firm belief — the
perfection of an occasional act, and of many detached scenes,
prove that he could scarcely have approved the great majority of
his plays as entire works : And I would further defend him by
asserting it, as a moat probable fact, that much of what passes
under the all powerful influence of his name, is no other than the
impertinent matter introduced by the pitiful ambition of the
actors who were prone to say " more than was set down for tliem."

But, to leave the defence of Shakspeare, who, according to my
poor notion, suffers very little under the accusation of being a
careless play-wright, and who, when we arraign his taste holds
up to our critical eye the dazzling mirror of his genius :— to leave
this, and proceed in our judgment of his plays, as acting plays,
separately so considered : for, though this be unimportant when
compared with their intellectual character, it is by no means un-
important to our subject, affecting, as it does, the justice of our
feelings, towards the productions of modern dramatists.

Let us take Richard 3rd, Othello, Shylock, and King Lear. These
are four plays, the which, not to know and admire, is to argue
ones-self ignorant and tasteless. As to Richard 3rd, the acting copy
is a standing censure upon the original, for it is rather a compi-
lation of Cibber's than the play of Shakspeare. It is but fair to
state that much good as well as bad is omitted in the former;
though we cannot disapprove of Cibber's having expunged the low
abusive speeches of Queen Margaret, which, of themselves would
condemn any modern tragedy.

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 47

As an acting play, Othello, though more generally excellent
than many, would (if now first produced) be endangered by the
monstrous villainy of lago, whose indelicacies would shock the
ladies, and whose maiming of Cassio and wanton murder of Rod-
rigo would be deemed too extravagant.

The Merchant of Venice would be heard with satisfaction till
the final exit of Shylock : but, it is a question whether the tedi-
ousness of the remainder would be sufficiently relieved by the
beauty of its poetry.

King Lear, rivetting the attention while the principal character
is before the audience, is encumbered by a most heavy underplot
and alloyed by a spectacle of offensive barbarity in the destruction
of Gloster's eyes.

Coriolanus and Julias Caesar are perfect in their kind : the
skill with which Shakspeare has interwoven the amiable humani-
ties of ordinary life with the togaed grandeur of classic Rome,
is indeed wonderful.

Of Titus Andronicus, though some of it be Shaksperian, the
mass is truly abominable.

Troilus and Cressida, with many exquisite passages and several
fine scenes is most " lame and impotent'^ " in conclusion."

The same remark applies to Timon of Athens.

Of Pericles, as an acting play, little favorable can be said ; but
on some future time, we will speak of its partial merits. His
bold assertion for the present : — there is not throughout the whole
range of Shakspeare's drama a scene more finely imagined or more
passionately written than the first of act 5, in this despised and
rejected play.

Hamlet, if now first produced, would I believe be received
with a species of bewilderment : arrested by its singularity we
should now sit amazed at its intensity, now amused by its sarcasm
now charmed by its meditative gentleness, now offended by mean-
ness, and finally displeased by a clumsy and bloody catastrophe.

Romeo and Juliet, with a few omissions becomes all that we
can desire in a play of its class.

Cymbeline keeps our interest alive through the three first acts,
after which our patience is put to the test.

Macbeth has a melo-dramatic tone about it which would cer-
tainly have pleased. This is one of the few instances in which
Shakspeare has kept up our interest unimpared to the last : and,
though ghosts and witches would be deemed impertinent now-a-
days, there is a romance and bustle about the play, which, I think,
would insure its success.

li'

48 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

Of Shakspeare's historical plays, the three parts of Henry the

^:t Sixth and Richard the Second would be produced under the

greatest fears of failure. The former however afford exquisite

material for a compilation ; and alteration might greatly advantage

the latter.

King John and Henry the Fifth require a little pruning to per-
fect them as acting plays. The latter has a chorus to apologize
for the liberties taken with the unity of place.

The two parts of Henry the Fourth include such charming
varieties of tragic dignity and rich comedy — of vigour and ten-
derness, of passion and pathos that their favorable reception may
not be doubted.

The last act of Henry the Eighth must be offensive to all who
have been duly impressed with the excellence of the four prece-
ding. After the feeling declamation of Wolsey and the exqui-
site, heart stirring pathos of Queen Katherine, which must baffle
the steady perusal of every one, whose eyes are used to the melt-
ing mood, after these forcible appeals to our hearts' best sympa-
tliies, we are not inclined to put up with quarrelling church-
men, old wet nurses, a pewking baby, and fulsome adulation of
a reigning monarch.

The Tempest and Midsummer's Night's Dream contain some
actable scenes : but altogether they are not by any means of stage
quality ; and of their matchless poetry, this is not the place to
speak.

Measure for Measure, with some entire scenes capable of dram-
atic effect, and the Winter's Tale, which in parts (as Macready
has lately testified) is prodigiously affecting, would neither of
them succeed as modem plays : the former may afford a perfect
code of moral law ; but both are defaced by absurdity and obsce-
nity, the one by indelicate expedients, and the other by extra-
vagance.

The Comedy of Errors it would be erroneous to dignify by the
title of a comedy.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and Love's Labour lost are
instances of excellent material used with poor advantage; and
the Taming of Shrew is in many parts tedious and perplexing.
The latter, condensed into the after piece of Katherine and Pe-
truchio, is always received with mirth : but the entire play would
prove an infliction. To be concluded in our next.

G. p. HEARDER, PLYMOUTH.

^

^

i

THE SOUTH DEVON

MONTHLY MUSEUM.

PLYMOUTH, AUGUST 1st, 1834.
No. 20.] Price Sixpence. [Vol. IV.

TOR ABBEY.*

To search into the records of former times is the
part of the antiquary; who, in gratifying his own
taste, piirveys for the entertainment of readers, less
addicted to the study of the past. In regard to the
memoirs of rehgious orders and edifices, Dugdale's
" Monasticon " suppHes streams of intelligence as
from an ample reservoir of erudition.

From this source of instruction we learn that Tor
Abbey was founded towards the close of the twelfth
century by Lord Bruer, an eminent counsellor of state
in the days of Richard, Cceur de lion, and King John.
The Premonstratensian order derived its date from
St. Norbert in the year of Christ 1121. Its name is
borrowed from the sequestered valley Premontre,
in the diocese of Laon ; where his first monastery
was erected. The rule of disciphne, under the au-
thority of this spiritual master, was severe in its in-
junctions. Its devotees were forbidden the wearing
of linen, and the sustenance of animal food. Inno-
cent supplies were thus interdicted to enforce the
exercise of self denial : but on the contrary, it may
be asked, whether positive acts of disinterested be-
neficence were ever enjoined there for the good of
society ?

A colony of the rehgious, classed under this for-
midable order, was planted at Newhus, in Lincoln-

* Anns— Gules, a chevron between three crosiers, or.
VOL. IV.— 1834. G

60 TOR ABBEY.

shire ; and in the course of a few years, no less than
thirty-two houses of this foreign denomination were
reared and supported by the hood-winked devotion
of our credulous forefathers. Human life then lay
oppressed by superstition,* under a cloud ; above
which it frowned with horrible aspect on the trembling
nations. From this " disastrous twilight " shed
through the gloom of primeval ignorance, the illus-
trious WicklifF was the first reformer to rescue the
nation ; and in the fourteenth century, this venerable
champion of Truth advanced to the lists, under the
banner of John of Ghent, "time-honoured Lancaster."

Of these religious fraternities, the one that was es-
tablished at Torre, was the most affluent in its various
endowments. It was dedicated to the honour of the
Holy Saviour, the Holy Trinity, and the Blessed
Virgin, in manifold claims of adoration to six divi-
nities.

To the canons of this house were granted, A. D.
1 196, the lands of Torre, where the church of the Holy
Saviour then stood ; also the free fishery of Torbay,
the church of Tor, and the town of Woolborough,
with the advowson of that church ; also lands at
Grendall, and many other possessions, specified in
the foundation deed to be seen 2. Dugd. Monast.
p. 652.

It may be observed that the Abbey was placed in
a select and delicious situation, of which the retired
yet romantic beauties inspire the spectator with the
liveliest admiration. From the venerable remains
of the church, of the chapter house, and other build-
ings, it is evident to judge that the magnificence of
the fabric corresponded with its rare and majestic
position as well as with the taste and liberality of its
founder. When Leland visited the Abbey, three

* Humana vita jaceret oppressa sub gravi religione ;
Quae caput a cceli regionibus ostendebat,
Horribili super aspectu mortalibus instans.

Lucret, I. Lib.

TOR ABBEY. 51

fair gateways were standing. One gateway remains.
The arms of the Bruers, Mohuns, Spekes, and of
the Abbey, appear in the Arch.

King Henry VIII. by letters patent, dated 20th
Jan., 34th year of his reign, granted to John St. Led-
ger, Esq. the dissolved monastery of Tor. From
this impropriator, it was conveyed, through a suc-
cession of purchasers, to Sir George Gary ; who be-
came possessed of it in 1662. It is still the proper-
ty of his respectable descendants ; whose devotional
predilections for the ancient form of worship, animated
by the charm of music, and enriched by pomp of ce-
remony, are cherished and prolonged with fervours
ever new, by the reverential circumstances of this
nursery of religious homage, and of ancestral parti-
ality.

To the lovers of freedom, this spot is consecrated
by the event of the first landing of William of Orange
at Torbay in 1688. His auspicious aid had been so-
licited by the unanimous choice of independent pa-
triots ; and his welcome arrival was hailed with en-
thusiastic rapture of national confidence and hope,
reposed in his tried wisdom and moderation, in times
of critical peril, and alarm. Probably, his well-
known qualifications as a ruler and commander of
the people rendered him the most eligible object of
of their representatives' choice, as an avenger of their
wrongs and an assertor of their rights, to encounter
the emergency, at that period of the fate of Great
Britain and its dependencies.

The abbey church was richly furnished with cloth
of gold, with copes, and other ecclesiastical orna-
ments, as appears from Bishop Grandison's letter in
Vol. I. of his register. Simon Rede was the last of
its abbots, and he surrendered his monastery, with
fifteen of his religious in 1539. To indemnify this
destitute fraternity in some measure after the abbey
had been dismantled, Henry VIII. granted them each
a pension from the royal exchequer. Depriving the
swarm of the honey, lodged by the bees in their hive

52 TOR ABBEY.

the " inviolable saint," or sovereign free-booter, who
by a fiction of law, and with the concurrence of his
parliament, could do no wrong, deigned to keep those
drones from starving by his kingly munificence.

This is not the place to descant on the ravages of
despotic sway ; nor on the horrors of priestcraft and
popular superstitions. The goodly Tree of Life, the
flourishing growth of pure religion, is rather strength-
ened and matured, than wounded or mutilated, by
lopping off the cankering excrescence of vile supersti-
tion.

Non tollitur Religio superstitione tollenda.

Cicero, de Diviiiatione.

It would not be seasonable to expatiate here on
the new embellishments, introduced on the borders
of Torbay ; the elegant structures and enchanting
prospects of Torquay ; or the sweet recess of
Babbicombe Bay, so attractive from its picturesque
scenery — not surpassed by any of

" Devon's myrtle vales,
That drink clear rivers near the glassy sea/* *

The Rev. Joseph Reeve, in his classical poem,
entitled Ugbrooke Park, has thus described the
present state of the abbey, in the glowing language
of poesy, and with the feelings of a Christian philo-
sopher.

" Though hallowed mitres glitter here no more,
The friendly abbey still adorns the shore :
Here meek religion's ancient temple rose,
How great, how fall'n, the mournful ruin shows.

* The world's a stately bark, on dang'rous seas,
With pleasure view'd, but boarded at our peril.
Here, on a single plank, tlirown safe ashore,
I hear the tumult of the distant throng,
As that of seas remote, or dying storms ;
And meditate on scenes, more silent still ; —
The tranquil haven of the quiet grave.

ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON. 53

Of sacrilege, behold, what heaps appear !

Nor blush to drop the tributary tear. «

Here stood the font — here on high columns rais'd,

The dome extended — there the altar blazed ;

The shatter'd aisles, with clustering ivy hung,

The yawning arch in rude confusion flung;

Sad, striking remnants of a former age,

To pity now might melt the spoiler's rage !

Lo ! sunk to rest, the wearied votary sleeps.

While o'er his urn the gloomy cypress weeps.

Here silent pause — here draw the pensive sigh —

Here musing learn to live ; here learn to die ! ! ! ''

W. E.

Park Wood.

ANTIQUITIES OF THE TOWN OF OKEHAMPTON,

A LECTURE DELIVERED AT THE OKEHAMPTON INSTITUTION.

The idea of an ancient British town, as given us by the learned
Mr. Whittaker, so strikingly coincides with the localities of Oke-
hampton, that we might almost fancy it drawn from the place
itself. " The chief," he says " usually had his abode on the hill-
side, with a group of dwellings for his serfs, near the river below
it, and a road wound along the valley between them, gradually
ascending to a beacon that overlooked the whole." Here, when
war or the chase yielded an hour to home, the chieftain might
engage himself in appeasing the dissentions or presiding over the
festivities of his vassals. The smoke — we have the picture from
Ossian — rose from a hundred trees, blackening the rafters of his
hall; the wassail cup passed round, and the harp and song of
bards rose to a tale of other days : — until morning called him forth
again to his falcon or his hound, of which latter kind the segh-*
dog, a large slow race now extinct, seems to hate been a favoured
attendant.

Such were the people who while the Romans and afterwards the
Saxons held the fairer portions of this island — long maintained
a rugged independence in tlie western counties. Hooker tlie an-
tiquary, who was chamberlain of Exeter in Elizabeth's reign, tells

* Segh — The red or moose deer of this county.

54 ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON.

US that they called their territories Danmonia, the country of the
vallies, and that it once stretched eastward as far as the Belgae
or Somerset. This limit became reduced, about the time of Al-
fred, to the river Exe; when the ancient British and Saxons
seem to have tenanted Exeter in common. Mathew of West-
minster mentions more than one irruption of the horsemen, or
Danes as he calls them, into the western counties about this
period ; and the valour shewn by the Britons in repelling these
might have led Alfred to decline attacking their fastnesses. But
with Athelstan came the term of their independence. A pitched
battle was fought near Exeter, in which the Britons suffered a
total defeat ; all resistance was crushed at once ; the territory
between the Exe and the Tamar fell to the conquerors and
Devonshire became for ever a part of England.

But from that period, until the Danes at length ascended the
throne, this county seems to have suffered all manner of rapine
and devastation from them. As an instance of the terror these
invaders inspired, Stowe mentions that a chief who was slain near
Appledore was said to carry an enchanted banner that had been
wrought for him in needle work by the daughters of Lodbroy.
Weeced-port, now Bideford, the once important post of Lydford,
Tavistock, with its richly endowed abbey, and Exeter, with its
churches, were all plundered and burnt. Sir Richard Baker, in
his Chronicle, gives a fearful list of enormities committed at this
last place, when it was sacked by the Danes, 27th Aug., 1003.
The establishment of the Danish monarchy brought release from
these evils, but their reign was too brief to effect much beyond it ;
within half a century the Normans took possession of the throne.

Okehampton, spelt in Doomsday book Ochenton, or the town
on the Oche, was, as we gather from this circumstance, in exis-
tance prior to the Norman conquest : it is mentioned in that sur-
vey as having four burgesses and a market. Indeed the term
included in its name Hampton, which signifies a town with in-
habitants, as it is a Saxon word, seems to establish its claims to
antiquity. However this may be we find that, soon after the
battle of Hastings, this place was conferred on one of the many
noble adventurers who followed the Norman standard. This was
Baldwin de Brionys also called Sass, the second son of Gilbert
Crispin, who was descended, with the bar sinister, from Richard
duke of Normandy; and consequently nearly allied in blood to
the conqueror himself. To this De Brionys it is usual to attribute
the building of Okehampton castle.

ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON. 55

It has been observed that few of the ancient fortresses of this
country are of a date older than the conquest. Dugdale attri-
butes the weak defence made by the Saxons in many cases to the
want of such strong holds. William however on finding himself
seated on the throne of this realm, immediately built many new
ones, and altered and repaired such as he found already existing.
His reasons for this are obvious ; they not only strengthened his
hold over a newly subjected country, but also served to defend
his followers from the power or despair of such as had been spoiled
by them. This too has occasioned the mixed architecture often
observable in their construction ; for " when the Normans," says
a late writer on the subject, " found the remains of an ancient
building on a site which suited them they often added their own
work.'' It has been remarked to me that while the castle of Oke-
hampton exhibits, in some of its lower features, the obtuse Saxon
arch, the upper part displays that pointed style, since known as
the Norman Gothic. But the Saxon origin of this edifice — if it be
Saxon — ^has at least escaped the notice of antiquaries. William of
Worcester, who wrote his Itinerary towards the close of the 15th
century calling it " prevobile" a place of more than common dis-
tinction, says that it was built by Thomas de Courtenay the first
earl of Devon, who bore that surname. It is most probable that
the building received large repairs only from that noble.

De Brionys then was invested with the honor of Okehampton :
he also held the shrievalty of the county, an office that was made
hereditary in his family. These were holden by the service of 93
knights ; of whom we may suppose him bound to keep not a few
in watch and ward at his castle here. Land was sometimes held
on easier tenure ; — John de Penguite, who was probably a tailor,
had, not long after this date, 60 statute acres in Cornwall, on
condition that he should make and mend the king's grey coat
whenever he came into the county. De Brionys was succeeded
by his son, Richard Fitz Baldwin, sometimes called De Redvers,
who died without issue. A heiress of this house, the Lady
Hawise, who seems to have held the manly office of sheriff, being
left a ward of the crown, was bestowed by Henry on liis vassal
Reginald de Courtenay. Their son, Robert de Courtenay,
married into the family of Rivers, or Redvers, earls of Devon ; and
on that line becoming extinct in Edward the first's time, his
descendant succeeded to the title. But Thomas de Courtenay
having espoused the cause of Margaret of Anjou, was made pri-
soner by Edward IVth., at Towton field and beheaded at York :

56 ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON.

his son being slain v presently after at Tewksbury, their castle,
honor, and manor of Okehampton became escheated to the crown.
ITiey were bestowed on Sir John Dynham, whose tenure however
was short, for two years after they were again granted to George,
Duke of Clarence, the king's brother, said to have been drowned
in the Tower in a butt of Malmsey. It must have been about
this period that William of Worcester's visit occurred ; he men-
tioning it as being a royal fortress. But Edward Courtenay,
anno 12 Henry VII., having raised the siege of Exeter, then
beset by the rebels under Perkin Warbeck, the attainder was re-
moved, and their honors restored in person of his son William,
who afterwards became allied by marriage to the crown itself.
Yet the highest ranks, at this period were but the most exposed
to the reverses of fortune : — Philip de Comines says that he saw
a duke following an equipage without shoes, and serving for his
livelihood as a footman. Thus, in Henry the eighth's time, Henry
de C'ourtenay, Marquis of Exeter, and the king's cousin, who had
broken a lance against the French monarch in the camp of " Cloth
of gold," fell into disgrace with a court, where disgrace was death :
his accusation lay in having held a secret correspondence with
the cardinal Pole. Edward Courtenay, son of the last mentioned,
who had been sent prisoner to the tower was released by Queen
Mary and as Risdon informs us, died in his travels beyond seas
at Padua without issue, but not without suspicion of poison: —
with iiirn fell the earls of Devonshire. It is beyond my purpose
to say more than that the present Lord Courtenay, of Powderham,
is descended from a junior branch of this noble house.

Such then was the family who so long held the castle and
lordship of this town. " The history," as Prince, in his Worthies
of Devon, observes, ** of the illustrious but unfortunate line of
Courtenay, has not been confined to genealogists ; but has sedu-
ced into a pardonable digression the author of the " Decline and
Fall of the Roman empire." Gibbon has traced for us the fortunes
of this house in its three principal branches. " In peace, he says,
the earls of Devon resided in their many castles and manors of
the west, in war the Courtenays of England fulfilled the duties
and deserved the honors of chivalry." The manners of their age
did not debar them from a mercenary's service, and when war
or the tournament failed them at home the English Courtenays
were found foremost in many a field where their onset might be
shouted " St. George for merry England."
'To be continued.

57
CROCODILE ISLAND.

Concluded from page 14.

Here the young man paused, and sighed deeply. I confess I
was intensely interested by the manner in which he related his
story ; the traveller, to whom he addressed himself, was apparently
fascinated by the wild beauty of his eyes ; for the beef still lay
untasted before him, and he could not remove his looks, even for
a moment, from the countenance of the Indian king. " The feast
was at last prepared,'^ he continued, "and Sisquo Dumfki and
myself were placed in conspicuous situations, but still far enough
removed from the spectators to have our conversation private.
We drank, and every time the casine hogshead was replenished,
the lovely Nemrooma flitted towards us with the cocoa bowl. I
retained her hand in mine, and gazed upon her with an expression
in my glances that sufficiently betrayed the interest she excited in
my heart. She did not seem displeased with my admiration, but
hung down her head and blushed, with such bewitching innocence
and beauty, as rendered her a thousand times more enchanting in
my eyes than ever. When we had now drank unceasingly for
three days, I said to my opponent, ' It grieves me, O Sisquo
Dumfki that this contest must be carried on to the death. Even
if you are victorious in this trial, as sixteen years ago you were
with my illustrious parent, you have no chance of escaping with
your life. I myself, till I became acquainted with your noble
sentiments, thirsted for your blood ; and now that I know you
all that a chief should be, my soul is tortured with regret that it
will be impossible to save you.' With an unmoved countenance
the hero heard me declare, as it were, his condemnation to certain
death. He drained off the bowl which he happened to have in
his hand, and replied, ' Death comes only once — the Great Spirit
rejoices in the actions of majestic men. There are casine and to-
bacco in Elysium.- But I was resolved, if possible, to preserve
my friend from the destruction prepared for him by my mother.
^ Sisquo,' I said, ^ let us delay the conclusion of our contest till
some fitter opportunity. If you would save your life, and make
me the happiest of kings and of mortals, pretend to be overcome
by the casine, and ask to be left in this tent to sleep. I will place
round it a body of my own guards, with orders to prevent all
emissaries from the queen from entering it under pain of death.
In the mean time I will wed your daughter, if it seems good to
you; and when by this means you are connected with the royal
house, your life will become sacred, even from the vengeance of
VOL. IV. — 1834. II

68 CROCODILE ISLAND.

an offended woman.' *It seems good to me,' be replied, *0
mightiest potentate on Alatamaha's banks ; and well pleased shall
I resign the victory to you, in hopes of concluding a whole week
with you on some future opportunity. With regard to Nem-
rooma — what is she but a silly flower, which will be too highly
honoured by being transplanted into the gardens of the mighty
Quinmolla?"

" In pursuance of this resolution, the noble Sisquo Dumf ki
assumed every appearance of total inebriety ; he hiccuped, sang,
roared, and finally sank down in a state of apparent insensibility.
I confess I was astonished at the absence of Nemrooraa on this
interesting occasion. She came not near to cover her father with
skins or leaves, and the duty was left to me of casting over him
the royal mantle, and turning his feet towards the fire. With an
expressive grasp of the hand, I left him to provide for his safety ;
for my mother, I was well aware, would take every means in her
power to put him to death, in revenge for his victory over her
husband. On issuing from the tent, I was hailed victor by ten thou-
sand voices ; the whole combined nations which owned my sway,
seemed delirious with the triumph I had achieved. No conque-
ror returning from a successful expedition, with the imperial robe
purpled to a deeper die with the blood of thousands of his subjects,
was ever received with such an enthusiasm of attachment. Call-
ing aside the captain of my guard, I gave him the strictest in-
junctions to allow no one to enter the tent in which my illustrious
competitor reposed, and proceeded to the wigwam of the queen.
She was smoking when 1 entered ; and the clouds which circled
round her head, gave to her piercing, black eyes the likeness of
two brilliant stars shining in a lowering heaven.

" * He is dead V she said ; * my son would scarcely venture
into the presence of his mother if the murderer of his father was
left alive.'

" * No, my mother,' I replied, * he is sunk in deep sleep, and
we are sufficiently revenged by having conquered at his own
weapons the hero of the Chicasaws.'

" * He sleeps ! — 'tis well. It shall be my care to see that he
never awakes — the tomahawk, in a woman's hand, is as sure as a
poisonous drug in the bowl — for, mark me, Quinmolla, no pow-
ers can persuade me. that the glorious Atta-kull-kulla met with
fair treatment at the hand of his rival at the feast. Have I not
seen him, often and often, drink not only for five days, but for
weeks and months together, and start up from his debauch as

CROCODILE ISLAND. 69

fresh as if he had been bathing in the warriors' streams in the
shadowy land ? Tell me, my son, that Sisquo Dumf ki has for
the last time seen the light of day.'

" ' I cannot,* I replied ; ^ it goes against my soul. He trusts
me — why should I be faithless as the hyena or the white men? —
No, mother, let him live, for my spirit bums with admiration of
the beautiful Nemrooma.'

" ^ The feather in thy hair was torn surely from the pigeon's
wing, and not the eagle's. What ! hast thou no fear of the wrath
of your father, whose form I often see gloomily reposing beneath
the shadow of the stately palm-tree which he loved the most —
fearest thou not that, rushing from the land of spirits, he blasts
thee to the earth, with the sight of those frowning brows, which
no mortal can look upon and live ? Away ! thou art unworthy
of the blood of a thousand forest kings, who, long ere we removed
to these plains, reigned on the shores of the eternal Sire of Ri-
vers ; * and unworthier still, since you prefer your love to your
revenge, of the ancestry of the Milesian lords, the O'Flaherties of
the Tipperary wilds.' — I stood astonished at this torrent of indig-
nation, but my rage was at length roused as she proceeded, —
* Nemrooma ! and what seest thou in that paltry girl to wean thee
from the nobler passion of vengeance ? But cease to cherish fan-
tastic hopes — the setting sun of yesterday went down upon her
death.'

" ' What ! hast thou dared to blight the lily which I intended
to carry to my bosom — how ? when ? where ? ^

" ' The Alatamaha is broad and deep,' replied my mother, ' a
canoe is frail and slight — ill may a maiden's arm contend with an
impetuous river. Alone in a fragile bark — unused to the paddle
— she was floated down the stream.'

u I Wretch,' I exclaimed, losing all respect for her dignity, in
the rage that seized me an account of her cruelty, 'you shall
dearly pay for this. Ere the palm trees are gilded seven times
with the morning and evening suns, expect my return and to suf-
fer for your crimes.'

"I rushed into the open air as I spoke, and leaving tents
wigwams, friends, and subjects far behind me, I darted into the
thickest of the forest, and pursued my way to a winding of the
river where I kept a canoe constantly prepared for my fishing
expeditions. In it I found a supply of provisions, my rods and

* Mississippi—Father of Rivers.

60 CROCODILE ISLAND.

lines; my war club, and bow with poisoned arrows. I embarked
and pushing out into the middle of the stream, I pursued my
way as rapidly as I could, in hopes of overtaking the beautiful
Nemrooma, or perhaps of seeing her on the bank, if she should
have been fortunate enough to swim to land. I kept my eyes
intently fixed on every bend of the stream in case her canoe should
have been stranded, but in vain. All that day I kept on my
course, and began to fear that ere I could overtake her, she would
be carried down to a bluff in the river, which we had called
Crocodile Island, and in that case I knew there was no hope of
her safety. How peaceful O Alatamaha, glided thy glorious ex-
panse of waters, bearing the vast shadow of the umbrageous oaks
upon their bosom, while thy banks were made vocal by the mu-
sic of unnumbered birds ! Little did such a scene of placid
beauty accord with the tumultuous throbbings of Nemrooma's
agonized breast. I thought what must have been her feelings
while floating past those magnificent scenes clothed with all the
verdure of luxuriant nature, and enlivened with the glittering
plumage of the various people of the skies which glanced for a
moment across her like glimpses of sunshine and then flitted once
more into the shadow of the woods. The banks were also orna-
mented with hanging garlands and bowers, formed, as it were for
the retreat of the river divinities, of the most beautiful shrubs and
plants. And here and there the eye was delighted with the large
white flowers of the ipomea, surrounded with its dark-green leaves.
" But all these enchanting sights were insufficient to divert my
thoughts from the probable fate of the beautiful Nemrooma. All
night 1 plied my course, and, on the morning, could still discover
no trace either of the girl or her canoe. About noon, I was made
aware, by the extraordinary sounds which saluted my ears from a
distance, that I was approaching the Crocodile lagoon. Inspired
by fresh anxiety to overtake her, if possible, before entering on
that fearful scene, I plied my utmost strength, and, at a bending
of the river, was rewarded for all my labours and anxiety, by a
view of the tender bark only a short way in front. Before 1
could place myself at her side we had entered the dreadful lake,
and the placid water was broken into a thousand ripples by the
countless multitudes of the alligators whicli inhabited the place.
The noise they made was of the most appalling description.
Terrified at tlie perilous situation in which she was placed, the
lovely girl uttered a scream of joy when she saw me, and had
only self-possession enough to step from her own canoe into mine.

CROCODILE ISLAND. 61

when she fell down in a state of insensibility, from the violence of
her contending feelings. No sooner was her frail bark deserted,
than it became the object of a fearful battle to the monsters of the
deep. A crocodile of prodigious size rushed towards the canoe
from the reeds and high grass at the bank. His enormous body
swelled ; his plaited tail, brandished high, floated upon the la-
goon. The waters, like a cataract, descended from his open jaws.
Clouds of smoke issued from his nostrils. The earth trembled
with his thunder. But immediately, from the opposite side, a
rival champion emerged from the deep. They suddenly darted
upon each other. The boiling surface of the lake marked their
rapid course, and a terrific conflict commenced. Sometimes they
sank to the bottom folded together in horrid wreaths. The water
became thick and discoloured. Again they rose to the surface,
and their jaws clapt together with a noise that echoed through
the surrounding forest. Again they sank, and the contest ended
at the bottom of the lake; the vanquished monster making his
escape to the sedges at the shore. The conqueror now directed
his co\irse to the canoe. He raised his head and shoulders out
of the water and putting his little short paws into the boat, he
overturned it in an instant, and in a few moments, fragments
of it were swimming about in all directions.

" When Nemrooma saw the horrid scene, she clung convulsively
to my arm, and in some degree impeded my efforts to eflect our
escape, I cautioned her to be still, and pushed with all my
force towards the entrance of the river, out of the lagoon. But,
alas! fortune was here against us. It was the time at which
myriads upon myriads of fish take their course up the river ; and,
as the stream is shallowest at this place, the crocodiles had chosen
it as their position to intercept their prey. The wliole water, for
miles on each side, seemed alive with fish. The line of croco-
diles extended from shore to shore ; and it was the most horrific
sight I ever witnessed, to see them dash into the broken ranks
of the fish and grind in their prodigious jaws a multitude of the
largest trouts, whose tails flapped about their mouths and eyes,
ere they had swallowed them. The horrid noise of their closing
jaws — their rising with their prey some feet upright above the
water — the floods of foam and blood rushing out of their mouths
and the clouds of vapour issuing from their distended nostrils,
were truly horrifying. Anxious to escape, I now began to paddle
towards the shore of the lagoon, in order to land and wait till tlie
army of fish had forced tlieir passage, after which, I concluded.

OZ CROCODILE ISLAND.

it would be easier for us to elude the satiated monsters ; but ere
we had got half way across the lake, I perceived we were pursued
by two of an unusual size. From these escape by flight was
impossible. They rapidly gained upon us, and at last one of
them, raising himself out of the water, was just preparing to lay
his paw upon the canoe, when I discharged an anow which
luckily pierced his eye. With a roar of mingled rage and pain,
he sank below the water, and left me to prepare for the assault
of his companion. With a tremendous cry, he came up, and
darted as swift as an arrow under my boat, emerging upright on
my lee-quarter, with open jaws, and belching water and smoke,
that fell upon me like rain in a hurricane. Leaving the bow to
the skilful Nemrooma, I seized my club, and beat him about the
head, and kept him for a few minutes at a distance. I savy,
however, he was making preparations for his final spring, his
mouth was opened to a fearful width, when an arrow struck him
directly on the tongue, and pinned it to his jaw. He shouted as
he felt the pain, and darted off*, no doubt, in quest of assistance.
I shot to the bank with the speed of lightning, lifted the almost
fainting Nemrooma from the canoe, and led her to the foot of an
immense magnolia, which I perceived at no great distance. Be-
fore we left the river, however, we saw a prodigious number of
crocodiles gathered round the boat, and one of them even crawled
into it, and we heard our last hope of safety take its leave in the
crash of its breaking sides, as it crumbled into fragments beneath
the unwieldy monster's weight. The shore, I was aware, was
also the resort of incredible multitudes of bears. Our provisions
were exhausted, our arrows left in the canoe, and we could see
no possibility of avoiding an excruciating death.'* The narrator
here stopt for a moment, and the traveller, breathless with interest,
said to him, " For God's sake, tell me, sir, how you got safe off? "

Whilst the stranger prepared to reply, I took advantage of the
pause to look round the room. The supper table was deserted.
The passengers had all paid their reckoning, and the waiter was
standing expectingly at the corner of the sideboard.

" How we got safe off'? " replied the Indian king; "that's just
the thing that puzzles me, and I thought you might perhaps be
able to assist me."

" I assist you ! " said the traveller, " how is that possible ? "

" Coach is quite ready, sir," interrupted the waiter.

" The fact is," rejoined the young man, " I have just got to that
point, in a tale I am writing for next month's Blackwood, and

THE iPHANTOM SHIP. 63

Curse me if I know how to get naturally away from the Crocodile
Island."

" Coach can't wait another moment, sir/* said the waiter, " sup-
per, two and sixpence."

" Supper ! ^' exclaimed the traveller, " this d fellow, with

his cock-and-a-buU story, about being king of the jackdaws, or
kickshaws, or Lord knows what, has kept me from eating a morsel.'^

" Coachman can't wait a moment, sir."

" I tell you I haven't tasted a mouthful since I left Birmingham."

" You can't help me to a plan for getting the young people off
the island ? " said the youth.

" May the devil catch both of them, and a hundred crocodiles
eat every bone in their skins ! "

" Two and sixpence for supper, sir," said the waiter.

" Two hundred and sixty devils first," cried the traveller in a
prodigious passion, buttoning up his cloak and preparing to re-
sume his journey — " let that infernal Indian king, who is only
some lying scribbler in a magazine, pay for it himself, for I'm
hanged if he hasn't cheated me out of my cold beef, and drank
every drop of my porter to the bargain."

" All right, gentlemen," said the coachman in the yard.

" All right," replied the guard ! " tsli ! tsh ; ya ! hip — ts I ts !"
— and the half-famished outside passenger was whirled along
Corn Market, and over Magdalen Bridge, at the rate of eleven
miles an hour

FUNEREAL SKETCHES.
No. XXII., THE PHANTOM SHIP.

Beware ! beware ! 'Tis the phantom ship,

She comes from the Dead-man's bay,
Where hoarse winds sweep o'er the midnight deep,

Her course let none gainsay :
In the fellest gloom you may see her loom

Along that trackless way.
But she is not seen in the moonbeam sheen

And she is not seen by day.

64 THE PHANTOM SHIP.

O'er waters dark, that unearthly bark

Speeds gallantly and gay ;
But there is not a human eye may mark

Where she hath passed with day :
Before her prow no waves are white

On her deck there is not a spray —
Nor a line of light on her ocean flight

Her passage to betray.

What makes her veil in the moonlight pale

Is not for me to say,
But they viewed her sail in the blackening gale

Though not in the dawning gray.
She glides along on her night-wings strong

And the louder the tempest's sway,
And the rougher the sea the more merrily

Come the cheers of her crew for aye.

When storms are near, you may see her clear

On the verge of the watery fray ;
To the beach where the drowned are strewed around

She comes with her funeral lay :
Her timbers' creak and the dying's shriek

From the phantom vessel play ;
And you hear unearthly voices speak

As those for the dead who pray.

Through the livelong night she pursues her flight

And nothing on earth can stay
The skeleton ship from her shadowy trip

'Till lost in the morning's ray ;
For then, as they tell, there comes a spell

That ghostly voyage to lay
Where winds are low and the cock doth crow

With light in the Dead-man's bay.

Eos.

65
ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

Continued from page 27.

Those who wish to derogate from the antiquity of these monu-
ments, have pronounced them to be mere bound-stones of com-
paratively modern date, to mark the limits of such divisions as
hundreds, parishes, manors, or commons. A slight inspection
will, however, satisfy an observer that this conclusion is ill-founded ;
for although some of the maens may have been thus appropriated,
as at Gidleigh, a marked distinction will be perceived, when a
known modern bound-stone is compared with one of those vene-
rable obelisks.

It will be remarked that the antiquities hitherto mentioned,
have, more or less, decidedly a sacred or religious destination.

We now proceed to enumerate those which are of a civil or
military description ; viz. the Barrow or Cairn the Kistvaen, the
Beacon, Huts, Pounds or Inclosures, and Trackways.

The Barrow and Cairn are too well known to require any more
than a passing notice, as the tombs, or sepulchral monuments of
the ancient inhabitants of this island. Like the maen, or rock-
pillar, they are among the most ready and obvious means, at the
command of a simple and uncivilized people, to perpetuate the
memory of any solemn or remarkable transaction. Where stones
are not plentiful, and to be made easily available, the harrow, or
mound of earth has been resorted to; but those on Dartmoor are
chiefly cairns in the more limited sense, and being very commonly
placed on the summits of the highest hills, became the chosen site
for beacons — from which some of the loftiest Devonshire moun-
tains have acquired their appellations, as Pen beacon, West and
East beacon, and Cawson beacon.

Cawson is the highest land in Devonshire, its summit being
more than one thousand seven hundred feet above the sea-level.
On this spot is a cairn ninety-one yards in circuit, which has been
opened in two places. No point could be chosen for the site of
a beacon, to alarm a wide extent of country, more advantageous
than this, which commands the surrounding districts, as far as
the shores of the English and British Channels. The great cairn
at Three-barrow tor, which is entirely composed of small stones,
is one hundred and twenty yards in circuit.

Sometimes the cairn has a kistvaen or small cromlech on its
summit, like Mo*fra cromlech, Cornwall. The kistvaen, which
may be described as a rudely formed sarcophagus, is sometimes
VOL. IV. — 1834. I

66 ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

also found imbedded in the cairn. An instance of this occurs on
the top of Cawson ; where the cairn though not large, is composed
of large stones, and contains a kistvaen of a rectangular outline,
formed of granite slabs four or five inches thick . Two corner slabs
remain in an erect position, and are joined as closely, and with
as much precision, as the unwrought material would permit; the
remainder are more or less fallen, and some appear to be wanting.

Kistvaens are also found in connection with tlie sacred circle,
but are more usually observed in a state which may be described
as simply placed, i. e. independently of any other relic. Exam-
ples of both these kinds occur on Archerton hill. Sometimes they
are found in groups as Golden tor, on the brink of Blackabrook,
placed around a rock basin. Their general dimensions are three
feet three inches long, two feet wide, and two deep. A flat un-
wrought stone covers this cell, and in the centre is a round
pit, from which, there is good reason for supposing, a cinerary
urn has been removed. This group of tombs forcibly recalls the
burial places described by Ossian. Here then we have a Druid-
ical cemetery ; and that, probably, one where the ashes of the less
distinguished dead found a repository; while the warriors and
chieftain were honoured by the enormous cairn or barrow, and the
Druid slept his long sleep beneath the massive cromlech, within
the sacred circle.

The huts or dwellings of the ancient inhabitants are to be found
in every part of Dartmoor, in a state generally very imperfect ;
the foundation stones, and those forming the door jambs, being
all that remain of these dwellings, with few exceptions. The huts
are circular on the plan ; but are at once distinguishable from the
sacred circle, which has been already described as consisting of
larger stones, placed with considerable intervals, as in these the
stones are set on their edge, and placed (closely together, so as to
form a secure foundation for the superstructure, whether that tliey
were wattle, turf, stone, or other material. These vestiges strik-
ingly illustrate the descriptions which Diodorus Siculus and
Strabo give of the habitations of the Britons of their times. The
former describes them as " poor cottages constructed of wood and
covered with straw ;" tlie latter as " wooden houses circular in
form, with lofty conical roofs."

The foundation slabs above-mentioned, generally stand from
eighteen to thirty inches above the surface. The door-jambs in
most cases higher, placed nearly at right angles to the outline of
the circle ; in a very considerable proportion of examples the door

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. 67

faces the south. These hut circles measure from twelve to thirty
feet in diameter; the most usual size being about twenty-six feet,
though some are found much larger. The single foundation is
most common, but some have a double circle. A very perfect
specimen of the ancient dwellings has been observed, and it is
believed, for the first time noticed as such, by Miss Dixon of
Prince-town ; a lady whose industry and perseverance in investi-
gating the antiquities of Dartmoor have been as successful as un-
usual, and whose kindness in pointing out this and other interesting
relics merits the most public acknowledgment. This venerable
dwelling belonging to the most ancient class of buildings in the
world, is found in the corner of a very remarkable inclosure which
is divided by irregular lines of upright stones. The hut is in a
state comparatively perfect, the upper part only having fallen in.
It appears to have been shaped like a bee-hive, the wall being
formed of large stones and turf, so placed as to terminate in a
point. — Tlie circumference is twenty yards.

These huts have their counterparts still extant in the shealings
of the Orkneys, some of which, composed of stone and turf, have
the form of ovens or bee-hives ; and others with a base of stone,
consisting of two circles within each other, have a superstructure
of fir or pine poles converging to a point, and covered with bran-
ches and heather. Both these kinds appear to have existed in
Dartmoor. All these huts approach, with greater or less accuracy,
to the circular form.

With very few exceptions, these ancient dwellings are found in
groups, either surrounded by rude inclosures, or unprovided with
this protection. On the banks of the Walkham, near Merivale
bridge, is a very extensive village, containing huts of various di-
mensions, built on a hill sloping towards the south-west. This
village or town, appears to have been of considerable importance,
as there are found in it, the avenue, the cromlech, maen and sa-
cred circle. In this as in many other villages on the moor, regard
seems to have been had to a supply of water in the immediate
vicinity ; and, generally speaking, a preference appears to have
been given to a South or South-western aspect. Near Littleford
tor, is a group of sixty-seven hut circles, and many more appear
to have been destroyed. Another village, scarcely less exten-
sive, is near Black tor, on the banks of one of the tributaries of
the Plym.

The Cyclopaean inclosures, or Pounds, as they are called by
the moormen, frequently surround these ancient towns. They are

68 ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

either low walls of stones piled rudely together in a ridge-like
form, or belts of larger stones placed erect in the ground. Their
general form is circular, but some examples are elliptical. Re-
mains of habitations are in most cases found in these inclosures,
so that we may justly conclude that they were originally constructed
for purposes of security and defence.

Grimspound is by far the finest and most extraordinary of all
the relics of this class. Viewed from Hooknor tor, which com-
mands its entire area, it presents to the spectator an object of
singular curiosity and interest. Its situation is on the N. W. slope
of Hamildown, bordering on the parishes of Manaton, and Wide-
combe in the Moor. The wall or mound is formed of moorstone
blocks, rudely piled together, but so large as not to be easily dis-
placed. The base of this mound extends in some parts to twenty
feet, but the average height of any section would not exceed six
feet. With the exception of openings for ingress and egress, the
wall is perfect, inclosing an area of about four acres. The vesti-
ges of ancient habitations within this primitive fence are numerous,
and occupy the whole inclosure, leaving only one vacant spot at
the upper end, which might have been a place of public resort for
the inhabitants of the town. A spring, rising on the eastern side
supplies the inclosure with water, and the whole presents a more
complete specimen of an ancient British settlement, provided with
means of protracted defence, than will be found in any other part
of the kingdom.

Many similar inclosures, on a less extensive scale, are found in
every district of the moor. One, however, is so essentially differ-
ent in construction from all the others we have noticed, that it
merits a particular description in this place, especially since it
appears that it belongs to the unrecorded and undescribed anti-
quities of Dartmoor.

In a small pasture field, about a furlong S. E. of Manaton
church, adjoining the parish road, is an inclosure of an elliptical
form, in exceedingly perfect condition. The stones of which the
fence is composed, are from four to six feet high, placed in a
double row and set closely together. One stone, however, is so
large that it fills the whole breadth of the fence, being six feet
wide and five feet thick. The diameters of the area are one
hundred, and one hundred and thirty-eight feet ; and there are no
vestiges of any Druidical relic within the precincts. It will be
instantly distinguished from the sacred circles of Gidleigh and
the Grey Wethers, by the position of the stones, which are witli-
out lateral intervals.

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. 69

Trackways, under which designation those roads or causeways,
or perhaps boundary lines, which cross the moor in different di-
rections are inchided, might with more accuracy be distinguished
into the two classes of trackways and tracklines. Trackways in
this more confined sense, would then mean those which traverse
the moor to a very wide extent, ascending the hills, penetrating
the bogs and swamps, and fording the rivers ; while tracklines
will describe those which connect inclosures or huts, commencing
and terminating within the bounds of each village.

The most extensive trackway which has come under our notice,
is one which is supposed to traverse the moor in a direction E.
and W. from Hamildown to Great Mistor. Considerable portions
of the line can be traced in a direction corresponding to these two
points, but a large extent of it rests rather upon the testimony of
tradition, than on existing remains ; for this is one of the few relics
of remote antiquity which seems to have excited any attention in
the moormen. The oral topographers of the district recognise
this trackway as the equator of the moorland region ; all above it
being considered the north, and all below it as the south country.
This circumstance, while it affords good evidence as to the anti-
quity of this relic, militates, it must be allowed, in some degree
against the theory which would attribute to it the character of
a road rather than that of a boundary.

The trackway may be seen in great perfection descending the
northern slope of Chittaford down, towards the East Dart. It is
formed of pebbly stones irregularly placed together, and forming
a rude causeway, with its crest slightly raised above the level of
the country; its mean breadth being from five to six feet. On
this common, it is visible for a considerable length, and can be
traced, running due west, through Hollowcombe and up the op-
posite hill to Little White tor. Down the common towards the
Dart it bends N. E. but takes a southerly direction in the level
near Post bridge. With some difficulty it may be detected pas-
sing through the boggy meadows below Hartland farm. The
peat cutters are said to come upon it below the surface; and the
general direction is found to be E. and W.

Another portion has been observed passing over Archerton hill,
and is visible to the extent of a mile. In formation and breadth
it is precisely similar to tlie line already described. But the finest
specimen of trackways as to breadth, is that which ascends the
hill at Three-barrow tor. It terminates in the great cairn on the
summit, but commences again on the opposite side, and proceeds
down the hill in a N. W. direction. This trackway is full fifteen

70 ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

feet wide, though much obscured by the encroaching vegetation.
The stones which have been recently torn out of the moss, have
been piled up in a wall-like form; which will readily account for
the disfigured character of some of the relics.

TheTRACKLiNEsare greatly similar in construction to the track-
ways, but less extensive. They have been, hitherto, invariably
observed in connection with ancient dwellings and sepulchral re-
mains, and in great probability served for bounds or pathways,
connecting and inclosing dwellings, while the former might have
been designed in like manner to facilitate the intercouse between
villages and towns.

Numerous examples of the tracklines occur in various parts of
the moor. At Torhill, near Rippon tor, they intersect each other
at right angles in such numbers, that nearly the whole of the east-
em slope is partitioned into squares, conveying in a striking man-
ner the idea of an ancient rural settlement. This notion is strongly
supported by the appearance of hut circles, which are found in
many of these primitive divisions.

But the tracklines are generally observed, as it might be ex-
pected, of more irregular forms. On the N. W. side of Cawson
liill, they are seen in a winding or serpentine form. They also
occur in irregular forms on the sloj^e of the hill, south of Wistman's
wood ; and near Littleford tor, two dwellings are connected by a
line which forms the segment of a circle. On the S. side of
Ilaytor, more in the neighbourhood of Torhill, they are again
observed in rectangular outlines.

The trackways possess no characteristic whicli would lead us
to assign their construction to the Roman period of Brilisli his-
tory ; nor have we historical evidence that any of their roads ran
through Danmonium in a direction corresponding to that of the
Dartmoor trackways. Neither arc there in them any marks of
modern construction as fences or boundary lines ; the remains of
the oldest wall-fences on the moor being constructed in a manner
so strikingly different, as to be evident to any observer of common
penetration. Similar remarks will apply to the tracklines in a
great degree, and as they are found so intimately connected with
ruined dwellings, and otiier remains of a remote aera, the inference
seems just that would assign them to the same people and the
same period. But as tiiis relic of antiquity has hitherto received
so little investigation, our opinions on this subject are not advan-
ced without hesitation, and require further researcli before they
can be considered sufficiently established.
To he continued.

71
LONELY THOUGHTS.

While the mists are on the fallow

Ere the lark hath left her nest,
Or the bittern from the shallow

Booming stirs the cotter's rest ; —
Let me pray ! — the wreaths ascending

Like a cloud to Mercy's shrine,
And the vocal choirs are blending

Nature's morning prayer with mine.

When the sun is on the mountain,

When the kine are in the glade,
And the house-dog by the fountain.

And the ploughman 'neath the shade ;—
Rest me then — for silent Nature —

Silent even the babbling rill —
Speaks to me — to every creature,

'*^ Commune with thy heart ! Be still."

When the old grey tower is shaded.

And its coming bells are tolled ;
When the banner flag hath faded

With the breeze upon the hold ;
Think, my soul, how life's imposing

Visions, like the prospect, fly ;
Life itself, like day, is closing,

'Tis the right of man, to die.

E6s.

EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN
COLQUHOUN GRANT.

When the first intelligence that the army of Portugal was con-
centrating on the Tormes reached Wellington, he sent Captain
Colquhoun Grant, a celebrated scouting oflicer to watch Marmont's
proceedings. That gentleman, in whom the utmost daring was
so mixed with subtlety of genius, and both so tempered by dis-
cretion, that it is hard to say which quality predominated, very

72 EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES OF

rapidly executed his mission ; and the interesting nature of his
adventures on this occasion will perhaps excuse a digression con-
cerning them.

Attended by Leon, a Spanish peasant of great fidelity and
quickness of apprehension, who had been his companion on many
former occasions of the same nature, Grant arrrived in the Sala-
mancan district, and passing the Tormes in the night, remained,
in uniform, for he never assumed any disguise, three days in the
midst of the French camp. He thus obtained exact information
of Marmont's object, and more especially of his preparations of
provisions and scaling ladders, notes of which he sent to Lord
Wellington from day to day by Spanish agents. However, on
the third night, some peasants brought him a general order, ad-
dressed to the French regiments, and saying, that the notorious
Grant being within the circle of their cantonments, the soldiers
were to use their utmost exertions to secure him, for which pur-
pose also guards were placed as it were in a circle round the army.

Nothing daunted by this news. Grant consulted with the pea-
sants, and next morning, before daylight, entered the village of
Huerta, which is close to a ford on the Tormes, and about six
miles from Salamanca. Here tl)ere was a French battalion, and
on the opposite side of the river cavalry videttes were posted, two
of which constantly patrolled back and forward, for the space of
three hundred yards, meeting always at the ford. When day
broke the French battidion assembled on its alarm-post, and at
that moment Grant was secretly brought with his horse behind
the gable of a house, which hid him from the infantry, and was
opposite to the ford. The peasants standing on some loose stones
and spreading their large cloaks, covered him from the cavalry
videttes, and thus he calmly waited until the latter were separa-
ted the full extent of their beat ; then putting spurs to his horse
he dashed through the ford between them, and receiving their fire
without damage, reached a wood, not very far distant, where the
pursuit was baffled, and where he was soon rejoined by Leon,
who in his native dress met with no interruption.

Grant had already ascertained that the means of storming
Ciudad Rodrigo were prepared, and that the French officers openly
talked of doing so, but he desired still further to test this project
and to discover if the march of the enemy might not finally be di-
rected by the pass of Perales, towards the Tagus ; he wished also
to ascertain more correctly their real numbers, and tlierefore placed
himself on a wooded liill, near Tamames where the road branches

CAPTAIN COLQUHOUN GRANT. 73

off to the passes, and to Ciudad Rodrigo. Here lying perdue,
until the whole French army had passed by in march, he noted
every battalion and gun, and finding that all were directed towards
Ciudad, entered Tamames after they had passed, and discovered
that they had left the greatest part of their scaling-ladders behind,
which clearly proved that the intention of storming Ciudad Rod-
rigo was not real. This it was which allayed Wellington's fears
for that fortress.

When Marmont afterwards passed the Coa, in this expedition.
Grant preceded him with intent to discover if his further march
would be by Guarda upon Coimbra, or by Sabugal upon Cas-
tello Branco ; for to reach the latter it was necessary to descend
from a very high ridge, or rather succession of ridges, by a pass,
at the lower mouth of which stands Penamacor. Upon one of
the inferior ridges in the pass, this persevering officer placed him-
self, thinking that the dwarf oaks, with which the hills were co-
vered, would effectually secure him from discovery; but from
the higher ridge above, the French detected all his movements
with their glasses : in a few moments Leon, whose lynx-eyes were
always on the watch, called out " the French ! the French ! "
and pointed to the rear, whence some dragoons came galloping
up. Grant and his follower, instantly darted into the wood for
a little space, and then suddenly wheeling, rode off in a different
direction ; yet at every turn new enemies appeared, and at last
the hunted men dismounted and fled on foot through the thickest
of the low oaks ; but again they were met by infantry, who had
been detached in small parties down the sides of the pass, and
were directed in their chase by the waving of the French officers*
hats on the ridge above. At last Leon fell exhausted, and the
barbarians who first came up, killed him in despite of his com-
panion's entreaties.

Grant himself they carried, without injury, to Marmont, who
receiving him with apparent kindness, invited him to dinner. The
conversation turned upon tlie prisoner's exploits, and the French
marshal affirmed that he had been for a long time on the watch,
that he knew all his haunts and his disguises, and had discovered
that, only the night before, he had slept in the French head-
quarters, with other adventures, which had not happened, for
this Grant never used any disguise ; but there was another Grant,
a man also very remarkable in his way, who used to remain for
months in the French quarters, using all manner of disguises ;
hence the similarity of names caused the actions of both to be
VOL. IV. — 1834. K

74 EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES OF

attributed to one, which is the only palliative for Marmont's
subsequent conduct.

Treating his prisoner, as I have said, with great apparent kind-
ness, the French general exacted from him an especial parole,
that he would not consent to be released by the Partidas, while
on his journey through Spain to France, which secured his cap-
tive, although Lord Wellington offered two thousand dollars to
any guerilla chief who should rescue him. The exaction of such
a parole, however harsh, was in itself a tacit compliment to the
man ; but Marmont, also, sent a letter, with the escort, to the
governor of Bayonne, in which, still labouring under the error
that there was only one Grant, he designated his captive as a dan-
gerous spy, who had done infinite mischief to the French army^
and whom he had only not executed on the spot, out of respect
to something resembling an uniform which he wore at the time
of his capture. He therefore desired that at Bayonne he should
be placed in irons and sent up to Paris.

This proceeding was too little in accord with the honour of
the French army to be supported, and before the Spanish frontier
was passed, Grant, it matters not how, was made acquainted
with the contents of the letter. Now the custom at Bayonne, in
ordinary cases, was for the prisoner to wait on the authorities^
and receive a passport to travel to Verdun, and all this was duly
accomplished ; meanwhile the delivering of the fatal letter being,
by certain means, delayed. Grant, with a wonderful readiness and
boldness, resolved not to escape towards the Pyrenees, thinking
that he would naturally be pursued in that direction. lie judged
that if the governor of Bayonne could not recapture him at once,
he would for his own security suppress the letter, in hopes the
matter would be no further thought of; judging, I say, in this
acute manner, he on the instant inquired at the hotels, if any
French officer was going to Paris, and finding that general Souham,
then on his return from Spain, was so bent, he boldly introduced
himself, and asked permission to join his party. The other rea-
dily assented ; and while thus travelling, the general, unacquainted
with Marmont's intentions, often rallied his companion about his
adventures, little thinking that he was then himself an instrument
in forwarding the most dangerous and skilful of them all.

In passing through Orleans, Grant, by a species of intuition,
discovered an English agent, and from him received a recommen-
dation to another secret agent in Paris, whose assistance would
be necessary to his final escape; for he looked upon Marmont's

CAPTAIN COLQUHOUN GRANT. 75

double dealing, and the expressed design to take away his life,
as equivalent to a discharge of his parole, which was moreover
only given with respect to Spain. When he arrived at Paris he
took leave of Souham, opened an intercourse with the Parisian
agent, from whom he obtained money, and by his advice avoided
appearing before the police to have his passport examined. He
took a lodging in a very public street, frequented the coffee-houses,
and even visited the theatres without fear, because the secret
agent, who had been long established and was intimately connec-
ted with the police, had ascertained that no inquiry about his
escape had been set on foot.

In this manner he passed several weeks, at the end of which
the agent informed him that a passport was ready for one Jona-
than Buck, an American, who had died suddenly, on the very
day it was to have been claimed. Seizing this occasion. Grant
boldly demanded the passport, with which he instantly departed
for the mouth of the Loire, because certain reasons, not necessary
to mention, led him to expect more assistance there than at any
other port. However, new difficulties awaited him and were
overcome by fresh exertions of his surprising talents, which
fortune seemed to delight in aiding.

He first took a passage for America in a ship of that nation,
but its departure being unexpectedly delayed, he frankly explain-
ed his true situation to the captain, who desired him to assume
the character of a discontented seaman, and giving him a sailor's
dress and forty dollars, sent him to lodge the money in the
American consul's hands, as a pledge that he would prosecute
the captain for ill usage when he reached the United States ; this
being the custom on such occasions the consul gave him a certi-
ficate which enabled him to pass from port to port as a discharged
sailor seeking a ship.

Thus provided, after waiting some days, Grant prevailed upon
a boatman, by a promise of ten Napoleons, to row him in the
night towards a small island, where, by usage, the English vessels
watered unmolested, and in return permitted the few inhabitants
to fish and traffic without interruption. In the night the boat
sailed, the masts of the British ships were dimly seen on the other
side of the island, and the termination of his toils appeared at
hand, when the boatman, either from fear or malice, suddenly
put about and returned to port. In such a situation, some men
would have striven in desperation to force fortune, and so have
perished ; the spirits of others would have sunk in despair, for

76 EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES OF, &C.

the money which he had promised was all that remained of his
stock, and the boatman, notwithstanding his breach of contract,
demanded the whole; but with inexpressible coolness and reso-
lution. Grant gave him one Napoleon instead of ten, and a re-
buke for his misconduct The other having threatened a reference
to the police, soon found that he was no match in subtlety for
his opponent, who told him plainly that he would then denounce
him as aiding the escape of a prisoner of war, and would adduce
the great price of his boat as a proof of his guilt !

This menace was too formidable to be resisted, and Grant in
a few days engaged an old fisherman, who faithfully performed
his bargain; but now there were no English vessels near the
island ; however the fisherman cast his nets and caught some fish,
with which he sailed towards the southward, where he had heard
there was an English ship of war. In a few hours they obtained
a glimpse of her, and were steering that way, when a shot from
a coast-battery brought them to, and a boat with soldiers put off
to board them ; the fisherman was steadfast and true ; he called
Grant his son, and the soldiers by whom they expected to be ar-
rested were only sent to warn them not to pass the battery because
the Englisli vessel they were in search of was on the coast. The
old man who had expected this, bribed the soldiers with his fish
assuring them he must go with his son or they would starve, and
that he was so well acquinted with the coast he could always
escape the enemy. His prayers and presents prevailed, he was
desired to wait under the battery till night, and then depart ; but
under pretence of arranging his escape from the English vessel,
he made the soldiers point out her bearings so exactly, that when
the darkness came, he ran her straight on board, and the intrepid
officer stood in safety on the quarter-deck.

After this Grant reached England and obtained permission to
choose a French officer of equal rank with himself, to send to
France, that no doubt might remain about the propriety of his
escape ; and great was his astonishment to find, in the first prison
he visited, the old fisherman and his real son, who had meanwhile
been captured notwithstanding a protection given to them for their
services. Grant, whose generosity and benevolence were as re-
markable as the qualities of his understanding, soon obtained
their release, and having sent them with a sum of money to France
returned himself to the Peninsula, and within four months from
the date of his first capture was again on the Tormes watching
Marmont's army ! Napier.

77

OUR LOVED LOCALITY— 200 YEARS SINCE.

I HAVE presumed that the following short extract,
characteristic of our loved localities, at a period of
more than 200 years ago, will acceptably fill up an
idle page of your " Museum ; " but if my presump-
tion extend beyond wholesome warranty, your
chancery notice to would-be correspondents (against
which there is no appeal) will cause me " to cease
from troubling " in future. To this I would add a
remark that the extract is from Drayton's ^* Poly-
olbion," and embraces the argument to the first book,
cliosen, perhaps, because of more smoothness of
versification than the heroic iambic of the work
itself; and -d^.few couplets^ that even at this remote
period of happy sun and shine will find us quite at
home.

THE ARGUMENT.

The sprightly Muse her wing displaies,
And the French Islands first survaies ;
Beares-up with Neptune, and in glory
Transcends proud CornwalVs promontorie ;
There crownes Mount-Michaell, and descries
How all those riuerets fall and rise ;
Then takes in Tamer, as she bounds
The Cornish and Devonian grounds ;
And whilst the Devonshire-nymphs relate
Their loves, their fortunes, and estate,
Dert undertaketh to revive
Our Brute, and sings his first arrive :
Then North-ward to the verge she bends.
And her first song at Ax shee ends.

From this argument alone a modern could not
well err, if he were to choose it for his itinerary ; and
it has struck me whether a cheap edition of Drayton's
Poly-olbion would not supersede — agreeably, since
poetically — the present school-books on English to-
pography ! — But to the text : —

and Plym, that claims by right

The Christening of that Bay, which leaues her noble name,
Upon the British coast, what ship that ever came
That not of Plymouth heares, where those brave Navies lie,
From Canon's thundring throats, that all the world defie ?

78 OUR LOVED LOCALITY.

Which to invasive spoile, when th' English list to draw

Have checkt Iberia s pride, and held her oft in awe.

Of furnishing our Dames with India's rar'st devices,

And lent us gold, and pearle, rich silks, and daintie spices.

But Tamer takes the place, and all attend her here,

A faithful hound to both ; and two that be so neare

For likeliness of soile, and quantitie they holde,

Before the Roman came ; where people were of old

§ Knowne by one generall name upon this point that dwell,

All other of this He in wrastling doth excel :

With collars be they yokt, to prove the arme at length,

Like Bulls set head to head, with meere delyver strength :

Or by the girdles graspt, they practice with the hip

* The forward, backward, falx, the mare, the turne, the trip,
When stript into their shirts, each other they invade
Within a spacious ring by the beholders made
According to the Law.

There are two notes which the author has in his
work, that must not be omitted, although one is
somewhat learned, but familiar to your readers.

§ " Knowne by one general name, Sec."

** The name Dunmonii, Damnonii, or Danmonii, in Solinus
and Ptolemy, comprehends the people of Devonshire and Corn-
wall : whence the Lizard-promontory is called Damnium in
Marcian Heracleotes; and William of Malmesbury, Florence of
Worcester, Roger of Houedon, and others, stile Devonshire by
name Domnonia, perhaps all from 13uff tietnt, i. low valleyes
in British ; wherin are most habitations of the countrey, as judi-
cious Camden teaches me."

* " The forward, backward, falx, &c."
" The words of Arte in Wrastling."

And now, in conclusion, permit me to add that
this high character of our vicinity cannot but be
prized, as it is a character given by no mercenary, a
very learned person, and an esquire to boot, which
must shield the vanity of your humble servant,

Old Mortality.

79

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

PROCEEDINGS IN THE ATHENiEUM.

Mr. Wightwick's Lecture on Shakspeare.

Concludeil from page 48.

Johnson was of opinion that none of our author's plays would
be heard to the end by a modern audience. Was the doctor bi-
lious or oblivious, when he made this remark ? Surely he must
have been sadly in want of a magnesia lozenge, or else he was
most singularly unmindful of the numerous and varied opportu-
nities, afforded, for the very effective exertions of talented actors,
in the elegant Pastoral of As You Like It, the matchless comedy
of The Merry Wives of Windsor, and the plays of Twelfth Night
and Much Ado About Nothing.

To make an end with critical carping, we proceed to speak of
our author, as it were, geologically. We will take his works en
masse as a mine of moral, poetical, and intellectual wealth. We
will descend the shaft, and inspect two or three of the lodes.

And what a variety of strata do we observe in our descent !
Every shade from tlie sublime to the beautiful, from the dark to
the delicate — every tone from fury to tenderness, from terror to
love ! And now, enwombed in the bowels of this " Wilderness"
of riches ; what brilliant masses of distinct quality do we behold.
Here one, from which the divine may gather precepts of the most
wholesome quality frauglit with such a benevolent humanity,
that, in their reception, we are medicined as with a sweet-meat.

Here another, where the imaginative mind may labour with
ever increasing profit and delight — Another rich in all the essen-
tials of tragedy — another sparkling with wit, humour and satire.

If the rigid moralist would object to much that he may disco-
ver in this immense cavern of variety, I do not think he can
designate any part of it as poisonous. Every evil has a tenfold
antidote; and however Delicacy may be frequently shocked,
^Vujtue in the end will find herself greatly enriched ! It is how-
rev^ff^oo generally the custom to regard with suspicion all truths
that^re found in a profane quarter. There be those who, corro-
borating fthe fact advanced by lago,

f* Will not serve heav'n, if the devil bid them" —

To men so enslaved by custom I would recommend the fol-
lowing, among majiy other maxims equally palpable and metallic.

80 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

" What custom wills — in all things should we do't,
The dust on antique time would lie unswept,
And mountainous error be too highly heap'd
For truth to over-peer."

By the rules of this society we are very properly prohibited
from making any particular allusions to the matter contained in
that only Book, which is divinely disconnected with the noblest
of profane works. It may, however, be permitted me to state
that though Shakspeare may not be regarded as a means whereby
we may obtain any thing conducive to the establishment of a
proper faith, he may be surely revered as a crude chaos, which,
to him who seeks it with a wish to find it, will yield the most
fascinating, the most impressive duplicate of every moral gem
afforded by the more holy treasure. And be it considered how
perfectly our Shakspeare has evinced his knowledge of that Book
upon the which he has, in his own, supplied many a matchless
commentary. Let no trumpery attack be made upon his religion
because it was the religion of a Playwright and a Player. He
was influenced by the morality of Christianity and he died in the
faith of it.

The exquisite allusions to the vanities of the world are so fre-
quently introduced, so feelingly and so philosophically commented
on, as to leave us in no doubt, but that our author estimated them
as became a great and good man.

He held the world but as the world. A Stage

Where every man must play a part,

He reason'd too with life as of a thini;

Which none but fools would keep ; and mock'd the man

Of wealth, as one who labour'd like an ass ;

Bearing his heavy riches but a journey

Till death unloads him ! "

Who remembers not the beautiful meditations on this subject
put into the mouths of Jacques, Hamlet, Richard the Second,
Macbeth, and scattered throughout Measure for Measure ? One
moral sentiment in Macbeth has been deemed sufficient in itself
to warrant the erection of our Poet's statue in pure gold : —

" I dare do all that may become a man ; —
Who dares do more is none ! "

One specimen more from Shakspeare's moral smelting house :
and let it prove consolatory to the desponding : —

Why think your suflferings shames, which are indeed nought else,
But the protractive trials of great Jove,
To find persistivc constancy in men?
The fineness of which metal is not found

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 81

In fortune's love — for there the bold and coward,
The wise and fool seem all affin'd and kin !
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away ;
And what hath mass, and matter, by itself
Lies, RICH IN VIRTUE and unmingled " —

The expansive force of our poet's imagination occasionally
proves too great for the capability of his language, and it is an
even chance whether the explosion then taking place, is productive
of more or less than grandeur.

In King Lear, we have an instance of a bursting thought lead-
ing to a great branch of propriety.

" Blow, winds and crack your cheeks ! "
and again ^

'* Rumble thy belly full! "

Here are faults, which are in truth no faults. Faulty in respect
to the " cracked cheek " and the " belly full,'' but testifying at
the same time, our author's "fraught" of feeling. His wish was
to express a something past the force of nature ; and, in the im-
mediate lack of a legitimate vent, propriety is burst asunder.

In Coriolanus, we find this o'erbearing power equally aroused
but extending itself with far more grace. Perhaps, throughout
the whole range of Shakspeare, there is not a brief passage more
remarkable than the following, evidently perfected in the moment
of conception : — roused by the taunting appellation of "boy!"
applied to him by Aufidius, Coriolanus answers, —

-Boy ! false hound !

If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there.
That, like an eagle in a dove-cot, I
Fluttered your Voices in Corioli :
Alone I did it ! "

How completely does this gem of impassioned poetry bring
before us the irresistible Martins ! beautiful is the simile of the
eagle in the dovecot ; but the word " fluttered " magnifies its
force tenfold. We see the astounded Volcians so unexpectedly
caged with the mighty hero — bewildered, ere conquered — and
"amazing the welkin with their broken staves!"

We would gladly follow the lecturer, through the remainder
of his most interesting paper, but we again put forward our old
excuse, want of room— Oh ! the glory of a big book.

VOL. IV. — 1834. L

02 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

June 12th. — Mr. Hearder's Lecture on Combmtion.

The lecturer commenced by giving a brief definition of the term
Combustion, and a detail of the conditions necessary for its exis-
tence. He proceeded to show by experiments the beautiful
diversity which characterizes the developement of its various
phenomena ; and, after examining the different theories which
have been advanced from time to time in explanation of them,
went on to show some of its most interesting modifications. In
the course of the lecture, Mr. H. detailed some new and very
curious discoveries, which he had himself made very recently,
during his researches, on this particular branch. As the lecturer
entertained the idea that flame was nothing more than gaseous or
volatilized matter, at a very high temperature ; he concluded that
it must be subject to all the different modifications of contraction
or expansion which characterize other gaseous matter, and was
tlierefore led to institute a series of experiments in order to ascer-
tain the effect of pressure on the production or existence of flame ;
accordingly he inclosed in a receiver, connected with a very pow-
erful air pump, a portion of a mixture of chlorate of potass and
loaf sugar, which, by means of a slider passing air tight through
the cover of the receiver, could be brought into contact with a fine
piece of platina wire, which was kept at an intensely white heat
by a powerful galvanic current, transmitted through it by means
of forceps which were insulated through the same brass cover.
The air was then exhausted, and, on bringing the mixture into
contact with the hot wire, it merely melted into a brown mass at
those parts immediately in contact with the wire, but did not
ignite. On readmitting the air, however, the mixture burned
with its usual intensity.

The lecturer stated that he had tried gunpowder and other such
substances with just the same effect; he concluded by stating
that he did not then feel himself prepared to offer any explanation
of these phenomena, as they were contrary to what he had expec-
ted, but that it was his intention to investigate the subject more
fully ; and that he would bring the result of his labours, together
with his opinions, before the society during the ensuing winter
session.

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 83

June 19th. — Mr. H. Woollcombe's Lecture on the
Evils of Ignorance.

On this evening the esteemed president of the Institution de-
livered an impressive lecture on the " Evils of Ignorance.'^ He
treated the subject with that dispassionate and temperate judg-
ment v^rhich has always been stamped upon the views and opin-
ions which he has promulgated in the Athenseum.

We cannot better give a summary of this interesting paper
than by abstracting Mr. Woollcombe's concluding observations,
wherein he embodied much of the substance delivered. He stated
that the enquiry was, whether a state of ignorance or one of know-
ledge is best adapted to render our population generally happy and
our political condition orderly and peaceable. Opposite parties
charge their opponents with producing dissatisfaction and discon-
tent in the minds of the poorer classes and thereby inducing
disorder and misrule in our political state. The lecturer's ob-
ject had been to show that, in the progress of civilization, mankind
cannot remain in ignorance; that wherever the Christian religion
is unshackled by the government, education must prevail — the
people must be instructed. No one can point out a Protestant
country wherein the people have been kept in ignorance. The
Roman Catholic and Greek Churches have kept their people in
ignorance, and we cannot observe any thing deserving of com-
mendation in the old state of France, or in the present condition
of the people of Spain, Portugal, Austria, those of such Swiss and
German states as belong to the above communions, the population
of Russia or Greece itself;

The lecturer was aware that, if the argument could be brought
to this point, further discussion would be at an end. But a
question might be asked : is there no evil in Protestant states ?
no one, however, would attempt to say that education could
wholly eradicate evil ; the enquiry was how the mass of evil might
be diminished, and whether knowledge or ignorance were best
calculated to effect so desirable an end. Why evil exists in our
system and why its prevalence throughout our system is so abso-
lute were not subjects of investigation suitable to the present
occasion; that being solely how this tendency to guilt is best
counteracted. The lecturer here observed that he considered it
essentially necessary to state, once for all, that in speaking of
education he invariably meant to be understood as advocating a
religous education, this, being the first, greatest, and all important
object, ought to be essentially a part of education, he made this

84 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

observation in order that he might not be misunderstood . Ano-
ther point upon which he wished his opinion to be known as
distinctly as possible was, that he thought education should, of
course, be adapted to the profession or pursuits in life which the
pupil would be likely to pursue ; and this unquestionably requi-
red a prudent, honest, and judicious adaptation of the instruction;
but he would enter his protest against all prohibition of the diffu-
sion of knowledge. Whoever would open his eyes must see that
the Giver of talents does not confine His gifts to any particular
class of mankind ; hence we perceive some of the highest stations
filled by men who had arisen from very humble walks in society.
Talent, wherever it be, is a public stock, which should be used
for the benefit of all, and if not encouraged and cultivated is a
positive loss to the community.

Though the lecturer was far from supposing that the greater
dissemination of knowledge could eradicate all the evils and
miseries that surround us in our present condition, yet, to the
diffusion of useful and religious knowledge amongst all classes,
he looked with more confidence than to any other measure for
the diminution of them. Although we must admit that know-
ledge may be abused, and, in some instances, may be made to
Tender the wicked more hurtful, yet, on the other hand, what is
ignorance to do for us ? Can ignorance make us contented with
our condition ? will it cause us to be satisfied with poverty ?
will it render us submissive and unrepining under humiliation,
disgrace, loss of friends, or the death of relations ? No ! this is
to be attained only by a knowledge of the designs of that Omni-
potent Being who is the Fountain of knowledge. Faintly to
resemble Him, we must be intelligent, apprehensive, capable of
understanding, and intellectual. To be ignorant is to remain a
clod of that earth whence we were raised ; incapable of enjoying
those pleasures which result from a comprehension of the ways
of God to man as to his present condition and future hopes.

Thus the men
Whom Nature's works can charm, with God himself
Hold converse : grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions ; act npon his plan,
And form to his the relish of their sonls.

TRUANT FANCIES. 85

June 26th and July 3rd. — The Rev. B. St. John's Lectures
on Khetoric.

The Rev. B. St. John delivered two very able and excellent
lectures on Rhetoric ; they were read to the Society in the winter
session, and will be found noticed amongst our reports, in volume
2nd, page 167, and volume 3rd, page 124.

TRUANT FANCIES.

Seemed to me an idle child,
Wandered on through hawthorns wild,
Darting all around his arrows
At men's hearts as they were sparrows ;
Leaving then his bow and quiver
He slept on blue bells near the river : —
Wakes anon, and, woe the day,
Both are stolen by Rosa Grey ! —
Now with tears Love's eyes o'errun,
Tears like ice drops in the sun ;
And the hawthorn berries pine
For his blush incarnadine.

O'er the visionary range
Fancy drew a sudden change ;
Turned to age that stripling blythe.
Changed his arrows to a scythe ;
For his antics placed a scowl
Hidden half by a friar's cowl.
He had power o'er all the earth ;
From the infant at its birth
To the verge of this life's span, —
All things withered at his ban
Maid, unsafe in Love's own bower.

Trembled if the figure past,
Warrior, from embattled tower,

Saw him flitting on the blast.
And his quick eye and panting breath
Hung on the i>hadow\ course : — 'twas Death !

Eos.

86

THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD.

But, Now ! The Schoolmaster is abroad.

Lord Brougham.

Aye — now ! the Schoolmaster is abroad — why or
wherefore is no business of ours ; but his place in
the school-room is vacant, and a very considerable
spree is going on therein. Ah ! Thomson, swan of
the Thames, bard of the seasons, sweet singer of
Richmond, surely you were drunk — most blessedly
and blind drunk — when you dreamed, hiccuping over
the fifteenth tumbler of the

** Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot."

How interestingly the tender thought is expanding
itself in the present moment, when no dread of birch
rods or ferulae is impending to interfere with its na-
tural developement. How winningly the young idea
shoots when it is allowed to prime, load and pull the
trigger in its own sweet uncontaminated way. How
uniquely it pours the fresh instruction over itself, till
the very jacket and breeches are saturated with the
abundant moisture ; and above all how gallantly it
unbuttons its waistcoat to let out the generous pur-
pose from the glowing breast. The Tyrones have
read Horace's advice " Rapiamus occasionem de die,"
and are most knowingly using the opportunity ; it is
not often such a Godsend falls to their lot, therefore
its angel visit is hailed with enthusiasm.

A slip of a youngling, whose look bespeaks him
" up to any thing," is mounted on one of the desks,
much to the admiration of a little circle around him ;
he and his companions are " playing at school," he
being pedagogue and they operating as his disciples,
at the same time he has the comfort of his fellows
evidently at heart, for he has split both ends of the
real master's cane, and is inserting very carefully the
renowned horse hair.

THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. 87

" Phillips, major ; be silent ! "

'^ rm not talking, Sir, Fm doing my Ovid."

Phillips, major, however instead of doing his Ovid
was certainly doing for the devoted birch which, sprig
by sprig, was made food for combustion.

" Montgomery, stand up for your Sallust."

" I don't quite know it. Sir."

" Now Montgomery what's the Latin for splitting
a cane?"

'' That's not in Sallust, Sir."

" Campbell and Styles come and hoist Montgo-
mery, he must be birched, he can't say his Sallust,
and mind Montgomery that what I am going to do
is for your good : my dear boy, you haven't the sense
to know it now, but depend upon it that at a future
period you'll be glad that I acte — "

Ainsworth's latin dictionary came spinning through
the air from another quarter of the room, and at this
most pathetic part of Walker's speech, struck his
nostrils with such good will that he fell heavily
backwards on the heads of his scholars, who testifi-
ed, by a shout of laughter their approval of his pero-
ration.

" I say Styles and you Campbell," whispered Mont-
gomery, " you know you're both right good sort of
chaps, and so hoist Walker instead of me, and see if
I dont birch him beautifully."

This was no sooner proposed than done ; and the
quondam schoolmaster, in spite of his damaged ol-
facteries, was high on the back of Styles, whilst
Campbell seizing his legs called lustily for the birch.

" That's gone to Heaven, my fine fellows," said
Phillips, with a most exulting chuckle.

" Yes, but I've got Ned Farley's big round ruler,"
exclaimed Montgomery, " and you'll see if it wont
make a most beautiful birch."

All the boys however are not playing at school, a
group is gathered on the master's platform, and a
great deal of merriment is excited at the success of
a feat just performed, viz. locking up a sturdy little

8ft THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD.

fellow in the master's desk ; his vigorous exertions
and suppressed shouts afford prime incentives to
laughter. But the risible muscles of this little knot
of gay fellows are instantly elongated, perpendicu-
larly, to a fearful extent, and every feature assumes
the hue of whitewash, when the bottom of the desk
groans, cracks, splits, and allows the chubby little
prisoner to fall to the ground, with a heavy whop
like a gigantic boiled potatoe. They, who a few mi-
nutes before with laughter-lighted eyes were compa-
ring their captive to one of the heroes in the belly of
the wooden horse, are now with rueful countenance
gathering up the scattered books, and endeavouring
to refix the demolished carpentry, heedless of the
howls, uttered at the top of his voice, of the liberated
urchin.

This affair however seems to have but little influ-
ence on the fun of the rest of the school ; each group
or set of boys is following its own avocation in the
way which seemeth best to its own Fancy. Eight or
nine little fellows have fixed up a row of picture-
covered copy books on the chimney piece, and are
standing at a reasonable distance to try who is the best
shot. Eton grammars, Ellis's exercises, Caesars, Li-
vys and Lucians, being the missiles employed, much
to the benefit of tradesmen in general, and booksellers
in particular.

Another party of students may be seen, educating
themselves ni the theory and practice of ancient seige
warfare ; they are all seated on a long form, one end
of which is placed near a hole in the wall, recently
made — as the fallen mortar, which an auxiliary is con-
veying away in his cap, indicates ; by holding the
desk opposite to which they are sitting, and opera-
ting, sailor-like, all at the same moment, they com-
municate a regular see-saw to the form, whose leg
joints are as ricketty as those of an old horse,
emulating the ponderous battering-ram of yore, the
heavy oaken plank comes ever and anon with a hea-
vy thud again;-;t the breach, and each successive dig

THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. 89

effects a " capital" enlargement, for the beseigers are
in high excitement and have for the present forgotten
that a schoolmaster's eye will ever review the scene
of their spoliation.

The most important fun seems to be going on in
the centre of the room, where a circle is formed around
a couple of heroes doing battle ; one stands close by
with a handkerchief applied to his eye, and another
is endeavouring to stop the bleeding of his nose with
a cloth cap in lack of any other means. A young
scion, from the other side of the sister isle, has just
been transplanted to this hopeful hotbed; a steel
knuckled, wire-limbed-looking fellow apparently of
most weak hams, but, on closer inspection, it may
be seen that he is just lean enough, race horse like,
for tough work. With a comic, Listonic expression
of features, he is endowed with a mouth which one
would suppose had been intended for a face three
times as large as his : he is as tall as any one of his
schoolmates, but appears as though he had not the
luck of becoming so well acquainted with pudding
and beef as they had.

This is his second day of sojourn among the boys,
and he has been hailed with the usual salutation be-
stowed on new comers.

" I say, Paddy Kelly, which of us '11 you fight ? "

^^ O ! sure, Fll be afther doin' any thing to accom-
modate yez, I'll fight yez all round, if you like ; that's
the way we do in Roscommon."

" Ha ! ha ! my fine cock ! I dare say some of us
can lick you with one hand ; I say Montgomery,
here's a chap that says he can thresh the whole of us."

^^No ! I didn't ; but I think I can take the congate
of you first."

*^ A ring ! a ring — for Martin and Kelly," exclaim
a dozen voices.

" I'll fight him, when he's leathered you Martin,"
whispered Montgomery.

" You're a pretty fellow — aint you ? stay and see
me give him one good clinch, you be my second and
VOL. IV. — 1834. M

^, THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD.

ril poke out my left arm like this, to keep him off
you know, and Til have the other ready for a terrible
punch at his big muzzle ; that's the way Crib did when
he boxed with MuUenix."

"Fm ready for the third go, my fine fellows,''
shouted Styles.

" I dont take that kind of you," growled Martin,
tucking up his sleeves and grinning like a sucking
mastiff, " I'll do him up in one round. Come out here
Mr. Paddy from Cork, with your coat buttoned be-
hind, I'm ready for you."

Paddy was not long in answering the challenge,
divested of coat and waistcoat, he stepped forward,
and putting himself in a posture of defence, the gen-
tlemen set too. In about half a minute Martin found
himself on his lower end feeling his nose, and won-
dering what was amiss with him.

" I think you 're the next chap," said Kelly to
to Montgomery.

" To be sure I am, and take that," said he making
a lounge at the Hibernian, which was instantly re-
turned on the eye, putting another antagonist on the
floor and, pro tempore, hors de combat.

In the mean time Styles' courage had been oozing
out of every pore, and, with something of a cream-
coloured face, he whispered to a companion,

" I say, Georgy, my buck ; I always knew you
were a good-natured fellow, and you know that you
owe me a good turn since the day you were mitching
from school when I said you were sick."

" Aye, but you know I did n't tell on you when
you put the live wasp into Master's glove ; and be-
sides, he's bigger than me, or upon my honour, I'd
fight him ; you know I can fight any fellow of my
own size, but yon see how well Kelly knows the art
of self def/*«nce, and think of your honour , you know :
see if I don't stand by you.

Two or three uncommonly good natured fellows
handed Styles into the ring, where his courage seemed
to revive a little, and he is now settling his part of
the affair.

THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. 91

In a distant corner of the room are a couple of
choice spirits, evidently intent upon some serious
work : one of them seems to grow much faster than
ever was contemplated by his papa's tailor, as we
may guess from the sun-burn mark extending high
above the wrist, and also from the extent of leg which
his abbreviation of a breeches does not cover. The
cock of his eye, and the ingenious upward turn of
nostril, seem to indicate that a smack of wickedness
never comes amiss to him ; the muscles of his face
appear as if they were pretty often twisted about by
the galvanic influence of devilry ; while the whalebone
pliancy and quicksilver restlessness of his limbs in-
dicate a fitness for any stirring affair of fun. The
other is a short-necked, sedate-looking, oily-faced,
smooth-haired barrel of a boy ; but in spite of his
sleepy looking aspect he is evidently " wide awake"
to the affair in progress. He does not evince so much
exuberant extasy as his companion, but it is not pro-
bable that he feels less ; he works quietly — but with
system ; and slowly— but with certainty.

We see him charming, yet we see but half —
The rest his downcast modesty conceals.

They have contrived to break open the desk of a
careful companion whose assiduity in study is never
allowed to interfere with the refection of his inward
man ; they have found, in a paper parcel, a good
looking double slice of bread and butter ; this, being
disunited, is made to perform the office of a sticking
plaster (though not so efficacious as that recommen-
ded by Doctor Budd) on the side of a slate, annihi-
lating a neatly written Greek exercise. To what
base uses we may come, Horatio ! A bottle of well-
sugared liquorice water is undergoing admixture
with the contents of an inkstand ; and a couple of
loUypops are transferred from their hiding place to
the mouths of the operatives. Meanwhile they have
baptized the internal parts of a box of Ackerman's
colours (new, three days ago, from May's shop)

92 THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD.

with a copious libation of red ink. And, further,
they have altered, with considerable ingenuity, the
terminating syllables of a series of Latin verses pre-
pared for the morrow. The work is finished, and the
desk closed, the couple retreat to a convenient dis-
tance for the purpose of reconnoitering ; their victim
enters the room and, like a wise and good boy, heed-
less of the fun going on round him, proceeds to his
place. He is puzzled a little by the lock of his desk :
at length it is opened, and the expression of his coun-
tenance— the contrast between him and the culprits
— may be painted but cannot be expressed by words,
while he exclaims, more in sorrow than in anger,
" my eyes and Tommy ! what a mess ! "

" Go on, sweet little fellows. While the capacity
for enjoyment exists, be ye joyful in your own way.
Ye have not yet known the truth of a heartache, nor
the humiliation of a step into the great world ; Sor-
row and Pain have as yet cast but the lightest of their
shadows before you on your path. You have Plea-
sure in its intensity, and you have that which will
never — never return, buoyancy of hope. Youth's
bright dream.

Go on sweet fellows, and " God bless the work ! "
as the Duke of Wellington said to his Connaught
rangers, when he found them "aising a house of a
thrifle," after the battle of Badajos, " God bless the
work."

Theobald.

I

93
THE NEUHA'S RETURN.

A watcher, from the grey tower, marks

A white sail's shining way.
The Neuha, like a sea-nymph, glides

Swift o'er the wreathing spray.

One lonely ship upon the sea !

Nought else, but wave and sky,
Around that ocean-girded isle,

Arrests the gazing eye.

No shading cloud is spread in Heaven,

But streams of glowing light
Pour down, as if intent to glad

The Neuha's homeward flight.

A light wind from the deep hath sped

Its soft, fair wing to urge —
With speedier way — her airy track

Along the quivering surge.

How gracefully I how gracefully,
She nears the well known isle :

Exulting foam-drops gem her prow,
The yielding waters smile.

Quick coiling wavelets round her side

Make music's silver tone,
And murmuring strains of soothing sound

Float o'er her sea-path lone.

A voice hath passed that fair isle's round :

For it was meet to tell
The tidings of their lord's return

To those who loved him well.

Some joyous groups along the shore

Await the nearing sail —
And many a lip can scarce restrain

The glad heart's cheering hail.

Still at his post the watcher waits,

And one is lingering near —
With look bent on him. In her gaze

Are joy and hope and fear.

94 ONE IN CAPTIVITY.

One white hand shades her snowy brow ;

The other, with fond curl,
Is clasping to her careful breast

A laughing, infant girl :

Fair little child, it too would see

The gliding vessel come,
That brings her parent once again

To his ancestral home.

The stem, old man grows pale — a strange.

Dark meaning glooms his eye
Strained on the yacht — the Neuha bears

Her ensign half-mast high.

Oh ! mournfully — most mournfully

She seems to move along,
The sea's low voice, the wind's light breath

Are now a funeral song.

He died — the island-lord — alone

Upon die wide — wide sea
Where struggling winds around made moan

And weaved his elegy.

Franz.

ONE IN CAPTIVITY.

There are voices, happy voices, through the mountain singing
Some rejoicing strain :
Oh, the sounds ! Their gush is flinging
Madness o'er my brain.

Through the purple-clustered vineyards, laughing streams are
To their parent sea : [sweeping

Must I live — and see them leaping
Boundless — bondless — Free ?

Round my cold and grated dungeon, winged airs are hieing
With a blithsome tone :
Yet I list, and hear them sighing
" Thou art fettered— lone ! "

Sometimes, in the twilight calm, I hear a harpstring quiver
To a song of home :
Then a cold-convulsive shiver
Calls on Death to come. Franz.

95
THIRST.

Hunger^s naething till thrust. Ance in the middle o^ the muir
o' Rannoch I had near dee'd o' thrust. I was crossing Loch
Ericht fit to the heed o' Glenorchy, and got in amang the hags,
that for leagues and leagues a' round that dismal region seem
howked out o' the black moss by demons doomed to dreary days-
dargs for their sins in the wilderness. There was naething for't
but lowp — lowp — lowpin^ out o^ ae pit intil anither — hour after
hour — till, sair forfeuchen, I feenally gied mysel' up for lost.
Drought had sooked up the pools, and left their cracked bottoms
barkened in the heat. The heather was sliddery as ice, aneath
that torrid zone. Sic a sun ! No ae clud on a' the sky glitterin'
wi' wirewoven sultriness ! The howe o' the lift was like a great
cawdron pabblin' into the boil ower a slow fire. The element o'
water seemed dried up out o' natur, a' except the big draps o'
sweat that plashed doon on my fever*d hauns that began to trum-
mle like leaves o' aspen. My mouth was made o* cork covered
wi* dust — lips, tongue, palate, and a', doon till my throat and
stammack. I spak — and the arid soun^ was as if a buried corpse
had tried to mutter through the smotherin' mouls. I thocht on
the tongue of a parrot. The central lands o' Africa, whare lions
gang ragin^ mad for water, when cheated out o' blood, canna be
worse — dreamed I in a species o' delirium — than this dungeon'd
desert. Oh ! but a drap o' dew would hae seemed then pregnant
wi' salvation ! — a shower out o^ the windows o' heaven, like the
direct gift o* God. Rain ! Rain f Rain ! what a world of life in
that sma' word ! But the atmosphere look'd as if it would never
melt iTfiair, intrenched against a' liquidity by brazen barriers burnin'
in the sun. Spittle I had nane — and when in desperation I
sooked the heather, 'twas frush and fusionless, as if withered by
lichtenin', and a' sap had left the vegetable creation. What'n a
cursed fule was I — for in a rage I fear I swore inwardly, (heev'n
forgie me,) that I did na at the last change-house put into my
pooch a bottle o' whiskey! I fan' my pulse — and it was thin —
thin — thin — sma' — sma' — sma' — noo nane ava' — and then a flut-
ter that tel't tales o' the exhausted heart. I grat. Then shame
came to my relief — shame even in that utter solitude.

Somewhere or ither in the muir I knew there was a loch, and
I took out my map. But the infernal idewit that had planned it
had na alloo'd a yellow circle o' aboun six inches square for a'
Perthshire. What's become o' a' the birds — thoclit I — and the

96 THIRST.

bees — and the butterflees' — and the dragons? — a' wattin their
bills and their proboscisces in far-off rills, and rivers, and lochs !

0 blessed wild-dyucks, plouterin' in the water, strieckin' their-
sells up, and flappin' their flashin plumage in the pearly fresh-
ness ! A great big speeder, wi' a bag-belly, was rinnin' up my
leg, and I crushed it in my fierceness — the first inseck I ever
wantonly murdered syne I was a wean. I kenna whether at last

1 swarfed or slept — but for certain sure I had a dream. I dreamt
that I was at hame — and that a tub o' whey was staunin' on the
kitchen dresser. I dook'd my head intil't, and sooked it dry to
the wood . Yet it slokened not my thrust, but aggravated a thousan*
fauld the torment o' my greed. A thunder-plump or water-spout
brak amang the hills — and in an instant a' the burns were on
spate ; the Yarrow roarin* red, and foaming as it were mad, — and
I thocht I cou'd hae drucken up a' its linns. 'Twas a brain fever
ye see sirs had stricken me — a sair stroke — and I was conscious
again o* lyin* broad awake in the desert, wi* my face up to the
cruel sky. I was the verra personification o' Thrust ! And felt
that I was ane of the Damned Dry, doom'd for his sins to leeve
beyond the reign o' the element to a' Eternity. Suddenly, like
a man shot in battle, I bounded up into the air — and ran off in
the convulsive energy o' dyin' natur — till doon I fell — and felt
that I was about indeed to expire. A sweet saft celestial green-
ness cooled my cheek as I lay, and my burnin' een — and then a
gleam o' something like a mighty diamond — a gleam that seemed
to comprehend within itsel* the haill universe — shone in upon
and through my being — I gaz*d upon't wi' a' my senses — mer-
cifu' heaven ! what was't but a Well in the wilderness, — water
— water — water, — and as 1 drank I prayed !

Hogg.

I'LYMOUTH : G. P. HEARDER.

7 APR 22 I

Ctie Cottage on tf)e iSletofttone.

etc iWetofttonc aiilr ^^ag l^orlt.

G. P. HEABOER, UEI,. AND SC.

THE SOUTH DEVON

MONTHLY MUSEUM.

PLYMOUTH, SEPTEMBER 1st, 1834.
No. 21.] Price Sixpence. [Vol. IV.

THE MEWSTONE.

Most knowing reader, are you acquainted with
Sam Wakeham, Lord oif the Isles, Baron Seul of
Mewstone ? If not, go and see him ; his dominion
is abundant in Uve stock, and he will not have the
slightest objection to sell you a bottle of porter, or
brew a cup of tea for your daughters. He will supply
you with a couple of dozen eggs, a ham or so, a cask
of biscuits, fresh butter, cabbages, leeks, turnips,
onions, potatoes and parsley ; rabbits roast, boiled,
stewed, hashed, grilled or fried, until you may exclaim
" The Lord be praised, I've had enough." So if you
be not a man of weighty appetite, you may contrive
to make a decent evening meal.

The Mewstone is about five miles from Plymouth.
Any one of the old gentlemen who ply for hire at the
Barbican, with shore boats, will convey you thither
for a crown, in about three hours and a half. If,
however, you can tool a boat yourself, and know any
friend who is fond of bending an ashen oar, hire one
of Walhs's skiffs for half a day, which will amount
to sixpence each : his httle craft, the *^ Belzeebub,"
has been frequently shoved over to the Mewstone,
by two handy amateurs, in from fifty to fifty-three
minutes.

The island is part of the property of C. Calmady,

Esq. of Langdon ; and, at low water of spring tides,

a person may walk to it over the rocks from the

mainland. The most picturesque route, however, is

VOL. IV.— 1834. N

^^ I HE MIv\V.ST(^NE.

by water : in passing under the bold heights of Stad-
don some peculiar geological formations may be ob-
served, which have been noticed by Mr. Prideaux,
in the ^^ Transactions of the Plymouth Institution."
Bovisand pier, and watering place, the Preventive
station, the Harbour master's house, and the Break-
water present themselves in pleasing and picturesque
succession. At high water a boat may pass with
safety between the Reny rocks and the shore, or be-
tween the former and the Shag stone ; either of these
passages will afford a shorter course than going out-
side the Shag stone ; the latter however is safer at
low water, as a reef of rocks runs from the shore to
the Reny, and is continued to the Shag : some of
which, lying just below the surface, might not be
perceived by those unaccustomed to a boat or the
passage. In passing outside the Shag stone, a boat
may almost touch it with her broad-side, as there is
a depth of four fathoms and^ half at low water ; and
by approaching as closely as possible, a good estimate
may be formed of the size and form of this singular
rock, heaving its vast cubical mass out of the tor-
mented waters, that, in the calniest weather are whi-
tening at its base.

Should the voyager to the Mewstone choose to
make his excursion in a July sea-fog, he will be well
repaid for his risk of steering out to sea : he is hereby
recommended not to take a compass, the surety de-
rived from that will spoil all his excitement ; let him
steer by the dim image of the sun, which, though
burning in a clear cloudless sky above him, sheds
but a subdued light on the mist curtained waters ; it
is very probable that he will not loose sis;ht of land
until he has passed Bovisand pier ; he will shortly
afterwards have the satisfaction of beholding nothing
but sea and sky, or rather sea and fog. Nothmg will
be visible but the heaving w^aters and their canopy
of white cloud, which sometimes sheds so much ob-^
scurity around, that a vessel bound to port may not
be perceived a-head until there is but just time to

t»

THE MRWSTONK. 99

avoid the glory of being run down. Sometimes,
when the wind raises the fog a Httle, and it rolls
along a few feet above the surface of the sea, the then
visible white line of suri' thrown out by the black
girdling rocks of the coast will be sufficient to indi-
cate pretty clearly the course which must be steered :
should this not occur the voyager must guide him-
self to the best of his ability by the position of the
snn and the sound of the breakers.

The Mewstone itself will not be visible until he
has arrived close under it, and he will most probably
feel some surprise at its apparent magnitude, looming
like a huge mountain shadow above him. From the
highest pinnacle of the island, where the fog is less
dense, a singular mist-bow may be perceived varying
in distinctness and sharpness of outline as the sun is
more or less obscured ; its proportions will be found
to differ materially from those of the rainbow as ge-
nerally seen, its height being much greater than its
breadth at the base. The spectator also will perceive
a gigantic image of himself shadowed out on the sub-
jacent mist, which will perform every motion made
by the looker on : it may be formed similarly to the
spectre of the Brocken which appearance has been
explained by Dr. Brewster.

The group of savage looking rocks called the little
Mewstone will be seen, dimly visible or sternly black,
as the mist rests upon or rolls over them, they are
seen to most effect at low water.

Sam Wakeham is a tender husband and loves his
wife ; Sam Wakeham's wife is a good natured spouse
and loves Sam : she rests her hand upon his shoulder
by pure accident and calls him her dear Sam : and so
he ought to be, for while he was doing the affection-
ate to his dame futura he built her a house or rather
enlarged the one which was on the island before, a
small and inconvenient dwelling not exactly fitted for
Sam's offspring and appearing very much like a tar-
barrel with a nightcap on and the bung knocked out.
He prepared a spot for a garden by clearing it of

100 THE MEWSTONE.

stones and manuring it with sea weed and sand, car-
ried up From the beach with much labour and perse-
verance ; he built a wall round the garden as a
manoeuvre to keep out the rabbits, but the latter
have outmanoeuvred him by boring under his fortifi-
cation.

In this garden he has grown potatoes, turnips,
cabbages, leeks, onions, parsley, &c. ; the rabbits had
sufficient judgment to allow the latter to come to its
full growth, but then they made a supper of the whole
bed. They have also demolished sundry potatoes, so
that Sam has yet to find out an effective barrier to
their depredations ; with his rabbits and garden one
would suppose that Sam might provision his dinner
table all the year round, but, being a bit of an epicure,
he keeps some poultry, and moreover a couple of pigs ;
not long since a very " promising'* porker, in making
a spring from one cliff to another, fell into the sea ;
the dead body floated over to Newton, and Sam has
built two or three styes to guard against such an ac-
cident for the time to come.

The word " Civility" is engraved on Sam's face,
but there are lines in it which tell that he might be
a tartar, especially if he found any one poaching on
his manor: a rifle bullet might be sent through the
tail of an intruder's coat to warn him off before bones
were broken.

Sam and* his wife hold the island rent free, and
have the privilege of eating every thing which grows
thereupon, on condition that they will protect the mb-
bits during the time when it is not lawful to shoot
them ; during the proper season they may shoot
and eat as many as they will ; the " Squire" visits
the island occasionally, and sometimes shoots seventy
during an evening, which are left at Sam's disposal.

When you take a trip to the Mewstone, reader, as
you value your character for benevolence, export a
few ounces of snuff to Sam, he is a most inveterate
snuff taker ; and, until I meson may see fit to es-j^
tablish a branch store on the little Mewstone, he is

TEIE MEWSTONE.

101

♦not likely to have a tobacconist's shop in the imme-
diate neighbourhood. Poor Sam ! it's a pity that
he ever should have recourse to sea-sand wherewith
to tickle his olfacteries in his hour of need.

Sam was married last April, his age may average
about two score, and his wife's ditto, he " never takes
no physic whatsomdever, and never meams to take
none," so that he has a chance of existing a httle
longer than such dwellers in his vicinity as have the
advantage of Morrison and Moate's mixture of gam-
boge and colocynth.

SAMUEL WAKEIIAM S HOUSE, ON THE MEWSTONE.

Sam does not care one rush for any other part of

the World except the Mewstone ; like the Samoide

in his cave, the Esquimaux in his snow house, the

Australian in his hollow^ tree, or King William the

fourth in W^indsor palace, Sam believes that his own

spot of land and his own dwelling place are unex-

ceptionably the most desirable on the face of the

earth ; some wise fellow may exclaim,

^* O ! Solitude, where are the charms that Wakeham can find in

[thy face :"

102 THE MEWSTOJSE.

But Sam is ready to answer, in ihc words of Lord *
Byron.

^' To sit on rocks, to muse on pigs fed well,
To send a bullet spinning o'er the green
Where conies free from man's dominion dwell
And smuggling feet have never (seldom) been.
To house the cocks and hens, for Ah ! I ween
They need a shelter from the winter's cold.
This is not Solitude — "

Not a bit of it : solitude's only an " illagent hum-
bug/' Surrounded by crab-pots and sea-gull's eggs,
scolding waves and frowning rocks ; cabbages, chick-

ens and onions, what can Sam know about Solitude.
When approached in fine weather the Mewstone
is much less imposing than when seen in a mist;
but there is a great advantage in being able to survey
it on a clear day. The north face seems wholly in-
capable of cultivation, not merely from the great
precipitousness of its dechvity, but also from the
scantiness of earthy stratum, which is just sufficient
to allow of its being covered with a green carpetting ;
along the narrow, inaccessible paths of which hun-
dreds of rabbits may be seen burying away from the
gaze of an intruder.

THE MEWSTONE. 103

Besides the spots of ground, which have been al-
ready reduced to a cultivated state, there is much
more on the southern side capable of being made pro-
ductive, and it is not improbable, that when Sam has
six or seven young Wakehams to lend him a hand,
his garden grounds will be made much more exten-
sive, and turned to much better account than they
are at present.

There is not a shrub of any kind growing, in a wild
state, on the island ; a few currant bushes have been
planted in a favorable situation, but present rather a
woful sort of appearance. On the highest point of
the island, Sam has mounted a flag staff, rather
ricketty at present; and has hewn out of the sohd rock
a pair of thrones, wherein the lover of nature may sit
and indulge his sohtary musings. A magnificent
ampitheatre of sea, and a fine sweep of coast lie be-
fore him, on one side ; on the other he may turn and
gaze on the boundless ocean.

The extent of view commanded from this spot will be
best exemplified by enumerating the principal points :
dim in the eastern distance is shadowed the Bolt head,
south westward of it may be observed the mouth of the
Avon, and the long line of Bigbury bay, receiving the
waters of the Erme, but the mouth of this river is hid-
den behind the promontory called Stoke Point. The
river Yealm is seen winding its way between head-
lands into the Sound, nearly opposite the Mewstone;
and a httle southward of its mouth stands the lonely
church of Wembury ; thence the eye is carried to
Bovisand bay and pier; Staddon Heights; Mount
Batten; the Hoe; Mount Edgcumbe; Maker
Heights, with Kingsand and Cawsand nestling below
them ; Pen lee point, the Obelisk, and Adelaide
chapel ; Rame head, and its crowning chapel ; Whit-
sand bay, and the rugged line of Cornish coast,
stretching away to the Lizard Point.

The Geology of the Mewstone has been noticed
by Mr. John Prideaux, in a paper which has been
already alluded to, in the " Xnuisnctioiis of the Plv-

104 THE DEPARTED.

mouth Institution," he is of opinion that the Mew-
stone was formerly joined to the main land.

Theobald.

THE DEPARTED.

She 's gone — she 's left me! can I grieve? Ah, no I

She was not of this world : — a visitant,

An angel pattern of bright purity !

I grieve not ; yet the knowledge of her loss

Lies heavy at my heart. I cannot smile;

And though a tear may trickle down my cheek

It flows involuntarily. T is true

Th' attempt were vain to check its downward course.

As myriads still would gush to follow it.

Ah she was kind indeed ! a seraph's form

Blessed with celestial loveliness : a hearty

That knew but love, that truly learned to mine

In sweetest innocence and confidence.

A love for ever fixed — that, day by day.

Threw forth .new blossoms of serenity.

And when on bed of pain the wearied sigh

'Scaped, but unconscious, from her beating heart.

Why ? wherefore did it burst ? VVas it for pains^

That ceaseless racked her agonized frame ?

Or boding musings on futurity ?

Or worldly pleasures left? or fear of death ?

Oh no ! these gave no cause for sorrowing.

She sighed for him she left ; she wept for me.

And when the lamp of life grew sadly pale,

And fluttered on the verge of endless gloom.

Was her last prayer to her all powerful God —

Breathed with her dying lips and bursting heart —

To ask a benediction on herself?

Or supplicate to stay the grasp of death ?

Truth answers — No ! Oh, Nature 1 — why was that ?

A universal answer will respond —

*T was Woman's prayer !

G. P. II.

105

HOLINGSHED^S DESCRIPTION OF ENGLISH

ROADS AND INNS, IN THE TIME OF HENRY

\ III., MARY, AND ELIZABETH :

FROM A LECTURE DELIVERED, IN THE ATHEN^UM OF THE

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION, BY HENRY WOOLLCOMBE, ESQ.,

PRESIDENT.

Now to speak generallie of our common high
ways through the EngUsh part of the He (for of the
lest I can say nothing) you shall understand, that
in the claie or cledgie soile they are often verie deepe
and troublesome in the winter halfe. Wherefore by
authoritie of Parliament an order is taken ^for their
yearlie amendment, whereby all sorts of the common
people doe imploie their travell for six daies in sum-
mer upon the same. And albeit that the intent of
the statute is verie profitable for the reparations of
the decaied places, yet the rich do so cancell their
portions, and the poore so loiter in their labour, that
of all the six, scarcelie two good days work are well
performed, and accomplished in a parish on these so
necessarie affaires. Besides this, such as have land
lieng upon the sides of the waies, doo utterlie neglect
to dich and* scowre their dranes and watercourses,
for better avoidance of the winter waters (except it
may be set off or cut from the meaning of the sta-
tute) whereby the streets doo grow to be much more
gulled than before, and thereby verie noisome for
such as travell by the same. Sometimes also, and
that verie often, these daies works are not imploied
upon those waies that lead from market to market,
but ech surveyor amendeth such by-plots and lanes
as seeme best for his own commoditie, and more
easie passage into his fields and pastures. And
whereas in some places there is such want of stones,
as thereby the inhabitants are driven to seeke them
farre ofFin other soils : the owners of the lands wherein
those stones are to be had, and which hitherto have
given monie to have them borne awaie, doo now reape
no small commoditie by raising the same to excessive
VOL. IV. — 1834. o

106 ENGLISH ROADS AND INNS

prices^ whereby their neighbours are driven to griev-
ous charges, which is another cause wherefore the
meaning of that good law is verie much defrauded.
FinaUie this is another thing Hkewise to be considered
of, that the trees and bushes growing by the street*s
sides ; doo not a httle keepe off the force of the sunne
in summer for drieng up of the lanes. Wherefore if
order were taken that their boughs should be conti-
nually kept short, and the bushes not suffered to
spread so far into the narrow paths, that inconvenience
would also be remedied, and many a slough prove
hard ground that yet is deepe and hollow. Of the
dailie incroaching of the covetous on the high waies
I speak not. But this I know by experience, that
wheras some streets within 25 years have been in
most places 50 foot broad according to the law,
whereby the traveller might either escape the thief,
or shift the mier, or passe by the loaded cart without
danger to himself or his horse ; now they are brought
unto 12 or 20, or 26 at the most, which is another
cause also whereby the waies be the worse, and manie
an honest man encombred in his journie. But what
speak I of these things, whereof I do not think to
hear of a just redress, because the error is so common
and the benefit thereby so sweet and profitable to
manie, by such houses and cottages as are raised upon
the same.

Those townes that we call thorowfares have great
and sumptuous inns builded in them, for the receiving
of such travellers and strangers as passe to and
fro. The manner of harbouring wherein, is not like
to that of some other countries in which the host or
good man of the house doth challenge a lordly au-
thorise over his ghests, but cleane otherwise, sith
every man may use his inn as his own house in En-
gland, and have for his mouth how great or little va-
rietie of vittels and what other service himselfe shall
think expedient to call for. Our innes are also very
well furnished with napperie, bedding, and tapisserie,
especially with naperie : for beside the linen used at

THREE CENTURIES AGO* 107

the table, which is commonUe washed daiUe, is such
and so much as belongeth unto the estate and calUng
of the ghest. Ech commer is sure to lie in cleane
sheets, wherein no man hath been lodged since they
came from the landresse, or out of the water wherein
they were last washed. If the traveller have an horse
his bed dooth cost him nothing, but if he go on foote
he is sure to paie a penie for the same : but whether
he be horseman or footman if his chamber be once
appointed he may carie the kaie with him, as of his
own house so long as he lodgeth there. If he lose
ought whilst he abideth in the inne, the host is bound
by a general custome to restore the damage, so that
there is no greater securitie anie where for travellers
than in the greatest inns of England. Their horses
are in like sort walked, dressed and looked unto by
certain hostelers or hired servants, appointed at the
charges of the good man of the house, who in hope
of extraordinerie reward will deale very diligentlie
after outward appearance in this their function and
calling. Herein nevertheless are manie of them blame-
worthie, in that they do not onlie deceive the beast
oftentimes of his allowance by sundry means except
their owners look well to them ; but also make such
packs with shpper merchants which hunt after preie,
that manie an honest man is spoiled of his goods as
he travelleth to and fro, in which feat also the coun-
sell of the tapsters or drawers of drinke, and cham-
berlains is not seldome behind or wanting. Certes
I believe not that chapman or traveller in England
is robbed by the waie without the knowledge of some
of them, for when he commeth into the inne, and
alighteth from his horse, the hostler forthwith is very
busie to take downe his budget or capcase in the yard
from his sadle bow, which he poiseth slilie in his hand
to feele the weight thereof; or if he misse of this
pitch, when the ghest hath taken up his chamber,
the chamberlain that looketh 'to the making of the
beds, will be sure to remove it from the place where
the owner hath set it as if it were to set it more con-

108 ENGLISH ROADS AND INNS, &C.

renient somewhere else, whereby he getteth an inkling
whether it be monie or other short wares, and therot"
giveth warning to such od ghests as hant the house
and are of his confederacie, to the utter undoing of
manie an honest yeoman as he journeyeth by the
waie. The tapster in like sort for his part dooth
mark his behaviour, and what plentie of monie he
draweth when he paieth the shot, to the like end : so
that it shall be an hard matter to escape all their
subtile practises.

In all our innes we have plentie of ale, beere, and
sundrie kinds of wine, and such is the capacitie of
some of them that they are able to lodge 200 or even
300 persons, and their horses at ease, and therto with
a verie short warning make such provision for their
diet, as to him that is unacquainted withall may
seeme to be incredible. Howbeit of all in England
there are no worse ins than in London, and yet manie
are there far better than the best that I have heard
of in anie forren countrie, if all circumstances be dulie
considered. But to leave this and go in hand with
my purpose, I will here set downe a table of the best
thorowfares and towns of greatest travel in England
in some of which there are 12 or 16 such innes at
the least, as I before did speak of. And it is a world
to see how ech owner of them contendeth with other
for goodnesse of intertainment of their ghests, as
about finenesse and change of linen, furniture of bed-
ding, beautie of roomes, service at the table, costli-
nesse of plate, strength of drinke, varietie of wines,
or well using of horses. Finallie there is not so much
omitted amongst them as the gorgeousness of their
very signs at their doores.

109

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

Concluded from page 70.

Examples of the existing relics of Dartmoor and its precincts
have thus been produced. I now proceed to a general notice of
the principal of those relics, more agreeably to their topographical
situation, commencing with Putor, near Sampford Spiney church,
on the western skirts of the moor.

Putor is traditionally regarded as a Druidical court of judica-
ture, probably from the conformation of the granite masses whereof
it is composed. These are raised by the hand of nature, so as to
form two divisions — that on the east consists of four piles of gra-
nite rocks standing at the four cardinal points, like rude bastions,
connected on the E. and W. by an equally rude breastwork or
curtain, but open to the N. and S. On the N.W. pile is a series
of rock basins irregularly disposed over the surface of the granite
mass. One, on its N. edge is complete, and is furnished with a
natural lip or spout, calculated to pour the water over the edge.
This basin communicates by a slight channel with a second much
broken, which has a like communication with the third, much
more oval than the former, and placed E. of the second on the
verge of the rock. Near the W. edge of the same rock, but de-
tached from the others, is a fourth basin, slightly oval — depth
eleven inches, diameter two feet.

N. E. of Putor, above the Walkham river, stands V^ixen or
Vissen tor, a natural pile, rising abruptly on the N. side from the
heath, ranking from its size and form among the grandest on the
moor. It faces exactly S. and is said to have been anciently
employed for astronomical purposes : whether it were ever so
used or not, it would at least form a colossal dial to determine
the mid-day hour.

N. from Vissen tor, are the Three-staple tors, and Rolls tor — -
a line drawn from N. to S. would nearly intersect the five. Little
Staple tor is first arrived at in ascending the hill. On the W.
edge of the highest and largest mass of this tor, is a basin of irre-
gular outline — lip nearly S., diameter two feet. On the N.W.
pile ol Great Staple tor, a basin less perfectly hollowed than the
last — diameter sixteen inches, no lip.

Merivale bridge, adjoining which is the bound-stone of VValk-
hampton and Whitchurch parishes, is in the valley below. As-
cending the hill, by the turnpike road, scarcely half a mile from
the river Walkham, we enter the ancient town or vill;igc already

110 ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

mentioned. Its site is on the slope of the common, inclining to
the south-west, and the ground over which the houses are scat-
tered is of considerable extent, on both sides of the road. The
principal relics in this village have been already noticed under
their respective heads ; and among these, the avenues by their
singular appearance will immediately strike the observer. Their
direction is towards the river; they are in immediate connexion
with sacred circles, the northern terminating in one, and the
southern having another at mid-length : they are in apparent re-
lative connexion with the larger sacred circle and maen on the
south. From these circumstances the avenues will afford the
best central station for describing the position of the several relics
of this ancient settlement.

About twenty-four yards S. of the S. avenue, is an imperfect
cairn of small dimensions ; one hundred yards S., a circle, — diame-
ter sixty-seven feet, stones ten, height not exceeding eighteen
inches. S. of the maen is the circle already described, and sixty-
.six feet S. of the avenue, the fallen cromlech before mentioned.

N. E. by N. of the avenues is a Cyclopaean inclosure or pound ;
differing essentially from Grimspound and others in the construc-
tion of the fence — this consisting cliiefly though not entirely, of
upright stones, while at Grimspound they are rudely piled toge-
ther. Advantage has been taken of the natural position of some
huge blocks in forming this singular fence ; the form approaches,
though imperfectly, to a circular figure; mean diameter one hun-
dred and seventy-five feet. At the upper or E. end is a vast
block — a fair edge forming one wall of some interior enclosure,
having remains of walls at right angles. In front of this, distant
thirty feet, is a large quoit-like stone, sixteen feet by nine feet
eight, which as the impost, with three others, formed the group
before alluded to as the possible ruins of a second cromlech of
very large dimensions. There are hut circles or foundations of
dwellings within, and immediately without, the inclosure, of a
large size, and of the description already given, as are the other
hut circles throughout the village, which extends about a mile
along the side of the hill; on the highest point of which. Great
Mistor (with its fine rock basin) overlooks the whole. There are
many tumuli in the neigli hour hood, one of which was opened,
but nothing was found to repay the search.

Nearly a furlong from Black tor, in the glen below, are the
avenues before mentioned, on the eastern bank of the stream.
The N. avenue terminates in a circle, consisting of fifteen slab-like

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. Ill

Stones, the highest, three feet from the surface ; ten are erect, five
fallen. Between this avenue and the stream is a caim : there is
one also at the extremity of the S. avenue, but very imperfect.
A stream- work intersects the avenues diagonally.

Below Golden tor, near Prince-town, is the group of kistvaens
before described ; and near Two-bridges on Bair down, the raaen
or rock-pillar. On the banks of the west Dart, above Two-
bridges, is the celebrated Wistman's wood, the venerable relics of
one of the most ancient forests in the world. The wood extends
along the acclivity which rises abruptly from the river, nearly half
a mile in length, and about a furlong in breadth. The trees,
which are all oaks, present a scene at once curious and interest-
ing, from their stunted growth, and gnarled and twisted boughs
matted with luxuriant moss, whortle, and parasitical plants. But
although the trees do not exceed twelve feet in height, some of
them are ten feet in girth, and the foliage is thick, flourishing,
and vigorous.

Southward, towards Two-bridges, on the same acclivity, are
numerous hut circles. Here is also a Pound of an irregular form
less perfect, but of a character similar to those in other parts of
the moor. A hut circle near its lower wall, has a double foun-
dation, different from any before noticed.

Crockern tor, celebrated by tradition as the situation of an ancient
stannary court, crowns the southern summit of this ridge. The
tor can scarely be said to possess any vestiges of such appropria-
tion, although it is believed that a granite table and benches ex-
isted within the memory of persons now alive. The natural rock,
however, still retains a conformation sufficiently akin to that of a
chair, to warrant the supposition that it might have been appro-
priated as the seat of the presiding officer.

On Chittaford down, above Post bridge, is the grand central
trackway, noticed in the general description ; and near it above
Goggershole head, are detached hut circles, cairns, and a kist-
vaen five feet square. Archerton hill, near Post bridge, boasts
the singularly perfect hut above-mentioned . Here is also a Pound
of a remarkable construction, thought by the observers to resem-
ble a fortification or camp. The area is partitioned by lines of
stones, in directions apparently irregular; the hut is placed near
the rampart, and without it are several hut circles. The diameter
of the Pound is one hundred yards. On the same hill are various
relics of trackways, inclosures, and hut circles; one of the latter
is very complete and is seven yards in diameter.

112 ANTIQUARIAN* INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

Immediately opposite, on the north side of the Moreton road,
h a large inclosure, which, if undisturbed, would have approach-
ed nearer to that at Grimspound than any yet examined. Dia-
meter three hundred and fifty feet ; mean breadth of the rampart
sixteen feet. This inclosure contains six hut circles; without
are three others, and several tracklines.

On the hill above Stanwig bottom, is a circle of ten upright
stones surrounding a small kistvaen. Diameter of the circle ten
feet.

Hartland tor exhibits another instance of that form of inclosure
which may have assigned the area, between two or more piles of
rocks, to some specific purpose. The inclosure, as at Putor,
will be best described as a rude breastwork, connecting natural
bastions.

Northward, on the hill opposite to Hartland tor, is a dilapidated
Pound, half of the rampart having been destroyed for the purpose
of building a new-take wall. The rampart is of great breadth,
much like Grimspound, being in some places twenty-five feet
wide, and formed of enormous stones. One entrance remains
nearly S. To the rampart are joined ten hut circles, and nine are
contained within the area, the diameter of which is one hundred
yards. Not far distant, on a hill commanding a brook, which
falls into the East Dart, are twenty-five hut circles of various
difnensions.

Northward is Sittaford tor, above Ladle bottom, near which,
S. E. are the circles of the Grey Wethers. On the side .of the
opposite hill, S. E. are numerous hut circles, connected by short
tracklines of a serpentine form.

On Challacombe down, opposite Grimspound, is a line of
avenues, running N. and S. The N. end is lost in a stream
work ; the S. is so much overgrown by heath and moss that no
more than one hundred yards are discoverable. Almost all the
neighbouring hills are capped with cairns, and have numerous
hut circles on their sides, — as Warren tor. Birch tor, and others.
Adjoining the road, about five miles from Moreton, are some
hut circles in an inclosure, one side of which is straight, the other
portion forming an irregular curve. A trackway passes along the
line of the inclosure, towards the valley below; at right angles to
this is a second, which is lost in the valley, but re-appears on the
opposite hill. There is also a third, parellel to the last — all being
connected with the inclosure.

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. 113

Grimspound, on the N. W. declivity of Hamildown, has been
already described. On the summit of Hamildown is a barraw;
one of these monuments is also seen on King tor, N. E. The
portion of trackway on Hamildown, is supposed to be a continu-
ation of the great trackway. On the N. E. side of Hamildown,
a circular inclosure, called Berry pound, will be scarcely discern-
ible, from the fern and heather by which it has been overgrown.

About three miles N. N. W. from Sittaford tor, is the high table
land in the centre of the moor, forming an extensive morass, from
which the principal streams in Devonshire take their rise. At
Cranmere pool, within its precincts, is the source of the East
Ockment. This swampy tract divides the water courses, — those
streams which flow respectively northward to the Bristol, and
southward, to the English channel.

Near one of the springs of the Tavy, between Cranmere pool
and Furtor, is a single hut of an oval form, thirty feet in circum-
ference. Its situation is in one of the most secluded parts of the
moor, and no ancient remains have been observed in its vicinity.

Almost northernly, above the course of the Taw, rises Cawson
or Cosdon hill, the highest in Dartmoor. On the side fronting
Belstone church is a very perfect trackway, formed in the usual
manner, with the exception of having a few stones placed erect
at long intervals. Its direction is from the valley and cultivated
grounds N. E. by E. four hundred and seventy paces. It ter-
minates W. in another of similar character, meeting it in an acute
angle. Near it is a dilapidated cairn.

On the ridge of the mountain, N. from its highest point, is a
cairn, inclosed by a fence of slab stones, closely set, leaning out-
wards, apparently, so placed by design. The highest of these
inclosing stones is three feet, and the object seems to have been
to confine the small stones, of which the cairn is composed within
their compass.

S. W. sixty-four paces, a cairn formed of unusually large stones
contains a kistvaen, seven feet square, already described. W.
S. W. seventy paces, is a large circle, constructed of closely set
slabs, like all the habitation circles on the moor, but considerably
larger than any hitherto noticed. Its diameter is fifty feet, and if
the smaller ruins convey a notion of the cabins of the people,
this from its size bears the appearance of the mansion of the chief.
Yet in the centre is a fallen kistvaen, eight feet square, within
which we thought we could discover a rude sarcophagus, the cover
of which was not more than two feet and a half in breadth. Thi;^
VOL. IV. — 1834. p

114 ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

relic altogether, if not unique, is of a very singular character,
and very distinct in its appearance from all others we have met
with.

S. VV. of the last, one hundred and twelve paces, adjoining the
beacon-cairn on the mountain top, is a low, circular inclosure, in
formation somewhat similar to the tracklines. The stones are
thrown promiscuously together, a very few only being placed
erect in the ground. With the exception of a small portion of its
circumference, this circle is beautifully perfect; inclosing an area
of boggy land, scarcely lower than the highest point of the moun-
tain upon which the beacon is placed.

In the descent of the hill, towards Taw marsh, opposite Bel-
stone tor, is a group of hut circles, nine in number, within and
without a trackline inclosure, three hundred and forty paces in
circumference. One part of the circumference breaks from the
circular into a serpentine form, for no apparent reason. Still
nearer to the valley of the Taw, on the side of the mountain, two
trackways intersect each other, forming acute angles at the point
of intersection. The trackways can be distinctly traced two fur-
longs from N. E. to S. W.

Four miles S. E. of Cawson, is Castor rock, which has a basin
two feet by one foot six. Immediately below t 'astor, on Tincombe
down, are numerous tracklines, rectangular inclosures, and Pounds,
with hut circles, similar to those in other (juarters of the moor.

Near Castor is Gidleigh common, on the borders of which is
an upright rock pillar or maen, similar in appearance to that at
Merivale bridge. The height is twelve feet, girth at the base
eight feet, tapering gradually upwards. It has been employed
as a bound-stone, and inscribed with the letters (J and D — Gid-
leigh and Dagleigh commons. Thirty-six yards from this stone,
commences an avenue of upright stones, one hundred and thirty-
four yards in a direction N. and S. At some distance, on ano-
ther part of the hill, is a second avenue running down the hill
one hundred and forty yards in a direction due N. and S. The
breadth is four feet and a lialf, and it terminates in a very curious
set of circles of upright stones, ])laced one within another; the
outermost consisting of eleven stones, the second of six, the inte-
rior of eight; and within this, three stones, irregularly placed.
Diameter of the whole fifteen feet. At a sliort distance is a co-
lunniar stone, having the appearance of an overthrown maen.

A few paces from these concentric circles commence a pair ol
fivenues, leading down the hill, N. towards the Teit;ii. The east-

ANIIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. 115

ern of these avenues could be traced only forty-one yards, but
the stones are peculiar and unusually large, some standing three
feet six from the surface, and being of a triangular shape. The
western is visible one hundred and forty-four yards ; in a direct
line from its termination, are two upright stones, two feet six high,
and ten feet apart.

On Ruggamede hill, in Venworthy new-take, one mile and a
half from Gidleigh pillar, is a circle of upright stones, twenty-
seven in number ; the highest standing three feet and a half from
the surface, From some wide intervals in the circumference,
the stones appear to have been removed. Diameter sixty-four
feet.

S. of the circle, three hundred and sixty feet, commences an
avenue, taking a direction N. and S. one hundred and twenty-four
fiftt, towards a brook. A large part of this avenue seems to have
been removed, for the construction of a neighbouring wall.

Assacombe hill, overlooking a spring of the South Teign, has
various relics, though chiefly in a more dilapidated state than
usual. The adjacent fences too evidently account for the more
than ordinarily ruinous state of the hut circles, and quadrangular
inclosures on this spot.

In the neighbourhood of Venworthy, tracklines will be found,
forming irregular figures, (and containing hut circles,) of a similar
description to those on Lakehead hill.

Bowerman's nose stands on the promontory of a long ridge of
hills, dividing the vales of Manaton and North Bovey from that
of Widecombe. Below, is a road to Chagf6rd, from which town
in the direction of Holy street, a lane leads to the celebrated
Drewsteignton cromlech, in a field belonging to Shilston farm.
S. of the cromlech, eighty-seven feet, are the remains of what
has been regarded as a tumulo-cairn, with an excavation in the
centre.

N. N. W. of Sandypark, a rocky ridge rises from the coppice
and marshy grounds around it ; tors appear on the summit, two
of which have rock basins. The most perfect is very deep, and
nearly circular, being two feet by one foot eight.

In the ascent of the hill above Becky fall, and opposite Lust-
leigh cliffs, is a large dilapidated cairn, with a trackway descend-
ing from it, towards the valley N. E. two hundred and thirty-six
yards.

On the eastern pile of Hey tor, is an imperfect basin, two feet
six in diameter. A trackway, running N. E. terminates at the

116 ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR.

west pile; a second, parellel to the last, ends in a smaller tor W.
of the great tor. Another, intersecting the second, has for some
distance the appearance of an avenue, two hundred and thirty-six
yards long, but gradually dwindling into a line; having at its
southern end a trackline, at right angles.

N. W. of Heytor, Holwell tor presents a walk of one hun-
dred yards, at least from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
feet wide, between walls of granite, rising to one hundred feet in
the highest part. Below Rippon tor, the second of the Dartmoor
hills, a trackway forms an object so conspicuous, as to be taken
at first for a modern fence. Descending the side of Rippon tor,
it crosses a road leading from Heytor, and the road from Ashburton
to Chagford. Many of the stones in this trackway are unusually
large and high; presenting, from this circumstance, more of the
fence, and less of the causeway character, than any before noticid.
Near the trackway are two hut circles, the slabs of which are large
and closely set ; the largest, thirty feet diameter ; tlie other circle
eighteen feet diameter, having one door-jamb, four feet high ; the
former containing a dilapidated kistvaen.

Torrhill, W. of the trackway, has its declivity partitioned into
rectangular inclosures by tracklines; many of these inclosures
contain hut circles.

A circular inclosure, as large as Grimspound, occupies one
portion of the face of the hill, and contains hut circles. Both the
hut circles and inclosure are much dilapidated, and one fourth of
the eastern circumference of the latter has disappeared. The wes-
tern side of the hill, looking towards Widecombe, has some cir-
cles of erect stones,- closely set, in the act of being demolished for
repairing the road !

The road to Chagford runs along the high moorlands, above
Widecombe church-town, adjoining which, a trackway may be
traced pursuing the same direction.

Yartor, on the opposite side of the dales of Widecombe, looks
down upon Dartmeet bridge, the point where the parishes of
Widecombe, Holne, and Lidford meet. This tor has two courses
of natural rock, (similar to Putor) on the north and south. The
west side has a low, rude fence, formed of granite blocks ; and
the eastern has a similar breastwork, though less perfect, and
somewhat in advance of the parellel courses on the other sides of
the tor. The whole conformation })resents a rude but grand in-
closure, conveying the idea of a natural temple, admirably adap-
ted to the wild and mystic rites of a dark and superstitions wor-
ship.

I

ANTIQUARIAN INVESTIGATIONS ON DARTMOOR. 117

From Yartor, N. E. are some hut circles; one of which
contains a kistvaen in ruins, the cover-stone of which is five feet
by three.

Near the springs of the Erme, and not far from the old road
called Abbot's way, is Erme Pound, an inclosure of similar cha-
racter to the others already described. S. S. E. is Three-barrow
tor, so named from the three enormous cairns on its summit.
The cairns are observed to be generally of larger dimensions in
this quarter than in other parts of the moor, and there is scarcely
a hill in the neighbourhood, which cannot boast of its granite
crown. At its western foot is an extensive group of hut cixcles,
of large size, and less disturbed than in many other places. Many
of them have inclosures attached, conveying the notion of a yard,
or garden plot. One is double, the circles touching one another,
but there is no appearance of an opening or communication be-
tween them. N. of this spot is a Pound, and another conforma-
tion of a similar character, not so well defined.

Southward, about one mile from the Western beacon, in a fine
mountain basin, is a double avenue, so nearly obliterated as to
require a practised eye to detect it. It terminates in a stream,
and is unconnected with any other British relics.

On the hill above Shavercombe head, near the springs of the
Yealm, are some detached hut circles. On Shaugh moor are also
some circles, about a mile east of the church ; and on Sheepstor,
which rises grandly above the church-town of that name, are hut
circles and a rock basin.

There are detached hut circles on Cockstor, W. of Staple tor;
— a straggling village with inclosures, on the Walkham, below
Mistor, (the largest of which is ninety-three paces in diameter,
each inclosure having a hut circle on the western edge;) — a
trackway between Mistor and RoUstor, near an ancient road to
Lidford ; tracklines and other remains below Lints tor.

118

FUNEREAL S K ETC H ES,— No. XXlIf.
THE QUEST HOUSE.

Go learn of life when day by day

Is heard of human woes :
The fell Destroyer's every way

To find life's sudden close.

The untrimmed lam'p that lights the place

Is flickering into gloom.
And fear and paleness make their haunt

Within that darksome room ;

And only now and then a sob

Disturbs the silent dread
While burghers at their mournful call

Hold inquest on the dead.

They sat on one whose life was bright

In sin's deceitful ray,
A cloud came o'er it, and to-night

She threw that life away.

One hand reclined adown her side

With fingers long and fair ; —
They had laid the other on her hear!

As if the wound was there.

And then it strayed — a raven curl

Across her ivory brow ; —
She must have been a lovely girl

To appear so lovely now.

Tis good when Death hath found his way

To titled Beauty's door
To think how oft his earliest prey

Is Beauty in the poor.

Eos.

119

MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA.

In the quietness of night it is soothing and tran-
quiUizing to stand and observe the play of the Moon
on the waters, especially when they are in a state of
calm, or only partially disturbed by some slight and
local currents of air.

From an eastern point of the Sound, at an early
hour of the Night, the scene is most effective ; then
the light is resting on the crowning trees of Mount
Edgcumbe, while the whole broad eastern face of
that peninsula seems a mass of shadow, perhaps made
more eminently obscure by a speck of red light gleam-
ing from the stern windows of a man-of-war in Barn-
pool, although every part of the vessel herself is
completely invisible. There are sounds that steal
upon the passive hearing, but none which can disturb
the depth of contemplation. A low and continuous
but not unmusical sigh floats towards the shore from
the distant channel ; the regular stroke of deliberate
rowers may guide the eye to a small boat moving
slowly land-ward, like a short black line upon the
surface • and though the form of the singer beinvisible,
a sweet female voice, one of some returning party of
pleasure, may be recognized afar off in the wildly
pathetic strains of the Canadian boat song, " Soon as
the woods on shore look dim. "

Immediately under Mount Edgcumbe, and extend-
ing apparently close to its roots, the rippled surface
has an appearance like dim frosted silver, a long
sheet of light in repose, extending over the bridge of
rocks perhaps half-way to St. Nicholas' Island, its
outline in some cases being suddenly and sharply
marked by black shadow, and in others beautifully
softening and blending into darkness ; the still and
uniform appearance of this illumination may arise
from distance as well as from the rapid motion of the
wavelets, producing an effect of amalgamating several
small, quickly-moving lights into one, as the pris-
matic colours by celerity of rotation become har-
monized into a whole.

120 MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA.

Betvveen this sheet of Hght and the observer the
waters may be very cahn ; in which case, should the
Moon be not very high, another reflection of its beams
will be seen not far from the shore ; whilst between
it and the sheet of light above alluded to, the sea lies
wholly unilluminated : could this portion of the
waters repose as quietly as the face of a mirror a dis-
tinct and well defined image would be formed, but
as there is generally some slight undulation a series
of quivering and quickly changing lights are observed.
Any one who has seen his face reflected in a mirror
made of common window glass will recollect the
caricature which exhibited him there with a longi-
tude, a twist or an extent of countenance by no means
his natural ri^ht, from this appearance he can easily
account for the singularly outlined images of the moon
on the continually varymg surface of the water.

Should any thing occur to produce a ripple on the
sea between the two enlightened portions, such as
the passing of a boat or the rush of a fish curling along
the surface, new and vivid images will be reflected
from the sides of the newly raised wavelets, and even
when these have subsided in the spot where they were
first |)roduced yet the extending circles of disturbed
water will show them, farther and farther off*, and
more or less in number, presenting an appearance of
very brilliant stars nsing from the deep, expending
the intenseness of their light in an instant, and dying
when in contact with the air : or they might perhaps
be compared to bubbles of phosphuretted hydrogen,
seen from a distance, nsing quickly from the water,
to quench with a quick bright gleam. The inten-
sity of brilliantness in these images may depend on
their being reflected to the eye of an observer from
the concave or convex side of a wave, the former of
which perhaps may have an effect of concentrating
the light as a reflector does when placed behind the
flame of a lamp.

That simple and beautiful law of Catoptrics, which
affirms that the angles of incidence and reflection

POMPEII. 121

are always equal, easily accounts for the above
appearances ; the illuminated spot of water, nearest
the observer, would be the true place of the imaged
moon, and the reason why a second illumination is
seen at a distance may probably be, that a series of
new planes are being perpetually formed by the sides
of the wavelets, making, towards the spectator, ob-
tuse angles with the plane of the sea ; from these new
planes a series of images may be thrown upon the
eye of the spectator whenever their motion produces
an equality between the angles of incidence and re-
flection. For similar reasons any ripples which may
be raised in the line between the first and second
illuminated spots will present a series of temporary
corruscations.

J. B.

POMPEII.

A PRIZE POEM, RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD:
BY REV. ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER,

AUTHOR OF "records OF THE WESTERN SHOR E," &C.

How fair the scene ! the sunny smiles of day
Flash o'er the wave in glad Sorrento's bay ;
Far, far along mild Sarno's glancing stream,
The fruits and flowers of golden Summer beam,
And cheer, with brightening hues, the lonely gloom.
That shrouds yon silent City of the Tomb)
Yes, sad Pompeii ! Time's deep shadows fall
On every ruin'd arch and broken wall ;
But Nature smiles as in thy happiest hour,
And decks thy lowly rest with many a flower.
Around, above, in blended beauty shine
The graceful poplar and the clasping vine ;
Still the young violet,* in her chalice blue,
Bears to the lip of Morn her votive dew ;
Still the green laurel springs to life the while,
Beneath her own Apollo's golden smile ;
And o'er thy ftdlen glories beams on high,
The Beauty of the Heavens — Italia's sky !

* The violets of this district are proverbial for their abundance and beauty.
VOL. IV. — 1834. Q

122 POMPEII.

How fair the scene ! even now to Fancy's gaze
Return the shadowy forms of other days :
Those halls, of old with mirth and music rife,
Those echoing streets that teem'd with joyous life,
The stately towers that rose along the plain,
And the light barks that swept yon silvery main.
And see I they meet beneath the chestnut shades,
Pompeii's joyous sons and graceful maids,
Weave the light dance — the rosy chaplet twine,
Or snatch the cluster from the weary vine;
Nor think that Death can haunt so fair a scene,
The Heaven's deep blue, , the Earth's unsullied green.
Devoted City ! could not aught avail
When the dark omen* told thy fearful tale ?
The giant phantom dimly seen to glide,
And the loud voice that shook f the mountain-side,
, With warning tones that bade thy children roam.
To seek in happier climes a calmer home ?
In vain ? they will not break the fatal rest
That woos them to the mountain's treacherous breast
Fond memory blends with every mossy stone
Some early joy, some tale of pleasure flown ;
And they must die where those around will weep,
And sleep for ever where their fathers sleep.
Yes ! they must die : behold ! yon gathering gloom
Brings on the fearful silence of the tomb;
Along Campania's sky yon murky cloud
Spreads its dark form — a City's funeral shroud.

How brightly rose Pompeii's latest day ! J
The Sun, unclouded, held his golden way, —
Vineyards, in Autum's purple glories drest.
Slept in soft beauty on the mountain's breast :
The gale that wanton'd round his crested brow,
Shook living fragrance from the blossom'd bough ;
And many a laughing mead and silvery stream
Drank the deep lustre of the noonday beam :
Then echoing Music rang, and Mirth grew loud
In the glad voices of the festal crowd ;

• Dio Cassias, Ixvi. relates, that, previously to the destruction of the city,
figures of gigantic size were seen hovering in the air, and that a voice like the
sound of a trumpet was often heard. Probably the imagination of the inha-
bitants invested with human figure the vapours that preceded the eruption.

+ Vox quoque per lucos vulgo exaudita silentes
Ingcns ; et simulacra modis pallentia miris
Visa sab obscurnm noctis.

Georc. i. 476

X Pompeii was destroyed on the 23rd of August, A. D. 79. See Plinii Epist.
J. vi. 16. 20; Dio Cassius, Ixvi. It remained undiscovered during fifteen
centuries.

I

POMPEII. 123

The opening Theatre's * wide gates invite,
The choral dance is there, the solemn rite —
There breathes th' immortal Muse her spell around,
And swelling thousands flood the fated ground.
See I where arise before th' enraptur'd throng.
The fabled scenes, the shadowy forms of Song !
Gods, that with Heroes leave their starry bowers,
Their fragrant hair entwined with radiant flowers,
Haunt the dim grove, beside the fountain dwell —
Strike the deep lyre, or sound the wreathed shell —
With forms of heavenly mould; but hearts that glow
With human passion melt with human woe!
Breathless they gaze, while white-rob'd priests advance,
And graceful virgins lead the sacred dance ;
They listen, mute, while mingling tones prolong
The lofty accent, and the pealing song,
Echo th' unbending Titan's haughty groan,
Or in the Colchian's woes forget their own ! f
Why feels each throbbing heart that shuddering chill ?
The Music falters, and the Dance is still —
" Is it pale Twilight stealing o'er the plain ?
" Or starless Eve, that holds unwonted reign ? "
Hark to the thrilling answer ! who shall tell
When thick and fast th' unsparing tempest fell.
And stem Vesuvius pour'd along the vale
His molten cataracts, and his burning hail : —
Oh ! who shall paint, in that o'erwhelmirig hour.
Death's varying forms, and Horror's withering power?
Earthquake ! wild Earthquake ! rends that heaving plain,
Cleaves the firm rock, and swells the beetling main :
Here, yawns the ready grave, and, raging, leap
Earth's secret fountains from their troubled sleep ;
There, from the quivering mountain bursts on high
The pillar'd flame, that wars along the sky !
On, on they press, and maddening seek in vain
Some soothing refuge from the fiery rain ; —
Their home? it can but yield ^ living tomb,
Round the lov'd hearth is brooding deepest gloom ;
Yon sea ? its angry surges scorching rave.
And Deathfires gleam upon the ruddy wave :

* Eustace, and other modern writers, have thought it improbable that the
inhabitants of Pompeii could have assembled to enjoy the amusement of the
theatre after the shocks of the earthquake and other symptoms of danger which
preceded the eruption ; but as their theatrical representations partook of the
nature of religious solemnities, there does not seem sufficient reason to disre-
gard the positive assertion of Dio Cassius to the contrary.

t Ivory tickets of admission were found in the vicinity of one of the theatres,
inscribed on one side with the name of a play of iEschylus, and on the other
with 'a representation of the theatre itself. One or two of these are preserved
in the Studio at Naples.

124 POMPEII.

Oh ! for one breath of that reviving gale,
That swept at dewy morn along the vale !
For one sad glance of their beloved sky,
To soothe, though vain, their parting agony !
Yon mother bows in vain her shuddering form,
Her babe to shield from that relentless storm :
Cold are those limbs her clasping arms constrain,
Even the soft shelter of her breast is vain !
Gaze on that form ! 'tis Beauty's softest maid,
The rose's rival in her native shade; —
For her had Pleasure rear'd her fairest bowers.
And Song and Dance had sped the laughing hours :
See ! o'er her brow the kindling ashes glow.
And the red shower o'erwhelms her breast of snow ;
She seeks that lov'd one — never false till then ; —
She calls on him — who answers not again ;
Loose o'er her bosom flames her golden hair,
And every thrilling accent breathes despair !
Even the stem priest, who saw with raptur'd view,
The deathless forms of Heaven's ethereal blue,
Who drank, with glowing ear, the mystic tone,
That clothed his lips with wonders not their own.
Beheld the immortal marble frown in vain.
And fires triumphant grasp the sacred fane,
Forsook at last the unavailing shrine, •
And curs'd his faithless gods — no more divine !

Mom came in beauty still — and shone as fair.
Though cold the hearts that hail'd jts radiance there,
And Evening, crown'd with many a starry gem.
Sent down her softest smile — though not for them !
Where gleam'd afar Pompeii's graceful towers,
Where hill and vale were clothed with vintage-bowers,
O'er a dark waste the smouldering ashes spread,
A pall above the dying and the dead.

Still the dim City slept in safest shade.
Though the wild waves another Queen obey'd.
And sad Italia, on her angry shore,
Beheld the nortli its ruthless myriads pour ;
And Nature scattered all her treasures round,
And grac'd with fairest hues the blighted ground.
There oft, at glowing noon, the village maid
Sought the deep shelter of the vineyard shade ;
Beheld the olive bud — the wild-flower wave,
Nor knew her step was on a People's grave !
But see ! once more beneath the siniles of day,
The dreary mist of ages melts away !
Again Pompeii, 'mid the brightening gloom,
Comes forth in hearty from her lonely tomb.

I

i

POMPEII. 125

Lovely in ruin — graceful in decay,

The silent City rears her walls of grey :

The clasping ivy hangs her faithful shade,

As if to hide the wreck that Time had made ;

The shatter'd column on the lonely ground,

Is glittering still, with fresh acanthus crown'd;

And where her Parian rival moulders near,

The drooping lily pours her softest tear !

How sadly sweet with pensive step to roam

Amid the ruin'd wall, the tottering dome ;

The path just worn by human feet is here;

Their echoes almost reach the listening ear :

The marble hall with rich mosaic drest;

The portal wide that woos the lingering guest :

Altars, with fresh and living chaplets crown'd,

From those wild flowers that spring fantastic round.

The unfinish'd painting, and the pallet nigh,

Whose added hues must fairer charms supply :

These mingle here, until th' unconscious feet

Roam on, intent some gathering crowd to meet;

And cheated Fancy, in her dreamy mood,

Will half forget that all is solitude !

Yes, all is solitude ! fear not to tread
Through gates unwatch'd the City of the Dead,
Explore with pausing step th' unpeopled path,
View the proud hall — survey the stately bath.
Where swelling roofs, their noblest slielter raise;
Enter! no voice shall check th' intruder's g-aze!
See ! the dread legion's peaceful home is here.
The signs of martial life are scatter'd near.
Yon helm, unclasp'd to ease some Warrior's brow,
The sword his weary arm resign'd but now,
Th' unfinish'd sentence traced along the wall,
Broke by the hoarse Centurion's startling call :
Hark ! did their sounding tramp reecho round ?
Or breath'd the hollow gale that fancied sound ?
Behold ! where 'mid yon fane, so long divine.
Sad Tsis mourns her desolated shrine !
Will none the mellow reed's soft music breathe ?
Or 'twine from yonder flowers the victim's wreath ?
None to yon altar lead with suppliant strain
The milk-white * monarch of the herd again ?
All, all is mute I save sadly answering nigh
The nigh third's shriek, the shrill cicala's cry.
Yet may you trace along the furrow'd street,
The chariot's track — the print of frequent feet,

* Hinc albi, Clitiimne, i;rcges, et maxima tannis
Victinia. Virgil. Georg. ii. 156.

126 POMPEIT.

The gate unclos'd, as if by recent hand ;

The hearth, where yet the guardian Lares stand ;

Still on the wall the words * of welcome shine,

And ready vases f proffer joyous wine :

But where the hum of men ? the sounds of life ?

The Temple's pageant, and the Forum's strife?

The forms and voices, such as should belong

To that bright clime, the land of Love and Song ?

How sadly echoing to the stranger's tread,

These walls respond, like voices from the dead.

And sadder traces — darker scenes are there,

Tales of the tomb, and records of Despair;

In Death's chill grasp unconscious arms enfold

The fatal burthen of their cherish'd gold ;|: ;

Here, wasted relics, as in mockery, dwell

Beside some treasure lov'd in life too well ;

There, faithful hearts have moulder'd side by side,

And hands are clasped that Death could not divide !

None, none shall tell that hour of fearful strife.

When Death must share the consciousness of Life ;

When sullen Famine, slow Despair consume

The living tenants of the massive tomb ;

Long could they hear above th' incumbent plain,

The music of the breeze awake again,

The wave's deep echo on the distant shore.

And murmuring streams, that they should see no more !

Away ! dread scene ! and o'er the harrowing view

Let Night's dim shadows fling their darkest hue !

But there, if still beneath some nameless stone,

By waving weeds and ivy-wreaths o'ergrown.

Lurk the grey spoils of Poet or of Sage,

Tully's deep lore, or Livy's pictured page ;

If sweet Menander, where his relics fade,

Mourn the dark refuge Oblivion's shade ;

Oh ! may their treasures burst the darkling mine !

Glow in the living voice, the breathing line

Their vestal fire our midnight lamp illume

And kindle Learning's torch from sad Pompeii's tomb !

* On many of the walls the word Salve is carved over the door.

t The amphorae which contained wine still remain, and the marble slabs are
marked with cups and glasses. — Eustace.

t At the door of the court of one of the houses skeleton^ were foimd, one
with a key, another with a purse.— Eustace.

127
A KEAN PEEP.

A FEW evenings since I went to see Kean in Shylock — but in
case I should be read a " thousand years '^ hence, I ought thus
early to say Young Kean. About half-play a friend popped in,
and knowing him, I shortly after asked, "how he liked Shylock,
was it as good as his father's, &c." My friend replied "He
could not say." " How,'^ said T, " You have never seen the elder
Kean, then ?" " Oh yes," he answered, " but I am no judge.^^
One j udge was on the stage, for it was the justice scene, and I
therefore put this down as a pun. I did not press more on his
attention, for my eye was all eagerness to catch the points (as
players term them) while I was cautious lest I prevented him
from a similar treat : but at the next moment I was asked " how
I liked Shylock? " Confound it, there is not a greater puzzler
on earth, than for a person to whom you put a question to take
it as his own, and require your answer instead of giving his.
" True Logic,'^ thought I, this — or the " right use of reason'' un-
doubtedly. All eye still, and of course, all courtesy, I answered
" Why, Sir — I'll say by and by — He — he came in Shylock, Sir,
and up to this time, so has continued — We — we will wait his
exit." Excellent hit this — or, so 1 fancied, and I collected my-
self for closer observation — but just as I hoped myself disengaged
and became composed for the Jew's finer workings of passion, a
young friend was unfriendly enough to call off my attention, by

remarking in a whisper, " There, see, that is Mr. about whom

I was speaking to you yesterday, the ." " Ba, ba," said I''

(how could I say otherwise) for what was this Mister to me at
such a time, and in such a place, or any other Mister — save Mr.
Shylock.

The play closed excellently — Kean came off admirably — and
off too came his (I think) left mustachio. A plague on such acci-
dents, thought I, a body cannot help leaping from the sublime
to the ridiculous, at events so untoward ; — but the hare lip of
Shylock was barely visible, for it was as much as possible turned
to the shade, while in the next scene all was restored, and Shy-
lock, like a royal personage of as little Christiafiity, appeared
" himself again."

I did not stop to see the farce, because I had told somebody
I would not. I had now to turn my thoughts to the probable
question this somebody would ask me — as well as others — (my
friend, in particular, with whom I have not since conversed on the

128 A KEAN PEEP.

subject) for folks, now-a-day, think theatricals, like politics, and
thereupon as freely form their judgment ; and, sure enough, " how
d'ye like Kean ? " met my ears almost before I met the somebody
speaking. " Excellently,'^ I replied, " Shy lock in the beginning —
Shy lock in the middle — and Snylock in the end — there, you have
it as logically as my friend's question — Shylock," continued I," to
the knife, making allowance for the accident." — " Accident ? what
accident ? " said the dear sensitive somebody with as much mo-
mentary concern as if the performer had been known ; — " Eh ?
what accident?" "Why do give me time, love, and I will tell
you. His left lip," " Eh ? what ?" interrupted she, " Oh—" " Eh ?"
what?" " mercy me,'^ said I, •'* how impatient" — (there was si-
lence) Oh — only — his left lip — mi — mi — minus his left mustachio
which fell off (not his ///?, mind,) just at the end of a very inter-
esting scene, that's all." " Go along with you," said she, (but
I know she did not mean it) " how you frightened me." *' That's
all," I repeated, " but as for Meadows, O, the boy to adolescence !
and Vivash— - ay, a real Jew could not have had better old ciosh
or more national physiognomy— all the others, too, excellent —
excellent — excellent save poor Miss Hardinge, and she was, why
bad and could'nt come — excellent, excellent, all ! I — " Dear me,"
said the somebody, " since you are so very much delighted, you
had better go again, but I thought you said that you should not
stop to see the Farce?" "Now, that is farcical," rejoined I,
" How could I possibly — see, (taking out my watch) half-past
ten, only, now ! " " Well really so it is," said she, " they must
have appeared in the play, then; a very good boy — and since
you have been so much to your word — you shall go again."
" Shall I ? " I remarked, with quickness — and then with a par-
ticularly steady, long continued — but very good-natured empha-
sis on the future verb — I concluded potentially, " well, well,
since your pleasure is my pleasure — so I will :" for such is exactly
the way of

Old Mortality.

129

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.
PROCEEDINGS IN THE ATHEN.EUM.

July 10th. — Mr. Lancaster's Lecture on Astronomy.

On this evening Mr. Lancaster delivered a lecture on Astro-
nomy, in which he entered into a careful detail of the magnitudes,
motions, &c. kQ. of the Heavenly bodies comprised in the Solar
System, which was prefaced by some remarks on the sublimity and
importance of the Science of Astronomy; our limits will only ad-
mit of the following extract from that very interesting part of his
paper.

It is recorded of Anaxagoras, that on being asked, for what end
he was born ? he replied " to* contemplate the stars. '^ Such an
answer from the lips of a heathen cannot be viewed without re-
spect; being, as it is, a marked evidence of sublimity of feeling
in an elevated mind : but if the science of Astronomy at that
period could call forth such an acknowledgment of its superior
demands on the contemplative faculties of the mind of Genius,
we cannot feel surprise at the high eulogy passed by the cele-
brated La Place, in closing his Astronomical view of the system
of the Universe ; when he designates the science, viewed as one
grand whole, as " the most beautiful monument of the human
mind ; the noblest record of its intelligence. " If it be necessary
to adduce evidence to establish such high claims to superiority,
the greatest difficulty arises in the necessity of selection from the
vast variety of important features it assumes. To estimate such
a monument of human reason we must contrast the apparent
limited powers of man, with the unbounded field presented for his
contemplation, or attempt to compute the value of that speck in
creation to which he is confined, when compared with the immen-
sity of space whereby he is surrounded, and the vast masses with
which he finds himself associated by the bands of science : — allow-
ing these points of comparison, and viewing their relative dispari-
ties, the apparent inadequacy of the means to the end stands
eminently confessed, and when we reflect on the positive acquire-
ments of the human mind in this science, when notwithstanding
the bounded capacity of human intellect, and the confined locality
of the place of observation, we find the motions, magnitudes, and
distances of other worlds ascertained with a degree of certainty
and accuracy, scarcely to be exceeded in the determination of
geographical points on our own residence ; we may indeed ac-
voL. IV. — 1834. R

130 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

knowledge the high acquirements of the human intellect, and even
feel ourselves authorized to question the character of a mind that
can remain indifferent to the excitement attendant on such a study,
even if itbe not carried beyond its outline; but if we proceed further,
and investigate that deep and intense industry, which has reduced
to the list of actual observation, revolutions and motions, assumed
on the principles of universal gravitation and attraction ; when
we further reflect that this science has not only extended our ideas
of the extent of creation into incomprehensible space, but has also
demonstrated the probability, I might almost add the certainty,
that the inhabitants of our globe, past, present and to come, form
but an inconsiderable portion of created beings ; we cannot esti-
mate too highly the value or the importance of Astronomy.

It is indeed in this section of the volume of science that tlie
grand characteristics of the Deity — omnipotence, and infinity —
stand most displayed, and mark the immensity of distance between
man and his Maker : man finds imperfection stamped on all his
efforts, and uncertainty throwing a damp on all his hopes: but
the page opened by Astronomy displays to his astonished view
immense and innumerable masses of matter, severally impressed
with, and obeying one universal principle of order; rolling on
from day to day, and age to age, with an undeviating exactness
which lias yet been beyond his power of mechanical imitation.
If Astronomy had no other object or inducement than that of an
intellectual nature ; simply opening an interminable field for the
exercise of our contemplative and reflective powers; an estimate
of its value and importance would challenge our compass of ex-
pression ; but when we take into our computation its importance
in navigation, its value in the correct division of time, and even
the benefits of the calendar to the agriculturist, the human mind
must acknowledge its inadequacy to raise this department of
science to the rank it ought to hold in our estimation.

Of its value to the navigator we cannot be in any degree sen-
sible until we recal the limited intercourse and tardy communi-
cations of the ancient world, and compare the partial annihilations
of time and space effected by the navigator of the present day,
between nations divided by vast portions of the globe. By the
directing aid of Astronomy the navigator pursues his trackless
path, with an exactness which is only disputed by calms or tem-
pests, converting the impassable barrier of the ancients, to a direct
medium of communication with distant and long separated
branches of the human race : opening tliereby new channels of

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 131

intelligence and industry; — aiding Philanthrophy in the reclaim-
ation of barbarism, and in the diffusion of the blessings of Re-
ligious and Philosophic truth. We are also totally dependant on
this science for our standard, in the measurement of time ; as
imperfection is impressed on all our mechanical efforts, our most
perfect time keepers must be brought to the test of the celestial
motions, and consequently without the corrections of Astronomy,
uncertainty would attend our engagements, and a considerable
expense of, that invaluable article, time would be incurred, from
the want of its correct appropriation. Of the value of the science
to the Agriculturist, the almanack or calendar is the proof, as he is
thereby prepared to meet the approach of the seasons, and make
his arrangements with a certainty unattainable, without a more
correct division of the year, than would be the result of a depend-
ance on a cursory and unscientfic view of the heavens. If, then,'
^this province in the empire of science is entitled to such a rank ;
and if it place human intellect on such a pinnacle of honor, I feel
myself justified, in the conclusion that the present effort to interest
this assembly in its favor cannot but be independant of the person
on whom its introduction devolves.

July 17th. — Mr. H. Woollcombe's Lecture on Ancient and
Modern Travelling in Devonshire.

We have, elsewhere, given an extract from this very interesting
lecture, in the present number; and refer our readers ro page 37
of the third volume for an abstract ; it having been read to the
Society during the last winter session. ,

* July 24th. — M. Luce's Lecture on the Different Systems
adopted in acquiring the French Language.

On this evening Mr. Luce delivered a lecture on the various
methods adopted in acquiring the French language.

In the commencement of his paper the lecturer insisted on the
advantage of studying the modern languages, showing the benefit
which would thereby be conferred on students of the liberal pro-
fessions. He attributed the universality of the French language
to the richness of its literature; to its clearness and precision and
also to the part which the French have played in the political
events of modern times.

He considered that a young man of 22 or 23 years of age,
having a love for languages and possessing good abilities, together
with a knowledge of the dead languages might in a few months

132 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

make himself so far acquainted with the French as to read, cor-
respond and compose in it with facility and correctness ; but for
this end he should be enabled to devote several hours a day to
the study. He would however, for the sake of acquiring a good
pronunciation, recommend the study of this language at an early
age, and did not consider that it would interfere with other
branches of education. He next drew a comparison between the
advantages possessed by those who have paid attention to the
elementary principles of the French Language in studying it:
and the disadvantages which persons labour under who have con-
tented themselves by acquiring a superficial knowledge.

The Lecturer subsequently entered into a consideration of the
Systems of Cobbett, Hamilton, Dufief, Jacotot, and De Porquet,
pointing out what he considered to be good in the method of each ;
and lastly, he showed, by examples, the benefit of tracing the
analogy between the ancient and modem languages.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

Coleridge, the Philosopher and Poet, whose recent death
has created such a sensation of regret in the literary world, was a
Western Worthy: he was born, in 1773, at Ottery St. Mary,
where his father was vicar ; he was a man of learning, and had
previously been a schoolmaster at South Molton ; he contributed
many papers^ to periodical publications, and assisted Doctor Ken-
nicot in collecting his papers for a Hebrew bible ; he also pub-
lished a Latin Grammar and a dissertation on the " Logos." He
died, much regretted, in 1782, aged 62 years ; leaving a numerous
family of which the poet was the youngest.

As the smallness of his father's income, and his large family,
rendered economy necessary, young Coleridge was educated at
Christ's Hospital School, London. Where he thevved that he
possessed talent and acuteness, which were, however, united with
eccentricity.

The Rev. J. Bowyer, who was at the head of that institution,
was very severe in his discipline, but at the same time he did not
neglect to encourage genius whenever he met with it; by him
Coleridge was instructed in the beauties of the Greek, Roman,
and English poets; and also in correctness of taste and purity of
style.

i

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 133

At seventeen years of age, he was presented with the sonnets
of Bowles, twenty in number, and just then published in quarto,
by a schoolfellow, who had quitted Christ Church for College ;
and who, during the whole time he was in the first form, proved
hitiiself the patron and protector of Coleridge. This schoolfellow
was Dr. Middleton, the learned and good Bishop of Calcutta.
So pleased was Coleridge witli these sonnets, that he made, in
less than a year and half, more than forty transcripts of them ;
and presented them to all such friends as he considered entitled
to particular regard. lie received the other publications of
Bowles with almost equal delight.

The Sonnets, which Coleridge speaks of as * " so tender yet
so manly ; so natural and real yet so dignified and harmonious, "
had the effect of weaning his attention for a time from the study
of Metaphysics, in the labyrinths of which, even at this early
period of his life, he had learned to perplex himself.

When eighteen years of age, Coleridge removed to Jesus Col-
lege, Cambridge; where he neither obtained nor did he compete
for academic honours. From excess of animal spirits he was
ratlier a noisy youth whose general conduct was better tlian that
of many of his fellow collegians, and as good as most : his follies
were more remarkable as being those of a remarkable personage ;
and if he could be accused of a vice, it must be sought for in the
little attention he was inclined to pay to the dictates of sobriety .f

In November, 1793, while labouring under a paroxysm of
despair, brought on by the combined effects of pecuniary difficul-
ties, and love of a young lady, sister of a school fellow ; he set oft'
for London, with a party of collegians, and passed a short time
there in joyous conviviality. On his return to Cambridge he
remained but a few days, and then abandoned it for ever ; he again
directed his steps to the metropolis, and, after indulging freely
in the pleasures of the bottle,^ and, wandering about the street in
a state approaching frenzy, he enlisted as a private soldier. § The
regiment was the 15th, Elliot's Light dragoons : the officer was
Nathaniel Ogle, eldest son of Dr. Newton Ogle, Dean of Win-
chester, and brother of the late Mrs. Sheridan ; he was a scholar,
and leaving Merton College, he entered this regiment as a cornet.
Some years afterwards, going into the stables at Reading, he
remarked written on the wall, under one of the saddles —

* Biographia Literaria, p. 16.

+ -Memoir of Colt'iklge, prefixed to his works, vi. Galignani, Paris, 1829.

; Ditto. Ditto.

§ Coniiuunicated to the " Times," Aug. 13th, 1834, by Rev. W. L. Bowles-

134 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLKRIDGE.

" Eheu ! quam infortunii miseriiinnm est fuisse felicem ! "
Being struck with the circumstance, and himself a scholar,
Captain Ogle enquired of a soldier to whom the saddle belonged.
"Please your honour, to Comberback" (the name assumed by
Coleridge when he enlisted) answered the dragoon. *• Comber-
back ?" said the captain, " send him to me." Comberback pre-
sented himself, with the inside of his hand in front of his cap.
His officer mildly said, " Comberback, did you write the Latin
sentence whicb I have just read under your saddle? " " Please
your honour," answered the soldier, " I wrote it." " Then, my
lad, you are not what you appear to be, I shall speak to the
commanding officer, and you may depend on fhy speaking as a
friend." The commanding officer was spoken to, and Coleridge
was soon dischargeil, from respect to his friends and station. As
a soldier, lie was remarkably orderly and obedient, though he
never could rub down his own horse.

llis friends having been informed of his situation, a chaise was
soon at the door of the Bear inn, Reading; and the officers of the
15th cordially shaking his hands, particularly the officer who had
been the means of his discharge, he drove off, whilst his old
comrades gave him three hearty cheers.

It should be mentioned, that by far the most correct, sublime,
chaste, and beautiful of his poems, "Religious Musings," was
written in the tap room of the Bear inn, Reading.

In 1794, he published a small volume of poems, and, in con-
junction with Southey, wrote " The fall of Robespierre, an historic
drama ;" they commenced it at seven o'clock one evening, and it
was finished by 12 next day. In the winter of this year, he de-
livered a course of lectures, on the French revolution, at Bristol.
On leaving the University, Coleridge was full of enthusiasm
in the cause of liberty ; and, with the coadjutorship of Southey
and I.ovell, proposed schemes for regenerating the world ; they
promulgnted their plans in Bristol, where they received much
applause from several inhabitants. In this town Coleridge pub-
lished (in 1795) two pamphlets, " Conciones ad Populum," and
'* A protest against certain bills (then pending) for suppressing
seditious meetings."

The scheme of regeneration was called " Pantisocracy ;" as
property was to be in common, and every man a legislator. But
in the midst of their plans, the three philosophers fell in love with
three sisters of Bristol, named Fricker, and married them ; which
circumstance had the effect of putting an end to their golden
dreams of human renovation.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 135

Having failed in an attempt to establish a periodical, called
<'The Friend," Coleridge was persuaded by some Philanthropists
and Antipolemists to set on foot another, " The Watchman ;" but
this only reached the 9th number, though he travelled through
Birmingham, Manchester, Derby, Nottingham, and Sheffield, to
procure subscribers : his first attempt will be best described in
his own words.

"My campaign commenced at Birmingham; and my first
attack was on a rigid Calvanist, a tallow chandler by trade. He
was a tall, dingy man, in whom length was so predominant over
breadth, that he might almost have been borrowed for a foundry
poker. O that face ! 1 have it before me at this moment. The
lank, black, twine-like hair, pingvi nitescent, cut in a strait line
along the black stubble of his thin gunpowder eye brows, that
looked like a scorched after-inath from a last week's shaving.
His coat collar behind in perfect unison, both of colour and lustre
with the coarse yet glib cordage, that 1 suppose he called his hair,
and which with a hend inward at the nape of the neck (the only
approach to flexure in his whole figure) slunk in behind his waist-
coat ; while the countenance lank, dark, very hard, and with strong
perpendicular furrows, gave me a dim notion of some one look-
ing at me through a u^d gridiron, all soot, grease, and iron ! But
lie was one of the thorough-bredy a true lover of liberty, and (I
was informed) had proved to the satisfaction of many, that Mr.
Pitt was one of the horns of the second beast in tlje Revelations,
thdt spoJ^e like a dragon. A person, to whom one of my letters
of recommendation had been addressed, was my introducer. It
was a new event in my life, my first stroke in the new business I
had undertaken of an author, yea, and of an author trading on his
own account. My companion after some imperfect sentences and
a multitude of hums and haas abandoned the cause to his client;
and I commenced an harangue of half an hour to Phileleutheros,
the tallow-chandler, varying my notes through the whole gamut
of eloquence from the ratiocinative to the declamatory, and in the
latter from the pathetic to the indignant. I argued, I described,
I promised, I prophecied ; and beginning with the captivity of
nations 1 ended with the near approach of the millenium, finish-
ing the whole with some of my own verses describing that glorious
state out of the lielfgiona Musings :

- Such delights,

As float to earth, permitted visitants !
When in some hour of solemn jubilee
The massive gates of Paradise are thrown
Wide open : and forth come in fragrance wild
Sweet echoes of imearthly melodies.
And odors snatch'd from beds of Amaranth,
And they tliat from the chrystal river of life
Spring up on freshen'd wings, ambroi^ial gales!

Religions Musings. 1. 3^6.

136 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

My taper man of lights listened with perseverant and praise-
worthy patience, thouojh (as I was afterwards told on complaining
of certain gales that were not altogether ambrosial) it was a melt-
ing day with him. And what, Sir! (he said after a short pause)
might the cost be? Onlif four-pence. (O ! how I felt the anti-
climax, the abysmal bathos oi ihdX four-pence ! ) onl^ four-pence.
Sir, each number, to be published on every eighth day. That comes
to a deal of money at the end of a year. And how much did
you say there was to be for the money ? Thirty-two pages, Sir !
large octavo, closeli/ printed. Thirty and two pages ? Bless me,
why except what I does in a family way on tlie Sabbatli, that's
more than I ever reads, Sir! all the year round. I am as great a
one, as any man in Brummagem, Sir! for liberty and truth, and
all them sort of things, but as to this (no offence I hope, Sir !)
I must beg to be excused."

One anecdote more in Coleric'ge's ow n words.

" On returning baffled from tlie firiit, in which I had vainly es-
sayed to repeat the miracle of .Orpheus with the Brummagem
j)atriot, I dined with the tradesman who had introduced me to
him. After dinner he importuned me to smoke a pipe with him,
and two or three other illuminati of the same rank. I objected,
botli because 1 was engagjed to spend the evening with a minister
and his friends, and because 1 had never smoked exce})t once ar
twice in my life time, and then it was herb tolxicco mixed with
Oronooko. On the assurance however that the tobacco was
equally mild, and seeing too that it was of a yellow colour; (not
forgetting the lamentable difficulty, 1 have always experienced, in
saying. No ! and in abstaining from what the people about nie
were doing) I took half a pipe, filling the lower half of the bowl
with salt. I was soon however compelled to resign it, in conse-
quence of a giddiness and distressful feeling in my eyes, which,
as I had drank but a single glass of ale, must, I knew, have been
the effect of the tobacco. Soon after, deeming myself recovered,
I sallied forth to my engagement, but the walk and the fresh air
brought on all the symptons again, and 1 had sciircely entered
the minister's drawing-room, and opened a small paquet of letters,
which he had received from Bristol for me; ere I sunk back on
the sofa in a sort of swoon rather than sleep. Fortunately I had
found just time enough to inform him of the confused state of my
feelings, and of the occasion. For here and thus I lay, my face
like a wall that is white-washing, deuthy pale, and with the cold
drops of perspiration running down it from my forehead, while
one after another tliere dropt in the different gentlemen, who had
been invited to meet and spend the evening with me, to the num-
ber of from fifteen to twenty. As the poison of tobacco acts but
for a short time, 1 at length awoke from insensibility, and looked
round on the party, my eyes dazzled by the candles which had
been lighted in the interim. By way of relieving my embarrass-

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 137

ment one of the gentlemen began the conversation, with " Have
you seen a paper to day, Mr. Coleridge 1 " " Sir ! " (I replied,
rubbing my eyes) " I am far from convinced, that a Christian is
permitted to read newspapers or any other works of merely poli-
tical and temporary interest." This remark so ludicrously inap-
posite to, or rather, incongruous with, the purpose, for which I
was known to have visited Birmingham, and to assist me in which
they were all then met, produced an involuntary and general burst
of laughter; and seldom indeed have I passed so many delightful
hours, as I enjoyed in that room from the moment of that laugh
to an early hour the next morning. Never, perhaps, in so mixed
and numerous a party have I since heard conversation sustained
with such animation, enriched with such variety of information
and enlivened with such a flow of anecdote.''

This circumstance, so honestly and unaffectedly told, was ex-
ultingly laid hold of by the clever fellows of Blackwood's ma-
gazine ; and they perverted it into Coleridge's getting dead drunk
(at a prayer meeting, I think they said, but speak from recollection
only) ; however, they made him dead drunk and abused him for it
with a consistency equal to that of their jeers at Sir Humphrey
Davy for recommending sobriety, (in a review of his work on
fly-fishing.) Sweet, honest fellows who seldom have allowed a
month to pass without glorying in their own — assumed — matchless
capacity for the absorbtion of alcohol.

In 1 796, his eldest son, Hartley, was born : he had subsequently
two others, Berkley and Derwent. In 1797, he lived at Nether
Stowey near Bridgewater, where he * provided for his maintenance
by writing verses for a London Morning paper; here he also
wrote part of" Christabel," and a tragedy, called " Osorio," which,
in 181 3, was brought out under the name of" Remorse." He com-
menced, at the same time, a poem called " The Brook." At this
period he preached every sunday in the Unitarian chapel at Taunton.

In 1798, the generous and munificent patronage of Mr. Josiah,
and Mr. Thomas Wedgewood enabled him to finish his education
in Germany.

After acquiring a tolerable sufficiency in the German language
at Ratzeburg, which with his voyage and journey thither he has
described in The " Friend, " he proceeded through Hanover to
Gottingen.

Here he regularly attended the lectures on physiology in the
morning, and on natural history in the evening, under Blumen-
bach, a name as dear to every Englishman who has studied at
that university, as it is venerable to men of science throughout

* Lit, Biog ., p. 177.
VOL. IV. — 1834. s

138 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

Europe ! Eichhom^s lectures on the New Testament were re-
peated to him from notes by a student from Ratzeburg, a young
man of sounc'; learning and indefatigable industry.

But his chief efforts were directed towards a grounded know-
ledge of the German language and literature. From professor
Tychsen he received as many lessons in the Gothic of Ulphilas
as sufficed to make him acquainted with its grammar, and the
radical words of most frequent occurrence ; and with the occa-
sional assistance of the same philosophical linguist, he read
through Ottfried's metrical paraphrase of the gospel, and the most
important remains of the Theotiscan, or the transitional state of
the Teutonic language from the Gothic to the old German of the
Swabian period. Of this period (the polislied dialect of which
is analogous to that of our Chaucer, and which leaves the philo-
sophic student in doubt whether the language has not since then lost
more in sweetness and flexibility, than it has gained in condensation
and copiousness) he read with sedulous accuracy the Minnes-
inger (or singers of love, the provenfal poets of the Swabian
court) and the metrical romances ; and then laboured through
sufficient specimens of the master singers, their degenerate suc-
cessors ; not however without occasional pleasure from the rude,
yet interesting strains of Hans Sachs, the cobbler of Nuremberg.
Of tliis man's genius five folio volumes with double columns are
extant in print, and nearly an equal number in manuscript ; yet
the indefatigable bard takes care to inform his readers, that he
never made a shoe the less, but had virtuously reared a large
family by the labor of his hands.

On the 20th of September, 1798, he was introduced to the
brother of Klopstock, and to professor Ebeling, which he thus
mentions in "Satyrane*s Letters. "

■*" I was introduced to Mr. Klopstock, the brother of the poet,
who again introduced me to the professor Ebeling, an intelligent
and lively man, though deaf: so deaf, indeed, that it was a pain-
ful effort to talk with him, as we were obliged to drop all our
pearls into a huge ear-trumpet. From this courteous and kind-
hearted man of letters, (I hope, the German literati in general
may resemble this first specimen) I heard a tolerable Italian pun,
and an interesting anecdote. When Buonaparte was in Italy,
having been irritated by some instance of perfidy, he said, in a
loud and vehement tone, in a public company — '* 'tis a true pro-
verb, gli Italiani tutti ladroni (\. e. the Italians all plunderers.)
A Lady had the couruge to reply, " Non tutti; ma buona
PARTE," (not all, but a good part, or Buonaparte.) This I con-
fess sounded to my ears, as one of the many good things that
7night have been said. The anecdote is more valuable; for it in-
stances the ways and means of French insinuation.

From Professor Ebeling's, Mr. Klopstock accompanied my
friend and me to his own house, where I saw a fine bust of his

* Satyrane's Letters, page, 217.

TO GLADNESS. 139

brother. There was a solemn and heavy greatness in his coun-
tenance which corresponded to my preconceptions of his style and
genius. — I saw there likewise, a very fine portrait of Lessing,
whose works are at present the chief object of my admiration.
His eyes were uncommonly like mine, if any thing, rather larger
and more prominent. But the lower part of his face and his nose
— O what an exquisite expression of elegance and sensibility ! —
There appeared no depth, weight, or comprehensiveness in the
forehead. — The whole face seemed to say, that Lessing was a man
of quick and voluptuous feelings ; of an active but light fancy;
acute ; yet acute not in the observation of actual life, but in the
arrangements and management of the ideal world, i. e. in taste,
and in metaphysics. I assure you, that I wrote these very words
in my memorandum book with the portrait before my eyes, and
when I knew nothing of Lessing but his name, and that he was
a German writer of eminence.

J. B.

*#* The remainder of this papejr will be given in the next number.

TO GLADNESS.

Where art thou, Spirit ? somewhere smiling

In the merriest play,
With a group of children wiling

All the noon away.

Silvery flowers are opening round them

Like the eyes of Love ;
Dreams of innocence surround them,

Joys which angels wove.

Leave them, for the lonely dwelling

Where unnerved Despair
Feels her heart's last gushes welling

Yet — no friend is there !

Lonely ones are, near thee, keeping

Vigils mournful — dread ;
Oh ! thou shunnest them. They are weeping

O'er the dead.

Franz.

140

ANTIQUITIES OF THE TOWN OF OKEHAMPTON.

Continned from page 56.

Centuries have rolled away since St. George's banner last
floated over the turrets of their hold. By an act which Warner,
in his " Walk through Devonshire," justly stigmatizes as one " of
senseless barbarism," Henry VIII. dismantled and laid the castle
of Okehampton in ruins. I may not dwell farther on this topic
just now ; but two little anecdotes will place in a striking view
the change time has wrought in this castle and its possessors.

In 1390, an old writer tells us, that a Sir Piers Courtenay
held a joust with sharp lances in presence of the royal court in
London, his antagonist being a Scotch gentleman who had af-
fronted him. It was no great satisfaction to the English knight,
who was remarkable for his personal beauty, that the honors of
the day were won by him — with the loss of two of his front teeth.*

There is a curious paper preserved in the British Museum ; a
report of stores in the keep of Norbam Castle made in 1522, not
long after the battle of Flodden. Among other provisions it enu-
merates " three great vats of salt eels, and the like number hogs-
heads of salted salmon." I fear such dainties are less abundant
in our modern garrisons.

The civil warfare of the next reign in one instance only that I
can discover, approached near Okehampton : — it broke out at
Sampford Courtenay on Whitmonday, in the year 1549. Some
edicts of Edward Vlth following up the Reformation, begun by
his late father, had excited general discontent. In the West they
flew to open rebellion. Risdon says " that Hellion, a gentleman,
was slain at Sampford, in opposing the insurgents ; — and that he
was buried in the church yard. North and Souths

The Barony of Okehampton was renewed in 1620, in person
of Sir John Mohun, who was then created, by Charles I., Lord
Mohun of Okehampton ; he having chosen that title from one of
his maternal ancestors being an heiress of Courtenay. I should
observe that on the demise of Edward Courtenay above mentioned
his lands were divided " among distaffs," as Risdon would say :
they fell in portions to his four aunts. This lin'^ bocame extinct
in Nov. 1715, when Charles, the last Lord Mohun, fell in a duel

* As the face was the part least protected by the ancient armour, combatants
chiefly aimed here : it is on this account (hat they are represented in pictures
in a stooping posture.

ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON. 141

with the Duke of Hamilton : — their quarrel arose out of disputes
respecting an estate left to the former by the Earl of Macclesfield,
whose niece Lord Mohun had married. With him finally closed
the honours of this barony. The father of the Greek song com-
pares the generations of men to the annual growth and decay of
leaves on a branch, and our undying Shakspeare has it, that

" Glory is like a circle in the water

Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself

'Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought."

But to return to the localities of this town.

When the castle was demolished — this occurred 19th Henry
VIII. — the noble and extensive close adjoining it, known as Oke-
hampton park was disforrested, and the game, at least greater
part of it, destroyed . The king seems to have taken this step at sug-
gestion of Sir Richard Pollard of Huish, the lord chief justice ;
not however without giving much umbrage to the neighbouring
gentry. A passion for field sports has ever been characteristic of
this country; a passion which the fair sex also have delighted to
honor. Dame Juliana Berners, prioress of the nunnery of Sop-
well, wrote a metrical treatise on hunting, so long since as the
14th century ; she mentions the wild boar, which indeed was
reckoned among the ordinary " beasts of venery," at a still later
period. No wonder then that a clamour rose against this outrage
among such as valued no earthly possession beyond.

" The mere for their net, and the land for their game,
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame."

I must not forego noticing in this place the only instance of
legendary superstition connected with Okehampton that has
reached me; though it has been so lately alluded to in this hall.
I mean the nightly visit to this park paid by Lady Howard and
her skeleton blood-hound.

Almost over the precipice, on the eastern verge of the Park, is
a mound of earth whence several other embankments winding
round it in a circular form may be distinctly traced : this has been
held to indicate that a Roman camp once existed on the spot.
The marks of a raised road skirted in many parts with layers of
granite placed on their edges appear to strengthen the conjecture.
We meet this road on ascending from the park gate under Hal-
stock, and again over the scattered clumps of lioUy, growing on
its northern declination opposite the castle.

Nearly on the ridge of the Park a small spring, having a cross
of rude sculpture lying in its ooze, has obtained the name of Fyce^s

142 ANTIQUITIES OF OKEH AMPTON.

well. The cross with an inscription noticing the care Piety had
taken of such spots was common in older times : one of these is
quoted with beautiful effect in the " Tale of Flodden field."

" Drink weary pilgrim, drink and pray —
For the kind soul of Sybil Grey,*

Who built this cross and well."

Thus Sir Walter Scott, to whom may truly be applied the re-
mark of Johnson, that " in him poetry gave grace and splendour
to the studies of the antiquarian."

Without the park wall, toward the south east, is the site where
in Henry Ill's day stood the chapel of St. Michael of Ilalstock,
above mentioned. In a royal mandate for the perambulation of
Dartmoor, addressed to Richard Earl of Cornwall, and others,
the boundary is mentioned as running near the eastern side of this
chapel. From that period to the present tlie storms of six centu-
ries have wrought tlieir work in its destruction. Excepting the
line of its foundations, now covered like the rest by the green
sward, and a patli leading to the spot from Belston, with its
crossing place over the east Okement, still called Chapel Ford ;
beyond these, there is little left to point where our forefathers
worshipped. Two lonely trees moan to the blast over the fallen
memorial of their devotion. But tread lightly as you walk there,
my young friends, for the ground is yet holy : and then go, com-
mune with your own hearts and undecayed Nature in the wild glen
beneath it.

Nature is young at all times, and so also is Love. It was my
wish, knowing how agreeable such a topic must prove to the fairer
portion of my auditory, it was my heart's wish, that a tale of the
softer passion, might entwine with and adorn this poor research. I
regret to add, that the wish has been little better than unsuccessful.
And yet there is a love tale occurring for us, and high in the
endowments of the youth, and yet higher in the rank of the maiden.
But love has very little to do with either of these; and more espe-
cially when sought, as we all know it is very, very seldom sought
by advances on the lady's part. The accomplished Edward, the
last Earl Courtenay, probably felt all this, when honor, and the

* It was a custom for young people to visit this well on the morning of
Easter-day, until within a late period. By the bye, there is a tradition of this
cross having been removed from its original site : a remarkable statute passed
in Henry viii's reign, enacting, that witchcraft enchantment or sorcery, prac-
tised in digging up or pulling down crosses, should be adjudged a felony wUh-
out benefit of Clergy.

ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON. 143

private yearning of his heart for another, bade him sh'ght the favor
of Queen Mary. I may not copy the ill-breeding of old Prince
in giving Mary's exact age at the time : but at every season of life
to withdraw appears the charm most attractive in Woman. The
damsel of the Scotch song knew this, although she carried it a
little too far when

" Duncan flattered, and Duncan prayed,

Heigh ho ! the wooing on't,
But Mag was deaf as Ailso craig,

Heigh ho ! the wooing on't. "

It may be the cause that has been assigned for the Lord Cour-
tenay's want of gallantry in this case was his affection for the queen's
sister, Elizabeth, some time captive with him in the Tower.

The first summons of burgesses to serve in parliament for this
town, was by a writ, yet in existence bearing date 28th Edward 1st,
and in the 7th of his successor the privilege was renewed. From
that time, however, Okehampton continued without representatives
until the reign of Charles 1st when the long dormant qualification
was restored.

The share borne by this town in the troubles of that reign has
found a faithful chronicler in person of Master Richard Shebbear.
Faithful, as far as he goes ; for this worthy burgess, being as I
suspect, at heart a royalist, appears fearful of committing himself
after the ruin of the royal cause. In the year of the king's death
and those consequent on it, the record merely notices by whom
the civic chair here was filled, there being no other entry whatever.
Master Richard had kepta journal of the events occurring around
him for some years.

In 1626, a virulent disorder raged in Okehampton, of which no
less a number than 300, mostly youths, are mentioned as having
deceased. Intercourse with other towns was suspended, and the
markets closed from Easter eve to the end of that year ; " only,
says Shebbear, " with something of aldermanly feeling on such
matters, " two or three butchers did attend the shambles. "

Two years after, we light on an entry, that miglit have been
taken as ominous of the coming troubles. On August 3rd, being
Sabbath day, immediately after evening prayer, a remarkable rise
of the East river was perceptible. Richard observes that no rain
had fallen for the day, and that ** it was conceived by some the
water did savour and smell of brimstone."

During the greater part of July, 1643, the unfortunate Charles
and his Queen were, with the royalist army in this town ; watch-

144 ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON.

ing, we may suppose, with feverish anxiety, tlie alternate rise and
fall of his cause in the western counties. With the fanatics of the
Parliamentary side, disorder wore the cloak of religion ; with the
reckless and unprincipled adventurers of the King's troops she was
the undisguised idol. The terrors of the Provost Marshal were
insufficient to scare her from the very verge of the court : Master
Richard notices, during Charles' stay here, that " a soldier was
hung in the street for plundering a house in Inwardleigh, '' or
Coffin's Ingerley, * as Risdon somewhere calls the parish. The
good burgesses of Okehampton might feel, though they hardly ven-
tured on complaint that the exactors were not always of a rank
merely plebian ; for Shebbear notices without a word of comment
that Mr. Mayor gave the King £25. 0. 0., and the Earl of Lind-
sey and his servants £3. 6. 6., making altogether no small sum in
those days for a place like Okehampton to contribute.

Three years after the town was barricadoed and kept as a mili-
tary post for more than six weeks by Sir Richard Grenville. But
he was at length driven out by Fairfax the parliamentary general,
who, after a very short stay here, marched from Okehampton on
Easter day, 1646.

This neighbourhod had witnessed a meeting of the conflicting
parties once before : it occured, as I learn from an old record,
about four months previously to the king's visit. The Roundheads
under command of Major James Chudleigh, seem to have thrown
up a breastwork in a field over this town called Stonypark; the
cavaliers were posted on Meldondown. The writer merely ob-
serves, that the troops were sometime engaged in this last
place " in a great tempest of wind and rain :" with what issue we
are not informed. I find here (as well as in Shebbear 's journal)
frequent notice of expedients to which the burgesses were reduced
in order to meet the exactions made on them ; as either cause in
turn predominated.

To be continued.

* I find the foUoAving " Memorandum" in the Register book of that Parish
— made about the year 1763: —

"Francis Nation my grandfather was rector of Parkham and this parish too,
till May 19th, 1762, at which time he died at Parkham and was buried there, aged
82, having been rector of this parish about 56 years ; but was turned out for
some time in Oliver's days for his loyalty, to the king, afterwards restored
again when the king was returned.

G. P. HEARDER, PLYMOUTH.

THE SOUTH DEVON

MONTHLY MUSEUM.

PLYMOUTH, OCTOBER 1st, 1834.
No. 22.] Price Sixpence. [Vol. IV.

^ ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH.

When I was presented to this parish, I was con-
gratulated by a friend acquainted with the situation,
on " the lines having fallen to me in pleasant places ;"
and by every one possessing similar knowledge, I
shall be acquitted of partiality in claiming for St.
Budeaux deserved distinction, even amidst a district
justly celebrated for the charms of external nature.
On approaching the village from the Saltash turnpike,
we cross a little common, occupying the highest
ground in the neighbourhood, and even commanding
the elevated spot immediately in front, upon which
is seated the church, and the few simple, but not un-
interesting buildings which constitute the hamlet or
church town of St. Budeaux. This small common
would doubtless long since have disappeared among
the adjoining inclosures had it not been preserved as
parochial property, indicating its original appropria-
tion by the corrupted designation of Plaistor (Play-
stow), as the ancient sporting green. From this ridge
the ground gradually slopes in a succession of grace-
ful outlines to the banks of the Tamar, which now
forms a natural boundary between the shires of Devon
and Cornwall, but which anciently separated two
distinct and hostile tribes,

"Hinc Anglos, illinc cernit Tamara Britannos."

It seems impossible to pass onward without pausing
and gazing upon the magnificent panorama which

VOL. IV. — 1834. T

146 ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH.

stretches away on all sides, terminated only by the
everlasting hills on the north, and by the multitudi-
nous ocean in the southern horizon. The landscape
is now smiling in all the gorgeous luxuriance of early
autumn.^ Divine Providence has blessed us with
most propitious weather for the in-gathering. From
many of the fields their precious burthen has been
already removed, but others are still standing thick
with corn. It is only perhaps when viewing such a
scene as this, bathed in the mild radiance of an Au-
gust evening sun, '* slanting with level beam along,"
that we can fully appreciate the bold and beautiful
prosopopoeia of the Psalmist, and hear " the valleys
laugh and sing. " Where the mower, the reaper, and
other labourers, are not employed in the harvest-field,
the arrishes-f are besprinkled with the village poor,
busily and cheerfully occupied in ear-picking, as
gleaning is termed in the homely compound of our old
English vernacular. After them follow herds of
cattle, poultry, and flocks of pigeons, each obtaining
a share in the bounty of the Giver of all good, who
out of the abundance of the harvest field made, by
the law of Moses, a special provision for the poor ; J
and who, from the leavings of man, thus provides a
banquet for the beasts of the field and the fowls of the
air. Looking landward on such a scene as this,
where tokens of plenty salute the eye in every direc-
tion, the language spontaneously flowing from the
heart of a Christian is, " O Lord, how manifold are
thy works ! in wisdom hast thou made them all ; the
earth is full of thy riches; " and turning to the more
distant prospect of the ocean, he continues the strain
of praise and admiration, — "So is the great and wide
sea also, in which are things creeping innumerable,
both small and great beasts. ''

* Written in August, 1831.

f Arrish — a stubble field, after the corn has been cut.

I Lev. xix. 9, 10. Deut. xxiv. 19.

ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH. 147

The land on the Cornish side spreads out into a
map of richly cultivated inclosures, diversified with
groves, plantations, cherry and apple orchards, and
studded with churches, farms and hamlets. The
Devonshire banks are of rather a wilder cast, and
more wooded ; but as they rise into uplands, corn-
fields and pastures, soon succeed to brake, copse, and
dingle. But whilst either bank of the tranquil estu-
ary, now sleeping beneath the dappled sky, betokens
abundance of all earthly good, and whilst the eye
dwells with delight upon this provision for our mortal
part, there is not wanting that which may remind the
delighted spectator, that beautiful as this " gay and
goodly world " may be, this is not his rest. Here
and there, and in this part of the country by no
means few and far between, rise the village churches,
giving animation and interest to the landscape, and
lifting the contemplative thought upwards with their
" heaven directed '' steeples. These are the appro-
priate and seemly embellishments of the landscape
in a Christian country. These amidst all the gorgeous
splendours of such an evening as this, tend to awaken
associations which may raise the soul from transitory
things to loftier aspirations, " to the hope full of im-
mortality" which belongs only to the faithful in Christ
Jesus. Nor will the thoughts which swell the breast
of him who has " such hope" easily find language
more expressive than that of the lamented prelate of
India : —

" O God ! oh good beyond compare !

If thus thy meaner works are fair,

If thus thy bounties gild the span

Of ruin'd earth and sinful man ;

How glorious must the mansion be,

Where thy redeemed shall dwell with thee ! ''
Bishop Heber.

Seventeen of these steeples,^ of every form and
size, maybe counted from the ridge already described ;

* Being for the most part without spires, these steeples rather
favour the ingenious supposition advanced in the account of

148 ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH.

some rising from the busy streets of the neighbour-
ing sea-port ; others, like Botus Fleming, betraying
the only indication of the hamlet, which you are sure
is nestling beneath the clustering foliage from which
peeps the grey and moss grown tower ; others again,
as Maker, Landrake, St. Budeaux, St. Cleer in the
western moorlands, and Brentor in the nothern^
planted on the very crests of the surrounding emin-
ences. For the casual spectator, such a scene can
possess no common interest ; but for one who is ac-
quainted with the local history of the district, who
knows each " bosky bourne and tangled dell, '' its
beauties are enhanced by a thousand associations.
The very spot on which I stand offers claims to be
respected as the long sought site of Ptolemy's Tamara.
Undisputed traces of a Roman road, passing just
below and making straight for the ancient trajectus
of Esse (Saltash ferry,) carry us back to the days
when that imperial people sent forth their legions
over roads which reached from the Forum to the
boundaries of the known world. Down in that se-
cluded village, on the verge of the Tamar, rests the
descendant of those who preserved the name long
after the majesty of the Caesars had been insulted and
trampled down by the once despised barbarian. The
tomb of perhaps the last of the Palaeologi will be
found in the humble church of Landulph.

A purple belt of moorland hills bounds the whole
scene, and forms that pleasing background to the
pictures that Nature paints for us in the west, which
those who have been accustomed to hills from infan-
cy always pine for amidst the most lavish adornments
of richer, but more level districts. But the Dart-
moor and Cornish hills possess associated as well as
native interest. There rise the tors in rugged majes-
ty, each of them telling a tale of the dark Druidical

Preston Church (Brit. Mag., No I.), that the spire was only used
in level districts, I am inclined to believe it will scarcely be sup-
ported by more general observation.

ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH. 149

superstition, of dim and almost primeval antiquity ;
there the enormous barrows and cairns, rude monu-
ments of deadly conflict and bloodshed, of triumphs
and defeats, whose memory has all but passed away
from the records of history.

But these legendary recollections must not detain
us longer from the more especial object of this sketch,
the Church of St. Budeaux. It occupies, with the
churchyard and adjoining village green, the plateau
of an eminence, which gradually rises from the very
margin of the Tamar. A spot so exposed to the
weather cannot be favourable to vegetation, and the
attempts that have been made to plant the church-
yard have failed, as I find by a memorandum in the
register. Very recently the experiment has been re-
peated, but with no more than partial success ; and
the few fine old trees, which have outlived the storms
of nearly a century, are recorded as the planting of
the Trelawneys, of Budshead, once the chief family
in the parish. Three fine ash, and a picturesque
group of pines, remain a living and graceful monu-
ment of the planters, who themselves have long
since mingled with the dust of this, their almost
patrimonial cemetry.

No churchyard, and, a fortiori, no country church-
yard should be destitute of the pleasing and appro-
priate ornament of trees. Yet I would not advocate
the exotic, I had well nigh said spurious, taste,
which would transplant the decorations of Pere la
Chaise to an Enghsh burying ground : it is unconge-
nial with the sobered tone of our natural feeling, — a
feeling too deep to sympathize in the prettinesses of
French sentimentality ; — but trees, whether perennial
or deciduous, are characteristic and congenial decora-
tions. The cypress and yew, with their ever verdant
foliage, symbolise the enduring nature of our immor-
tal spirit ; while the falling leaf, which, from Homer's
time, if not before, has been the established type of
mortality, is not more truly so than is the reproduc-
tion of leaves on the same trees a significant and

150 ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH.

cheering symbol of the great mysterious scripture
tenet, the resurrection of the body in a purified and
glorified form after the winter of death.

A range of altar tombs along the western boundary
of the churchyard is overshadowed by the noble ash-
trees above commemorated. These offer an inviting
seat to many a " pilgrim of beauty '' drawn to visit
the spot by the charms of nature. On a serene
summer's afternoon, from the adjoining vicarage
garden I heard two persons who had availed them-
selves of this grateful shelter, expatiating with
delight on the highly picturesque features of the
landscape. " But, " continued one, " this scene has
peculiar charms for me. I look from this height as
from Pisgah — the river below flows like Jordan to
me. In that churchyard on the opposite side of the
stream will be my mortal resting place. " There was
a pause induced by these imaginative, but serious
reflections. Presently, a full, clear, and not unme-
lodious strain, made up of the two voices I had
before heard in conversation, broke forth upon the
stillness of the air ; but though strong and distinct,
it had nothing incongruous with the Sabbath calm,
in which the entire scene was hushed. I could
plainly distinguish the words, which were those of
Dr. Watts, and which had manifestly suggested the
train of thought in the speaker's own language : —

" Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood

Stand dress'd in living green ;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,

While Jordan roll'd between."

" Could I but climb where Moses stood,

And view the landscape o*er;
Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,

Should fright me from the shore. ''

There is little in the general appearance of St.
Budeaux Church, and less perhaps in its detailed
parts, to instruct the architect, or to delight the an-
tiquary. It is an unpretending structure, with a
nave and side aisles of equal length. We have docu-

ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH. 151

merits, from which it would appear, that the erection
took place soon after 1560, a period when the purer
ages of Gothic architecture had passed away. It
may, therefore, be said to belong to the Protestant
era of church building, and has no traces of screen
or roodloft, stoups, piscinae, sedilia, or other vestiges
of Romanist worship. The lateral windows are
mostly surrounded by rectangular dripstones ; those
in the eastern gables are pointed with the tracery
most generally in use in the less ornamented struc-
tures of our ancestors ; while the windows at the
west end have three lights with plain semicircular
heads. Many of the architectural members appear
to have been transferred from another building of
more ancient date, from their somewhat clumsy
adaptation to their present situation ; a circumstance
far from improbable, since it is known, that the pre-
sent edifice does not occupy the site of the original
parish chapel, but was erected here as more con-
venient and central than the low, remote and almost
insulated spot near the water side where the old
chapel formerly stood.

When a church is found in a situation so mani-
festly inconvenient as to excite general surprise,
there is usually some legendary tale at hand to ac-
count for the anomaly. The materials deposited
during the day, were mysteriously and perseveringly
transported in the succeeding night to a spot so gla-
ringly unsuitable, that the removal could not possibly
be attributed to any other agency than to that of the
enemy of all good. Such is the account which may,
I presume, be met with in every part of the kingdom ;
but the truth, divested of its traditional garb, may
generally be discovered in the fact, that great num-
bers of our rural districts were first provided with
places of public worship by the lords of the soil.
St. Budeaux (formerly Budock) chapel was in all
probabihty, therefore, erected by the owner of Bu-
dockshed (Budock's hide), now by abbreviation
Budshed ; and this may account for the choice of its

152 ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH.

original site, near the proprietor's manor house.
But, whether this hypothesis be correct or not, if the
parish records, in speaking of the new church, mean
an entirely new building (which is somewhat irre-
concileable with other documents), the present struc-
ture was erected through the means, if not at the sole
expense, of Roger Budockshed, about 1563-4, and
not by Robert, his ancestor, as stated by Risdon,
and, after him, by Prince. A deed, bearing date
8th Eliz., is extant, in which this Roger grants the
piece of land " wherein the church now standeth,''
as well as another piece adjoining the same (the site
of the residence house) ; and also Agaton Green,
close to the church-yard, — the latter as a parish
sporting ground, for a tenii of 2000 years.

Of Robert Budockshed, Prince, the county bio-
grapher, quaintly remarks, " see his fate, or rather
the inscrutable event of Providence. This gentle-
man's own daughter was the first that handselled it,
the place of her burial."* As this Robert was born
in 1360, I confess myself utterly unable to reconcile
this statement with the incidental notices referring
to the church as a newly-erected building in 1563-4.
The only conjecture I can offer is, that an older
chapel in the present site might have been so altered
and enlarged about 1 560, as to give rise to the ap-
pellation of new church ; be this as it may, among
the numerous monuments by which the interior of
the church is adorned, none records the burial of a
single individual of the Budshed or Budockshed fa-
mily, the earliest being erected to one of the Gorges,
to whom the property passed from the name of Bu-
dockshed.

The whole interior of the church, though simple,
is pleasing ; and the lover of ancient ecclesiastical
propriety will notice with pleasure the situation of
tlie font, just within the great door. The font is

* Prince's Worthies of Devon, p. 4.

ST. BUDEAUX CHURCH. 153

properly inclosed with a railing, having panneling
and a pediment at the back inscribed with appropri-
ate texts of Scripture. A neat baptistery is thus
formed in a style corresponding with the communion
table and altar-piece. Both were the gift of the
Rev. S. W. Gandy, late incumbent (now vicar of
Kingston-on-Thames), the memorial of whose care
for the seemly decorations of the church can scarcely
be said to be preserved by the modest memento of
his initials graven in the massive block of granite at
the chuchyard gate.

Contiguous to the churchyard, and within the sanc-
tuary, as the ancient documents express it, is the
residence house. In 1827, it was a mere cottage,
containing only two rooms on the ground floor. It
has been since enlarged and renovated, partly at the
expense of the landowners and parishioners, and
partly by the incumbent. The original building,
which appears to have been co-eval with the church,
has been preserved ; and the modern additions have
been made to correspond with the ancient architec-
ture as nearly as circumstances would permit. The
windows command the greater and more picturesque
part of the scenery already described, while the
Tamar, immediately in front, presents the appearance
of a navigable lake, at least a mile in breadth and
and from six to seven miles long ; which, with its
constant succession of barges, market boats, wherries,
and small trading vessels, forms for the admirer of
nature a picture " ever charming, ever new."

VOL. IV.— 1834.

154
PARODY ON HAMLETS SOLILOQUY.

To drink, or not to drink — that is the question. —

Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer

The taunts and scoffs of hearty, roaring fellows ;

Or take my glass again, amidst their noise,

And so, by joining, end them ? I '11 drink ; I will ;

I Ve done ; and by that draught I '11 surely end

Shame-fac'dness, and the thousand cutting jests.

Milk-sops are heirs to, — 't is a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd — to drink, — next mom ; —

Next mom perchance be sick ; — Aye, there 's the rub ;

What heavy, deadly, heart sickness may come,

When I 'm awak'd from unrefreshing sleep.

Must give me pause ; There 's the respect.

That makes calamity after debauch :

For who would bear the girds and grips of fools.

The laughter of the buck half-over seas.

The tempting glass that sparkles to the brim.

Courting the longing lip, and troublous cares.

That vex with sad anxiety the mind.

When he himself might his quietus make

With one poor bottle ? Who would water swill.

And groan and sweat under a sober life ;

But that the dread of something after wine, —

That fascinating liquid, from whose draught ;

None e'er returns unhurt — puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Then fly to others which we dread yet more ?

Thus illness does make cowards of us all ;

And thus the native thought of drinking deep

Is dash'd at once with the pale dread of sickness,

And jolly souls of noble heart and spirit,

With this regard from taverns turn away,

And lose the name of topers.

These lines were written by the late J. J. Howard, Esq.,
Surgeon, of Berbice ; who died at Sea, on his passage from that
colony to Barbadoes, on the 12th of Oct., 1810.

155

THE PERAMBULATOR, No. IX.

HISTORY OF THE PLYMOUTH LEAT.

Having, in the report of a former perambulation,
giving a description of the Leat and its course, pro-
mised a sketch of its history ; I herewith hand you
my notes thereon, and if your readers should find
them less amusing than the former ones, I must beg
them to allow for the difference of wandering abroad
in the mountain air, beside the splashing stream ;
and perambulating (if the term is admissible) dusty
rolls and musty parchments. If they will not excuse
a dull story, on this account ; they must pass it over ;
if it be the first, or last article in your Museum which
has the luck of being unread, your said Museum
fares very differently from most other books. But,
if they do not read it how are they to know that it is
dull ? And after they shall have read it, and found it
so ; they will be in possession of information con-
nected with the history of our old town, in old times,
which they could not obtain elsewhere without some
trouble.

What was the population of the town in the year
1580, I have not seen recorded. In 1740 there were
about 1,400 houses, and 8,400 inhabitants ; and since,
in 1831, the houses amount to 4,108, and the people
to 31,098, that is, it had more than tripled, in 90
years ; we can hardly suppose it to have exceeded in
1580, one half of what it was 160 years afterward,
in 1740 : which would give us a population, in 1580,
of 4,200, with 700 houses. Whether they were so
many or not, they were at a considerable loss for fresh
water, for shipping, and also in cases of fire, the
houses being then generally constructed of wood ;
as appears in the act of parliament quoted below.
The common supply seems to have been from
wells ; several of which gave names to the streets
in which they were situate, as Finewell Street, Buck-
well Street, Westwell Street, &:c.

156 HISTORY OF THE PLYMOUTH LEAT.

In 1585, however, they applied to parhament, and
got an act '^ For the improvement of the Haven," of
which the following is a copy ; and may serve as a
contrast to the verbose and perplexed documents of
that august body in our day.

Stat. 27th. Eliz. Chap. 20th.

" WHEREAS, your Majesty's town of Plymouth, in the Coun-
" ty of Devon, being an ancient borough town, bordering upon the
" main sea, yet having a pleasant and safe harbour and road for
^* ships, within or near the same, commonly called Plymouth
" Haven; where, as well your Majesty's ships as the ships and
" vessels of divers your Highness's Subjects, trading into foreign
" parts, and from port to port within this realm, do often upon
*' necessity and otherwise arive, harbour, refresh, and victual them-
" selves, as well with fresh water, being a thing very necessary
" for them, as with diverse other things; hath for the most part
** of the year, none or at least very little fresh water, within a mile
" of the said town or thereabout, a matter very incommodious ;
" by reason whereof your Majesty's ships, and the ships of your
" Highness's Subjects, arriving and harbouring in the said haven,
" as is aforesaid, the mariners are many of the same are oftentimes
" driven by necessity to go a mile or more from the said town, and
" their ships, to fetch water for their necessary uses ; by reason
" whereof divers times they lost divers good winds and opportu-
" nities, which they might take benefit of, if they might water
" themselves near their ships : besides the said town being subject
" to fire as well by the enemy (for the same was once burned by
" the French in time of war) as by negligence and other mishap
** at home, there is no water in or nearer the said town for the
" most part of the year (especially in summer time, when the
'* dangers be greatest) than a mile, or sometime more, as the
" drought is. And, whereas, also the said haven of Plymouth,
** being one of the principal havens and harbours in the west part
** of England, doth daily quer and fill with the sand of the tin-
" works and mines near adjoining the same; and, in short time,
" will be utterly decayed, if some redress and speedy remedy be
** not had."

" And, whereas, also tliere is a water or river within the said
"County of Devon, called the water or river of Mew, alias Meuie,
"distant from the said town about eight or ten miles; part of
" which water or river, with some charge, will be brought into
"the said town of Plymouth, without any great prejudice or
" damage to any owner or owners of any land through which the
" same shall be conveyed ; by reason (the most part) in effect all
" the said lands is either barren and heathy, or else hilly and dry
" grounds, which will be bettered and amended by the water that
" shall be brought through the same; by bringing of which water

HISTORY OF THE PLYMOUTH LEAT. 157

*' most of the incommodities and dangers, and diverse others,
" shall not only be remedied but also some part of the said chan-
" nel of the said haven scoured and cleansed by the said river to
*^ the perpetual continuance of the same haven, a matter most
"beneficial to the realm, and where also, the INHABI-

"TANTS OF THE SAME TOWN ARE INCORPORATED, BY KING
" HENRY THE 6rH, BY NAME OF THE MAYOR AND COMMON-

" ALTY OF PLYMOUTH ; which is confirtned by your Majesty,
" and divers of your noble progenitors, Kings of this Realm ; may
" it therefore please your most exellent Majesty, of your most
" noble and abundant grace, and accustomed favor, that it may
" be enacted by this present parliament, that it shall be lawfull
^* to, and for the said Mayor and Commonalty and their succes-
** sors at all times, after the feast of Easter, now next coming, to
*' dig or mine a ditch or trench, containing in breadth between six
" or seven feet over, in all places tlirough and over all the lands
" and grounds lying between the said town of Plymouth and any
^^ part of the said river Mew, alias Meuie ; and to dig, mine, break ,
" bank, and cast up all and all manner of rocks, stones, gravel,
" sand, and all other letts in any places or grounds, for the con-
^* venient and necessary conveying the same river to the said town :
^' and further from time to time, to dorepairation and make wears,
*^ banks, and all other things necessary, whereby the said river
" may be brought and continue unto the said town, without let,
" denial, vexation, or trouble of the lord or lords, owner or owners
^^ of the said ground, or of any other person or persons, by suit in
" the law, or otherwise, upon pain of twenty pounds for every
" time that they or any of them do attempt the contrary thereof;
*^ the one half thereof to be to our Sovereign Lady, and the other
*^ half to the mayor, commonalty, and their successors, to be re-
^^ covered by action of debt, bill, plaint, or information, wherein
" the party defendant shall not wage his law, nor in the said
" action, actions, or suits, any essoign, licence, or protection
" shall be allowed ; the said Mayor and Commonalty giving or
^* paying to the said lord or lords, owner or owners of the soil
" where such things shall be made or done, in recompence and
^' satisfaction of and for the land or ground so to be diged or mined,
*' for the full and absolute purchase of the same to them and their
" successors, so much money as, by two justices of the assize of
** the County of Devon for the time being, shall be adjudged,
'^ ordained, and determined ; and also giving and paying to the
** tenants, farmers, and occupiers of such land or ground, for such
*^ hurts or loses as they or any of them shall have or sustain by the
" same, as much as shall be assessed, adjudged, and determined
*• by the said two justices of assize; the same recompence and
** satisfaction, as well concerning the lord or lords of the land as
^* the tenants, farmers, and occupiers of the same ; to be paid by
** the said Mayor and Commonalty of the said Borough, for the
*' time being or their successors, within the space of six weeks,

158 HISTORY OF THE PLYMOUTH LEAT.

" next, after the rating assessing, and determining of the same ;
" unless the said Mayor and Commonalty and their successors
" can otherwise compound and agree with the lords, tenants, oc-
" cupiers, and farmers of such land and ground, or with any
"of them/'

" And in case it happen the Mayor and Commonalty of the
" said Borough to make default of payment of the said recom-
" pence and satisfaction, and resist to pay the same as is before re-
" hearsed, that then the lord and lords, owner or owners, tenants,
" farmers, and occupiers of such land or ground that is agrieved,
" therewith, and to whom the recompence and satisfaction ought
^* to be paid, shall and may lawfully commence, affirm, and take
** his or their action of debt by the course of common law, against
" the Mayor and Commonalty of the said Borough, for the time
" being, and their successors, for the recovery of die same in any
" court of this realm, at the will and pleasure of tiie party grieved ;
" and the like process thereupon to be had as in action of debt,
^' at the common law grounded upon contract, or specially have
** used to have been had, in which no wager of law essoine or
*< Protection shall be allowed."

" Provided, always, and it is further enacted by this present
" parliament, and by the authority of the same, that the said
" water shall not be conveyed through the house, garden, or or-
" chard of any person or persons ; or through any part thereof,
" without composition, to be first had with the owners and occu-
" piers of the said houses, gardens, and orchards. "

** Provided, always, that this act, nor anything herein contained,
" shall extend to give liberty as aforesaid to bring the said water,
" or any part thereof out of his ancient course, to or for any in-
•" tent or purpose mentioned in this act; unless every such per-
" son or persons as are owner of any mill or mills, situate or
" standing upon or near the said river of Mew, alias Meuie, shall
'^ first be compounded withal, as aforesaid, if the said mills shall,
" by bringing of the said water or any part thereof unto the said
" town of Plymouth, be impaired or hindered. "

Perhaps the portion of the fleet, which was sta-
tioned here to oppose the aniiada, may have felt this
want of water: for in the year 1590 we find Sir
Francis Drake, who well knew the country between
us and the river Meavy, engaged in actively for-
warding the proceeding. It is much to be regretted
that no complete record of the progress and circum-
stances of this very important work is preserved ;
either by the descendants of the illustrious knight,
or by the Corporation. A few detached scraps on
it, only, can be gleaned from the old chronicles of
the neighbourhood.

HISTORY OF THE PLYMOUTH LEAT. 159

In one of these, compiled by James Yonge, M. D.,
(I presume an ancestor of our present worthy
townsman, bearing the same name and title) is the
following sentence : —

" 1590. — This year I find the town agreed with
^' Sir Francis Drake, to bring the water into the town,
"and paid him £200, in hand/'

An extract, also, from the receiver's book of the
same date adds —

" Towards compounding with the owners of the
"land, thro' which the water runs, £100."
Thus, making the first advance £300 ; a good round
sum in those " golden days," when men worked for
sixpence a day, and a bag of barley cost 16 pence.

On the 24th April, 1594, it seems the water was
brought into the town ; on which occasion a grand
procession of the Mayor and gownsmen, with music,
went out to meet Sir Francis and the water, and
ushered them into the town in state ; whether the
water was dammed back, to keep pace with their
worships, or whether their worships gallopped along
in double quick time, to keep pace with the water,
neither record nor tradition hands down to us.

But although £300 was a round sum in " Queen
Bess's day ;" yet when we consider that the leat had
a course cut for 25 miles (including windings to ad-
just the levels) ; it is evident that £200 could not pay
for the labour, even at 6d. per man, per diem ; nor
£100 for the land cut up, although more of it was
then waste than now. In fact there are records of
other payments upon this score ; but what further
sums were paid to the gallant knight on the labour
accompt, do not appear ; so many of the old corpo-
ration books having been lost. It seems, however,
probable from what will presently follow, that a good
part of the payment was in kind ; Sir Francis having
very probably been a more expert calculator of pro-
babilities and capabilities than the worshipful magis-
trates of the borough.

160 HISTORY OF THE PLYMOUTH LEAT.

In another chronicle, compiled by Edward Deeble,
who was Mayor of Plymouth in the years 1718,
1727 and 1739, stands the following statement.

" Sir Francis Drake for his great care and diligence
" in conducting the river to Plymouth —

" paid him in cash, £352. 16s."

in another place it says — £352. 16s. 8d.

This is certainly a close valuation of " care and
dihgence: — " where the £2. 16s. 8d. worth was be-
stowed should have been particularised. It looks
either as if Sir Francis had screwed his bargain tight
up ; or as if Mr. Joseph Hume's principles were in
fashion in the Corporation, and having " paid him
in cash" they had squeezed out a few shiUings dis-
count. Be that as it may the record says, "his
great care and diligence " cost the corporation £352.
16s. 8d. And then for the payment in kind, Sir Francis
knew^ very well that water and mills were of much
greater value in the neighbourhood of a growing town,
than out upon Dartmoor ; and having brought the
water in, he well knew what to do with it. The re-
cord continues —

" And afterwards gave him a lease, for 67 years, of the
" whole profits of the Mills, marshes, and the water leading
" thereto, on reserving a reversionary rent of £34. 3s. 4d. a year,
" which Sir Francis Drake, of Buckland Monachorum, Bart.,
" afterwards sold to the Governor of the Hospital of the orphan's,
" aid, for the sum of £l ,500, all the moiety of the malt and grist
" mills with all the profits thereunto belonging, for 32 years; the
" remainder of the time to come ; which brought in a clear profit
" about £300 a year, and expired in the year 1660."

So it seems that one moiety brought in a clear rent
of £300 a year ; that is £600 a year for the whole,
for a term of 67 years. A very pretty thing in those
times. It must, however, be taken into the account,
that some of the mills were built at Sir Francis' own
expense, not that of the corporation only.

Leaving Sir Francis in the enjoyment of his bar-
gain ; and the worshipful corporation to their dinner,
after their procession, let us now^ see what became

HISTORY OF THE PLYMOUTH LEAT. 161

of the water. Two or three miles of main pipe were
soon laid down ; whether lead or wood I do not find,
but rather suppose the latter ; public conduits were
opened in several parts of the town, to supersede the
wells ; and the more wealthy inhabitants contracted
with the corporation, to supply the water in their
respective houses. In 1602 we find the corporation
beginning to legislate on the subject ; and a pretty
sharp beginning they made.

In an old corporation record is the following entry,

" Duodecimo die Aprilis, anno Di. 1602."
" Memorand., that the daie and yeare aforesaid it was aggreed
"and condiscended by the Mayor and the most pte of the xij.
" and xxiiii. of this Borough, in the Guildhall, this daie assembled,
** that from henceforth not any of the inhabitants of this borough
" shall take or convey from the greate pipe, wherein the freshe
" water doth runn thorough the said towne, any pte of the same
" water into any of theire houses, or otherwise, without the leave
" and license of the Mayor, twelve, and xxiiii. of the said borough,
" for the time beinge (or the greater pte thereof whereof the Mayor
" for the tyme beinge to be one ) under their handes in writinge,
" uppon payne of fortie poundes lawful! English money, to be
" paide to the Maior and Comyunitie, by hym and theym, that
" shall do the contrarie ; to be levied by distresse or imprisment
" of the offender at the discreation of the Maior for the tyme
" beinge. "

Signed by the Mayor, and 24 others, amongst
whom is Thomas Drake, supposed to have been Sir
Francis's brother. " Forty pounds " fine, in the
year 1602, when wheat was about half a guinea a
quarter ! It seems they soon found out the value of
their new leat.

In 1608 we find a list of" the wealthier inhabitants''
who took leases of the water, in their own houses,
at an annual rent of four shillings : their number
amounts to 37 !

Taking wheat now at 50s. ; and then at 10s. 6d. ;
four shillings in that time will have been worth 19s.
or 20s. in the present ; whilst we pay 16s. But al-
lowing for this little advantage ; what a contrast does
the towa present in its present condition when up-
wards of 2,000 of the householders take the water into
VOL. IV. — 1834. w

162 LAKE OF BEER IN IRELAND.

their houses ; witli its state in 1608, when only 37 of
them could or would afford to pay for such an accom-
modation.

So much, then, for the first establishment of the
Leat in its important office in this town. The ma-
terials lie before me for the account of its further
changes and applications ; but this is as much as
your readers will have patience to get through at one
sitting.

LAKE OF BEER IN IRELAND.

I WAS desirous, in order to avoid a distance of forty miles,
to get over the mountain chain that divides Cork from Kerry —
and over which there is a pass not very practicable for horsemen :
but for a wheel-carriage, there were twenty opinions for and
against its feasibility. Come, says my hospitable entertainer at
GlengarifF Castle, never fear your gig, I will send a gang of men
that shall help to push it up the mountain, and when it gets to
the top, what with ropes and hand-spikes they can let it down
into Kerry. Accordingly I accepted of his offer, and set out on
the first of April to pass over the mountains. Some as I set out
seemed to look as if I were about to make an April fool of my-
self ; but out I set, accompanied by my escort of men, and by
two dear friends, who determined not to desert me until I was
deposited in the kingdom of Kerry. I would run the risk of
wrecking the best gig that ever rolled, to see the interior of this
sublime mountain scene.

So taking leave, reluctantly enough, of Glengariff, out I set
with my escort, and commenced the ascent of tiie mountain chain,
and we had not proceeded far along the road, or rather horse-path,
until the necessity of precaution, and of abundant help of men
became evident. Here a broken bridge, over whose ruins my
fragile vehicle was to be lifted — there a quagmire across the road,
over which my poor maie was obliged to jump upon stepping
stones ; indeed tlie poor experienced animal, who had drawn me
many a thousand miles, and who, if she could hold a pen with
her hoof, might be able to write as good a tour as her master —
she, as passing over these uncouth places, with her ears thrown
back, and a very hesitating sort of countenance, now and then

LAKE OF BEER IN IRELAND. 163

looked me full in the face, and all as one as said, " Master, where
are you bringing me, fool as you are, risking a good gig, and
better mare, in such a dangerous enterprize;" and, indeed, at
this very instant, the foreboding looks of my worthy friend and
long tried companion, seemed realized ; for just as we were at-
tempting to pass what was once designed to be a bridge, the poor
animal's foot forced its way through an orifice in the arch, and if
the poor creature had not been cool and steady, her broken leg
would have been the punishment of my rashness ; as it was, her
torn knee will long remind me of the Esk mountain. Were it
not for these risks and difficulties, the scenery that now surrounded
us was of a very grand character : the glen, the lakes, the conti-
nuous chain of barrier mountains, extending as far as the eye could
reach, out into the Atlantic. On the top of this lofty chain, ran
the boundary between Cork and Kerry. It was a day befitting
the season, a fine but characteristic April hour — the atmosphere
perfectly clear — the sun now brilliant, now obscured. Here a
deep valley laughing in the sunshine, and reflecting from its cen-
tral lake, the forms of its surrounding mountains, and all the co-
lours and faces of its overhanging precipices; farther off, towards
the west, you might see a hail storm gather on the head of a
mountain peak, and the morning sun engendering the half formed
arch of the rainbow, on the skirts of the approaching shower ;
which however, took a direction along the hills towards the south,
and left us to enjoy the clearness of our prospect, and the glad
company of the morning's brightness.

In these mountains, it is said, there is a lake for every day in
the year — high or low, or deep in the recesses of the valley, or
sparkling on the hill side, the higher you ascend the more you
see of them ; and the varieties of their forms, positions, and accom-
paniments, give a wonderful interest to this otherwise toilsome
march into Kerry. If I were a young man and liad health and
time, how I should like to ramble from valley to valley, and from
lake to lake, filling my mind with the magnificent picture this
Alpine territory presented, and my soul with the higher and more
adoring conceptions of the Almighty God, " who, by his strength,
settest fast these mountains.'^ To the left of our road, as we
wound up the long ascents of hill rising over hill, I was shown a
lake, one of the loveliest we had yet seen : perfectly circular, it
lay in the bosom of a chain of peaked and precipitous hills — it
reposed within the circle of their protecting arms, and sparkled
like a looking-glass in the sun, ^' Once upon a time," said one

164 LAKE OF BEER IN IRELAND.

of tlie men who formed my escort from Glengariff, " that lake there
beyond, was full of as good beer as ever was brewed in Cork
town. In good old Catholic times long ago, ere Protestants,
saving your presence, came into our land, Denis O'Donohoe
lived in a valley in these mountains, and he was a great freind to
the good people^ and their king and queen used to come and
dance imder the moonshine, in the meadow which lay before
Denis's house ; and one evening as Denis was a driving home
half a dozen goats that had gone astray across the hills, he met
the king of the goorf people sitting on a musheroone that grew large
and round under the shelter of the high rock that rises to the north
side of the meadow. *' Denis," says the wee bit of a king, " have
you any thing at home to give me to drink, for I am as dry as a
whistle, after dancing my round about that ring yonder." " Och
then," says Denis, "what could a poor crathur the likes of me
give your honour and glory, but a drop of goat's milk ; as for
water, I suppose as why you know where to get it yourself."
"Ah then, it 's little I value your goat's milk," said the fairy —
" have you no beer, Denis ?" " Beer, a cushla machre, where
would the likes of me get beer in this place ?" (bye the bye, your
honour, poteen was not invented in them days.) " No, but King
honey, please you, and all yom good people, if you will just be
after putting up for this night with a drop of goat's milk, why at
break of day to-morrow I will slip over to Bantry and get a quart
of as good beer as Felix O'Sullivan has in his whole cellar, and
though it be fifteen miles off, I will be back before night." *' Why
then now, Denis," says the King, " you are nothing else but a
good-natured fellow, and it 's a thousand pities that you and
your's should have nothing better to drink than goat's whey, to
wash down your pratie, Come along with me, Denis, and I will
(provided you promise upon your oath not to tell the priest,) put
you in the way of never drinking worse than the best of beer, all
the days of your life, and all your kiff and kin to boot."

" Now, your honour, there was not a man in all the barony of
Bear, that loved strong beer better than Denis, and it was a great
while to Easther,when he must needs confess to Father Florence ;
so he thanked the fairy very civilly, and said he was at his sarvice
to command. So the little man desiring him to leave his goats
there, and to follow him, off they set in the moonshine over rock
and glen, until they came to a hill side, where ^xew very large
heath, the biggest yoa ever saw. " Now, Denis," says the king,
'* pull your arm full of these plants, its long and many a day

LAKE OF BEER IN IRELAND. 165

since mortal man pulled a handful before ; not since the days
of the Danes, who were as wise as they were wicked, has the son
of a mother made use of this plant — come away with me and I
will show you what it was made the Danes stout and strong, when
they carried away poor Irishmen's daughters, and cut off the
young men's noses," * So off they set, and came to yonder pret-
ty lake : " take now, Denis, a wisp of that plant you have in your
hand, and wisk it well in the water of this lake, and wait a bit,
and you will see what will happen." So Denis did as he was
bid, and after waiting and chatting a while with the fairy, he was
bid to go, and in the palm of his hand to take a sup of the water.
So down he went, and lifting what he could take up in the hol-
low of his fist, he cried out "by the powers of pewter, please
your honour and glory, it 's the best beer that ever was brewed —
it 's as stong as malt can make it. Och then, is n't it the greatest
pity in the world, I have not the piggin to bring home a drop to
Judy and the childer." So Denis, after sipping and supping
until he was tired, and a little tipsy, turned about to look for the
fairy, and ^e was no where, he had vanished. And sure you may
be, that Denis took good care in going home to mark the way to
his new beer cellar ; and you may also take for sartain, that
from that day forth, Denis and all belonging to him were not
slow in resorting to the lake, and Denis was too good natured a
fellow not to tell it to the neighbours : why should n't he ? All
the men in Bear and Bantry could not drink it dry ; and may be
it was Denis an^all his friends that did not get strong and fat,
and his wife Judy's face became as round as a griddle ; but the
worst of all was, that the liquor turned their heads, and they all
took to fighting , there was not a fair or patron in all the west
country, even down to Castletown, that they did not kick up a
scrimmage or a row in. Now Father Florence Barret, the priest,
saw there was something not right a going on ; and so when con-
fession time came round, he took care to send for Denis O'Donohoe,
and Judy his wife, and all the neighbours, and his Raverence
was too cute a man, not to squeeze and draw out of the poor
people a confession of all ; and then it was that the good Father

* The Danes after their conquest of Ireland imposed a heavy tribute on the
Irish ; every master of a family was obliged to pay in an ounce of gold yearly,
and if through misfortune or poverty he was unable to furnish his contribution,
he was punished by the loss of his nose. This tribute was therefore called the
Nose Rent. Can it in this way be accounted for, that the Milesian Irish are
a short-nosed race ? you seldom see an aquiline or long nose with the real breed.

166 THE SCHOOLMASTER AT HOME.

said, '^ Oh Denis ! Denis ! how could you be thus after dealing
with the powers of darkness : how could you consent to drink
the Devil's broth — never, no never Denis, will you get absolution,
for dealing with devils, or fairies, which are with me all as bad,
until you come with and show me where it is you get this anti-
christhen liquor." So, sorely against his will, Denis Was forced
to guide his Raverence to the beloved lough ; and would you
believe it, such was the vartue of this man of God — such his
abstinence from all things carnal, that though he loved a glass of
good liquor as much as any man, and could take it cheerfully
when it was dacent so to do, not one drop of the enchanted stuff,
for so he called it, would he let between his lips, — no, but flinging
a Gospel* into the lake, and repeating the proper Latin prayer,
and making the sign of the cross at the east, and west, and north,
and south side of the lake, in the turning of a hand, the liquor
ceased to be malt, and came back to be as clear, and as cold, and
as nathral water as ever."

THE SCHOOLMASTER AT HOME.

Further on as we ascended the hill, we came into a snug
hollow, in which was a low hut without a chimney, covered with
a net work of ropes, to save the thatch from the stripping of the
storm; and there came forth from this hive or IfSVel, a hum as if
from a wasp's nest. This may be the Cape Clear School, said
my friend, let us go in and see the seminary ; so bending double
to pass, as through the aperture of a cavern's mouth, we descended
into a hole, as dark, smoky, and smelly, as the cave of Cacus;
but in a short time, our eyes assimilating themselves to the pal-
pable obscure, could observe about twenty children sitting on
stones, humming forth their lessons like hornets preparing to
swarm; every little healthy, ragged, fish-smelling urchhi, had a
bit of a book in his hand — one had a leaf of Reading made Easy,
another a scrap of the Church of England Catechism, another a
-torn copy of the Heart of Jesus, and a big girl was poreing over
a large octavo volume, covered carefully with a case of green

* A Gospel means, amongst the lower classes, a verse of St. John's Gospel
written on a slip of paper ; it is used as an amulet against enchantment^ dis-
ease, and bad luck, and is hung round children's necks.

THE SCHOOLMASTER AT HOME. 167

stuff; the name of this useful book was the Gentleman Instructed.
The furniture was of a heterogenous character, bespeaking the
multifarious occupations of the pedagogue. In a corner by the
fire-side was his bed, over which were hanging sundry kinds of
fish, put to smoke or dry, over the door were nets and rods, along-
the walls were hanging a number of dead rabbits, and over the
game was suspended a bag full of foeted ferrets, all which bespoke,
that independent of his college, this worthy Principal, drew much
of his livelihood from the sea in summer, and from the sand hills
in winter. Then the quaint look of the Ludimagister himself;
his wig, that seemed to be made of the dag wool of the hairy sheep
of the island, grown small by scratching, hung on the left side of
his head, being pushed away by the pen which was fixed in his
right ear. With a magisterial scrape of the foot, and an important
bow, he bade us welcome. Sir, says the vicar, I am glad to see
a school established on the island, I hope you are doing well.
Oh yes. Sir, very well indeed, his Reverence the priest approves
of my method ; I came in order to please his Reverence, my
^^ Magnus Apollo," and teach the natives not only the rudiments
of reading and writing, but also arithmetic, scientific and commer-
cial, gauging, surveying, and navigation, the use of the globes,
geography, and the mathematics, and I have left my late estab-
lishment in Courtmasherry, and the Lord will, I trust, prosper
me in the desire to communicate the liberal arts to the poor
islanders. Having delighted some of the little scholars by asking
them to spell a few words, and giving them half-pence, we
evacuated the academy, and my friend said on leaving it, I am
glad the new Priest is sufficiently liberal to allow a school to be
established here. The owner of the island some time ago built
a school-house, and offered to pay a master but the Priest, his
miraculous Reverence, said he would allow no School, they were
well enough without learning ; the fish were caught, and the
potatoes grew without it, and men could do all that man wanted,
eat, drink, and sleep. It was a happy little place, and he would
not alter things, or turn what was well enough inside out — such
were his authoritative reasons. He argued "if ignorance be
bliss, 't is folly to be wise ! ! "

168

A NIGHT ATTACK.

Aw^y f

The woods ring back the sound :
The stern rocks shout a voice around.
The watch-fires gleam with deadlier light.
The stars are shrouding in affright.
Away !

Who quails beneath the darkness now ?
Who feels the coward stamp his brow ?
None answer. — Vengeance' call hath sped
From yonder field of bretliren-dead.
Away !

They deem not of our dark career,
They reck not of our onset near.
A torrent in the gloom may shed
Oblivion o'er the sleepers' bed.

Away f

Keen swords, to night, shall loose the flood
Of many a well-tried foeman's blood :
And though we prove not victors all
What boots it where the dead may fall.
Away !

Rose on the flashing gust a sigh ?
Ha ! 't was the orphans' lonely cry.
Think of your fated kinsmen's home
Where gladness never more may come.
Away I

What, blades all bared ? — the red flames' glance
Reveals their madly wheeling dance.
Hurrah ! the wild winds may not flee
More wildly to the strife than we.
Away I

A dim, low thunder rocks the hills ;
An earthquake motion through them thrills.
Hot foam is hissing round like spray.
Who checks the midnight charge ? Away !
Away !

Franz.

169

GEOGRAPHY OF ANIMALS.

Consent ientia Omnia.

The subject of the Geography of Animals, although
one of considerable interest, and capable of affording
the greatest satisfaction to the lover of Nature, seems,
as yet, to have received only a partial elucidation in
zoological w^orks, among topics of a hke nature ; and,
in fact, a book expressly devoted to this subject may
be regarded as a desideratum in a library of Natural
History. Upon this plea, I may be excused for of-
fering the following imperfect review of the laws which
appear to regulate the general distribution of animals
on the surface of our globe. The first of these laws,
which it seems proper to introduce, is — that all ani-
mals have been placed in situations adapted to their
several and respective wants and economies, or, in
other words, that the animals, and the climate, with
its other productions, are perfectly correspondent —
the one to the purposes of the other. This law, how-
ever, continues valid only on the consideration of the
migrations, which take place in correspondence with
the alternations of the seasons, and the entire re-
moval or alteration in the products of the climate and
the soil.

In connexion with the present statement, we are
naturally induced to contemplate a most interesting
fact ; which no law that has hitherto been advanced
in Zoology can satisfactorily account for ; that many
portions of the earth are inhabited by a race of ani-
mals perfectly distinct in form and character from
that of any other region, a circumstance which, if
any useful result would be attained, might induce us
to refer to the Mosiac record of the creation, and to
various theories on that subject invented by such as
discredit the biblical account, or consider it to be
partial in its nature. In this state of things each
person must judge for himself; and it will suffice in
this paper that we maintain the inapplicability of
surrounding physical conditions to interpret so ex-
voL. IV. — 1834. X

170 GEOGRAPHY OF ANIMALS.

traordinary a phenomenon. For example, let us take
New South Wales ; its climate differs in nothing
materially from a corresponding northern latitude;
yet its Fauna is of the most peculiar character ; and
although the peculiar vegetation of that country might
seem to offer an explanation of the circumstance by
shewing its exclusive adaptation to a certain race of
animals, the difficulty is not at all lessened by impo-
sing it on another science. It will be found next to
impossible to prove that the soil of Australia is alone
adapted to the plants which grow there, and we shall
be constrained to believe that a separate creation has
occurred on this and other portions of the earth both
of plants and animals.

But although corresponding latitudes of the world
do not present the same species of animals ; yet, as
temperature exerts the most decided influence over
vegetable existence, ceteris paribus ; and as the ve-
getable world maintains the smaller and less pow-
erful creatures, and these again the higher animals ;
the Fauna of these latitudes corresponds with respect
to general character and endowment.

The mountainous regions of the earth are inhabited
by creatures possessing widely different habits and
constitutions. None of them seem capable of Hving
equally well in different degrees of temperature ; and
accordingly, in the progress of the traveller to the
summit of a lofty mountain, he may first meet with
beasts of prey, in the scorching atmosphere, at the
commencement of his journey ; then with the goat,
ibex, (fee, capable of enduring a rather cold climate ;
then some other gradation, and lastly, perhaps, birds,
whose habits and structure agree with, if they are not
identically the same species as those found at the Po-
lar regions ; thus the golden eagle and some others of
that genus affect the rocky precipices of the moun-
tains of this country, and of the continent, feeding
on hares, marmots, (fee. ; the Tetrao urogallus, found
abundantly in Norway, and formerly plentiful in the
Scottish mountains, is likewise known to live in the

GEOGRAPHY OF ANIMALS. 171

Alps and Lorraine mountains, towards the summits,
crowned with perpetual snow. Thus, then, in one
mountain we may encounter a variety of animals,
each placed in that temperature suited to its economy
and wants ; at the foot, the variously coloured and
highly endowed creatures ; at the summit, the ani-
mals whose coverings of hair or feathers are assimilated
for wise reasons to the colour of the snow which are thus
also rendered little capable of suffering the passage of
heat from the bodies so covered ; as examples of which
beautiful provision, the fox and the grouse of the
North Pole, and the snow-finch of the same regions,
and of the summits of the Alps may be enumerated.

Some few exceptions to the law that animals suf-
fer only one temperature and one climate might be
enumerated. A good instance of this is the white-
tailed eagle of North America so beautifully descri-
bed by Wilson as possessing a hardy constitution
and prodigious powers of flight, so that it can at plea-
sure transport itself in a short space of time from a
cold to a hot climate, in pursuit of prey, and again
return to its wonted seat on the rocks which surmount
some of the finest rivers in the world.

In our own country too ; very many birds and quad-
rupeds which suffer the heat of summer not far short of
that of the Indies brave also the severest of our winters.
Again some, and not a few, examples can be adduced
of quadrupeds, birds, and more especially of fishes
of the same species being permanently established in
several portions of the earth not agreeing any how
except in this — that a supply of food is provided for
the animals thus widely and wisely dispersed; we
do not allude to domesticated animals such as the
dog or horse, which have been so successfully trained
to useful purposes in every quarter of the globe ; nor
to those which subsist by pilfering the provisions of
man whithersoever he has betaken himself; but to
such as the barn owl, a native of this country, and
found also in some islands in the South Pacific ; to the
sucking-fish, found in the North Seas, as well as in

172 GEOGRAPHY OF ANIMALS.

the Indian Ocean ; to the beaver, an inhabitant of
Lapland, and found reaching as far south as the
Danube. Unhke the fixed and determinable position
of vegetables a great proportion of animated beings
exercise their locomotive powers at a certain season
of the year, and thereby enjoy an equal advantage
in respect of food and temperature at all times ; and
thus, in the removal of some, we witness the acces-
sion of others to the same spot : the alternate ap-
pearance of the summer and winter birds of passage
in this country serves to support this statement ; on
the one hand the swallow and nightingale, and on
the other the snipe and imber diver are familiar ex-
amples. Moreover there are migrations, of a limited
extent, occurring among animals, which however
are never found beyond the limits of a country : thus
Vaillant, in his " Travels in the interior of Africa, "
mentions the incredible numbers of springbocks mi-
grating southwards, on account of the deficiency of
food at that season. The locusts of Africa perform
also, I believe, a similar internal migration. In En-
gland, likewise we witness the same phenomena ; par-
ties of ring-ouzels, flocks of chaffinches, &c., are
familiar instances to the naturalist, and illustrate this
subject. But whilst we thus contemplate the accu-
racy with which the departure of animals from, and the
return to their fonner haunts is adjusted, we find that
there are some also which, uninfluenced either by the
love of constancy or of migration, lead an uncertain
kind of life : and hence unusual appearances of troops
of birds, strao^glers, partial migration, reinforcement
of numbers, and so forth.

It will be obvious, from the dependence of whole
tribes of birds and quadrupeds on the vegetable pro-
ductions of the earth ; of many kinds on the insects
which live on trees and plants generally ; and from
the circumstance of these tribes affording sustenance
to the carnivorous part of the creation ; that those
countries best provided with vegetable growth will
be also most frequented by animated beings : thus it

GEOGRAPHY OF ANIMALS. ITS

is that England exceeds other countries of Europe
in the extent of its Fauna, irrespectively of the ani-
mals furnished by the sea around it ; while Portugal,
from its deficiency of shelter, and consequently of
food for small birds. Sec, is deficient also in the whole
series. Nevertheless, even the countries almost des-
titute of vegetable growth, or at least of trees, contain
some kinds of birds; and certain crudely-reasoning
philosophers, not perceiving the dependence above
stated, have affirmed that the birds of these countries
(which they believe to be equally well inhabited with
those abundantly wooded) are obhged to roost on
the ground. Now such birds as they see so roosting,
are those which would do so did they inhabit the
Garden of Eden itself. Norway and Lapland are
stated to enjoy a more temperate climate than any
other countries in the same latitude ; they are likewise
well wooded, and certainly the Fauna of those coun-
tries agrees well with this statement.

The wise contrivances, evinced in creation, relative
to the supply of food for the subsistence of the car-
nivorous tribes, have not been in the least interfered
with, except by the progress of the civilization of
man. In every portion of the globe the presence of
a carnivorous bird, quadruped, or fish indicates, un-
deviatingly, the existence of less powerful or less de-
signing creatures in the immediate neighbourhood ;
and, vice versa ; the presence of animals of small size
or power, especially if very productive, implies an
appetite at hand to lessen their numbers ; whilst,
lest the race should become extinct, the predatory
animal itself has been endowed with powers of pro-
creation very limited. It is stated by Dr. Kidd, that
there are probably myriads of species of animals ;
and that one hundred thousand species have been
ascertained and described by naturalists. Now as
to the general distribution of these, it is well known
that they are by far the most numerous in tropical
regions : and indeed gradually diminish towards the
Poles. It is probable that there is no portion of our

174 GEOGRAPHY OF ANIMALS.

globe, even the most desolate, which is not occasion-
ally visited by some of the feathered tribes and even
permanently inhabited by some of the smaller kinds
of insects ; but it is notorious that such portions,
thus scantily occupied, can form only a small pro-
portion in comparison with the remainder of the earth.
The comparative distribution of the different classes
of animals, modified as it is by the circumstances
which afford them food and protection, is somewhat
curious. In the first place, it may be stated that
not only are the lowest classes, the invertebrata, the
most numerous, but they are also the most exten-
sively dispersed ; they are found distributed through
the air of the northern and tempemte climates during
summer, and that of the Tropics during the whole
year; through the sea; the snow of the North Pole,
upon as well as in the earth, and the vegetables which
proceed from it ; rivers, lakes, plains, and mountains,
alike present some links of these lower tribes ; and
even the bodies of the higher orders are the abodes
of a few kinds, for a certain period of their existence.
Lastly, stagnant waters and infusions contain a mul-
titude of minute beings ; and it has even been affirmed
that certain fluids'* of animal bodies contain micro-
scopic animalculae. The higher classes — Vertebrata
— which do not Hke the former elude our enumera-
tion and investigation of their habits and retreats,
are scattered thinly towards the Poles, but regularly
augment towards the Equator. Some few are the
denizens of high mountains ; a few penetrate the
earth ; a great proportion inhabit the great deep ;
lakes and rivers ; and about an equal number peo-
ple the surface of the ground and its productions.
The comprehensive statement which we have made,
that the lower are more widely distributed than the
higher class, will not be found to apply, however, in
comparing the distribution of the divisions into which
these classes have been naturally separated ; because
in tracing these, from above downwards, it is observed

* Spallanzani has clearly proved this* — Ed.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 176

that not unfrequently instead of an increase in num-
ber the reverse is presented ; and therefore as might be
imagined these divisions have not a wider distribution
than the division preceding each respectively. It is,
however, interesting to observe that these instances
occur generally, or perhaps exclusively, where Nature
displays a transit from the animal to the vegetable
kingdom, or from one class of animals to another :
the Zoophytes, — Cetacea, reptiles, the bats, are some
examples of this fact ; but we proceed no further with
this digression, and now take our leave of the general
principles and laws of Animal Geography ; bearing
in mind that they exhibit to us the wonderful adap-
tation of the different parts of the Creation ; and the
wise discipline which pervades the whole Machine,
and assigns all parts to the purposes for which they
were created.

London. Philophysicus.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

Resumed, from page 139, and concluded.

For some time after the return of Coleridge from Germany, he
resided at Keswick, in Cumberland, where he occupied himself
principally in study.

In the spring of 1802, he undertook the political and literary
department of the " Morning Post." By quoting his own obser-
vations on this circumstance some of his political opinions will
be developed ; and the confession made by himself as to the result
of his labours will be manifested.

" Soon after my return from Germany I was solicited to under-
take the literary and political department in the Morning Post ;
and I acceded to the proposal on the condition, that the paper
should thenceforwards be conducted on certain fixed and an-
nounced principles, and that I should be neither obliged or re-
quested to deviate from them in favor of any party or any event.
In consequence, that Journal became and for many years continued
anti-mmisterial indeed, yet with a very qualified approbation of
the opposition, and with far greater earnestness and zeal both anti-
jacobin and anti-gallican. To tliis hour I cannot find reason to
approve of the first war either in its commencement or its conduct.

176

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

Nor can I understand, with what reason either Mr. Percival
(whom I am singular enough to regard as the best and wisest
minister of this reign) or the present administration, can be said
to have pursued the plans of Mr. Pitt. The love of their coun-
try, and perseverant hostility to French principles and French
ambition are indeed honourable qualities common to them and
to their predecessor. But it appears to me as clear as the evidence
of facts can render any question of history, that the successes of
the Percival and of the existing ministry have been owing to their
having pursued measures the direct contrary to Mr. Pitt's. Such
for instance are the concentration of the national force to one
object : the abandonment of the subsidizing policy, so far at least
as neither to goad or bribe the continental courts into war, till the
convictions of their subjects had rendered it a war of their own
seeking ; and above all, in their manly and generous reliance on
the good sense of the English people, and on that loyalty which
is linked to the very heart of the nation by the system of credit
and the interdependence of property."

" In these labours I employed, and in the belief of partial
friends wasted, the prime and manhood of my intellect. Most
assuredly, they added nothing to my fortune or my reputation.
The industry of the week supplied the necessities of the week.
From (Government or the friends of Government I not only
never received remuneration, or ever expected it ; but I was never
honoured with a single acknowledgment, or expression of satis-
faction. Yet the retrospect is far from painful or matter of
regret."

Two years after he had abandoned the Morning Post, he set
off for Malta, where he most unexpectedly arrived on a visit to
his friend Dr. Stodart, then king's advocate in that island, and
was intoduced by him to the Governor, Sir Alexander Ball, who
appointed him his secretary. He remained in the island fulfilling
the duties of his situation, for which he seems to have been but
indifferently qualified, a very short period. One advantage,
however, he derived from his official employ : that of the pension
granted by Government to those who have served in similar
situations. On his way home he visited Italy ; entered Rome,
and examined its host of ancient and modern curiosities, and added
fresh matter for thought to his rapidly accumulating store of ideas.
Of this visit he gives several anecdotes ; among them one res-
pecting the horns of Moses on Michael Angelo's celebrated statue
of that lawgiver, intended to elucidate the character of French-
men.

" My companion who possessed more than his share of the
hatred, which his countrymen bore to the French, had just
observed to me, "a Frenchman^ Sir/ is the only animal in the

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 177

human shape, that hy no possibility can lift itself up to religion or
poetry V When, lo ! two French officers of distinction and rank
entered the church ! ** Mar/c yow," whispered the Prussian, " the
first thing, which those scoundrels — will notice (for they will begin
by instantly noticing the statue in parts, without one monienfs
pause of admiration impressed by the whole) will he the horns and
the beard. And the associations, which they will immediately
connect with them, will be those of a he-goat and a cuckold."
Never did man guess more luckily. Had he inherited a portion
of the great legislator's prophetic powers, whose statue we had
been contemplating, he could scarcely have uttered words more
coincident with the result : for even as he had said, so it came to
pass."

During the latter years of his life, Coleridge resided with
Mr. Gillman, at Highgate ; where he wrote very little, but was
celebrated for his extraordinary conversational powers : at the
house of this kind friend he died. Some particulars concerning
his death were given in the last number of the Quarterly Review,
and have been copied into most of the newspapers.

The following extracts are from a recently published work, the
author of which was acquainted with Coleridge during some
of the last days of his life.

" Saturday, April 27th, 1832.— Walked to Highgate, to call on
Mr. Coleridge. I was ushered into the parlour, while the girl
carried up my letter to his room. She presently returned, and
observed that her master was very poorly, but would be happy
to see me if I would walk up to his room, which I gladly did.
He is short in stature, and appeared to be careless of his dress.
I was impressed with the strength of his expression, his venerable
locks of white, and his trembling frame. He remarked that he
had for some time past suffered much bodily anguish. For many
months, (thirteen) seventeen hours each day, had he walked up
and down his chamber : I inquired whether his mental powers
were affected by such intense suffering ; ' Not at all,' said he,
*■ my body and head appear to hold no connection ; the pain of my
body, blessed be God, never reaches my mind.' "

" Of the mind of the celebrated Puffendorf, he said, ' his mind
is like some mighty volcano, red with flame, and dark with tossing
clouds of smoke, through which the lightnings play and glare
most awfully.' Speaking of the state of the different classes of
England, he remarked ' we are in a dreadful state ; Care, like a
foul hag, sits on us all ; one class presses with iron foot upon the
wounded heads beneath, and all struggle for a worthless supre-
macy, and all to rise to it move shackled by their expences ;
happy, happy are you to hold your birth-right in a country where
things are different ; you, at least at present, are in a transition
state ; God grant it may ever be so ! Sir, things, things have come

VOL. IV. — 1834. Y

178 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

to a dreadful pass with us, we need most deeply a reform, but I
fear not the horrid reform which we shall have; things must
alter, the upper classes of England have made the lower persons,
things ; the people in breaking from this unnatural state will
break from duties also.* "

"Of all the men whom I have ever met, the most wonderful
in conversational powers is Mr. S. T. Coleridge, in whose com-
pany I spend much time. With all his talent and Poetry, he is
a humble and devout follower of Jesus, even as * Christ crucified.*
I wish I had room for some of his conversation. When I bade
him a last farewell, he was in bed, in great bodily suffering, but
with great mental vigor, and feeling an humble resignation to the
will of his heavenly Father. As I sat by his side I thought he
looked very much like my dear grandfather, and I almost felt as
if some one spoke to me from the dead. 13efore I left him he
said, * I wish, before you go, to give you some little memento to
to call up the hours we have passed together ;' He requested me
to hand him a book from his book case, with pen and ink, then
sitting up in bed he wrote a few lines and his name, kindly and
most undeservedly expressing the pleasure he had in my com-
pany.''

The writer of this imperfect and, doubtlessly, very trivial sketch
did not intend to allude, in any way, to the merits of Coleridge's
writings ; but, as others who are capable of treating the subject
with ability and talent have withdrawn themselves from the task,
he may be allowed to observe that many have formed their opin-
ions of this writer from the biassed judgement of others ; — They
have not read his works because they have been told that his works
were not worth reading ; — they have believed him to be a simpleton
because some writers, who gain an existence by pandering to the
vilest of human appetites have pronounced him imbecile; they have
fancied that his verse must needs be metaphysical because he may
have indulged in many metaphysical disquisitions in prose. Cole-
ridge was metaphysical in poetry inasmuch as Byron and Shakes-
peare were, that is, he pointed out the effects of Nature's laws, of hu-
man passions, and of the mental powers, without lapsing into a
systematized consideration of the dependency of these effects on
causes ; neither did he theorize on their most fitting classification.
As a poet, in his poetry, he has alluded to the many and beau-
tiful tinctures which glorify the clouds around a setting sun :
but he has not diverged from the splendour of natural description
to display any dissertation on chromatic laws, or on the prismatic
analyzation of light.

Those who have read Coleridge dispassionately, and not with
prejudices superinduced by the rotten-hearted virulence of his
enemies, will probably admit that there is natural and simple yet

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 179

most exalted affection in " Genevieve : " that chaste, correct and
elevated sentiments characterize " Religious Musings : ^' that in-
tenseness of sublimity clothes his apostrophe to " Sovran Blanc,"
and the " Cataracts of Chamonix :" —

" To you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! "

That extraordinary vigour and power of description glov^ in the
" Rime of the Ancient Mariner : " and that the chastest and
most lovely delicacy pervades that singular fragment " Christabel,"
very far outbalancing its occasional quaintness, puerility and
(apparent) want of perspicuity.

In his " Remorse," " Robespierre," &c., he has shown that he
was intimately acquainted with the working of Humanity's sternest
and most gentle feelings and that he was capable of pourtraying
them with fidelity.

" Wallenstein" may be mentioned as a most effective and finely
executed, though free, translation from Schiller.

But whatever the enemies of Coleridge may deny him, they must
admit that he did not interweave libertinism with the honied lies
of rhyme ; that he did not endeavour to make Vice alluring, by
throwing over her the vesture of modesty : and that he did not
seek to develope the minutiae of immorality, under the pretence
of unfolding, as a moral lesson, its subsequent punishment.

If the use of the supernatural in poetry is to be considered as
metaphysics, and the user to be condemned accordingly, then,
with Coleridge, -ffischylus. Homer, Virgil, Milton, and many
others, who have been hitherto reputed to possess a knowledge
of the essentials of poetry, must be denounced.

Among certain critics, it is the fashion to expose and dilate
upon an author's peculiarities or eccentricities, in order to fling
ridicule over his writings ; and to measure a man's literary ca-
pability by his political opinions. It is no very unusual matter to
find that the Whig Solomon of one Review is written down a
most brainless jackass by a contemporary Tory publication. Even
that magazine, which has assumed to itself the Queendom of
monthly periodicals, would consignevery whig writer in existence
to everlasting damnation : yet this is the age of liberality.

Few felt the effects of this mean and reprobate system of judi-
cature more than Coleridge ; at least as to the opinion which has
been formed of his writings, by those who have not had the
honesty or hardihood to think for themselves.

Some of those, who have been most caustically critical on
Coleridge, had the talent to mix up so much highly spiced mer-

180 DITHYRAMBICS.

riment with their lucubrations, that they have been read, and
have been believed, and will be read and believed by many who
never trouble themselves to look for confirmation or refutation
of the assertions made by others in an author's works.

Some such critics as those above alluded to, on being brought
to task for their slanders, have excused themselves, by saying
that they were only meant as jokes ; is not such jesting some-
thing like giving a man a dose of arsenic, and saying, in six hours
afterwards, "Ah !^ my dear fellow, I hope it wont hurt you, I
only gave it to you for a joke ?'^ J. B.

DITHYRAMBICS.

Aye, others may boast of the pure crystal rill,
And of broth, soda water, and lemonade swill ;
But leave us the bottle ; a draught may be found
That will banish our ills for to night — push it round ;
Round ! push it round.

Who cares for a head-ache ? the heart-ache is worse,
The rough world alas 1 is a pitiless nurse ;
We shall laugh at its frowns o'er the bright, brimming cup,
Let us drain it again to the last — fill it up ;
Up ! fill it up.

To Prometheus — the knowing — the jolly, old blade
Who first distilled brandy, and set up the trade ;
And boozed like a son of the gods (though I think
He riddled his liver a bit) let us drink ;

Drink ! let us drink.

Who proses of gout or of gall stones ? in war
A bullet lops off the two legs of a tar.
Can a twinge in the toe or a stich in the spine
Ever shadow his anguish ? Oh ! no. Bring us wine ;
Wine I mighty wine.

Will your sallow-faced, white-livered loon live a jot
More at ease with himself than our tun-bellied sot ?
Aye — when vinegar's flavour is sweet — not till then ;
So cheer us, true hearts — fill a bumper again ;

Again ! fill a bumper again.

O ! dream not of care, we extinguish it now ;
No shadow of sadness shall darken the brow.
We '11 offer to Bacchus libation and hymn,
And drink till the candles grow double and dim ;
Dim ! double and dim.
Stoke, MentTJr.

181

ANTIQUITIES OF THE TOWN OF OKEHAMPTON.

Continued from page 144.

Old Richard * lived long enough, filling the various civic offices
and duly recording whatever befel in his journal — long enough
to survive the term of the Protectorate. The part borne by the
celebrated General Monk (afterwards Duke of Albemarle) in the
Restoration is well known : a late entry notices that nobleman
among others on whom an honorary freedom of the borough hjad
been conferred ; and again a handsome benefaction from him is men-
tioned on occasion of a fire in the town, which broke out in 1676
and destroyed much property.

The good burgesses of Okehampton seldom failed in becoming
devotion to their patrons. In 1681 the Lord Keeper Anglesea
addressed thcni a letter of which a copy has been kindly shewn
me ; it is a very courteous acknowledgment of attentions paid by
the corporate body to his grandson, the Lord Mohun, then a child
of four years old.

In resuming the subject of Ecclesiastical Antiquities, I would
call your attention to the traces we have left of a religious house
once standing at Brightley near us. The spot derives additional
interest from its having been a mother-house to the great abbey
of Ford in this county. It is curious that so diligent an antiquary
as Risdon should have fallen into error on the original site of this
monastery : he assigns it to Chittlehampton, and a subsequent
writer has given the honor to Sampford Courtenay. But the
cause of the monks' emigration, the barrenness of the country
near them, is at variance with Risdon's statement : the other opinion
has been retracted in a letter to me of much courtesy by the author
himself, f

The only relic time has spared of the Priory at Brightley is now
appropriated as a barn, or to yet viler purposes. A low door
with its Saxon arch, perceptible on the north side, serves to indi-

* It had given me much pleasure, if I could have imparted some informa-
tion on the habits of this good old burgess. Of the clothes worn by
him, the ladies— and ladies, however dead to less important topics, are ever
alive to dress — the ladies will accept an indication from a cotemporary jour-
nalist : —

" I did give my wife's brother a coat that I had by me ; a close-bodied,
light-coloured, cloth coat, with a gold edging in cable seam, that was the lace
of my wife's best petticoat."

t The Rev. George Oliver, official in the Roman Catholic Communion, at
St. Nicholas' Priory, in Exeter.

182 ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON.

cate its former sanctities. But I have said the place acquires
interest from its connexion with Ford Abbey.

If the original site of this celebrated house can be dubious :
not so the manner and circumstances of its foundation. Richard
Fitz Baldwin, in the year of King Stephen, as we learn from Dug-
dale's Monasticon, placed at Brightley 1 2 monks sent by Gilbert
their abbot from the monasteries of Waverley in Surrey. His en-
dowment for their maintenance is said to have comprised the ma-
nor of Brightley and the honor of Okehampton. The monks began
their journey on Holy Rood day (14. Sep.) which derives its name
from a piece of the true cross being recovered from the infidels
on that day by one of the Greek Emperors. In an old song,
called the Collier of Croydon, youths are specially exhorted to go
a nutting on that day. It does not seem, however, to have been
too propitious to the holy pilgrims ; for 5 years after we find them
petitioning to be recalled from Brightley urging in plea of their
suit that the country about them " produced only thyme and wild
night shade." I find that complaints which bore on the refectory
and its supplies had due weight in those times : one of the grounds
stated in the Pope's bull for removing the old cathedral at Sarum
runs " forasmuch as the fathers are obliged to buy water at a price
sufficient to purchase the common drink of the country." In
short they were travelling on their way home again with*
Roger de Ponnington, second abbot of Brightley, at their head,
and walking two and two, the cross borne before them, when the
incident occurred which ended in their final settlement at Ford
Abbey. The Viscountess Adeliza, sister and heiress of the above
Richard — who died seized of the largest estate in the country —
chanced to encounter the holy brethren as they journeyed through
her manor of Thorncombe. On being told the cause of their
return she set herself immediately to obviate it : " Far be it from
me," she said, " that what my lord and brother hath devised for
the honor of God, and the welfare of His church should fail through
stint of mine." And she forthwith bestowed on them her manor
and mansion of Thorncombe : whence six years after they removed
to St. Mary's, the splendid abbey built for them at Ford. I may
here observe that Sir W. Dugdale's genealogy of the Courtenays
is drawn, in its earlier portion, from a register kept by the monks
of this house.

* This deed is in Latin : the oldest deeds of this country are in English ;
but the Norman or Low French began to be in ase toward the close of this
reign.

ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON. 183

Their abbey and many another possession of the Cestertians
of Ford have long since passed into more secular keeping. When
as the Latin rhyme has it —

" Henricus Octavus sold the lands that God gave us ;"

At that time, however proper might have been the conversion of
these revenues or otherwise, we must still admire the levity with
which they were often squandered. A singular instance, if any
thing could be called singular, where caprice ruled throughout,
is given in one of the old Church historians. Henry was one day
at play, at dice, with Sir Miles Partridge, when the king staked
Jesus bells, that were " as great and tuneable," says Fuller, " as
any in London," for £lOO, and lost them at a cast I Such cheap
pennyworths, adds the same writer, were obtained out of the lands
of the Church .

To the Church the piety or the compunction of the Courtenays
had made them liberal benefactors. To one of that family we
are indebted for the little chapel or chantry of St. James in this
town. Gough in his additions to Camden passes it with slight
notice; "there is," he says, "a chantry chapel in the market
place now in use." It was built, as is indicated by an old record
yet existing, as I am informed, in the 10th. Richard II. by Dame
Joan Courtenay; who endowed the same with lands for the
maintenance of two secular priests to " say mass both at mattins
and evensong for the repose of her brother's soul:" these lands
were granted by Henry VIII. to the Portreeve of the borough,
in whom I believe they are still vested. The tower of this little
edifice is of more modern erection ; having been added in 1612,
by Henry Trelawney.

The offices of divine worship, and I know not why it should be
heardby any without regret, have, since Cough's day, been discon-
tinued in this chapel. But it is still a sanctuary : — the rapacity
of the Vlllth Henry and his courtiers, the vandalism of the civil
wars, and commerce which in our own day has made the fair hospital
of St. Katharine a dock for shipping, have left this unprofaned.
May a time return when the Lord's people shall again resort hither
— to *^ serve Him with gladness, and enter into his presence with
a song."

The infrequency of Divine service in this chapel was matter of
complaint, it appears, so long since as 1631 ; in which year Dr.
Joseph, Bishop of Exeter, by mandate, exhorts to a more constant
discharge of its duties.

184 ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON.

The parish church of Okehampton, now standing, was conse-
crated to the service of God, and the honor of all his saints, on
the last day of July, 1261, by Walter Branscombe, the Diocesan.
This prelate is mentioned as being remarkable for having raised
himself by industry from a very mean parentage to the episcopal
throne in his native city of Exeter. The gentle descent of the
mitre seems to have been far more essential in those days than at
present. Bishop Branscombe left behind him many proofs of a
patrician spirit ; and among others old Fuller reckons that the
archangel Gabriel was indebted to him for instituting at his proper
charge a feast-day to the angel's honor. This church was built by
the prior of Cowicke, a religious house once existing in the parish
of St. Thomas by Exeter, and where Hugh Courtenay, first Earl
of Devon, so called, was buried 12th. Edward III. The Priories
seem originally to have all been off-shoots from certain abbeys,
to which they were long held as subordinate : Cowicke was a cell
for canons regular of the order of Saint Benedict.

It seems strange, at first view, that the monks of Ford should
allow this church — lying as it does so near their patron's castle —
to have been built by another order. In fact, the scandal of those
times laid covetousness to the charge of the Cestertians ; Richard
Ist's reply " that he would give his avarice to the white monks*'
or Cestertians is well known. It is right to state, however, that
the tythe of the parish was then vested in the priory of Cowicke.

In the book collected by travel of Tristram Risdon, gent., the
situation of that» church is noticed, in the author's quaint manner,
as " lying apart from the town without comfort or company."

Eos.

To be concladed in our next number.

185

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

PROCEEDINGS IN THE ATHENiEUM.

July 31st. — Mr. S. Purdok's Lecture on the Resources and
Capabilities of Ireland.

On this evening Mr. Purdon, for the fourth time, advocated
the consideration of Ireland's distress, and v^re certainly cannot
avoid observing that this gentleman's papers are worthy of much
attention and dispassionate judgment; he has not entered upon
his subject as an amateur or a mere theorist. Ireland is his native
country, he has resided there, and has travelled over many of its
districts ; the experience of his years, and the deep and long con-
sideration which he has bestowed on his subject, cannot fail to
give value and weight to his views and narrations.

Having glanced at the miserable condition of the poorer Irish,
he observed, that nothing could operate effectually as an antidote
to the evils of penury and discontent but industry, accompanied
by the cheering prospect of independence, based upon the sure
and steadfast hope inspired by a moral education, emanating from
the uncompromising principles of a pure Christian instruction.

He considered that the means for calling forth the energies of
the Irish existed in abundance in her soil, mines, fislieries, rivers,
raw materials for manufactures, natural harbours, genial climate,
and geographical position; as well as the natural quickness and
docility of the people themselves ; yet all these have been per-
verted, or allowed to lie dormant, by impolicy and wanton cor-
ruption ; and so it was likely they would remain, until those who
professed to govern condescended to make themselves acquaint-
ed with the country to be governed. It would not merely be an
act of charity but a sacred moral and political duty to promote that
industry and religious instruction which would rescue the hardy,
vigorous, and teachable Irish peasant from his most unwelcome
and profitless idleness.

Ireland has been taunted as a country of bogs and wastes, but
it should be known that these bogs are all reclaimable, and
convertible into the most productive soil, quickly repaying, with
large interest, the expense of reclaiming; and, as they extend
over 4,587,000 acres, many thousands of poor might be profit-
ably employed upon them ; Government certainly ought to look
to this, or to some equally feasible measure for the amelioration
of Irish affairs : but, of any measure whatever, industry should
be the main spring; then would be extinguished the desolation,
depravity, and violence engendered by inoccupation, which have
been too fully developed in Ireland. This was no theoretical
assertion, the experiment had been tried, by private individuals,
successfully. The Irish people were enthusiastic, and of vivid
sensibility; with due direction these characteristics would tend
greatly to their own and to their neighbour's happiness; but,

VOL. IV. — 1834. z

186 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

when perverted, might make themselves and those around them
miserable. The best guide in any condition of life were the
Holy Scriptures ; but these sacred writings, to be completely
effective, should be distributed in the vernacular Irish language;
since at least three millions of the inhabitants have an extreme
partiality for their native tongue. A verification of this could
be found in Ulster, which had formerly been the most boisterous
and most turbulent province of the four, but now a more moral,
orderly, and religious people could not be found in England.
There the people hear the truth not enveloped in strange sounds
but honestly, distinctly, and impressively pronounced in the
language of their birth place. Property, life, and social inter-
course are all secure and uninterrupted throughout the greater part
of Ulster, or, with as few interruptions as they meet with in any
populous district of Great Britain. The condition of Ulster was
placed in a much more striking point of view when contrasted
with the population, agriculture, &c., of the other provinces.

Mr. Purdon stated that Ireland's export produce had increased,
and that, in consequence, the English had bread 15 per cent lower
than it would otherwise be ; whilst beef, mutton, and pork were
30 per cent lower, in consequence of the import of live stock from
the sister island. This might appear to be prosperous for Ireland,
but it really proved that the people could not afford to eat their
own food ; that they must remain in want though surrounded by
corn, fruits, flocks, and herds. Should the only crop, potatoes,
which they can call their own, fail, the providers of England
must supplicate that land for some crumbs of their own food,
or they must die. And here the lecturer could not omit his meed
of applause to the English, for answering so promptly the call of
famine from Ireland. In 1822 they subscribed, in money,
£300,000. ; which more than answered every demand.

These kinds of exportation, however, prove that there is a want
of employment and of full means. We may deem of the degree
of a nation's civilization by what it deems the necessities of life;
some are content with the meanest sustenance, and must rank low
in human existence. The lecturer feared that many of the Irish
must be placed in the lowest rank ; their want of employment
cannot prove an unwillingness to work ; Mr. Nimmo and others, •
who have had opportunities of knowing, have related that they
will make extraordinary efforts to better their condition, by in-
dustry, when the means are placed within their reach. Most
Englishmen are aware that the Irish peasant will travel many
hundred miles, living scantily, to procure harvest work in England ;
and will return to his family and his mud cabin with his hard
earned pittance : can we then call him a lazy, idle, worthless
being ?

As the live cattle carry with them their hides and tallow, a
certain degree of paralyzation must affect the tanneries, and soap
and candle manufactories in Ireland ; indeed it would argue a

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 187

bad management where a nation parts with her raw materials,
the sinews of industry, and receives them back in a manufactured
form; the lecturer would with honest warmth repudiate the
sophistry which denominated this position "a fallacy/^

The richest soils may prove but little beneficial without their
inhabitants possessed stimuli to industry, and were afforded ju-
dicious moral guidance; a fact which was proved by comparing
the comparatively poor province of Ulster with the more favored
districts of Ireland. The other three provinces had, at a former
period, a great opportunity for exercising industry; viz., in the
woollen trade, of which she possessed the raw material in abun-
dance; but in the time of William HI., this branch was almost
annihilated by royal influence, in consequence of the jealousy of
English manufacturers. Ireland was then obliged to have re-
course to the linen trade, a change which was disastrous; as her
annual linen export amounted but to £14,000, whilst that of her
woollen had been £110,000.

Commercial jealousy being laid aside, fear of danger and inse-
curity have succeeded ; but there are remedies for these, and Ire-
land thus holds out most excellent prospects for the speculations
of the capitalist ; private individuals had tried the experiment and
had been successful ; amongst whom might be enumerated Lord
Headly, who created almost a paradise in place of a mob of law-
less and dangerous miscreants ; but it would be impossible for
individuals to reclaim the great mass of waste lands, this must
be the work of united capital fully liberated by legislative au-
thority.

The lecturer went into a calculation, made by a committee of
the Royal Dublin Society, upon the evidence of the late Mr.
Francis French, brother of Lord Ashtown ; a person of experience,
and no enthusiast; from this it appeared that 640 acres of bog,
by being reclaimed, would, in four years, (having during those
four years repaid part of the outlay) yield an interest of 21 per
cent on the capital remaining invested, even when let at the low
rate of 16s. per acre; and this was the least encouraging of any
calculation the lecturer had seen made of the subject. The other
capabilities of Ireland were no less encouraging, viz., her mines,
collieries, and precious clays.

The revenue of Ireland falls short of her annual expenditure by
some millions, but with proper management she might pay her
her own expenses, and leave a surplus, which would, of course,
be to the advantage of England. By instituting a comparison
between England, Scotland, and Ireland, as to population and
agricultural capability, the lecturer considered that with due care
Ireland might yield a surplus of 6 or 7 millions over her
expenses.

The Irish peasantry are not an intractible body of men ; they
are fond of peace and civilization ; and would willingly be sub-
ject to those who could give them employment, and defend them

188 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

from the agitator and assassin. Were they but adequately pro-
tected, we should not see them engaged in such lawless outrages
as they are now compelled to commit against their general will.
The defenceless condition of a poor cabin-holder, having a com-
bustible thatched roof to his dwelling, is not qualified to resist the
threats and vengeance of assassins, demagogues, and agitators.
But how could it be otherwise ? when Ireland remains under the
misnomer of a government, for it has been the policj/ of one party
and the blundering practice of another to keep the poorer order
in a state of intellectual darkness as far as possible.

This practical blundering was the attempt at diffusing " the
truth" in the English language instead of the native tongue; and
the employment, as ministers of it, those who were unacquainted
with the vernacular Irish idiom. The soonerdue means are taken
for ameliorating this island's condition the better; since it is cal-
culated to be either the 7/^'^^ arm of Britain or the deadliest
instrument of its destruction. And it would be well if those
whose benevolence and philanthropy led them in search of suf-
fering humanity to regions beyond the Atlantic and countries
across the Pacific — tQ the torrid climes of India and Africa, and
the forbidden grounds of China ; it would be well if these persons,
who saw want, through the magnifying power of distance, could
condescend to look at despised Ireland.

In conclusion, the lecturer pointed out the moral and religious
darkness which hangs over many parts of Ireland, particularly
its islets; 140 of which contain 50,000 inhabitants; and for cen-
turies have not had the benefit of religious guidance, from the
scattered situation of some, the parish pastors cannot attend them,
and if they did it would be of little avail, as most of them are
unacquainted with the Irish language, which the inhabitants can
only speak. In one of these islands, Innismurry, six miles from
the Sligo coast, the people worship a rudely carved wooded image,
and have an altar of loose stones, called *' The cursing altar," to
whicli they apply when any one has injured them.

These were circumstances which called loudly for the conside-
ration of public functionaries, and those who, in sending missions
to the Heathen, forget their native soil.

August 7tii. — Mii. Adams* Lecture on Gas Illumination.

The lecturer commenced by giving a detail of the rise and
progress of Coal Gas, tracing it from the earliest period in which
we have any account of it, tlirough its various stages of improve-
ment, in the hands of different experimenters, until it was first used
as an agent for lighting buildings, towns, &:c. He described the
mode of manufacturing it in the Gas establishment, of which he
is superintendant, and expatiated on the advantages and con-
venience attending the use of it. Some objections he remarked
had been urged against it by timorous minds, who supposed it to

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 189

be dangerous and refused to introduce it into their houses for
fear of being blown up or burnt, but he remarked that as time
and the actual observation of facts were the best means of dis-
pelling unfounded prejudice, these opinions were now very nearly
obliterated ; gas being found to be infinitely safer than either
candles or lamps.

After the lecturer had read his paper, he proceeded to show
a number of experiments with a view to exemplify more parti-
cularly the nature and properties of Coal Gas; and the cir-
cumstances under which explosions take place. He first explained
that, in cases of combustion, two bodies are concerned, one the
inflammable body which is to be burned, and the other the oxygen
gas of the atmosphere ; without combining with which the in-
flammable body will not burn : oxygen then is called the supporter
of combustion. Now, as coal gas kept from contact with the air
does not contain any of this supporter of combustion in itself, it
consequently cannot burn.

This he proved by taking a vessel full of coal gas, and introducing
into it a lighted candle, which was immediately extinguished;
thus showing that the Coal Gas would neither burn of itself, nor
allow any body to burn in it when unmixed with air ; but he
afterwards showed that by mixing a portion of air witl) the gas
contained in the receiver, combustion would take place rapidly ;
for, on introducing the lighted candle again, the whole flashed ofl'
with an explosion. Gas is only delivered in a stream from a jet
and consequently can only burn as fast as it can come in contact
with the air; but if a large quantity of gas and atmospheric
air be previously mixed and a light be applied, the whole will
take fire at once with an explosion, in consequence of every part
of the gas being in contact with a portion of a supporter of com-
bustion. But the force of this explosion varies according to the
proportion of gas and air, because if there be more of either than
is just sufficient to saturate the other, the superfluous quantity
reduces the violence of the explosion.

Chemists had stated that 12 parts of atmospheric air and one
of coal gas produced the maximum of effect; but the lecturer
had always found in the course of his experiments that the greatest
effect was produced by a mixture of 9 of air to one of gas ; this he
exemplified by using an instrument, which he called an ex-
plodimeter, in which gas was mixed with air in different pro-
portions ; which, by means of a graduated scale on the instrument,
could be ascertained vei*y accurately. The expansion produced
by the explosion of these mixtures was made to act on a valve
which was blown to different heights on a graduated stem, ac-
cording to the force of the explosion, and it was here found tliat
the proportions stated by the lecturer produced the greatest
effect.

The lecturer concluded by explaining the circumstances under
which explosions usually take place in dwellings, together with

190 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

the mode of preventing them by ventilation &c. ; this part of the
subject he exemplified by a neat little model of a house in which
he suffered gas to escape, and then exploded it ; but it was here
found that even, with a design to do mischief, it was very dif-
ficult to guess the exact proportions of gas and air necessary for
this, in consequence of which, the little edifice withstood admi-
rably well its violent internal shocks and commotions, and in
short remained uninjured.

August 14th. — Mr. Swain's Lecture on Insanity.

The highly interesting paper, on the above important subject,
was read to the Society during the Winter session ; an ab-
stract of which may be found at page 34, Vol. 3rd, of the
** Museum ; " it was this evening substituted for one on Natural
Philosophy.

August 21st. — Mr. Hearder's Lecture on Flame.

The lecturer commenced by explaining the difference which
exists between the phenomena of combustion, produced by dense
and solid matter, and those produced by the action of aeriform
bodies on each other. In the latter case the combustion is perfect,
and the temperature highest. Having examined the various
causes winch modify the nature and appearance of Flame, he pro-
ceeded to show the practical advantai^es which mankind had de-
rived from this peculiar property, which combustion possesses
of existing in a gaseous form ; and exemplified the nature and
manufacture of oil gas, by means of neat and simple apparatus.
He showed the relative combustibility of different bodies, and
explained the principle of that peculiar modification discovered
by Sir Humphry Davy, and called by him invisible combustion.
He showed the action of spongy platinum upon hydrogen gas;
together with its application as a mode of producing instantaneous
light ; and, after having explained the nature and action of wire
gauze in extinguishing flame, he concluded, by showing the in-
tense heat produced by the combustion of the mixed gases in the
oxy-hydrogen blowpipe.

August 28th. — Mr. Lancaster's Lecture on Astronomy,
On this evening, the lecturer confined his remarks wholly to
the astronomy of the Earth ; commencing with a statement of its
dimensions; he brought forward the proofs of its particular form,
noted the refractive properties of its atmosphere, and the annual
and diurnal motions; spoke of the solar and sidereal year and
day, of the cause of leap year and the change of the style ; he
ilescribed with much care the elliptical form of its orbit, accounted
for the change of the seasons, and concluded by noticing more
particularly the different lengths of day and night, and the du-
ration of twilight.

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

191

September 4th. — Mr. Wightwick^s Second Lecture on
Shakespeare.

The matter of this lecture is so interesting and at the same time
so much condensed that it would be impossible to do it justice
in the space usually allotted to our abstracts ; we shall, if possible,
recur to it in a future number.

PROSPECTUS

DELIVERED IN
PLYMOUTH

OF LECTURES,

TH E ATH EN^^U M
INSTITUTION.

1834. Oct. 2. Mr. W. S. Harris,

9. Rev. Dr. Jacob,

16. Mr. S. Purdon,

23. Mr. Swain,

30. Rev. R. Luney, M. A.,

November 6. Lt. Col. C. H. Smith,

13.
20.
27.
December 4.
11.
18.

1835. Jan. 7.
8.

15.

22.
29.

February 5.

12.

19.

26.
March 5.

12.

19.

Mr. Dusautoy, B. A.,
Mr. Wightwick,
M. Luce,
Rev. G. Smith,
Mr. Hearder,
Rev. S. Rowe, M. A.,

Mr. H. Woollcombe,
Mr. W. Walker,

Mr. N. Barnes, M. A.,
Mr. Chatfield,
Mr. S. Purdon,

Mr. J. Prideaux,
Rev. S. Rowe, M. A.,
Rev. Dr. Jacob,
Mr. Swain,
Mr. W. Wyatt,
Rev. Mr. Webb,
Mr. W. S. Harris,

i

(Annual report) Progress
of Science.

Greek Tragedy.

Security of capital expen-
ded in Irish improve-
ments.

On Respiration.

Reasoning as a Science,
compared with Logic
as an Art.

Affiliation of the Tribes
of the human race (con-
tinued.)

Age of Elizabeth.

Arch itec tural varieties .

Literature of France.

Memory.

Gaseous Combustion.

Origin and progress of the
English Language.

Public Records.

Geological changes resul-
ting from Meteorologi-
cal Agency.

Moral Philosophy.

Naval Architecture.

Remedies for the evils of
Ireland.

Thermo-Electricity.

Historical Comparisons.

Egypt.

On Poisons.

Comparative Anatomy.

Capital Punishments.

Is the general law of Elec-
trical Attraction an ele-
mentary law of Nature ?

192

A VOICE FROM THE MEWSTONE.

On bored the moostone, septembur The fust,
sur, i ham verry mutch obliGed to u for piittin a drawen of
the moostone an mi Iiowse into youre booke an i Rite this to tel
u that no won cant wark from the moostone to the shoar At lo
warter for a six ore gig as i nose could be toed over the roks
without runnen fowl of it or a smawl bote mite sale over in good
Wether squire kill maid he nose the same i ave a been livin hear
a long time an i Never seed the hole beech all across dry at No
time whatsumdever the See warshes over sum part of them for i
Nose all the roks an goes down their to pik sof crabs for bate
gainst i goes a chad fishin and roe wife youre hum Bell servent

to cum hand samel warkeara
Po. scrip.

if any genteelman what likes a wark, he can wark to
the shoar At wembury, and if they holds up there white pocket-
hanchecuffs for a signal, an ile cum off in me bote and fetch them
to the island for two pence a pease, an you furgot to say thai
theres a bewtifull land in place dead easterd on the iland an sum.
stairs that i made to cum up for the ladeys, an ile be verry mutch
obliGe to put this in your booke you maid a mistake i be not forty
ears old i be only 39 and 6 munths

samel warkeam
P. s.

Vouve a forgot To say that ive a got a bewtifull kayl plat
for the gentelmen an ladeys for To play to keEls and shut rabets
at nine pens A pease eccept the panches for me piggs and kiP
the jackits ov em

an my missus hasent got no hobjecksuns to boy 11 the kittle
and make the tay pon the kayll Piatt and hand the tayPot out
of the winder an put a tabell outside the winder an every thing
humBell and comfortabell

%* The Lord of the Isles has sent us the above unique docu-
ment, it is too good to leave out.

G. p. HEARDER, PLYMOUTH.

THE SOUTH DEVON
MONTHLY MUSEUM.

PLYMOUTH, NOVEMBER 1st, 1834.
No, 23.] Price Sixpence. [Vol. IV.

THE SPECTATOR, No. VI.
ROYAL UNION BATHS, PLYMOUTH.

In the year 1828 a charter of incorporation was
granted by the king to Edmund Lockyer, Esq., and
divers others, his majesty's most loving subjects,
empowering them to erect commodious baths for the
accommodation, comfort, and convenience of the in-
habitants and visitors of Plymouth : also to make
all reservoirs, pipes, tunnels, and sluices, for sup-
plying the same with water from the sea ; and to
provide for the discharge of the waste water thereof,
by pipes, tunnels, and all other fit and proper means.

It was further granted that, for the establishing
and carrying on the said undertaking, it should be
lawful for the said company to raise and contribute
amongst themselves any sum or sums of money,
not exceeding in the whole the sum of ten thousand
pounds, which should be divided into shares of
twenty-five pounds each.

In pursuance of this grant, nearly seven thousand
pounds were raised, partly by loan and partly by
the sale of shares. Roger Hopkins, Esq., civil en-
gineer, under the direction of the committee, prepared
the necessary elevations and plans, and the foundation
stone of the erection was laid on the 29th of July,
1828, by Sir Byam Martin, acting as proxy for his
present Majesty. The establishment was opened
May 1st., 1830.

VOL. IV. — 1834. AA

194 UNION BATHS, PLYMOUTH.

The elevation is of the Doric order, consisting of
two columns in Antse, with a pediment, forming an
entrance ; with pilasters to the wings and sides.

The water is conveyed from the sea under the
Western Hoe, near the spot called the Rusty Anchor,
by means of more than thirteen hundred yards of
iron main, nine inches in diameter. The course of
this main may be seen at low water, near the spot
above mentioned.

The water is daily admitted, at high tide, into a
reservoir behind the edifice, eighty feet in length,
and fifty feet broad, from this it is also discharged
at low tide, by means of a culvert, nearly five hundred
yards in length, five feet broad, and four feet deep,
which conveys the waste water again into the sea at
Mill Bay.

The establishment has been gradually progressing
in value and improvement. So much money has been
expended from time to time since its erection in im-
portant and valuable additions and alterations, that
no interest has yet been paid on the shares, although
the interest on all borrowed money has been dis-
charged.

Some shares were sold lately at twenty pounds
each.

The establishment contains eight hot baths, with
commodious dressing rooms attached to them ; these
can be supplied with fresh or salt water, which is
heated by passing a current of steam through the
water after it has been discharged into the bath, or it
may be heated beforehand by allowing the steam to
pass through a large cistern filled with water for the
purpose.

There are two large swimming baths, seventy feet
long, by thirty broad, having twelve neat dressing
rooms attached ; the one intended for the use of ladies
is provided with ropes and other tackling, probably
intended to assist them in the study of natation.

Shower and Douche baths are always available,
provided with hot and cold water ; by means of the

UNION BATHS, PLYMOUTH. 195

Douche a stream of water may be projected on any
part of the body and continued for any length of
time.

For those who, swan-hke, would bathe in perfect
loneliness, there are provided two private cold baths,
twelve feet by six.

For cutaneous and other complaints, two Harrow-
gate baths have been provided ; one of these is equal
in size to the warm baths, the other is smaller and
intended for children.

Slipper and hot baths, with hot water, are always
ready to be sent to any part of the town on the short-
est notice. There are two sulphureous fumigating,
and hot air baths, which have produced very good
effects in cutaneous affections, chronic rheumatism,
&c., they may be considered equal in principle to
any in the kingdom ; and from the number of persons
who have received benefit from them, after all other
means had been tried and had failed, they are daily
rising in the estimation of the public.

The following are the terms of subscription : —

Tepid or hot bath, 2 6

A course of five tepid or hot baths, 10 0

do. twelve, 10 0

Sulphureous fumigating hot air, or camphorated bath, 3 0

A course of seven, 10 0

Harrov^rgate bath, 3 6

Vapour bath, 3 0

A course of eight, . 10 0

Vapour douche, 2 0

Warm water, do., 1 6

Cold do. do., 1 0

Warm shower bath, 1 6

Cold do. do., 1 0

Hip bath, 2 0

A course of five, 7 6

Private cold bath, 1 0

Do., three persons at the same time, 1 6

Single persons, once daily, during a month, 8 0

Two do., at the same time, 12 0

Single person, once, daily, for the season, 15 0

Two do. do. do., 2 0 0
Ladies* schools, or families, not exceeding five persons

at a time, 16

196 UNION BATHS, PLYMOUTH.

s. d.

Large swimming bath, 6

Once daily for a month, 4 0

do. do. the season, 15 0

Schools and families, not exceeding five, three pence each, all

above that number two pence each.

It must be mentioned as reflecting great credit on
the proprietors of this estabHshment, that they have
erected hot and cold baths expressly for the use of
the poor ; a kindness which has been acknowledged
by many with every feeling of gratitude.

In addition to the supply of sea water already
mentioned, the Baths are abundantly supplied with
fresh water from the town main ; and for the purpose
of heating the water with which the hot baths are
supplied, a large steam boiler has been erected ; of
sufficient power to force the steam to any part of
the establishment, by means of pipes connected with
it: this boiler is fed with fresh water by a pipe ex-
tending from a cistern, which is always kept filled,
at the upper part of the building ; the water is forced
through this pipe into the boiler by its mere down-
ward pressure.

The Establishment is open, in the summer months,
from six in the morning till ten at night ; and in win-
ter, from seven in the morning till ten at night.

Connected with the baths are the elegantly fitted
saloons of the Royal Victoria Spa. The public are
indebted to the enterprise and liberality of Edmund
Lockyer, Esq. for this most valuable addition to the
advantages already possessed by the town.

This medicinal spring was discovered by boring
the earth, on a portion of Mr. Lockyer 's property in
Bath Street. It is more than three hundred and
sixty feet from the surface, and is conveyed by pipes
to the saloons in the Union Baths.

Mr. J.N. Hearder, having made many experiments
on the water first procured, and having treated it by
careful analyses, was the first who asserted and proved
it to be a tonic and aperient fluid ; it was subsequently
analysed in London by J. H. Faraday, Professor of
chemistry to the Royal Institution, Albemarle Street,

SONNET. 197

and to the Royal Academy at Woolwich, who pro-
nounced it to be a saline chalybeate. J. H. Daniel,
Esq., Professor of chemistry, at King's College,
London, also analysed it and detected ingredients
similar to those which Mr. Hearder discovered in it.
Mr. Daniel's report is as follows : —
Specific gravity, at 62 degrees, 1013.3.

In a pint, imperial measure, it contains — Carbonic Acid Gas
8.100 cubic inches, and 151.66 grains of dry salts, consisting of
Chloride of Sodium, 96.64 grains.

Muriate of Magnesia, 18.68

Muriate of Lime, 15.10

Sulphate of Soda, 9.55

Sulphate of Lime, 8.94

Carbonate of Lime, 2.06

Carbonate of Iron, 0.69

151.66

From the immense number of persons who have
already received benefit from the use of this Spa,
there is no doubt but that it will become very popular.
Most of the medical men in the town and neigh-
bourhood speak highly of its valuable qualities.

It is dehvered to subscribers on the following
terms : — For the season, 10s. 6d. ; three months,
5s. ; one month, 2s. 6d. ; single visits, 6d.

Where is the flock that was given to thee, thy beautiful flock ?

Jeremiah XXIII., 20 v.

Where was the voice of Love — the soothing tone

That whispers ever, like an angd's voice.
These are a sacred charge, in these alone

Though Sorrow mark our path we may rejoice ?
Were all the secret springs of tenderness

That dwell, mysterious, in the sternest soul,
Blackened with poison ? Did the heart's recess

Loose every thrill of sympathy's controul ?
There is no name upon the human tongue

To designate that vengeance which expent
Its fierceness on the lovely — gentle — young

And with a mother's blood her infant's blent ;
Whilst pillowed on her breast the sinless child-
Dreaming of Heaven — in holy slumber smiled. Franz.

198
OLD - FASHIONED GEN EROSITY.

In this town, about 90 years ago, Mr. W — ke, leather cutter,
(but who had retired from business) was returning from the
house of prayer, whither his footsteps had been directed to pay
his accustomed (Wednesday's) adoration to the Almighty giver of
good ; and noticing a large assemblage of people in the fish-market,
then in Whimple Street, and hearing, in strong emphasis — " we
will see whether you shall take the poor gentleman," — and
again, " does he not say that he will pay when enabled" — he was
induced to step out of his way, and enquire of a female in the
crowd, known to him, the cause of the tumult. He learned from
her, that the people had gathered for the purpose of rescue, and
that the person arrested was a sea-faring man, who had been
secured nigh the spot for the sum (great in those days) of nearly
seventy pounds. Having been drawn by his inquiries closer to
the centre of the bustle, he was enabled to witness the distress of
the prisoner, as well as the concern of the officer, and resolution
of the people, and being moved by the promiscuous assemblage,
and stimulated by his own benevolent feelings, which were prob-
ably heightened by the discourse of the clergyman, he desired
that he might be suffered to pass for a little conversation with
the stranger. A way was made, as soon as Mr. W — ke's inten-
tion became known, and silence almost as soon followed. After
the lapse of a few minutes Mr. W — ke felt satisfied with tlie
captive, who acknowledged that the debt was just, — but that he
was unable then to meet it, — and that incarceration, if insisted
upon, must be long, if not perpetual; for in those days, perhaps,
no insolvent debtor's relief bill operated, to throw a ray of hope
either upon the deserving or undeserving prisoner.

When the feeling heart is disposed

" to ennoble those
That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble ;"

a long preamble is unnecessary. Mr. W — ke heard the brief
tale, and immediately released the prisoner, by becoming on the
spot responsible for the debt and its expences, taking the bare
word only of the stranger for his security. The party then
walked, amid the cheers of the mob, to the house of Mr. W — ke,
where the money was handed over to the officer, who gave his
receipt, and left satisfied; while nothing further transpired
between the liberator and liberated, than the bare assurance of
confidence on one side and honesty on the other.

Sic transit gloria inundi.

OLD-FASHIONED GENEROSITY. 199

Between the time of release and that of payment some years
had passed on ; but forgetfulness on the part of the skipper was
never entertained by Mr. W — ke, though age crippled forward
with quick step, and left every day to tell more plainly that soon
its limit must be definite; while to friendly queries on the
subject Mr. W — ke always expressed his confidence that the
stranger's word would be redeemed ; — and he lived to witness it.

The time at last arrived. To offer discount to his benefactor
was above the skipper's feelings ; — so much generosity, from a
person to whom he was quite unknown, placed such a mercenary
thought beyond the possibility of his own or his benefactor's
conception; and yet he felt that something more than the bare
return of the money was due. That his proceedings might,
therefore, be at once cautious and satisfactory, he fancied the
better plan was to provide a suitable package for the conveyance,
and which, at the same time, might relieve him from saying more
or less than was incumbent. Sailors are not fond of lojig yams,
when generosity is in the question ; nor of wicker-work, when
security is necessary ; and as the weight of seventy guineas (the
amount inclosed) was not trifling, he resolved on the purchase
of a large silver box, in which he deposited the golden treasure,
and on the lid of which, he had engraven (no doubt to his old-
fashioned taste) a lion caught in a net, with a mome at a corner
thereof, gnawing it away, to liberate the royal prisoner.

This memento, said my narrator, who was a descendant of
Mr. W — ke, and in whose possession the box remained till
kindly removed, by some friendly alliance, w^as much prized by
the original owner; and whenever it became the subject of con-
versation, Mr. W — ke was fond of remarking, in allusion to his
trade, that he once thought there was ^^ nothing like leather f^
but he now found that a silver box was as good as a leather
purse ; and it is very likely that the old gentleman also hinted to
the school book then in use, in which the devices of " The lion
caught in a net," and also that of " The tradesmen in deliberation
during a seige," were conspicuous. Whether the skipper repre-
sented himself as the lion, and his benefactor as the mouse, is
left to conjecture; but there is no doubt that he referred to the
great good a little means will do, when done to the point, and
quickly. — The parties never met again.

My narrator, who has now been gathered to his fathers, would
often amuse his infant family, by telling them their great grand-
father was a little mouse; while the children would with surprise

200 SERENADE.

look on the box, and innocently ask in return, whether he was
once a little mouse also.

One of the old school.

SERENADE.

Rest, my Love ! for evening steals

Sweetly o'er the land and sea ;
Rest, my Love ! while sleep reveals

Things that daylight doth not see :

Let thy dreams be all of me !

Rest, my Love ! the stars on high

Rain down their beams on flower and tree :

Night shutteth up each heavy eye,
And sets the weary bosom free :

Let thy dreams be all of me !

Rest, oh rest ! while joyful Hope

Doth to me her bliss decree ;
One sweet hour her visions ope

A Paradise most heavenly :

Let thy dreams be all of me !

Rest I and now for me alone

Watchful let Love's spirit be ;
For my heart is all his own

There he waiteth still for thee :

Let thy dreams be all of me !

U. S.

201
BRANDY AND SEA SICKNESS.

I ROSE and looked round on my fellow passengers, who were
all on the deck. We were eighteen in number, videlicet, five
Englishmen, an English lady, a French gentleman and his ser-
vant, an Hanoverian and his servant, a Prussian, a Swede, two
Danes, and a Mulatto boy, a German tailor and his wife (the
smallest couple I ever beheld) and a Jew. We were all on the
deck ; but in a short time I observed marks of dismay. The
lady retired to the cabin in some confusion, and many of the faces
round me assumed a very doleful and frog-coloured appearance;
and within an hour the number of those on the deck was less-
ened by one half. I was giddy, but not sick, and the giddiness
soon went away, but left a feverishness and want of appetite,
which I attributed, in great measure, to the sosva Mephitis of the
bilge-water ; and it was certainly not decreased by the expor-
tations from the cabin. However, I was well enough to join the
able-bodied passengers, one of whom observed not inaptly, that
Momus might have discovered an easier way to see a man's inside,
than by placing a window in his breast. He needed only have
taken a salt-water trip in a packet-boat.

I am inclined to believe, that a packet is far superior to a
stage-coach, as a means of making men open out to each other.
In the latter the uniformity of posture disposes to dozing, and
the definiteness of the period at which the company will separate,
makes each individual think more of those, to whom he is going,
than of those with whom he is going. But at sea, more curiosity
is excited, if only on this account, that the pleasant or unpleasant
qualities of your companions are of greater importance to you,
from the uncertainty how long you may be obliged to house with
them. Besides, if you are countrymen, that now begins to form
a distinction and a bond of brotherhood ; and if of different coun-
tries, there are new incitements of conversation, more to ask and
more to communicate. I found that I had interested the Danes
in no common degree. I had crept into the boat on the deck
and fallen asleep ; but was awaked by one of them about three
o' clock in the afternoon, who told me that they had been seek-
ing me in every hole and corner, and insisted that I should
join their party and drink with them. He talked English with
such fluency, as left me wholly unable to account for the singular
and even ludicrous incorrectness with which he spoke it. I went,
and found some excellent wines and a desert of grapes with a

VOL. IV. — 1834. BB

202 BRANDY AND SEA SICKNESS.

pine apple. The Danes had christened me Doctor Teology, and
dressed as I was all in black, with large shoes and black worsted
stockings, I might certainly have passed very well for a Methodist
missionary. However I disclaimed my title. What then may
you be ? A man of fortune ? No ! — A merchant ? No ! A mer-
chant's traveller ? No ! — A clerk ? No ! un Philosophe, perhaps ?
It was at that time in my life, in which of all possible names and
characters I had the greatest disgust to that of " un Philosophe.''
But I was weary of being questioned, and rather than be nothing,
or at best only the abstract idea of a man, I submitted by a bow,
even to the aspersion implied in the word " un philosophe." —
The Dane then informed me, that all in the present party were
philosophers likewise. Certes we were not of the stoic school.
For we drank and talked and sung, till we talked and sung all
together; and then we rose and danced on the deck a set of
dances, which in one sense of the word at least, were very intelligi-
bly and appropriately in titled reels. The passengers who lay in the
cabin below in all the agonies of sea-sickness, must have found
our bachanalian merriment

Har»h and of dissonant mood for their complaint.

I thought so at the time; and (by way, I suppose, of supporting
my newly assumed philosophical character) I thought too, how
closely the greater number of our virtues are connected with the
fear of death, and how little sympathy we bestow on pain, where
there is no danger.

The two Danes were brothers. The one was a man with a
clear wliite complexion, white hair, and white eye-brows, looked
silly, and nothing that he uttered gave the lie to his looks. The
other, whom, by way of eminence I have called the Dane, had
likewise white hair, but was much shorter than his brother, with
slender limbs, and a very thin face slightly pock-fretten. This
man convinced me of the justice of an old remark, that many a
faithful portrait in our novels and farces has been rashly cen-
sured for an outrageous caricature, or perhaps nonentity. I had
retired to my station in the boat — he came and seated himself by
my side, and appeared not a little tipsy. lie commenced the
conversation in the most magnific style, and as a sort of pioneering
to his own vanity, he flattered me with such grossness ! The par-
asites of the old comedy were modest in the comparison. His
language and accentuation were so exceedingly singular, that I
determined for once in my life to take notes of a conversation.

BRANDY AND SEA SICKNESS. 203

Here it follows, somewhat abridged indeed, but in all other res-
pects as accurately as my memory permitted.

The Dane. Vat imagination ! vat language ! vat vast sci-
ence ! and vat eyes ! vat a milk-vite forehead ! — O my heafen !
vy, you r'e a Got !

Answer. You do me too much honour, Sir.

The Dane. O me ! if you should dink I is flattering you ! —
No, no, no ! I haf ten tousand a year — yes, ten tousand a year —
yes, ten tousand pound a year ! Veil — and vat is dhat ? a mere
trifle ! I 'ould n't gif my sincere heart for ten times dhe money. —
Yes, you r'e a Got ! I a mere man ! But, my dear friend ! dhink
of me as a man ! Is, is — I mean to ask you now, my dear friend —
is I not very eloquent ? Is I not speak English very fine ?

Answ. Most admirably ! Believe me, Sir ! I have seldom
heard even a native talk sojiuentlt/.

The Dane, (squeezing my hand with great vehemence) My
dear friend ! vat an affection and fidelity we have for each odher !
But tell me, do tell me, — Is I not, now and den, speak some
fault ? Is I not in some wrong ?

Answ. Why, Sir, perhaps it might be observed by nice crit-
ics in the English language, that you occasionally use the word
" Is " instead of " am." In our best companies we generally say
I am, and not I is or Ise. Excuse me. Sir, it is a mere trifle.

The Dane. O, — is, is, am, am, am. Yes, yes — I know, I
know.

Answ. I am, thou art, he is, we are, ye are, they are.

The Dane. Yes, yes — I know, I know — Am, am, am, is dhe
presens, and Is is dhe perfectum — yes, yes — and are is dhe plus-
quam perfectum.

Answ. And " Art," Sir, is ?

The Dane. My dear friend, it is dhe plusquam perfectum,
no, no — dhat is a great lie. " Are " is dhe plusquam perfectum —
and " art " is dhe plusquam plueperfectum — (then swinging my
hand too and fro, arid cocking his little bright hazle eyes at me,
that danced with vanity and wine) You see, my dear friend, that
I too have some lehrning.

Answ. Learning, Sir ? Who dares suspect it ? Who can
listen to you for a minute, who can even look at you, without
perceiving the extent of it ?

The Dane. My dear friend, — {then with a would-be humble
look, and in a tone of voice as if he was ixasoning) I could not
talk so of presens and imperfectum, and futurum and plusquam-

204 BRANDY AND SEA SICKNESS.

plue perfectum, and all dhat, my dear friend, without so7ne
lehrning ?

Answ. Sir, a man like you cannot talk on any subject without
discovering the depth of his information.

The Dane. Dhe gramraatic Greek, my friend, ha ! ha ! ha !
{lavghing, and swinging my hand too and fro — then with a sud-
den transition to great solemnity) Now I will tell you, my dear
friend, dhere did happen about me vat dhe whole historia of Den-
mark record no instance about nobody else. Dhe bishop did ask
me all dhe questions about all dhe religion in dhe Latin grammar.

Answ. The grammar. Sir ? The language, I presume

The Dane, (a little offended) Grammar is language, and
language is grammar —

Answ. Ten thousand pardons.

The Dane. Veil, and I was only fourteen years —

Answ. Only fourteen years old ?

The Dane. No more. I vas fourteen years old — and he
asked me all questions, religion and philosophy, and all in dhe
Latin language — and I answered him all every one, ray dear
friend, all in dhe Latin language.

Answ. A Prodigy ! an absolute prodigy !

The Dane. No, no, no, he was a bishop, a great superinten-
dant.

Answ. Yes, a bishop.

The Dan e. A bishop — not a mere predicant, not a prediger —

Answ. My dear Sir, we have misunderstood each other. I
said that your answering in Latin at so early an age was a pro-
digy, that is, a thing that is wonderful, that does not often
happen.

The Dane. Often ; dhere is not von instance recorded in
dhe whole historia of Denmark.

Answ. And since then Sir ?

The Dane. I vas sent ofer to dhe Vest Indies — to our Is-
land, and dhere I had no more to do vid books. No, no, I put
my genius anodher way — and I haf made ten tousand pound a
year. Is not dhat ghenius, my dear friend, — but vat is money ?
I dhink the poorest man alive my equal. Yes, my dear friend,
my little fortune is pleasant to my generous heart, because I can
do good — no man with so little a fortune ever did so much gen-
erosity— no person, no man person, no woman person ever denies
it. But we are all Got's children.

BRANDY AND SEA SICKNESS. 205

Here the Hanoverian interrupted him, and the other Dane, the
Swede, and the Prussian joined us, together with a young En-
glishman who spoke the German fluently, and interpreted to me
many of the Prussian's jokes. The Prussian was a travelling
merchant, turned of threescore, a hale man, tall, strong, and stout,
full of stories, gesticulations, and buffoonery, with the soul as well
as the look of a mountebank, who, while he is making you laugh,
picks your pocket. Amid all his droll looks and droll gestures,
there remained one look untouched by laughter ; and that one
look was the true face, the others were but its mask. The Ha-
noverian was a pale, fat, bloated young man, whose father had
made a large fortune in London, as an army contractor. He
seemed to emulate the manners of youno^ Englishmen of fortune.
He was a good-natured fellow, not without information or litera-
ture; but a most egregious coxcomb. He had been in the habit
of attending the House of Commons, and had once spoken, as he
informed me, with great applause in a debating society. For this
he appeared to have qualified himself with laudable industry:
for he was perfect in Walker's Pronouncing Dictionary, and with
an accent, which forcibly reminded me of the Scotchman in Ro-
deric Random, who professed to teach the English pronunciation,
he was constantly deferring to my superior judgement, whether or
no I had pronounced this or that word with propriety, or *^ the
true delicacy." When he spoke, though it were only half a do-
zen sentences, he always rose ; for which I could detect no other
motive, than his partiality to that elegant phrase so liberally
introduced in the orations of our British legislators, " While I am
on my legs." The Swede, whom for reasons that will soon
appear, I shall distinguish by the name of " Nobility," was a
strong featured, scurvy-faced man, his complexion resembling, in
colour, a red hot poker, beginning to cool. He appeared mi-
serably dependant on the Dane; but was however incomparably
the best informed and most rational of the party. Indeed his
manners and conversation discovered him to be both a man of the
world and a gentleman. The Jew was in the hold : the French
gentleman was lying on the deck so ill, that I could observe no-
thing concerning him, except the affectionate attentions of his
servant to him. The poor fellow was very sick himself, and every
now and then ran to the side of the vessel, still keeping his eye
on his master but returned in a moment and seated himself
again by him, now supporting his head, now wiping his forehead
and talking to him all the while in the most soothing tones.

206 BRANDY AND SEA SICKNESS.

There had been a matrimonial squabble of a very ludicrous kind
in the cabin, between the little German tailor and his little wife.
He had secured two beds, one for himself, and one for lier. This
had struck the little woman as a very cruel action ; she insisted
upon their having but one, and assured the mate in the most
piteous tones, that she was his lawful wife. The mate and the
cabin boy decided in her favour, abused the little man for his want
of tenderness with m.uch humour, and hoisted him into the same
compartment with his sea-sick wife. This quarrel was interesting
to me, as it procured me a bed, which I otherwise should not
have had.

In the evening, at 7 o'clock, the sea rolled higher, and the
Dane, by means of the greater agitation, eliminated enough of
what he had been swallowing to make room for a great deal more.
His favourite potation was sugar and brandy, i. e. a very little
warm water with a large quantity of brandy, sugar, and nutmeg.
His servant boy, a black- eyed Mulatto, had a good-natured round
face, exactly the colour of the skin of the walnut-kernel. The
Dane and I were again seated, tete a tcte, in the ship's boat.
The conversation, which was now indeed rather an oration than
a dialogue, became extravagant beyond ail that I ever heard. He
told me that he had made a large fortune in the island of Santa
Crux, and was now returning to Denmark to enjoy it. He ex-
patiated on the style in which he meant to live, and the great un-
dertakings which he proposed to himself to commence, till the
brandy aiding his vanity, and his vanity and garrulity aiding the
brandy, he talked like a madman — entreated me to accompany
him to Denmark — there I should see his influence with the go-
vernment, and he would introduce me to the king, &c. &c. Thus
he went on dreaming aloud, and then passing with a very lyrical
transition to the subject of general politics, he declaimed, like a
member of the Corresponding Society, about (not concerning) the
Rights of Man, and assured me that notwithstanding his fortune,
he tliought the poorest man alive his equal. All are equal, my
dear friend, all are equal ; Ve are all Got's children. The poor-
est man haf the same rights with me. Jack, Jack, some more
sugar and brandy, Dhere is dhat fellow now : He is a Mulatto
— but he is my equal. — That 's right, Jack, (taking the sugar
and brandy.) Here you Sir, shake hands with dhis gentleman;
Shake hands with me, you dog ; Dhere dhere, — we are all equal

my dear friend. Do I not speak like Socrates, and Plato, and

Cato — they were all philosophers, my dear philosophe, all very

BRANDY AND SEA SICKNESS. 207

great men ; — and so was Homer and Virgil — but they were poets,
yes, yes, I know all about it. But what can any body say more
than this? we are all equal, all Got's children. I haf ten thou-
sand a year, but I am no more than the meanest man alive. I haf
no pride ; and yet, my dear friend, I can say, do, and it is done.
Ha, ha, ha ! my dear friend ; Now dhere is dhat gentleman {point-
ing to " Nobility") he is a Swedish baron — you shall see. Ho !
{calling to the Swede) get me will you, a bottle of wine from the
cabin. Swede. — Here, Jack, go and get your master a bottle of
wine from the cabin. Dane. No, no, no, do i/ou go now — you
go yourself — i/ou go now. Swede. Pah! Dane. Now go,
go, I pray you. And the Swede went!

He retired to his cabin, and I wrapped myself up in my great
coat, and looked at the water. A beautiful white cloud of foam at
momentary intervals coursed by the side of the vessel with a roar,
and little stars of flame danced and sparkled and went out in it :
and every now and then light detachments of this white cloud-like
foam darted off from the vessel's side, each with "its own small
constellation, over the sea, and scoured out of sight like a Tartar
troop over a wilderness.

It was cold, the cabin was at open war with my olfactories,
and I found reason to rejoice in my great coat, a weighty high-
caped, respectable rug, the collar of which turned over, and played
the part of a night-cap very passably. In looking up at two or
three bright stars, which oscillated with the motion of the sails, I
fell asleep, but was awakened at one o'clock, Monday morning,
by a shower of rain. I found myself compelled to go down into
the cabin, where I slept very soundly, and awoke with a very
good appetite at breakfast time, my nostrils, the most placable of
all the senses, reconciled to, or indeed insensible of, the mephitis.
Monday, September 17th, I had a long conversation with the
Swede, who spoke with the most poignant contempt of the Dane,
whom he described as a fool, purse-mad ; but he confirmed the
boasts of the Dane respecting the largeness of his fortune, which
he had acquired in the first instance as an advocate, and after-
wards as a planter. From the Dane and from himself I collected
that he was indeed a Swedish nobleman, who had squandered a
fortune, that was never very large, and had made over his pro-
perty to the Dane, on whom he was now utterly dependent. He
was in Ingh degree humane and attentive to the English lady,
who suffered most fearfully, and for whom he performed many
little offices with a tenderness and delicacy which seemed to prove

208 BRANDY AND SEA SICKNESS.

real goodness of heart. Indeed, his general manners and con-
versation were not only pleasing, but even interesting; and I
struggled to believe his insensibility respecting the Dane philoso-
phical fortitude. For though the Dane was now quite sober, his
character oozed out of him at every pore. And after dinner,
when he was again flushed with wine, every quarter of an hour or
perhaps oftener he would shout out to the Swede, " Ho ! Nobi-
lity, go — do such a thing; Mr. Nobility! — tell the gentlemen
such a story, and so forth," with an insolence wliich must have
excited disgust and detestation, if his vulgar rants on the sacred
rights of equality, joined to his wild havoc of general grammar
no less than of the English language, had not rendered it so irre-
sistibly laughable.

At four o'clock I observed a wild duck swimming on the
waves, a single, solitary wild duck. It is not easy to conceive,
how interesting a thing it looked in that round, objectless desert
of waters. I had associated such a feeling of immensity with
the ocean, that I felt exceedingly dissapointed, when I was out
of sight of all land, at the narrowness and nearneasy as it were, of
the circle of the horizon. So little are images capable of satis-
fying the obscure feelings connected with words. In the evening
the sails were lowered, lest we should run foul of the land, which
can be seen only at a small distance. And at four o'clock, on
Tuesday morning, I was awakened by the cry of land ! land !
It was an ugly island rock at a distance on our left, called
Heiligeland, well known to many passengers from Yarmouth to
Hamburgh, who have been obliged by stormy weather to pass
weeks and weeks in weary captivity on it, stripped of all their
money by the exorbitant demands of the wretches who inhabit
it. So at least the sailors informed me. — About nine o'clock we
saw the main land, which seemed scarcely able to hold its head
above water, low, flat, and dreary, with light-houses and land-
marks which seemed to give a character and language to the
dreariness. We entered the mouth the Elbe, passing Neuwerk;
though as yet the right bank only of the river was visible to us.
On this I saw a church, and thanked God for my safe voyage,
not without affectionate thoughts of those I had left in England.

Coleridge.

209
ANTIQUITIES OF THE TOWN OF OKEHAMPTON.

Continued and concluded from page 184.

This church was much injured by the fanatics of the parliamenta-
ry army in the reign of Charles I. Sir W. Pole, in his collections
towards a description of Devon, informs us, that Cromwell quar-
tered two troops of horse in it ; and that a fair organ and several
monuments were broken by them. Their organ seems to have
been much cared for by the good burgesses of Okehampton;
Ricliard Hanagro, one of whose ancestors held the great tythes,
by will, dated July, 1623, left forty shillings for its repair. Every
species of havoc and profanation was committed in our religious
edifices by the mad enthusiasts of that period. The cathedrals
were especially objects of their fury : at Litchfield, says Dugdale
in his *' Short View of the late troubles," " courts of guard were
kept in the iles ; they broke up the pavement, and every day hunted
a cat with hounds throughout the church, delighting themselves
with the echo from its goodly vaulted roof." It is remarkable
that Lord Brook, who commanded the parliamentary forces, re-
ceived his death wound not long after from a church ; he was
shot through the vizor of his helmet with a musket ball.

Of the chapel once standing in the hamlet of Keckbear, and on
the decay or demolition of which that part known as the sheaf
aisle was probably added to Okehampton Church, no satisfactory
information has reached me.

I may not dismiss the topic without noticing the elegant re-
mains of what once constituted the Castle chapel. This seems
to have been one of the Lord Courtenay*s improvements above
noticed ; at least my inference is drawn thus. Richard Fitz
Baldwin, who died 25. June, 1137, was Jirst buried at Brightley,
his remains being subsequently removed to Ford Abbey. Is it
fair to suppose that these interments had not taken place were
there consecrated ground at the time within the castle walls ?

If any one among my auditory has never seen, or having seen
hath never felt what the chastened beauty, the solemn retirement
of this lovely ruin should inspire — words of mine must utterly fail
to suggest them. From all that time has spared here, the remains
of two elegantly arched windows, with a small, but fair propor-
tioned niche in the massive outer wall of the castle itself (it forms
the south wall of the chapel) we may judge what it sliewed when
in its undecayed splendour.

VOL. IV. — 1834. CO

210 ANTIQUITIES OF OKEHAMPTON.

The arms bom by De Brionys and his descendants — they are
seen in this hall — are, in the language of heralds, cheeky, or
and azure, over all two bars, argent.

Few boroughs of equal antiquity with Okehampton can trace
with more clearness the origin and progress of their liberties.
We have seen that Baldwin, the Viscount, as he is termed in
Doomsday book, held this town on the tenure of knight's service :
there was also a fine or quit rent to the crown of four shillings
yearly. Robert de Courtenay, in time of Henry III. made this
place a free burg ; but the rights of the burgesses were not merely
nominal at a date yet earlier. We learn this from the preamble
of the charter itself : it proposes to confirm to them all the lib-
erties and privileges they held in the time of Richard (Fitz Bald-
win) and of Robert the son of Reginald, Maude Abarenges his
wife, and of Ilawise, mother of the granter.*

t Hawise, as well as I can trace the descent, was the grand-
child of De Brionys' youngest daughter, the Lady Emma, by her
second husband, William Averinches. Their heiress, the Maude
Abarenges of the deed, married Reginald natural son of King
Henry I., and earl of Cornwall.

By this charter the rights of the burgesses are established " in
woods and in uplands, in ways and in paths, in common of pas-
tures, in waters and in mills."

They might turn their swine to graze in the Lord Courtenay *s
forest.

They were to be free from all manner of toll, and are en pow-
ered to elect their own portreeve and a beadle.

Other rights not strictly authorized by this grant, in time grew
prescriptive here ; and the citizens seem to have acted in all res-
pects as a body corporate long before they obtained the royal
sanction. In the 4th. James 1st. the liberties of this place were
formally recognized by the crown. His charter was confirmed
and the privileges of the town enlarged by Charles II. in 1671.
(query 1684) This was done, as is stated in the preamble, in
gratitude for services rendered by Robert Rattenbury, Mayor of
Okehampton, to his father of blessed memory. It occurred
after the surrender of the royalist army to Sir Thomas Fairfax, at
Bodmin, in 1646.

• Sir William Pole's genealogy of the Courtenays is mentioned as having
been " taken from the leiger book of Okehampton, fortified by extract, from
old deeds."

tMr. L}sons should have consulted that oldest yet most faithful of anti«i".a-
ries Brown Willis.

I

ANTIQUTTIES OF OKEHAMPTON. 211

It creates a corporation with 8 burgesses of whom one is to be
mayor, and 8 assistants of common council, a recorder, justice,
and town clerk.

They are empowered to try all felonies, misdemeanors ; in short
every offence occurring within the borough where the punish-
ment shall not extend to loss of life or limb.

They can hold a court of requests for all pleas under the amount
of £30.

And also, a court of pie pondre ; so called, says Barringtou,
from Pied pouldreaux, a pedlar, in old French, or a court of such
petty chapmen as resort to fairs or markets. But the charter di-
rects that no stranger shall exercise his handicraft or expose goods
for sale except in time of fair or market, unless he be free of the
borough, or have his license from the mayor for so doing. But
these courts have been long discontinued.

The elective franchise of this town was vested in the freeholders
and freemen ; these last acquiring the right by servitude and con-
ferring it on their eldest sons only. Besides this the mayor and
burgesses had long exercised the privilege of bestowing an hono-
rary freedom of this town ; but in 1801 a writ quo warr^anto, issued
lo try the validity of their claims. A decision was subsequently
given in the court of King's bench, against the power assumed ;
and many freemen struck off in consequence. The reform bill
of 1832 proved fatal to what remained of its electorial rights.

Little is left but to notice the kind assistance afforded me in
drawing up this lecture.

To the Vicar of Spreyton, whose local knowledge has been
perfected by a library profuse in antiquarian research, I am in-
debted for much of the authorities, and yet more of the interest,
of this paper; if indeed any have been interested by its reading.

My attention was first drawn to the difference of architecture
discernable in the castle by a gentleman whose name I am with-
held from mentioning.

The worthy deputy Recorder of this borough, Major Luxmore,
has not only been ready to produce, but decypher for me in many
cases M.S.S. of which I have gladly sought the authority, and
when it suited me freely quoted from them.

For the bishop's letter respecting the chantry mentioned above,
for a draft of the liberties of Okehampton made just after the
Hanoverian accession, for these and other communications Mr.
Colling will accept my sincere acknowledgments.

212 THE EXORCIST OF HALSTOCK.

And now my fair and worthy liearers this long lecture on your
patience is at an end. When Walter de Mapes, the jovial Arch-
deacon of Oxford, in the 11th century, had concluded his metrical
argument against the celibacy of the clergy, he besought each
reverend clerk to join with his mistress in a prayer for his sins.
So for myself, I would entreat each fair dame and gentle youth,
whom the spring shall draw forth among the beauties of their
native scenery, that of their courtesy they excuse, or smile only
on the mistakes of a stranger, who has thus ventured to dilate on
topics with which they themselves must be much better acquainted.

t-UNEREAL SKETCHES, No. XXVI.*
THE EXORCIST OF HALSTOCK.

The hill is bleak above the wood,

Where St. Michael of Halstock*s chapel stood :

Deep beneath, the moor bom rill

Laves a spot that is hallowed still.

Girdling the forgotten cell

Where its ancient sacristan used to dwell.

A fearful wight, I have heard tell
Was the sexton of Halstock's low chapel le.
When Richard's monks from Brightley fled
They carried the sacristan forth as dead
As far as the verge of a ruiming brook

Which shone that day like fire ;
When the train were felled by a sudden stroke

All save Brightley 's prior.
When the brethren rose and looked around
Corpse nor coffin might there be found ;
But a smell of sulphur was on the ground.
At vesper bell the sacristan
Of Halstock was a living man,

* By an accidental omission, the Titles "Funereal Sketches" were omitted in
the pieces, at pages 71 and 85 of the present volume. They should have been
numbered as follows: "No. 23,— Lonely Thoughts;" "No. 24,— Truant Fan-
cies:" "No. 25,— The Quest House;" (by mistake numbered 23) consequently
the present will be No. 26.

THE EXORCIST OF HALSTOCK. 213

And nothing seen in the chapel nave,

Only the marks of a rifled grave.

A haggard wight from the neighbouring town

Came by the oozy moss,
Where a w^izard of power at midnight hour

Once buried St. Michael's cross.
At his back an oaken chest
Firmly strapped about his breast ;
On his shoulder the mattock and shovel
Might have been stolen from a moorman's hovel.
Wliat would the resurrection knave
Seek at the sexton of Halstock's grave ?

He began to dig as the clock struck one,
But 't was twilight hour ere his work was done.
A weary task, for each quarter time
That townward the clock was heard to chime
He must give as many knocks
On the lid of his cumbrous oaken box.
With might and main, by way of spell,
• Or the sexton's grave will become a well.

He opened the box with a rusty key
Once the nail of a gibbet in Hatherley ;
He opened the box, and again began
To fill up the grave of the twice-dead man.
He threw in a thing like a small white hand
Of a lady to rank with the best in the land
And all at once through the west park-gate
A chariot drove at a fearful rate ;
The bay of a hound at the horses' heels.
Mixed with the sound of the whirring wheels
And the coachman laughed in fiendish glee
And shouted, " On ! for the trysting tree."
Heavy and hot was the morning air.

And clouds on Meldon lowered ;
But never again on Meldon round
Were met the ghosts of that skeleton hound,

And his mistress the Lady Howard.

He threw in a thing like the high-crowned hat

Of a roystering cavalier.
And Charles himself in judgement sat

In the Guild of the township near.

214 THE EXORCIST OF HALSTOCK.

The caitiff we scarce had time to note
Scarce heard the rattle within his throat ;

For he swung from the fatal tree
As the marshal told his crime and name —
He had harried the lands of a widowed dame

In the tything of Inwardleigh.
But the sounds that died on the muffled drum.
Seemed dirge for a Royal Martyrdom.

He threw in a thing like a tasselled cloak

Such as is worn by the burgher folk.

Two iron letters your eye may meet

On a wall, by the Chantry, in Ok ton Street : —

Stout of heart they esteem the wight

Who reads those letters at dead of night

Though the moon be glinted back the while

From the oriel lights of the chantry aisle.

The Exorcist stood by the grave, and read

The initial scroll of the burgher dead :

Suddenly a cloud of smoke

Wreathed and mantled about the cloak,

So densely, we could nothing heed

But the strong perfume of a foreign weed ;

And I thought the Exorcist about to faint

And bade him call on his patron Saint.

Then there followed long and loud

Peals of laughter from out the cloud ;

But all was indistinct until —

As the wreaths decayed on the side of the hill —

One shut the heavy box :
And hark ! that sleepy raven's croak
Flapping his wings from Halstock oak

He is scared by the creaking locks.
And the Exorcist said he must strive by prayer
For the rest of the spirit of Master Gayer.

Eos.

215

THE IMPORTANCE OF SHAKSPEARFS WRI-
TINGS, CONSIDERED AS TO THEIR INFLUENCE
ON THE MORALS OF MEN.

FROM A LECTURE DELIVERED IN THE ATHENiEUM OF THE
PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

Whether the moral interests of mankind may
be more advanced by precept or exhibition, i. e. by
the mere dictation of sentiments, or by the exposure
of those varied impulses, which distinguish human
nature and individualize man. Whether we are to
be more benefitted by immediate admonition, or by
such impressions as are deducible from an acquaint-
ance with men and manners, " chequered with good
and evir^ as they are — whether we had better receive
truths as little children ; or seek truth by the use of
our sagacity — whether, in short, that knowledge is
the more salutary which openly, and at once, ad-
dresses our comprehension; or that, which slowly
(and almost imperceptibly) steals into the mind
through the channels of observation and examination,
is a question, which, (as far as regards mere moral
truth) would surely be answered in favor of that me-
dium which our observation, and powers of compa-
rison and deduction supply. The draught which we
take at once from the running brook may be clear as
crystal ; but that which has passed the impercep-
tible pores of the filtering rock shall be purer still.
At any rate, we shall drink with a more perfect con-
viction of its purity ; and, if our imagination only be
satisfied our health shall be, in a measure, sustained.

Far be it from me to state, that an extensive know-
ledge of the world is necessarily accompanied by
moral probity. It were trite to remark upon the
thousands who apply their observation with no other
motive than to over reach the less informed in fur-
therance of their own selfish purposes. I allude, of
course, only to men of principle; and trust it will be
allowed, that, in their case, truths born of worldly
knowledge, truths which are the consequence of per-

216 shakspeare's writings.

ception and thought will be more impressive and more
practicable than those which fall from the lips or
flow from the pen of the professed individual mo-
rahst.

But, the best of us, can scarcely jostle long among
the real denizens of busy life, without, in some mea-
sure losing our moral delicacy. We may become,
not actually more vicious, but less generous, and that
care, which, in the first instance, was of a philanthro-
pic nature, may subsequently receive a dash of sel-
fish cunning. The leading and important decrees
of virtue may still have their full effect upon our o-e-
neral conduct ; but many of those softer liumanities,
which recommended the more substantial qualities
of mind, will most hkely be disturbed or entirely de-
faced. The butterfly may still sweep his airy round ;
but the beauty of his wings no longer claims our in-
voluntary notice.

Since, then, that knowledge of the world, which
is obtained by an active commingling with men, be,
in some respects, injurious, it were desirable to seek
the same ends by different means : — and, what a
glorious thing would it be, if all nations possessed a
BOOK by the study of which they might acquaint
themselves with every variety of human nature, with-
out encountering the evils incident to collision,
wherein they might observe all the workings of the
good and evil passions, all the gradations of honour,
all the depths of sin, and, by the multifarious study
of which, sagacity must be necessarily awakened so
as to afford the full power of practical application.
Where the application of moral truth is not left to
ourselves, we are sufficiently careless as to whether
we do right or wrong. Flatter a man's wit: leave
him something to find out and he will oft times prove
marvellously tractable. When a little boy and girl
receive six-pence a piece from an old gentleman, with
an injunction to be "good children," they are much
more likely to spend the money than remember the
advice ; but, when they witness the punishment of

siiakspeare's writings. 217

two playmates, or read of such an affair in their story
book, they quietly pocket the instruction, and, in all
probability, practice amendment. There is little ser-
vice in the words " Cromwell I charge thee throw
away ambition ;'' nor was there any necessity for
the overthrown Wolsey to say

" Mark but my fall and that that ruined me : — "
the moral is to be found in his general conduct and
fate, not in any particular words that he utters.

I say then, what a glorious thing would it be if all
nations possessed such a revelation of the human
heart as we possess in the works of Shakspeare !
What other nations do possess, I know not : if any
or all of them can boast such a treasure, it is to be
hoped that none of them study it so little as our-
selves. The moral effects of Shakspeare are, in their
extent, yet to be seen, for Shakspeare is yet to be
read. He is yet to be appreciated, not as a mere
ministerto the enjoyment of any leisure moments we
may happen to have, but, as one whom it is a duty
to study, less on account of that poetic power which
renders him resplendent in the universe of the ima-
gination, less on account of that mental strength
which admits him into the presence chamber of au-
gust philosophy, less on account of any thing which
has hitherto recommended his name, than of a great
MORAL INFLUENCE, wliich, wc may fairly presume,
would accompany the knowledge of man, a know-
ledge which it would seem, was entirely concentrated
in the comprehensive soul of Shakspeare. Let us
hear no depreciatory allusions to occasional frivolity
and obscenity, as affecting the moral tendency of a
work in the mass. The ignorant who can understand
nothing but the lighter parts of an author, and the
vicious who can enjoy nothing but the loose, will be
scarcely benefitted by the perusal of any work. Such
people should listen only to the expounder.

Perhaps the time will arrive, when all that we
now admire in Shakspeare, will be regarded as the
mere sweetmeat in which a great moral tonic has

VOL. IV. — 1834. DD

218 SHAKSPEARE*S WRITINGS.

been administered. Commentators, instead of ex-
pending their sagacity upon siips of the pen and the
blunders of the printer's devil, will be engaged in the
study of his subtleties, and occupied in the propaga-
tion of his moral philosophy. The more we consider
him, the more we are astonished, till, at length, we
look upon his mind as almost superhuman. Of low
birth, uneducated (comparatively) accidently urged
to write, careless of fame, and, as it appears, per-
fectly unconscious of his talents, it is, at least, won-
derful he should have done well as a mere playwright.
Burns seems to have gone as far as genius, unas-
sisted by sublunary circumstances, could go : but we
must regard Shakspeare as having done what is beyond
the ordinary course of human power. His life was
short — his knowledge beyond ordinary computation
both as to extent and variety ; and, indeed, it is his
versatility which more particularly impresses us with
a sense of his exti*aordinary powers. Yet, his versa-
tility were nothing, were it shewn only in the descrip-
tion of character, however nicely the external features
of individuality might be remarked upon. In fact,
w^E can describe what he moulded in the form and
invested with the feeling of truth. The painter, or
the writer, can depict or describe King Lear and
Hamlet, which had been only suitable masks and
dresses in the hands of an ordinary good poet ; but
who, in Shakspeare's page are men — men above us
in the calibre of their minds, but allied to us in res-
pect to the weaknessess and inconsistencies of per-
vading nature, men, from whom we can learn, because
with them we can sympathize. It has been well
observed of Shakspeare, that he does not so much
speak the language of Nature, as that Nature speaks
through him. It is, as if she had selected him from
among her many admirers, admitted him to her most
secret haunts, confessed to him the passions, preju-
dices, virtues and vices, which, in their turns actuate
her, and made him acquainted with every original
spring by which they are set in motion. Thus, at

shakspeare's writings. 219

once, the analysis of mind seemed open to him, and
he possessed himself of such an infinity of elemen-
tary ingredient that his creative faculty proved inex-
haustible. The greater and more frequent our
draughts upon him, the less failing seems his ampli-
tude of riches : " The more he gives the more he has,
for both are infinite."

Thus, Shakspeare's unlimited knov^ledge of man
in all his degrees, in all his varieties, and under all
circumstances, rendered him, of all others the fittest
to effect the supply of a work, which might open to
the closet student the " ways of the world," initiate
him in the arts of necessary defence, and increase his
prudence without impairing his virtue. We may
find in his volumes the most Christian precepts, and
might readily compile an exquisite code of morals :
but I am inclined to think, that Shakspeare's great
value consists in the truth and power with which he
has distinguished and individualized his numerous
characters. Most other poets have given different
names to the persons of their drama, and have en-
trusted them with the delivery of different sentiments ;
but in other respects, there is nothing to individual-
ize them : they are either villainous, or virtuous, or
passionate, or moderate, as the author gives them
words, or the stage manager directions ; but they are
not associated with any particular cast, form or de-
gree of human composition. If they have any indi-
viduality it is that only which the actor gives them.
They are interesting from the situations in which they
are placed, but they are uninstructive because they
are evidently unreal. When Miss O'Neill played
Mrs. Haller, we pitied the actress : when she per-
sonated Juliet, we loved the creature of Shakspeare.
Macready gives importance to the Stranger ; he de-
rives it from Hamlet. When we see Howard Payne's
Brutus we admire Kean as an independent genius :
when he appears in the " Merchant of Venice," we
regard with varied emotion the true Shy lock. We
are Shakspeare's pupils : but we patronize others.

220

SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT,
No. III.

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet?

Ham. Excellent i 'faith : of the chamelion's dish I eat — the air :
Promise-crammed : you cannot feed capons so.

Shakspeare.

The young practitioner, however, must not im-
agine that old Fullmoney (see No. 1.) is brought
forward as the representative of architectural patron-
age in the mass. Although he is to be met with too
frequently, we have yet an equal chance of encoun-
tering employers of the paynaught class : kind, easy
gentlemen, who, in their zeal to do you " some
service," give you the advantage of their necessity
for your professional aid ; afford you a " grand op-
portunity" for advertising your taste to their visitors
or some passing Pericles ; take especial care that
you shall be practically informed as to all the troub-
les and perplexities of your line of business ; alter-
nately goad you with the spur of expedition, steady
you with the curb of caution, cheer you with the
pat of approbation ; and, at length, dismiss you
with, — "very well, indeed, for a beginner," and, —
" you '11 get on in time, no doubt."

Doubtless, you will say, opportunity for display is
a good thing. The eloquence of palpable archi-
tecture is greater than that of mere architectural
design. But, they who strive for means must have
the means to strive ; and, without a little hay in the
mean while, the horse cannot wait for the grass to
grow. Where the regular practitioner would demand
twenty-five guineas, the young " beginner" may ex-
pect a five pound note. Mr. Paynaught's parting
encouragement may prove of no more value than
J- r/72arfo'5 *" remuneration," which Costard wisely
supposed was " the Latin word for three farthings,"

*See Love's Labour Lost, Act iii. sc. 1.

i

SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT. 221

and which he regarded as eleven pence farthing
worse than Biron's " guerdon."

Softly, young sir. Silence for your own sake !
Listen : — a word in your ear. If your gratuitous
work attracts no subsequent notice, it is for your
modesty to suppose, it was not worth paying for.
A man has a right to get things as cheaply as pos-
sible— for nothing, if he can : and there is no
compulsion on your gratuitous assistance, beyond
the sense of doing yourself a benefit. It is to be
presumed that Paynaught would not have employed
any established architect whatever, had you refused
him that gratuitous assistance. The carpenter who
executed the required work, would, most likely, in
that case, also have designed it : and would you not,
sir, as a genuine lover of your profession — would
you not as an artist — as one of a class which ought
to assume to itself an ameliorating and dignifying
influence in society — would you not rather go un-
paid, than suffer vulgar tastelessness to go unreform-
ed ? It is still, at least some merit, that old Paynaught
could just turn the balance in favour of art. Of two
alternatives costing him nothing, he could, at least,
choose the best; and, indeed, he may have expen-
ded in the execution of your design a five pound
note beyond what had been the cost of completing
the carpenter's design, " Go to — ^you 're a saucy
boy."

But, sir — pardon me. If my gratuitous work
attracts, as you have said, no subsequent notice, it
may be owing to that meddling ignorance which
thwarted all my intentions as to proportion and de-
coration. It mai/ be, that my kind patron, having
affected a vast motive of well doing, by his afforded
opportunity for display, consecutively effected, du-
ring the progress of the works, such an entire des-
truction of all those peculiar graces which would
have manifested the artist, that the issue of matters
had been, on the whole, somewhat better, if left to
the carpenter alone. Put yourself in my case, sir.

222 SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT.

Suppose your design to have been approved, as at
once classical and picturesque : the accuracy of its
realization the only reward of your exercised taste
and earnest care. The plan is rigidly laid down, and
the body of your structure is suffered to grow un-
molested to the height of some four or five feet
above the plinth. Just now, for the first time, your
patron begins to see, that your designs and his ideas
have cultivated a very false intimacy. Your hori-
zontal disposition requires a proportional perpen-
dicular which his notions of necessity will not admit ;
and thus, with the like ill fate which attended the
dying word of Artaxominous^ and the projected
" eter-nity" of Whisker andos;\ your nine diametered
Corinthian columns are cut down into five diametered
stumps ; your arch is chopped off with a lintel ; and
your windows, designed to be correspondent with
those of the Erectheion, are compressed into a spe-
cies of port-holes, too low for three panes, and too
high for two. So much for your *' golden opportu-
nity." Your pleadings against alteration are, of
course, treated as the empty outpourings of scrupu-
lous pedantry : and the whole being completed in
accordance with your employer's whim, you are left
to bear all the brunt of critical severity. You are
patiently to hear the world condemn you as the de-
signer of the work, while your friendly employer
vindicates himself by declaring, that, if it be faulty,
he is himself blameless ; for he consulted a profess-
ional man.

I fear my indignant young friend has here left me
little room for any advice beyond that of strenuously
cultivating a patiently enduring; spirit. To other

* Art, O, my Bombastes, prithee step this way,

O, O, my Bom (dies)

Bom. bastes he would have said ;

But, ere the word was out his breath was fled.

t For all eter

Beefeater. nity, he would have added.

SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT. 223

still more youthful aspirants, who, dazzled by the
splendors of an architectural portfolio, seek to ob-
tain pecuniary means and a happy existence by
architectural practice, the " too solid" truth of the
foregoing picture may serve for a wholesome inti-
mation, as to what they may expect in entering upon
a profession, which, less than any other, has a hold
on public sympathy, and which more than any other
is liable to the meddhng of individual whimsicahty.

To enlarge a little on the Paynaught patronage.
Still more liberal in affording opportunities for the
gratuitous display of an architect's fancy in making
plans and drawings, are corporate bodies and select
committees. Franklin says, ^' an assembly of great
men is the greatest fool upon earth.'' It may be
also said, that a committee of rich men, though they
may be individually liberal, is the meanest of man-
agers. Some public edifice is to be erected. A
chairman and tableful of delegates are appointed to
protect the interests of the town, and secure the ex-
ecution of something that shall be worthy of it. It
is resolved that an architect shall be " consulted."
He is summoned accordingly. A few questions
from the chair seem to constitute the consultation ;
for scarcely are they answered, ere he becomes a
sort of target for the sharp-shooting wits of the
committee, who, in contempt for breathing-time and
reflection, let fly upon his bewildered senses all kinds
of fragmental ideas, till his brain becomes as a
sponge-cake fretted all over with split almonds.

He trusts, however, in the subsequent effort of
judgement, which the silent atmosphere of his study
may enable him to make. He sketches, alters, cor-
rects— at length decides, completes his plans, and
draws up a careful statement of the principles which
have governed him in their formation. Though it
has been out of his power entirely to fulfil the
opposing wishes of the committee, he has yet, he
trusts, effected so satisfactory a compromise between
the impossibility of pleasing all and the partiality of

224 SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT.

individual favour, that his designs will be, on the
whole, approved, and the building forthwith com-
menced. With these very extravagant ideas, he
waits upon the committee a second time.

God bless the poor man ! While he has been
covering sheet after sheet with plans, elevations,
sections and perspective effects, Mr. Alderman Stil-
ton, the cheesemonger, has been busy on a sheet of
cartridge paper, and has sketched out a design far
more to the purpose than his ! As to the architect,
he has certainly made a set of very fine drawings
" and all that f but Stilton's is the idea ; and " if

Mr. will but make out a set of working drawings

on Mr. Stilton's plan, he will stand some chance of
being attended to." The mortified artist vainly at-
tempts an explanation of his own plans, which,
during the hour of discussion have been thumbed
and creased, and torn and blotted, like a "last
Sunday's paper" in a pot-house. Rarely, indeed,
does the labour of making drawings, and, still less,
the mental application necessary to design, enter the
thoughts of the committee. The most elaborate
sections are flounced about as if they had been
printed by steam on whitey-brown paper, ten thou-
sand in an hour. The cheesemonger has no notion
of regarding time as stock in trade. Taste and in-
vention are not sold by the pound, and Alderman
Pennyweight has not the most distant idea of pay-
ing for "moonshine." When, therefore, our archi-
tect refuses to eat cheese alone, and asks for the
fairly earned means of purchasing a crust, the com-
mittee stare at him as if he had demanded a " world
of one entire and perfect chrysolite !" He is not in
a condition to wage law with the body corporate,
and none of its members are individually responsible.
They merely " consulted" him under the probability
of his subsequent employment, and have been no
further wrong than in spelling " ?wsult" with a con.

An anecdote, illustrative of the foregoing, is to be
found in the records of an important borough in the

LITERARY NOTICE. 225

south of England. A new guildhall and prison
were required. Advertisements for plans were pub-
lished. Several good desijxns (one by a celebrated
London architect) were sent in, glanced at, and laid
aside. Their authors received neither remuneration
nor thanks ; but, on applying for the return of their
drawings, were informed, that the town Serjeant had
mislaid them. The plan of a common resident build-
er was adopted. It was indeed a contrivance ! a
delicious medley of barbarites, evidently originating
in an ignorant survey of the several rejected designs,
so unfortunately lost ! The conclusion is the only
gratifying part of this brief narrative. The builder
was the first to appear in the prisoner's box of his
own ugly guildhall, and the last to be emancipated
from his own ill-contrived prison. He was found
guilty of obtaining money under false pretences, and
sentenced to imprisonment, so long as he should
fail to refund the sum of which he had illegally
possessed himself, and to pay as much more for the
provision of those genuine means which he had the
impudence to counterfeit.

A DRAMATIC SKETCH, DESCRIPTIVE OF THE

RECEPTION OF THE LATE LORD CLIFFORD,

ON HIS RETURN TO UGBROOKE PARK, AFTER HAVING

TAKEN HIS SEAT IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS, &C. 1833. PRICE 2S.

Featherstone, Exeter ; Hearder, Plymouth.

This is the production of a poor shoemaker who,
in consequence of a corporeal infirmity, is rendered
unable to work at his calling ; looking at it, as the
effusion of an uneducated individual, we must say
that it is a creditable performance, and we notice it
in the hope that some of those who are enjoying the
world's goods may bestow on this poor man a share
of their support and patronage.

The following are extracts from his little work : —

VOL. IV. — 1834. EE

226 LITERARY NOTICE.

" How sweet t* inhale the odours of the field,

Diffused profusely through the ambient air,

And feast my eyes upon the landscape wide;

To ' look through nature up to nature's God/

Whose hand creative spread this beauteous scene,

And raise to him an evening song of praise

Not unacceptable, when offered up

With pure intention, gratitude and love,

Like incense fragrant. Sweet it is to sing

With him of olden time, the raptur'd bard —

He, who, bereft of sight corporeal.

With mental vision, retrospective view'd

Fair Eden's lovely bowers, saw the first man

Our great progenitor, fresh from the hands

Of his Creator, upriglit and unfallen

And in primeval state of innocence ;

Heard his first song of praise and caught this strain

* These are thy glorious works.* "

" Wood-nymphs, haste from you retreats ;
Rifle Flora of her sweets ;
Pluck the fragrance of the meads;
Strew the wild-flowers where he treads.

See the gardens and the bow'rs.
Offer sweet exotic flow'rs :
Of their varied hues combined,
Weave a wreath his brows to bind.

Come — and from your wood-land scenes.

Bring the choicest evergreens :

Let a leafy crown be made,

Place it, wood-nymphs, on his head."

"My rural home, my rural home;
What tho* at times from thee I roam ;
No other spot has charms for me ;
* My heart untravel'd turns to thee.'

Let restless minds incessant rove,

And seek the frequent change they love —

Their idol novelty pursue ;

Sweet home, to me thou'rt ever new.

My rural home, my rural home ;
Tho' round the world my feet should roam,
Unrival'd still, thy charms will shine.
And still my constant heart be thine."

227

FORD ABBEY.

When the origin of religious institutions is inapar-
tially examined, they appear, in general, to arise from
motives of reverence, and good will ; reverence for
the Deity, and good v^ill towards men. Yet if the
different views of their founders be compared and il-
lustrated, they will present a variety of aspects, and
claim approbation or censure, in proportion to their
respective deserts. To borrow the words of the re-
nowned Bentham, — " First, in order to obtain the
favour of the Supreme Being, a man assassinates his
lawful sovereign. In this case the motive is now
almost universally looked upon as abominable and is
termed fanaticism : formerly it was by great numbers
accounted laudable, and by them was called pious
zeal." Acts of pious fraud and homicide committed
for the emolument of the church, were encouraged
of old by the order of the Jesuits. On this account,
the celebrated Pascal interposed a train of arguments
to confute their fallacies, with the artillery of resist-
less eloquence. Second!}^, in the same view, a man
lashes himself with thongs ; wears a vest of thorns ;
and stretches himself on a gridiron. In yonder house
the motive of penance is extolled, and is called pious
zeal : in the next house, it is deemed contemptible,
and called superstition. Thirdly, with a view to pro-
pitiate the Supreme, a man holds a cow by the tail,
while he is dying. On the Thames the motive would
in this case be deemed contemptible, and called su-
perstition. On the Ganges, it is deemed meritori-
ous and called piety. Fourthly, for the same end,
a man bestows a large sum in works of charity, or
public utility. He endows hospitals, and monaste-
ries. Then the motive is styled praiseworthy, by
those at least to whom the works in question appear
to come under this description ; and by these at least
it would be termed devotion. The motive is obvi-
ously not a bad one, though such acts are vulgarly
resolved into evil intentions. A man is liable to err

228 FORD ABBEY.

in misapplying his means of well doing. ** Every
false principle in religion is a reed of Egypt, false and
dangerous. A hope that is easy and credulous is an
arm of flesh, an ill supporter without a bone." So
writes Jeremy Taylor, in reference to Jer. 17. 5.

It may be observed that the venerable sage Jeremy
Bentham occasionally indulged himself in visiting
the calm retreat of Ford Abbey. Remote from the
noise and smoke of the metropolis, he devoted his
leisure to the contemplation of Truth, in the tranquil
shade of its cloisters ; or tasted the sweets of hospi-
tality, withhi the precincts of its majestic hall.

This Abbey derives its foundation from a descen-
dant of William the Conqueror. That monarch had
conferred extensive domains, in the county of Devon,
on Baldwin de Brionies, the Norman ; whom, for his
signal services, he created Earl of Okehampton.
Albreda, the conqueror's niece was married to this
nobleman ; and the issue of their marriage was a son,
named Richard, and a daughter called Adelicia.
Richard, on his father's demise, succeeded to his ti-
tles and possessions. In the year 1132, he founded
a house for Cistercians, at Brightley, in the parish of
Sampford Courtenay ; and provided for its habitation
a colony of twelve monks, and a superior, from Wa-
verly Abbey, in the county of Surrey. In a short
time, their founder and benci'actor died ; and thus
left destitute of patronage and subsistence, in the de-
sert and barren spot, where the convent was situated ;
they determined to abandon Brightley, and return to
Waverley. They had actually commenced their
journey, when Adelicia, now sole possessor of her
brother's estates, in compassion to their forlorn con-
dition, presented them with the manor ofThorncombe,
and built them a house at Harteseath ; which was
completed in 1142, and was dedicated to our Lady.
The place in which the Abbey was erected was soon
after called Ford, from its contiguity to a ford, a
passage through the river Axe. By descent from
the founder's family, the Courtenays became the na-

I

FORD ABBEY. 229

tural and legal protectors of the Abbey ; and Cleave-
land asserts in his history of that family, that they
considered it as a most beautiful feather in their
train ; and many of them chose its sanctuary for the
place of their interment.

After a succession of twenty superiors of this ec-
clesiastical fraternity, the last of them surrendered his
convent in 1539. The duration of each abbot in his
office was on an average, twenty years ; the space of
time assigned by Sir Isaac Newton to every reign of
ancient kings, in his system of Chronology.

The new and self-anointed head of the Church,
Henry VIII. granted the scite of this abbey to Ri- '
chard Pollard, Arm.

Sir John, the son of this Richard, alienated the
same to Sir Amias Paulet ; whose father. Sir Hugh
Paulet, had been appointed head steward of the
abbey by the last Abbot on 4. Mar. Hen. VIII.
with a pension of 100s.

Sir Amias disposed of it to W. Roswell, Esq.
from whose family it passed to the Prideauxes. At
present it is in possession of the Gwynnes ; an heir-
ess of the property, having been married to a Mr.
Gwynne, of Lansanor, in Glamorgan.

The original common seal of the Cistercian order,
in England and Wales, is still in existence, and in
perfect preservation. It is circular — has a church
engraven upon it, and bears a shield, containing the
arms of Bindon Abbey, in Dorsetshire. The inscrip-
tion runs thus : — " Sigill : coe : Capli : genalis :
ordis: Cistercien : in: Angl : et Wall:*' —

W. E.

Park Wood.

Here pilgrims roam, that strayed so far to seek
In Golgatha him dead, who lives in heaven ;
And they w^ho, to be sure of Paradise,
Dying put on the weeda of Dominie,
Or in Franciscan think to pass disguised :

230 RETROSPECTION.

And now Saint Peter at heav'n's wicket seems ,, . ;.

To wait them with his keys, and now at foot

Of heav'n's ascent they lift their feet, when, Lo!

A violent cross wind from either coast

Blows them transverse, ten thousand leagues away,

Into tlie devious air.

Milton.

RETROSPECTION.

I sat on an island that peered midst the ocean.
And watched its bright bosom as heaving it lay.

Unconscious my heart beat anon to its motion,
As I thought on my dearest one — far, far away.

T was eve — and the twilight had soothed into slumber
Each echoing voice in the woodland and dell;

It seemed as though I stood alone from their number,
To muse undisturbed on that one loved so well.

Why has Destiny fixed this stem barrier round me?

I exclaimed, as each vision of Youth crossed my brain,
And why has Despair thus so speedily found me ?

To embitter my hopes with the keenest of pain. 'li. l

How sweet were those days, when the sun was declining,
As we strolled forth alone *neath the shade of the grove ;

Where the flowerets' perfume and the zephyrs combining.
Gave Heaven-like joys to the soft tale of love.

But why does my heart still so sorrow and languish ?

Will distance diminish the truth of her vow ?
Can her heart be free from all sadness and anguish ?

Then Memory soothe me — and Hope welcome now.

Though Solitude still may her cares fling around me,
I '11 spurn them with vigour, — why should I repine ?

Though neglect may perplex, and its shafts still surround me,
There still lives a heart I can truly call mine.

G.

231

LONGEVITY OF FISHES.

Our knowledge of the instincts, habits, and other properties
of fishes, is, perhaps, more limited than any other branch of na-
tural history. Those animals that breath the air, browse the herb,
or skim along the sky, may be captured, studied, and in a great
measure correctly described by us ; but fishes, although we have
devised means for ensnaring them, and in a manner invited them
from the secret and oozy caverns of the briny deep to become
voluntary victims to our hook and line, yet the nature of the ele-
ment in which they live, move, and exercise all their various fa-
culties, prevents us from studying their specific differences, and
noting with fidelity all the most interesting details of their natural
history.

There is every reason for believing that the Ocean contains an
infinitely greater number of inhabitants than the earth, and that
the few species with which we are acquainted, bear no comparison
to the vast numbers that are fixed to the rocks, burrow in the sand,
that swim or crawl along the bottom of the sea and escape our
observation. Vast numbers of the finny tribes are migrating, and
periodically visit different coasts, like many kinds of the feathered
race ; others again, dwell in certain localities which they never
quit, and many kinds are actually fixed to the marble rocks, and
have no power of locomotion. Ichthyology is a science which
opens to the philosopher an extensive but an uncultivated field,
here the student of natural history may roam among unculled
flowers! What a fund of useful information might be collected
by the well informed and zealous naturalist residing on the sea
shore, and how much might be added to our very limited stock
of knowledge relative to the natural history of fishes ? We trust
that the society for the diffusion of useful knowledge will under-
take this task, and by their exertions add something to this branch
of natural history.

It has been suggested, that fishes, living in an element of com-
paratively equal temperature, having strong digestive powers,
possessing softness of structure and flexibility of frame, ought to
live to a great age, provided they escaped the snares of man, and
the attacks of their natural enemies : this point is not very easily
determined; we cannot altogether judge of the age of fishes by
tlieir magnitude. Naturalists have hinted at several methods by
which the age of captured fishes might be determined, but very
little faith can be placed in their accuracy. It is only when fishes

232 LONGEVITY OF FISHES.

have been reared and kept in a state of bondage that correct
observations could have been made as to tlieir age. Buffon re-
lates that some carps were bred in the ditches of Port Chartrain,
and were known to be above 150 years old; and those in the
Royal Gardens of Charlottenberg, in Prussia, are said to have had
their heads covered with moss from age.

At Manheim the skeleton of a pike is preserved, 19 feet in length,
which is said to have weighed, when alive, 350 lbs ; it was caught
at Kayserlautern, in 1497; and a Greek inscription on a brass
ring, inserted at the gills, announced that it had been put into the
pond by the Emperor Frederick IL, namely, 267 years before it
was caught. We are not however, to infer from these examples,
that all fishes are equally long lived. The ephemeral fly lives
but a day, the Elephant may live a century ; some fishes may
live but a very limited period, and no doubt different species may
be doomed to die at different ages.

Eels are said to live only 12 or 15 years, but we know not on
what grounds this assertion may be founded. Facts relative to
the different species of fishes should be collected and recorded,
and from a sufficient number of these, conclusions might be drawn.
Eels migrate from ponds becoming dry, to others in the neigh-
bourliood, more plentifully supplied with water : they possess
the power of locomotion on dry land, and have been seen to
ascend the vertical surface of a canal lock, on their way to the
water above them. An eel, two feet in length, was lately found,
alive and in good condition, in an iron tank, on board the Cap-
tivity, convict hulk, at Devonport. This vessel is moored to the
jetty, in the Dockyard, and had, for 8 or 10 years, several iron
tanks stowed in her hold, all communicating with each other by
means of small pipes; in the lowest tank, a pump was fixed to
raise thp water for the use of the prisoners ; and when this was
nearly empty, the whole were again filled by means of a leather
hose, one end of which was fixed to a fire cock in the yard, the
other end leading into the ship.

A very small eel, or else the spawn of an eel, must have been
conveyed from the Leat, through the cast iron pipes, into the
Dockyard, through the leathern hose into the convict ship, and
finally, from tank to tank into the last and lowest dungeon of
that celebrated prison ship; here it remained in utter darkness,
fed and thrived on the water and the animalculae contained in it.
The Captivity has held captive many a victim of ambition, crime?
or misfortune: the first and greatest was the Emperor Napoleon,

LONGEVITY OF FISHES. 233

the last and least an exploratory eel ! A gentleman of this town,
when in America, was strolling among the meadows on the banks
of the Hudson. It was in autumn, and some labourers were em-
ployed in deepening a perfectly dry and grassy ditch, they had a
hamper into which they, ever and anon, threw a live eel, which
they disinterred from an alluvial grave, some two feet below the
dry bottom of the ditch. These meadows are occasionally inun-
dated in winter, and the exploring propensities of the eels induce
them to quit the river and range over the inundated meadows ; the
waters retire to the river, and some of the eels retire to these drains
which, in their turn, become dry; they then burrow into the soft
mud, and finally are enclosed in a firm soil, alive, and perfectly
fat, here they remain till the plains are again inundated, a resur-
rection takes place, and they either repeat the same round or return
to the mighty Hudson.

The commander of an English cruizer, lately returning from
St. Ubes, presented the writer of this article with a glass globe,
containing some fine gold fish, which he received from an English
naval officer in the service of Portugal. One of these fishes,
being more remarkable for its beauty than its size, (4 inches long)
when in an English man of war, received the name of *• Lady
Abbess" from the seamen in consequence of its having been with-
drawn from a fishpond in the garden of a convent of nuns, at
St. Ubes.

To one of those singular rencontres (which by the bye happen
every day) the writer is indebted for some particulars relative to
the natural history of this fish. Being a casual passenger on
board a steam vessel on tlie coast of Scotland, he entered into
conversation with a stranger walking the deck : the conversation
turned on the civil wars in i^ortugal, now happily concluded, the
stranger appeared to be well informed on these matters. He had
been employed in defending St. Ubes when attacked by the Mi-
guelites, was a post captain in the service of the Queen, and
commanded the Duchesse de Braganza. " Pray did you afford
protection to a convent of nuns, at St. Ubes ?" " Yes, we removed
the whole sisterhood to a place of safety, and were rewarded by
their grateful thanks and sincere benedictions ; but the poor old
superieure quitted the convent with great regret : she had been
many years within its walla and was attached to every thing about
it; her favorite parrot and cat (elderly maiden ladies must bestow
their affections on something!) were carefully removed, but no-
thing greived her so much as leaving behind some fine gold fish,
VOL. IV.— 1833. FF

234 A FRAGMENT.

in a little pond in the garden, she pointed out to me a fine red
one that had been in the pond upwards of 50 years." " Pray
what became of these fishes ?" " I afterwards dragged the pond
and gave the fish, in a large glass globe, to the commander of the
Viper." "There, sir, these very fishes and the one so much ad-
mired and regretted by the poor old nun, are in my house at
Plymouth."

But alas ! the " Lady Abbess" is now no more, the poor fish
fell sick after spawning time, and a dreadful civil war broke out
in the glass globe ! the whole sisterhood attacked the lady abbess ;
and bit her without mercy ; she was removed to a place of safety,
but died in a very short time. These beautiful fishes are of the
genus Cyprinus : are the golden carp of naturalists ; they are na-
tives of the northern provinces of China, and are found in a
natural state in the lake Kiang ; they are great favourites among
the Chinese, and were brought to Europe by the Portuguese,
soon after Vasco de Gama pointed out a way by water to India.
They were first brought to England in 1694, and are now very
numerous, breeding in artificial ponds, supplied with river water,
provided their spawn be deposited in mud, and protected from
their own ravages ; they are fond of small worms, flies, and
aquatic animalculae, and it is highly probable that they occasion-
ally live to a very old age.

W.

A FRAGMENT.

" My love, you seem at times so melancholy, that one might
suppose you were the most miserable man in existence."

" Mignonne, dear Mignonne, if I am melancholy, it is only in
your absence — who could be sad in the presence of so much
loveliness."

He gently put aside the long shining curls that strayed over
her beautiful forehead, and imprinted upon it a long kiss of love.
Oh ! the extacy of that magical touch. When the heart is with-
ered, and the sternness of life has subdued our purest feelings,
and the poetry of affection has yielded to the soberness of reality,
with what exceeding pleasure we think on the dreams of our
youth — a spell gathers round us — for a moment there is an obli-
vion of the present, and we rejoice in all the fascinations of the
past.

The timid girl expressed no unyieldingness, but turning to
pluck a small flower from the green knoll on which they recljned,

A FRAGMENT. 235

a radiant blush stole over her features, lighting up their clear
transparent delicacy as though she had acquired a new and n\ore
exalted soul.

" Tell me, Derwent, why you are so much in love with loneli-
ness. Society seems to scare you as if every friendly circle con-
tained a hidden basilisk."

" All ! Mignonne, you do me wrong. I love society, the society
of one. I love gentleness, innocence, loveliness, and could I at
every moment claim your sweet companionship I should never be
in loneliness."

'^ But you seem indifferent to the whole world."

" I love all created things except man — the flowers of the field
smile upon me — the gushing streams and the singing birds have
always an anthem to cheer me, I have fellowship with the silent
forms of Nature ; and the interminable sea, which extends before
us laughing in the summer noon, has ever a new countenance and
a strange voice which makes society — with these I can sympathize
even to tears."

" Is there no redeeming characteristic in your fellow men, which
could render them worthy of your mingling with them ? is it not
an imputation on Creative Wisdom to think so ill of our nature?"

" Dear Mignonne, you have as yet seen but the fair side of life,
it has appeared with the freshness and fragrance of spring — it is
painful to destroy the illusions of so beautiful a dream. Who
would choose to remove the sculptured tablet which covers the
ashes of the dead ? Omnipotence made maji holy, he has made
himself what he is. Mignonne, I have lived in the world many
years longer than you ; I entered it with enthusiasm, and estimated
human nature falsely ; but I found Hypocrisy masked by Religion,
self-interest by friendship, and falsehood by truth. I am disgusted
with it, but still I would do mankind every good in my power —
I would assist the needy to the extent of my means, and protect
the helpless to the utmost of my capability; but I would avoid
an intimacy with that society which would ever induce a deeper
aversion to the selfish interests and unprincipled motives which
sway all its actions."

*' Are you then so far exalted in purity of soul, and in integrity
of principle, as to take a stand in the scale of humanity so far
above your fellow beings ? dear Derwent, you must extinguish
such uncharitable thoughts of your species, or I shall be rendered
miserable."

" My sweet love, forgive me if I have said any thing to hurt
your happy feelings. I would give a universe in exchange for
your equanimity — your peace of mind, — dear Mignonne."

As it were by innocent instinct their lips met in a moment of
extreme rapture; and as though a pardon had been accorded by
that fond embrace, Derwent cast upon Mignonne an inexpressible
look of affection mingled with thanksgiving.

"• Tell me, Derwent, why you should have less cheerfulness or
contentment than I have if — you have an abundance of worldly

236 A FRAGMENT.

means : whatever reasonable pleasure may demand you have the
power of indulging in: you have committed no crime which
should render you a prey to remorse."
Derwent's countenance grew pale.

" How did you obtain the information ? "

" From the master of his yacht, he has been ordered to have her
ready to sail at eight in the morninp^, they are to return hither
immediately after the ceremony. He says the marriage was fixed
for to-day, but some circumstance has occurred to postpone it till
Monday next.''

** It is a strange notion, that he should wish to have it performed
in such a lonely spot — when there is a church here in the very
midst of the village, and not a hundred yards Irom his own
dwelling."

" Every thing he does is most singular, and many of his actions
are totally contradictory ; he avoids us all, yet 1 am sure we all
love him; the children are fond of him, he will caress them and
smile upon them. He is about to build another school house,
larger than the one he has erected for the boys, in which the girls
are to learn reading and needlework, yet he has never once visited
the place since it was opened. Yesterday he presented to the
church a new bible and communion service, although he has never
been inside its walls during the six months he has lived here."

" I really think he is insane — yet Matilda adores him, and will
not listen to the slightest animadversion on any thing he says or
does; he, too, seems devotedly attached to her."

** Dear girl, I hope he will be a good husband to her ; she is so
young to enter into the world. In her orphan state few would
have had the nobleness of mind which Mr. Derwent has shown
in treating her with such respectful affection : many, in his rank
of life, would have used their property and influence to obtain an
unhallowed possession of so innocent a treasure; such a lovely
and gentle being might have been plucked up as a flower for its
fragrance, but flung away like a worthless weed. How I wish
that the good old parson were alive, it would be a gladness
to his grey hairs to see his daughter with so fair a worldly
prospect ; and his quiet manner and persuasive influence might
have made the Squire a more sociable neighbour among us, and
perhaps a better husband for the sweet girl."

" If he is mad, Edward, it is a good sort of madness ; but who
knows? When he has a family he may be very different."

A groan, and a suppressed imprecation, interrupted the conver-
sation of the speakers ; and, on passing round a pile of rocks which
rose from the sands on which they were walking, Derwent was
seen prostrate on the earth, almost in a state of exhaustion, whilst
a masculine female figure bent over him grasping his throat with
an energy which appeared like convulsion.

I

A FRAGMENT. 237

To disengage the apparently frantic female from her hold, and
to raise the sufferer from the earth, were the actions of but few
moments.

Both persons were astounded at the extraordinary nature of the
circumstance, and made some observations on the necessity of
removing the woman to a place of security, until she should be
made accountable for such a ferocious assault.

" My friends," said Derwent, "do not detain nor molest her —
she is unconcious of what she is doing."

" Robert Derwent," said the female, " you know I can say
much — but for the present am silent."

A volcano of pent up passions seemed struggling for egress
from her bosom — a look of disdain mingled with baffled revenge
was burning on her excited countenance ; and as her frame became
erect, she seemed influenced by some supernatural agency, which
struck a feeling of consternation into the breasts of those who had
prevented her from committing the crime of murder. They in-
creased their distance from her, for though stricken in years there
was a muscular power apparent in her figure, and a wild deter-
mination in her expression, that might appal the boldest.

" Robert Derwent, we shall meet again."

*******

Derwent was alone on the shore ; the sea was sighing, with
a perpetually plaintive music, along the smooth beach: the moon
was up in heaven shedding a tender, quiet light on tlie sleeping
waters ; and the small stars made a thousand images on the vast
mirror of the universe. He was observing the Watersprite, which
had just come to an anchor, at about a mile from the shore : " To
morrow," probably, thought he, "that beautiful vessel will bear
the dearest charge which she has ever yet had consigned to her;" —
each moment seemed a century of years.

The mysterious female, from whose violence he had been pre-
served but a few days before, appeared with a suddenness which
divested him of every particle of self possession.

'•■ O ! villain," she exclaimed, " you may quail and feel the
coward within you at my presence."

" For God's sake, Ellen Grame, do not further torture a being
whose thoughts are continually pursuing him, whose reflections
are intense with agony."

" And you have more to feel yet — I come not to lay hands on
you, though your life is, you know, in my power. I come but
to curse you, to let you know what a fierce hell there is in
woman's hate."

" What would you have ? do not pursue me like an evil spirit ;
if money will content you, you shall have it, to the half of my
estates."

" Money ? O ! great God, money? will that restore to me my
ruined child? will that call her out of the cold grave? money?
Oh, villain, can money buy innocence, and loveliness, and fond-
ness, can it be the angel which would have consoled my old age ?

238 A FRAGMENT.

On the dying bed to which sorrow brouglit her, she blessed you ;
and the unborn evidence of her shame, which went down to the
grave in its mother's womb, would have smiled on you ! but now
you must endure the burning curse of a widowed and a childless
parent; it shall wither you, and blast every joy that might await
ypu upon earth."

" Woman, you cannot feel more acutely than I have felt ; your
curse has fallen bitterly upon me; at times life is so unsupport-
able that I would call upon death.''

*' You shall not die till you have felt a pang more bitter than any
which will pursue you in hell. Money ? — have I not begged
from door to door, and found my rest on the bare earth that 1
might pursue you and curse you { cannot I yet live on the pea-
sant's crust and the traveller's well, that I may follow you and
curse you more? you have wealth and you hope to encircle with
your poisonous arms a bride not more lovely nor more gentle than
she whom you ruined : but Retribution will have its due."

'* Robert Derwent, you shall see me once more."

* * * ♦ ' * * *

- Hovv' beautifully that morning looked down on the earth, all
the verdure of its bosom responded with a fair smile and a voice
of gladness rose up from the fields into heaven. The Watersprite
stood close in shore with her white wings wooing the rising breeze ;
many smiling faces were near and many blessings fell from the
lips of the young and the good as Derwent stepped into the boat
with his dear Matilda — in a short time they were on board and
a sweet murmur of joyful sound came from the shore and swept
over the waters, was it a harbinger of felicity ?

" Mignonne, my angel girl, in two sl»oit hours you will be mine
for ever."

Matilda looked a reply, and rested her face in his bosom; it
was bathed in tears, but they were the tears of extacy and love.

They spoke no more, thought was too busy to expend itself in
words ; the breeze freshened and now they were within a mile of
the lonely chapel wherein that tie was to be perpetuated which
Love had already interwoven. They passed within a cable's
length of the fine perpendicularly bold coast, and Derwent was
making some ob.servation on the singular contrast of barrenness
and beauty which it presented, when Matilda called his attention
to a strange female figure which stood erect on the summit of one
of the nearest and highest cliffs, the face of which rose like an
unbroken line from the surface of the water.

A cold shudder passed through the frame of Derwent.

"Starboard ! hard a stai board !" shouted the old man from the
bows of the vessel; " starboard I there's a rock right under our
fore foot."

The manoeuvre was made too late.

" Let go the main halliards, down jib, haul the foresail to
windward — God Dam me ! we 're on it." And in full career the
beautiful vessel rushed with a crash on the rock ; Matilda was

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 239

thrown forward and swooned, Derwent, in stooping to raise her,
was saved from perishing by the fall of the nxast, but only re-
served for a more agonizing death ; the vessel was in deep water,
from midships, abaft, she heeled over and sank stern foremost.

While he was for a moment buoyed on the surface of the water
by the light clothing of the beautiful Mignonne, who — senseless-^-
was clasped in his arms, before he sank beneath the waves for
ever — a loud, horrid, maniac laugh rent the air and pierced his
hearing.

It was a desolating laugh. It would make the mirthful shed
tears, and would turn sorrow into the darkness of despair.

With his dying look he could see Ellen Grame spring from
the dizzy clift'and fall, with a deadly plunge, into the ocean.

And they went down into their graves together. F — z.

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.
PROCEEDINGS IN THE ATHENiEUM.

October 9th. — Rev. Dr. Jacob's Lecture on Greek Tragedy.

In the commencement of his paper, the Lecturer mentioned
the attachment which almost all persons have to poetry ; and
shewed that even he who condemned its tendency, because it
attempts to realize that which has no existence in nature, is
himself frequently guilty of the same offence which he charges
against the poet. Because there are few who do not indulge
their fancy by depicting to themselves fairer scenes and brighter
prospects than those in which they live and move. Few who do
not, for a brief season at least, dwell in the realms of fancy —
shut out the present moment and the present scene, and surround
themselves with recollections of the past, or with anticipations of
the future. He then shewed what powerful influence the poet
obtains over his readers during the perusal of what they know to
be imaginary events and passions ; and, that, consequently, how
much greater was the force of the illusion when the dramatic
poet presented us not with words only, but with actions, when
events are not merely narrated, but enacted before us. The step
therefore from descriptive poetry to the drama was at once easy
and natural. Accordingly traces of a drama are to be found
among all nations. The Chinese and Hindoos have dramatic
writings of very great antiquity, the nature of which the lecturer
slightly touched upon. The dramatic character of the book of
Job, and of the Song of Solomon, with the remarks of Bishops
Warburton, Hurd, and Lowth, were laid before the Society, as
was also a brief account of the play written by the Jew Ezechiel,
fragments of v/hich have been preserved by Eusebiusand Clement
of Alexandria.

The Lecturer then proceeded to the more immediate subject of
his paper, premising that, in order to form a proper opinion of
Greek Tragedy, we must divest ourselves as far as possible of all

240 PLYxMOUTII INSTITUTION.

recollections of the Drama of our own country, to which that of
Greece bears scarcely any resemblance. He spoke of the compa-
rative perfectness with which that interesting branch of her litera-
ture has come down to us. And though many plays have been
lost, and the names of some dramatic writers were all we knew of
them, still enough remains to enable us to form a pretty correct
opinion of the style of the three great tragedians and of the gene-
ral state of the art. The origin of Tragedy and the innovation of
Thespis were related, and the sudden change which took place
within the period of fifty years was thus stated. Instead of a
waggon and a few wine-besmeared rustics, we have a theatre of
a size collosal when compared with ours; machinery, dresses
and decorations, which were the subject of laws, and the defraying
the expence of which became a public honour, and not unfrequently
a matter of the state. For an audience, not a few vine-dressers
and countrymen, but the whole assembled people of Athens, her
allies and tributaries. The prize was no longer a vile goat, or a
goat-skin of tlie newest wine; but one, for the decision of which
solemn judges were appointed, whicli was contended for by the
master-spirits of the age; and which when once obtained ensured
the lasting fame of him who gained it.

The times of the dramatic representations, the spring and
autunmal festivals of Bacchus — the mask — the buskin — the diffi-
culties and labours of the poet in preparing his play for repre-
sentation— the nature of the office of choregus — the chorus, with
some strictures on its trite moralizing and its feeble sympathy —
were then brought forward. An account of (Kschylus, Sophocles,
and Euripides with remarks on the Prometheus Vinctus, Ajax,
Q'dipus ilex, (Edipus Coloneus, Electra, Alcestis, Ilippolitus,
Ileraclida;, Supplices, &c. followed, and the lecturer concluded
with these words of a celebrated critic.

Nothing can be more dignified or stately than the old tragedy
of the Greeks. Its characters were demigods or heroes ; its sul>-
jects were the destinies of those lives of the mighty which had
their beginning among the eldest deities. In their works we see
the catastrophe from the beginning, and feel its influence at every
step as we advance majestically along the solemn avenue which
it closes. There is little struggle; the doom of the heroes is
fixed on high, and they pass in sublime composure to fulfil their
destiny. Their sorrows are awful, their deaths religious sacrifices
to the power of heaven. The glory which plays around their
heads is prognostic of their fate. All things are tinged with
sanctity and beauty in the Greek tragedies. Bodily pain is made
sublime; destitution and wretchedness are rendered sacred, and
the very grove of the furies is represented as ever fresh and green.
How grand is the suffering of Prometheus — how sweet the resol-
ution of Antigone — how appalling yet how magnificent the last
vision of Cassandra — how tender yet how mysteriously awful the
death of (Edipus.

n. p. HKARDER, PLYMOtTH.

7 APR 22

B

PS

^

3
«

^

THE SOU T H I) E V O N

MONTHLY MUSEUM.

PLYMOUTH, DECEMBER 1st, 1834.

No. 24.] Price Sixpence. [Vol. IV.

THE PERAMBULATOR, No. X.
PALACE COURT.

We stated in the first paper under the above title,
that it was our design to give descriptions, and en-
graved views, of all public buildings in our town and
neighbourhood which were worthy attention, and
could be brought within the limits of our little book.
We also intimated that views should be given of
such edifices as had been important in the times of
our forefathers, though they might be now in a con-
dition of change or decay.

Mr. Condy, Jun., who has so frequently and so
kindly made a free-will offering of his accurate and
promising pencil to the Museum, furnished the
drawing from which the annexed engraving has
been made.

Palace Court is situated in Catte Street, on the
left hand side on entering from High Street. The
entrance is arched with granite. The interior wears
a very dilapidated appearance, which is not likely to
be improved ; as the different apartments of the build-
ing have been sub-let to people of the poorest
condition. The architecture may be termed ^^ Tudor"
of the earliest period, but it is not decidedly marked.
In a future number we shall give a history of the
edifice as far as is practicable.

VOL. IV. — 1834. G(i

242
COLERIDGE.

EXTRACT FROM A LETTER IN WHICH THE LATE MR. COLERIDGE
SPEAKS OF LORD BYRON.

" I was once in his" (Lord Byron's) " company,
for half an hour. He has the sweetest countenance
that I ever beheld — his eyes are really portals of the
sun, things for light to go in and out of."

We subjoin an autograph of our highly gifted countryman,
copied from a letter addressed to his son.

STATE PRISON AT AUBURN, NORTH AMERICA.

A SPACE of ground, 500 feet square, is inclosed by a very
lofty external wall, 35 feet high within. The great building of
the prison, about 100 feet from these walls, is three-sided; the
front 276 feet long, and 45 feet deep, and the sides 242 by 45.
It contains the keeper's house, and necessary offices, — the eating-
hall, hospital, chapel, kitchens, and wash-rooms, and the cells,
which are 7 feet long, 3^ wide, and 7 feet high. The windows
in each, 4 feet by 6, are glazed, and secured by a strong iron-
grating. The only opening from the cell, except the ventilator,
is the door, in the upper end of which is an iron-grate, 18 by 20
inches. The bars of this grate are round iron, three-fourths of
an inch in diameter, placed about 2 inches asunder, leaving
orifices smaller than a man's hand. Through this grate, all the
light, heat, and air, are admitted to the cells. The ventilator,
which is about three inches in diameter, extends from the back of
the cell to the roof of the building. The door of the cell, of which
the grate is a part, closes on the inner edge of the wall, two feet
deep. This recess in front of each door increases the difficulty of
conversation and communication between the prisoners, prevents
them from seeing into the galleries, and furnishes a convenient
place for an officer of the prison to converse with the prisoner,
without being seen or heard by those in the adjoining cells. The

STATE PRISON AT AUBURN. 243

area round the cells, which is ten feet wide, is open from the
ground to the roof, in front of five stories of cells. Of this area,
three feet adjoining the cells are occupied by the galleries.

The advantages of this description of building, are its security
and economy.

The security is obvious. The prisoner must first escape from
his cell; then avoid the sentinel in the open area; then force the
external wall ; and after all, he is only in the yard, the wall of
which is 30 feet high. No escape has hitherto taken place from
this prison.

The economy is great in respect to the space occupied, and in
heating, lighting, and guarding. Twelve small stoves, and twelve
small lamps, placed in the open area in front of the cells, afford
heat and light for 555 cells ; and one sentinel is found sufficient
to guard the prisoners. The space in front of the cells is a perfect
sounding gallery, so that a sentinel in the open area on the ground
can hear a whisper from a distant cell in the upper story.

The shops, or working-rooms, are almost all attached to the
outer wall of the prison, — that wall being the outer wall of the
shops. They are, when completed, to be about 1600 feet long,
26 feet wide, and 7 feet high on the side towards the yard, and 16
feet on the external wall. The side of the shops on the yard is
lighted by a row of windows 4 feet by 3 feet 4 inches, and 2 feet
7 inches asunder. There is also a row of windows in the roof of
the shops, consisting of an unbroken line of 7 by 9. In the rear
of the shops is an avenue or passway, sufficiently lighted by nu-
merous small openings cut in the partition, which enables the
keepers to inspect the convicts without their knowledge, and vi-
sitors to pass through without going into the shops.

All the filth is swept through a grated passage beneath the ex-
ternal wall, into the creek or river of Oswesco, which runs at the
foot of it. There are two reservoirs of water for bathing in the
prison yard, one fifteen feet by forty-three, and the other eighteen
feet in diameter.

The prison is governed by a board of inspectors, residing in
the village, who are appointed every two years by the Governor
and Senators of New York State, and who make such regulations
as they think necessary, and appoint the keeper, deputy-keeper,
physician, chaplain, and all the subordinate officers.

At the period when the prison was erected, the legislature of
the State, and the public, had become so dissatisfied with the
mode of penitentiary punishment without solitary confinement

244 STATE PRISON AT AUBURN.

then existing, which seemed rather to harden than to have any
tendency to reform the delinquents, that it was generally believed
that, unless a severe system was adopted, the old sanguinary
criminal code must be restored. In the State of New York, and
in other of the most populous States, it should be noticed, that
no crimes are punished with death, excepting murder and fire-
raising ; and that in all the States of the Confederacy, transportation
beyond seas is a mode of punishment unknown. The legislature
of New York State, therefore, in the year 1821, directed a selection
of the oldest and most heinous offenders to be made, who should
be confined constantly in solitary cells. Eighty convicts were
accordingly put into solitary cells on the 25th. December, 1821.
Five of those convicts died during the year preceding January,
1823, while only five died out of 140 convicts confined at the
same time in prison, but who were kept at labour. The health .
of the solitary convicts was very soon seriously impaired. Some
of them became insane; and the eflfect of this constant imprison-
ment was not more favourable to reformation than to mental
and bodily health.

Before the end of 1823, exclusive solitary confinement was en-
tirely discontinued, and the present successful system, combining
solitude and silence with labour, introduced ; a majority of the
commissioners, who examined the prison, have reported, that they
were entirely averse to solitary confinement without labour, on
the grounds of its being injurious to health, expensive, affording
no means of reformation, and unnecessarily severe. La Fayette,
when he was lately in the United States, and heard of the expe-
riment of exclusive solitary confinement, said it was just a revival
of the practice in the Bastile, which had so dreadful an effect on
the poor prisoners. " I repaired," he said, " to the scene on the
second day of the demolition, and found, that all the prisoners
had been deranged by their solitary confinement, except one ; he
had been a prisoner twenty-five years, and was led forth during
the height of the tumultuous riot of the people whilst engaged in
tearing down the building. He looked around with amazement,
for he had seen nobody for that space of time ; and before night
he was so much affected, that he became a confirmed maniac^
from which situation he never recovered."

The details of the management of the prison must be accurately
known, in order perfectly to understand the system now acted on.

When convicts arrive, they have their irons taken off, are
thoroughly cleaned, and clad in the prison dress. The rules

STATE PRISON AT AUBURN. 245

of the prison are explained to them, and they are instructed by
the keeper in their duties, — to obey orders, and to labour dili-
gently in silence, — to approach all the officers of the institution,
when it is necessary for them to speak, with respectful language,
and never to speak without necessity, even to the keepers : never
to speak to each other under any pretence; nor to sing, dance, or
do anything having the least tendency to disturb the prison;
never to leave the places assigned to them without permission ;
never to speak to any person who does not belong to the prison,
nor to look off from their work to see any one ; never to work
carelessly, or be idle a single moment. They are also told, that
they will not be allowed to receive letters, or intelligence from,
or concerning, their friends, or any information on any subject
out of the prison. Any correspondence of this kind, that may
be necessary, must be carried on through the keeper, or assistant
keepers. A Bible is, by order of the State, put into each cell.
The bodies of all criminals, who die in the State prisons, are,
by order of the legislature, delivered to the College of Physicians
when they are not claimed by their relations within twenty-four
hours after their death. The State prisons being in the country,
— at a distance generally, it must be presumed, from the residence
of the relations, — such a claim can, it is obvious, be but rarely
made.

For all infraction of the regulations, or of duty, the convicts are
instantly punished by stripes inflicted by the keeper, or assistant
keepers, with a raw hide whip ; or in aggravated cases, under the
direction of the keeper, or his deputy alone, by a cat made of six
Straus of small twine, applied to the bare back alone. Conviction
follows offences so certainly, and instantaneously, that they rarely
occur; sometimes not once in three months.

At the end of fifteen minutes after the ringing of a bell in the
morning, the assistant keepers unlock the convicts, who march
out in military order in single files to their work-shops, where
they wash their faces and hands in vessels prepared in the shops.

New convicts are put to work at such trade as they may have
previously learned, provided it be practicable; if not, or if they
have no trade, the keeper selects such trade as appears, on inquiry,
best suited to them. The hours of labour vary according to the
season. In long days, from half-past 5 a. m. to 6 p. m. In
short days, the hours are so fixed as to embrace all the daylight.

At the signal for breakfast, the convicts again form in line in
the shops, and are marched by the assistant keepers to the mess-

246 STATE PRISON AT AUBURN.

room, which they enter at two different doors, face around by
their plates, standing till all have got their places, when a bell is
rung, and all sit down to their meals : but, as some eat more,
and some less, waiters, provided with large vessels, pass along
constantly between the tables, taking food from those who raise
their right hand in token that they have it to spare, and giving to
those who raise their left hand to signify they want more. The
tables are narrow; and the convicts, sitting on one side only, are
placed face to back, and never face to face, so as to avoid exchang-
ing looks or signs.

When the steward perceives that the convicts have done eating,
or have had sufficient time for it, generally from twenty minutes
to half an hour, he lings the bell, when all rise and march to
their work-shops, those going out first who came in last. Twelve
o' clock is the hour of dinner. The proceedings the same as at
breakfast. Before quitting labour, the convicts wash their faces
and hands, — form line, according to the number of their cells, —
and proceed, in reversed order, from that in which they come out
in the morning, to the wash-room, where, without breaking their
step, they stoop, and take up their supper vessels and water cans,
and march to tlieir galleries, enter their cells, and pull their doors
to. Each galleiy is occupied by one company, which is marched
and locked up by one assistant keeper.

Assistant keepers are constantly moving around the galleries,
having socks on tlieir feet, that they may walk without noise, so
that no convict can feel secure, but that one of the keepers may
be at the very door of his cell, ready to discover and report next
morning for punishment the slightest breach of silence or order.
The house, containing between 300 and 600 convicts, is thus
perfectly still. The convicts are required, by the ringing of a
bell, to go to bed upon their framed flat canvass hammocks, with
blankets, and are neither permitted to lie down nor to get up
without a signal. After the convicts are rung down at night, all
the locks are again tried by the assistant keepers.

On Sundays the arrangement is the same, with this difference,
that, instead of working, the convicts are marched to the chapel,
where divine service is performed by the chaplain. Such of tliem
as are ignorant attend the Sunday school, which is admirably
taught, and gratuitously, by students belonging to the theological
seminary at Auburn. The keeper and assistant keepers must be
present at divine service, and at the teaching in the Sunday
school.

STATE PRISON AT AUBURN. 247

The rations for each man per day are, 10 oz. pork, or 16 02.
beef; 10 oz. wheat flour, the wheat to be ground fine, and not
bolted; 12 oz. Indian meal; ^ gill molasses, — a ration : and 2
qts. rye; 4 qts. salt; 4 qts. vinegar; 1^ oz. pepper; 2^ bushels
potatoes, — each 100 rations.

From these provisions the convicts are supplied in the morning
with cold meat, bread, a slice of cold hominy (a preparation of
Indian corn,) hot potatoes, and a pint of hot rye coffee, sweetened
with molasses. For dinner, they have meat soup made from broth,
thickened with Indian meal, bread, hot potatoes, and cold water
for drink. And for supper a portion of mush, (porridge made of
k Indian meal,) and cold water. This quantity of food for each
' man is considered to be indispensably necessary when the labour
is hard and constant, and not more than sufficient to enable the
convicts to perform it, and to remain in the enjoyment of health.
Labour, only interrupted by the time necessary for meals, is re-
quired from the convicts for eleven hours per day, when there is
enough of daylight.

The agent makes contracts for the labour of the convicts, with
persons furnishing materials, so that all risk of loss is avoided,
and much private capital and enterprise are brought into action.
Strict rules are enforced, preventing a contractor from speaking
to a convict. His wishes must be expressed to one of the keepers.
There must be at least one assistant keeper in each. mechanical
department, who is master of the business pursued in it, to
instruct new convicts, and see that the whole make first-rate
work. The instruction is chiefly given by showing, and not by
verbal direction.

The convicts are so arranged in the shops as not to face each
other, and have their work entirely separate. A shop, and the
business of a hundred -convicts, are so managed, that hours
frequently pass without a word being spoken. Spectators are
taken through the inspection avenues in the rear, which surround
all the shops, where they have a full view of the convicts without
being seen. They are not allowed to speak so loud as to be
heard by them. There are separate shops for carpenters, masons,
coopers, tool-makers, shoemakers, tailors, weavers, blacksmiths,
machinists, gunsmiths, chair-makers, cabinet-makers, and basket-
makers. We saw some cabinet work beautifully finished. In-
deed, all the work seemed to us well arranged, and systematically
carried on. Carriage-making, polishing stone, and comb-making
have been begun during the year 1828.

248 THE ABSENT.

The gains of the convicts during the last year averaged 29 cents,
or Is. 2^d. sterling per day, some of them earning as much as 50
cents, and others not more than 15 cents per day. The amount
was sufficient to defray the annual expense, including the whole
salaries of the keepers, inspectors, the guard, and all other officers.
The keepers have no doubt that the earnings will increase in sub-
sequent years, — many of the workmen who are under sentences
of long confinement having, from practice, become much more
perfect in their trades and occupations. The convicts are never,
on any pretext whatever, permitted to work on their own account,
nor tOTCceive any food, except the prison fare. Neither fermented
liquor of any kind, nor tobacco, are allowed to be brought within
the precincts of the prison. Nothing is bought or sold within its
walls, so far as the prisoners are in any way concerned, except
their labour.

Stuart's "America.*'

THE ABSENT.

On the wild sea a bark is floating far, —
There too my heart is o'er the billows driven ;

In the dim sky shines out one trembling star.
To bid my anxious thoughts repose on heaven.

Wild waves, roll gently ! for that youth who sails
On yoiir rough surge, is all on earth I prize ;

Ah, woe is me ! how feebly love avails.

Hoarse blow the winds, and hoarser ye arise !

Oh ! yet a little space the storm 'forbear !

For faith's dear sake this fearful hour control !
Alas ! how like your troubled deeps, doth care

Stir up the dark recesses of my soul.

Some gentle power, some Angel of the skies,
Send down thy calming spirit from above;

Ah me ! what terrors fright these sleepless eyes.
What fearful thoughts distract tlie heart of love !

U.S.

I

249
A LOVERS' LEAP.

" It is now three and twenty years/' and she looked upon some
characters cut on the planks of the cottage, " since I was sitting
by moonlight, under that clifF you view to the right, my eyes
fixed on the ocean, my mind lost in the memory of my misfortunes,
when I heard a step, and starting up, a figure stood before me.
It was a young man, in a rich habit, with streaming hair, and
looks that bespoke the utmost terror. I knew not what to think
of this sudden apparition . ^ Mother,' said he with faltering accents,
* let me rest under your roof; and deliver me not up to those who
thirst after my blood. Take this gold; take all, all ! '

" Surprise held me speechless; the purse fell to the ground;
the youth stared wildly on every side : I heard many voices be-
yond the rocks ; the wind bore them distinctly, but presently they
died away. I took courage and assured the youth my cot should
shelter him. ' Oh ! thank you, thank you !' answered he, and
pressed my hand. He shared my scanty provision.

" Overcome with toil (for I had worked hard in the day) sleep
closed my eyes for a short interval. When I awoke the moon
was set, but I heard my unhappy guest sobbing in darkness.
I disturbed him not. Morning dawned, and he was fallen into
a slumber. The tears bubbled out of his closed eyelids, and
coursed one another down his wan cheeks. I had been too
wretched myself not to respect the sorrows of another : neglecting
therefore my accustomed occupations, I drove away the flies that
buzzed around his temples. His breast heaved high with sighs,
and he cried loudly in his sleep for mercy.

" The beams of the sun dispelling his dream, he started up
like one that had heard the voice of an avenging angel, and hid
his face with his hands. I poured some milk down his parched
throat. * Oh, mother ! ' he exclaimed, 'I am a wretch unworthy
of compassion ; the cause of innumerable sufferings ; a murderer !
a parricide ! ' My blood curdled to hear a stripling utter such
dreadful words, and behold such agonising sighs swell in so young
a bosom ; for I marked the sting of conscience urging him to
disclose what I am going to relate.

" It seems he was of high extraction, nursed in the pomps and
luxuries of Naples, the pride and darling of his parents, adorned
with a thousand lively talents, which the keenest sensibility con-
spired to improve. Unable to fix any bounds to whatever be-
came the object of his desires, he passed his first years in roving
VOL. IV. — 1834. iiH

260 A lovers' leap.

from one extravagance to another, but as yet there was no crime
in his caprices.

"At length it pleased Heaven to visit his family, and make
their idol the slave of an unbridled passion. He had a friend,
who from his birth had been devoted to his interest, and placed
all his confidence in him. This friend loved to distraction a young
creature, the most graceful of her sex, (as I can witness) and she
returned his affection. In the exultation of his heart he showed
her to the wretch whose tale I am about to tell. He sickened at
her sight. She too caught fire at his glances. They languished —
they consumed away — they conversed, and his persuasive language
finished what his guilty glances had begun.

" Their flame was soon discovered, for he disdained to conceal
a thought, however dishonourable. The parents warned the youth
in the tenderest manner; but advice and prudent counsels were
to him so loathsome, that unable to contain his rage, and infatu-
ated with love, he menaced the life of his friend as the obstacle
of his enjoyment. Coolness and moderation were opposed to
violence and frenzy, and he found himself treated with a contemp-
tuous gentleness. Stricken to the heart, he wandered about for
some time like one entranced. Meanwhile the nuptials were pre-
paring, and the lovely girl he had perverted found ways to let him
know she was about to be torn from his embraces.

" He raved like a demoniac, and rousing his dire spirit, applied
to a malignant wretch who sold the most inveterate poisons.
These he infused into a cup of pure iced water and presented to
his friend, and to his own too fond confiding father, who soon
after they had drunk the fatal potion began evidently to pine
away. He marked the progress of their dissolution with a horrid
firmness, he let the moment pass beyond which all antidotes were
vain. His friend expired ; and the young criminal, though he
beheld the dews of death hang on his parent's forehead, yet
stretched not forth his hand. In a short space the miserable
father breathed his last, whilst his son w^as sitting aloof in the
same chamber.

"The sight overcame him. He felt, for the first time, the
pangs of remorse. His agitations passed not unnoticed. He was
watched ; suspicions beginning to unfold he took alarm, and one
evening escaped ; but not without previously informing the part-
ner of his crimes which way he intended to flee. Several pursued ;
but the inscrutable will of Providence blinded their search, and
I was doomed to behold the effects of celestial vengeance.

A lovers' leap. 251

** Such are the chief circumstances of the tale I gathered from
the youth. I swooned whilst he related it, and could take no
sustenance. One whole day afterwards did I pray the Lord that
I might die rather than be near an incarnate demon. With what
indignation did I now survey that slender form and those flowing
tresses, which had interested me before so much in his behalf !

" No sooner did he perceive the change in my countenance,
than sullenly retiring to yonder rock he sat careless of the sun
and scorching winds ; for it was now the summer solstice. He
was equally heedless of the unwholesome dews. When midnight
came my horrors were augmented ; and I meditated sevaral times
to abandon my hovel and fly to the next village ; but a power
more than human chained me to the spot and fortified my mind.

'^ I slept, and it was late next morning when some one called
at the wicket of the little fold, where my goats are penned. I
arose, and saw a peasant of my acquaintance leading a female
strangely muffled up, and casting her eyes on the ground. My
heart misgave me. I thought this was the very maid who had
been the cause of such atrocious wickedness. Nor were my
conjectures ill-founded. Regardless of the clown, who stood by
in stupid astonishment, she fell to the earth and bathed my hand
with tears. Her trembling lips with difficulty enquired after the
youth ; and, as she spoke, a glow of conscious guilt lightened up
her pale countenance.

" The full recollection of her lover's crimes shot through my
memory. I was incensed, and would have spurned her away ;
but, she clung to my garments and seemed to implore my pity
with a look so full of misery, that, relenting, I led her in silence
to the extremity of the cliff* were the youth was seated, his feet
dangling above the sea. His eye was roiling wildly around, but
it soon fixed upon the object for whose sake he had doomed
himself to perdition.

" Far be it from me to describe their extasies, or tiie eagerness
with which they sought each other's embraces. I indignantly
turned my head away ; and, driving my goats lo a recess amongst
the rocks, sat revolving in my mind these strange events. I ne-
glected procuring any provision for my unwelcome guests ; and,
about midnight, returned homewards by the light of the moon,
which shone serenely in the heavens. Almost the first object her
beams discovered was the guilty maid sustaining the head of her
lover> who had fainted through weeikness and want of nourish-
ment. 1 fetched some dry bread, and dipping it in milk laid it

252 A lovers' leap.

before them. Having performed this duty I set open the door
of my hut, and retiring to a neighbouring cavity, there stretclied
myself on a heap of leaves and offered my prayers to Heaven.

" A thousand fears, till this moment unknown, thronged into
my fancy. The shadow of leaves that chequered the entrance to
the grot, seemed to assume in my distempered imagination the
form of ugly reptiles, and I repeatedly shook my garments. The
flow of the distant surges was deepened by my apprehensions
into distant groans : in a word, I could not rest; but issuing
from the cavern as hastily as my trembling knees would allow,
paced along the edge of the precipice. An unaccountable impulse
would have hurried my steps, yet such was my terror and shiv-
ering, that unable to advance to ray imt or retreat to the cavern,
I was about to shield myself from the night in a sandy crevice,
when a loud shriek pierced my ear. My fears had confused me ;
I was in fact near my hovel and scarcely three paces from the
brink of the cavern : it was thence the cries proceeded.

"Advancing in a cold shudder to its edge, part of which was
newly crumbled in, I discovered the form of a young man sus-
pended by one foot to a branch of juniper that grew several feet
down : thus dreadfully did he hang over the gulph from the
branch bending with his weight. His features were distorted, his
eye-balls glared with agony, and his screams became so shrill and
terrible that 1 lost all power of affording assistance. Fixed, I
stood with my eyes riveted upon the criminal, who incessantly
cried out, * O, God ! O, Father I save me if there be yet mercy !
save me, or I sink into the abyss ! '

" I an) convinced he did not see me ; for not once did he im-
plore my help. His voice grew faint, and as I gazed intent upon
him, the loose thong of leather which had entangled itself in the
branches by which he hung suspended, gave way, and he fell into
utter darkness. I sank to the earth in a trance ; during which a
sound like the rush of pennons assaulted my ear : methought the
evil spirit was bearing off his soul ; but when I lifted up my eyes
nothing stirred; the stillness that prevailed was awful.

" The moon hanging low over the waves afforded a sickly
light, by which I perceived some one coming down that white
cliff you see before you; and I soon heard the voice of the young
woman calling aloud on her guilty lover. She stopped. She
repeated again and again her exclamation ; but there was no reply.
Alarmed and frantic she iiurried along the path, and now I saw
her on the promontory, and now by yonder pine, devouring with

THE FAIR SPIRIT. 263

her glances every crevice in the rock. At length perceiving me,
she flew to v^here I stood, by the fatal precipice, and having noticed
the fragments fresh crumbled in, pored importunately on my
countenance. I continued pointing to the chasm ; she trembled
not; her tears could not flow; but she divined the meaning,
'Heislost!' said she; Uhe earth has swallowed him! but, as
I have shared with him the highest joy, so will I partake his
torments. I will follow : dare not to hinder me.'

" Like the phantoms I have seen in dreams, she glanced beside
me; and, clasping her hands above her head, lifted a steadfast
look on the hemisphere, and viewed the moon with an anxious-
ness that told me she was bidding it farewell for ever. Observing
a silken handkerchief on the ground, with which she had but an
hour ago bound her lover's temples, she snatched it up, and im-
printing it with burning kisses, thrust it into her bosom. Once
more, expanding her arms in the last act of despair and miserable
passion, she threw herself, with a furious leap, into the gulph."

Beckford.

[The following verses appeared in print at various intervals some years
since, under different signatures, they liave been revised by the writer in
order to render them, if possible, worthy of appearing in the " Museum."]

THE FAIR SPIRIT.

There dwelt a Spirit here !
We knew it long and loved it for it made
Lustre around it, till the beautiful
Seemed like itself in purity ; and all,
Even the unlovely, in the radiant sphere
Of its sweet influence, wore a pleasing charm.

When star-beams, on the pinions of soft air.
Came slowly down to seek repose upon
The veiled bosom of the timorous Night
And Silence rose, attendant on lier rest.
How have we listened to that Spirit's song !
It flowed, like holy music from afar,
With an enchantment's secret extasy,
While memories of the dim and chequered past
Came quick upon the fancy, like the play
Of light upon the waters, till the spell

254 SMILES.

Of the sweet strain was over and then all
Died with its soothing power.

We have paused
To look upon that spirit and admire
Its fair and innocent beauty, day by day ;
As ye would something dear and much beloved. —
O I it was exquisitely graceful, like
The earliest flower of azure Springes first love,
— And when it smiled, its fond, endearing smile
Beamed like the winning one than Fancy throws
On virgin youth.

Sometimes, as if enchained
With the serene illusion of a dream,
We thought we touched that lovely spirit's hand.
Its small and delicate hand until we felt
The gentle pressure vibrate through our hearts
Like a sweet sound from an attuned string,
Most musical !

Alas ! that spirit now
Is gone — ^the scenery it enhanced is sear,
The spot hath lost its only fadeless charm,
As when the song-bird of the summer night
Hath left the shade of its remembered dell —
Or when the lily of the valley dies.

SMILES.

O ! there are smiles
Sweeter, more rapturous than these — than all —
And Memory hoards them up, with fondest care.
The richest of her gems : men think on them
When they are treading the world's pilgrimage.
As the swart Lybian thinks upon the flowers
Of the oasis in the wilderness.
These are the smiles of Love.

There are smiles
Of milder, blander light, like evening
They cheer the friendly circle, and are found
Hallowing the soothing scenes of sacred home ;
A mother has such smiles of gentleness
When contemplating, as Cornelia did,
Her jewels in her children.

THE DEAD MARCH. 256

Smiles are oft
Assumed when there is misery
Sitting within the heart, and the sad soul
Broods over desolate thoughts — these smiles are like
The summer flowers that bloom above a grave.

There are yet other smiles, like the red ray
Of the volcano, in night's darkness gleaming.
Upon a lonely pile of ruined splendour ;
Smiles like to these are on the maniac^s brow.
When incoherent thought pictures a crowd
Of vagrant fantasies, burlesque and rare.
Before his shattered mind.

THE DEAD MARCH.

They drew near,
Winding their instruments with such sad power.
That Pity heard the sounds and sighing came
To weave her breathings in the long, low strains :
And so her wild mysterious measures fell
Most mournfully on the heart until they spoke
Exquisite sorrow ! — sad as the moaning sea —
Sad as the voice of Night, tremulous, borne
O'er desolate places — sad as Memory's dream
When through Pain's shroud she sees the lovely past.

THE EDDYSTONE LIQHTHOUSE.

O ! beautiful — most beautiful — alone,

With the hushed tempests round about thee lying
Thou lookest, from thy wave-girt island throne,

On the wide ocean's waters softly sighing,

And we repose, as in a radiant dream.

To gaze upon thee in thy graceful pride.
Illumined with the Summer's softest beam

Like Hope's fair figure imaged on the tide ;
Cheering the seamen with the thoughts of home

When, from the perils of the Ocean free.
The lithe wings of their gliding vessels come

Directed to their wished-for rest by thee.
O ! mayest thou yet, for long — long time, remain
The beauty and the pride of Britain's sea domain.

Franz.

256

THE IMPORTANCE OF SHAKSPEARE'S WRI-
TINGS CONSIDERED AS TO THEIR INFLUENCE
ON THE MORALS OF MEN.

Continued from page 219.

To illustrate what has been said with respect to
Shakspeare's power of creating, as it were, the actual
man, I shall, in the first place, refer to the characters
of King Lear and Othello.

If the range of Shakspeare's tragedy be consid-
ered as including two great departments — the one
simply natural, and the other nature romanticizedy
we must assijrn to King Lear a lofty place in the
first, and to Othello a distinguished situation in the
second. As the work of a writer who had conceived
a Falstaff, and who died at the age of fifty-two, the
character of King Lear must be regarded with in-
creased astonishment. We can more readily estimate
the extent of the genius which depicts the effects of
jealousy, revenge, or love, than that which enables
its possessor to assume, in his prime of life, " the
very age and body " of a silver-haired monarch, de-

E rived of his regal superjicies by those to whom he
ad bequeathed his substance. We can more readily
place ourselves in the situation of the Moor (who is
mfluenced by feelings with which most of us can
sympathize) than to imagine ourselves pregnant with
such misery as can alone exist in the womb of age :
and an ordinary poet, in treating this subject, would
be more likely to effect the ridiculous than the sub-
lime— to arouse our pity for the author rather than
the hero. But, I am now speaking of the effect
produced on our minds by a perusal of the silent
page. Obtuse, indeed must be his feeling who could
witness unmoved the ravings of a real Lear : nay —
on the stage of actual life, they would very likely
excite more lively sensations than the woes of an
Othello. We may, it is true, with greater facility,
embody in ourselves the character of an abused hus-
band : but there is a vast difference between the

shakspeare's writings. 257

power of conception and the susceptibility of impress-
ion. The one enables us to feel with Othello ; the
other to feel for Lear. The former is more easily
acted ; the latter, perhaps, as easily to be understood
by the spectator, when acted. In the case of Othello,
we imbibe a feelino: : in that of Lear we sustain a
shock. We participate in the cause of the one : we
shudder under the effect of the other. In the first
instance we are tossed upon the ocean : in the second
we are fixed in the midst : — while our attention is
given to Othello we roll with him over the billows
of passion. In the case of King Lear we experience
not ourselves the upheaving power of the waves ; but
we quiver under their concussion, and are stunned
by their roar ! Of course, I am speaking of young
people in particular. Such as live to have grey
beards and undutiful daughters, of course feel the
more with King Lear : but Shakspeare's life, alas !
did not reach the day of silver locks ; nor was he
otherwise capacitated, by personal experience, to
write the tragedy. Of his two daughters, one was
more favored than the other ; but we do not hear
that he ill used the most deserving, or that the most
favored ill used him. In short, if ever a piece of
profane writing bore marks of inspiration, the cha-
racter of Lear may be said to exhibit them. Some
of the impassioned bursts are so Hghtning-like in
their intensity and nimbleness, that we only wonder
how the pen can have followed thought, or how the
hand could have been engaged while the heart was
in such a state of agitation. It is not, as if Shaks-
peare had composed King Lear for enactment by
others ; but rather, as if it had been an extempo-
raneous performance, secured to us by the short-
hand writer. Or, we may imagine him under the
influence of a mighty dream loudly uttering the
emotions under which his deluded senses are labour-
ing, and finally awaking from a consummation of
distress and horror, panting with agitation yet pale
with exhaustion, and inexpressibly relieved at finding
VOL. IV. — 1834. II

258 shakspeare's writings.

himself no other than simple William Shakspeare,
with his daughter Judith alive by the side of his
couch, instead of a Cordelia dead in his arms — Less
than, perhaps, any other character does King Lear
bear the evidence of study. It is the spontaneous
effort of an o'er wrought mind, swelling with its
supercharge o{ nature to the entire exclusion of every
thmg art^cial, and delivered in the pure unsophis-
ticated language of truth. In this instance, the
vividness of Shakspeare's imagination and the in-
tensity of his feeling, are not more extraordinary
than his power of making the reader understand,
feel and appreciate. In ordinary cases, his language
is frequently vulgar, obscure, and diffuse ; but, in
subjects of. weightier import, he seems to acknow-
ledge no difficulty. What other writers would
labour to produce, he pens under momentary impulse,
and relieves the intensity of his thoughts in a manner
at once dignified, clear, and concise. But for this
power, he might have imagined Lear, but could not
have pourtrayed him. His language, unmatched
with his thoughts, had swollen into bombast ; and
metaphorical exuberance would have made that
ridiculous, which was only to be rendered effective
by the language of Nature. Othello, on the con-
trary, gairis by the adjunct of poetry. The moor is
a warrior and a lover ; and carries the romance,
which distinguished his courtship into the revenge
which destroys his wife. Lear is merely an aged
father, whose paternal affection is not founded on
romance, and whose subsequent conduct is equally
free from poetic coloring. Both are alike perfect in
their composition ; but, it is possible to conceive a
man painting an Othello, who might be yet unable
to form a Lear. In the Moor, Shakspeare raised
himself above all competitors — in the Monarch he
soared beyond himself! —

It is only by comparing one character with another,
that we are enabled in any way to do justice to our
author : and Lear and Othello are, in themselves, so

shakspeare's writings. 259

fascinating as works of genius, and, in their juxta
position, so serviceable to my present purpose, that I
feel reluctant to let them go. Both (as before stated)
are prodigiously susceptible of passion, and, therefore,
the less sagacious in the discovery of imposition ;
for both, under false assurances, are impelled to
reject — to curse — that, which, ere now, they have
devotedly loved. So far, they are of the same class ;
but how distinct as individuals, Lear is marked
with all the capriciousness of age, and is at times so
fantastical, that, but for his tragic situation we
should smile at his weakness. Naturally a man of
sense, but now imbecile, his feelings soon get the
better of his little remaining sanity, and, in his ravings
we occasionally perceive a kind of childish regret at
the loss of the mere state and toys of royalty. The
^'sense of his former rank scarcely ever leaves him,
and is forcibly marked in his exclamation on hearing
it asked, " is it not the King ?"

"Aye, every inch a King !"
Othello is distinguished by all the sweeping mag-
nificence of a romantic soul. His aspirings had
ever been of a more heroic nature than those of Lear.
More strongly nerved, his mental power outlives his
blasted happiness ; i. e. he is never absolutely mad.
The loss of Desdemona renders him insensible to
any loss of " pomp and circumstance of glory ;" and,
when inquired for, as " a rash and most unfortunate
man," he takes at once a touching farewell of that
fame which had gilded his former days in the brief
reply :—

" That 's he, that was Othello."

Nothing can be more real than the Moor's char-
acter, as developed in the third and fourth acts of
the tragedy bearing his name, wherein the rise and
progress of jealousy, in a heart equally capable of
the most devoted love and of the direst revenge is
painted with the most exact correctness in regard to
form, proportion and expression, and with the most
powerful mastery in respect to depth of coloring and

260 shakspeare's writings.

breadth of light and shade. We see the noble Moor
enter with a bosom, calm, under the full confidence
of his wife's love ; and we mark with encreasing
interest, the swellings of that bosom under the suc-
cessive influence of thought, doubt, suspicion and
jealousy, till — at length — like the Volcano — it hea-
ves with its "fraught of wretchedness,'' and, with the
fury of an eruption, hurls forth " all its fond love,"
and becomes as a womb teeming with immeasurable
hate and bloody vengeance. In the midst of this,
it will be observed, with what happy art the poet
relieves the fearful blackness of his purpose with
occasional gleams of hesitating tenderness, and soft
relen tings, which might have ripened into mercy,
but for the blasting vigilence of lago ; and which,
together with some passages of the most exquisite
pathos, act like bonds upon our sympathy. Shaks-
peare, evidently desired that Othello, like Macbeth,
should never entirely forfeit the esteem of the reader.
It will be observed, that Othello is made to fulfil
his bloody resolve under the momentary impulse of
renovated exasperation : — Desdemona laments the
death of him, whom Othello imagines to have been
adulterate with her; and, in a fit of fury, the Moor,
denying her even time for " one prayer," extinguishes
the life of one, whom, in the assurance of her truth,
he had not sold for a " world

/ Of one entire and perfect Chrysolite ! '* —

There is a hornble grandeur in Othello's exclam-
ation on hearing the last words of Desdemona who
denies the guilt of her husband ; —

" She 's like a liar gone to burning liell !

' t was I that killed her I " —

This sounds impious : but when we study Othello's
part as we should the mind of an existing and pal-
pable man — and not as a piece of declamatory
writing of so many hundred lines — when we regard
it as a piece of the individual Othello we acknow-
ledge its consistency and admire its nobleness.
Feeling convinced of Desdemona's guilt, and with

shakspeare's writings. 261

no desire to conceal the commission of a deed, which,
in his opinion, that guilt deserved, he is no less
moved by her dying falsehood than he was by her
living shame. They, who imagine Othello to be
any thing but " an honourable murderer" shame-
fully wrong the character and misunderstand the
author. Excepting in the case of a clandestine
marriage, this most splendid embodying exhibits
nothing which evinces any natural proneness to ig-
noble feelings or deeds. In the overwhelming fury
of his revenge, to which Othello is not less actuated
by a sense of pure justice than by a sense of his
particular wrongs, he only shews us how unbounded
would have been his love. That which should have
been the nutriment of " absolute content'' is made,
by the subtility of lago, to act as a consuming poi-
son— a fire of "aspick's tongues" — as milk, the es-
sential food of life, has a venomous quality when
introduced into the blood.

Surely, the study of such characters as these,
bearing the evident impress of nature is eminently
qualified to awaken perception — to expand our pow-
ers of judging between man and man — to break
away those films of prejudice which entangle our
reason — which prevent the full grasp of our compre-
hension— which obstruct the full play of our candour
— and which retard the moral progress of society.
Characters of unmixed good or evil, — as they rarely
or never exist in the world, are of little use when
they appear as examples in the page of the poet or
novelist. Had Othello and Macbeth been more
studied in a philosophical and moral sense, many a
man would have been redeemed under the cultivation
of those gej'mes of virtue, to which, the world (in its
abhorrence for some dominant error) has given no
credit. Instead of that reckless condemnation which
Byron received at the hands of the thoughtless
million, the words, applied to his own Manfred,
would have been applied to him : —

262 shakspeare's writings.

This should have been a noble creature : he

Hath all the energy which should have made

A goodly frame of glorious elements

Had they been wisely mingled ; as it is,

It is an awful chaos — light and darkness —

And mind and dust — and passions and pure thoughts,

Mix'd and contending without end or order,

All dormant or destructive : he will perish,

And yet he must not : I will try once more,

For such are worth redemption : — "

Manfred, Act 3. 51.
We have never yet sufficiently considered what
opposite qualities may exist in the same constitution.
We have discovered that the poppy yields both a
poison and a panacea — we have discovered that the
electiic fluid, though in some cases destructive, is in
others revivifying — we have progressed in the science
of chemical affinity ; but we are sadly backward in
the analysis of mind.

It is only under the idea, that a study of Shaks-

Ceare will enable us the more readily to detect
ypocrisy and discover latent virtue — to abhor lust,
and to throw away ambition — that I continue, and,
with permission will continue to claim for it more
particular attention. As the cause of the fine
arts has been advocated, with relation to qualities
far more important than those of mere beauty,
so, with relation to an end far more important
than one of mere amusement, should we recom-
mend the study of man in all his varieties of element
and combination — in all his moods — and under all
circumstances — active — passive — self impelled — or
influenced by others — the study of man, as he
so truly and palpably appears in the drama of Shaks-
peare. The perceptive system (however essential
and effective as far as regards our duty towards God)
is of secondarif importance when used to enforce our
duties to one another. When there shall be among
men an equally pervading knowledge of man, it is
most likely, a state of moral optimism will be attain-
ed. In proportion to the increase ofsagacitj/ will be
the decrease of cunning : hypocrisy must sink in its

PASSING BELL. 263

own insufficiency, and none but the untractable fool
would deceive himself by attempting the deception
of others. Be the deductive, then, the best system
of increasing moral strength. Johnson's Rambler
shews that Johnson was himself a moral man ; but
I believe the work has had but a very limited influ-
ence with respect to morality in general. Thus much
for the value of an acquaintance with real character.
Shakspeare has not shewn man as he should be —
for our admiration : he has exposed him as he is — -
for our instruction. Other poets have amply sup-
plied us with ready made sentiments ; but Shakspeare
holds up actual men for our contemplation.

FUNEREAL SKETCHES, No. XXVII.
PASSING BELL.

Day wakes — unmarked the streamlet flows
Kissing each heath bell where it grows
Deep in the shade of yonder glen
Where smoke wreaths point the haunts of men :
The owl now leaves her covert screen
Where cliff and woodland intervene.
To scare the warblers — ere half done
Their vespers to the setting sun.

The sun himself — what solemn toll
Peals in deep concert o'er the whole,
And seems, so low its dying swell.
As bidding light and earth farewell ? —
Again it sounds ; — the voice aloud
Bursts from his cerement in the cloud.
Then sullenly decays ; — such spell
Works at this hour a passing bell.

Oh let me muse ; to-morrow's sun
Again his giant course shall run ;
But light no more the unfettered soul
This night hath ushered to its goal.
No more ? The glow worm lights a spark
When this world's transient day is dark :
The soul, when earth's false glare retires.
She too preserves her kindred fires —
To burn before the eternal shrine
When sun and glow-worm cease to shine.

264
No. XXVIII.— LOOKING BACK.

Alas ! when life is in its spring

And hope and promise vie,
We little dream the fragile thing

Must blossom but to die ;
Leaving our heart so withered then
We would not have it blow again.

I dreamed of love for one — how fair

And beautiful to view
The tresses of her raven hair

Curled round that eye of blue !
She passed, a butterfly on wing

And I an idle child,
Had chased all day the gilded thing —

So sweetly it beguiled.
Fond bootless chase — I shall grow old
Ere find a heart more dead and cold.

And then there died a dame in years

The matron of our line,
Drawn calmly from this vale of tears

At life*s extreme decline ;
They laid her where her good man slept^

With others to attend,
And other eyes than mine that wept —

I had not lost a friend.

When sparkles love from that blue eye

Like light on yonder sea,
Or mourners breathe the tender sigh

Will any think of me ?
Enough — enough, through good or ill

What e'er to morrow's birth
Heaven make my chastened spirit still

As pilgrim on this earth.
And little is there left to cheer
My life-walk through the coming year. Eiis.

265

SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT.
No. IV.

"And so, ere answer knows what question would,
(Saving in dialogue of compliment;
And talking of the Alps and Appenines,
The Pyrenean, and the river Po,)
It draws toward supper in conclusion so." — K. John.

After being harassed by certain of the " Full-
moneys/' " Paynaughts/' (fee, kc, as described in
the former Sketches, the young architect fancies he
has at length met with a patron of genuine stamp —
one who has travelled through each varied scene of
classic Italy ; talks in raptures of the Museo-Vatica-
no, the Palazzo Borghese, and the Campo Vaccina,
(for he is much too refined to vulgarize either by an
English appellation ;) shews you his beautiful Mo-
saics from Rome, his marble vases from Florence,
and lastly refers you, with pride, to a magnificent
copy of // nostra Palladia purchased at Vicenza, the
great architect's birth-place, and the stage of his chief
professional enactments. '* Ah," says he, with a sort
of melancholy — a most humorous melancholy, like
that of Jaques — and, turning over, at the same time,
his foho of Palladian design, ** Ah, sir, we can 't do
such things now-a-days : — There 's proportion !
There 's harmony ! There 's decorative style !"

Not less pleased with his classic zeal, than im-
pressed with due notions of your own rival genius,
you suffer him to expend his outpourings of exclusive
homage to the shrine of " il nostro Palladio," resol-
ved on availing yourself of the opportunity he is
about to afford you — determinate on proving, that
you can do, at least what by-gone others have done,
and, very possibly, something more. You know,
well enough, that even Palladio had the usual faults
of a primitive reformer or restorer — faults, which tell
not to his shame, though, in their repetition at this
advanced era of improvement, they unquestionably
would to yours. You will preserve the informing
spirit of the Venetian school of architecture, only to

VOL. IV. — 1834. KK

266 SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT.

be the more vivid by its purification from error and
adulteration. You will clarify it with Burlingtonian
chasteness, and refine it with Greek simplicity. In
a word, you go to work with more confidence than
hope : and, on finishing your designs, submit them,
perhaps, to the approval you expected.

Your elevation is neat in outline, delicate in its
ornamental drawinsr, and shaded, and coloured, and
toned with artistical effect. Your plans are sweetly
tinted, and lettered with fascinating niceness. Your
sections, to be sure, are rather puzzling — particularly
to the ladies — but again and again they turn to the
elevation of the front which is deemed even pretty
enough for the album of the eldest daughter. A few
questions touching the relative localities of the seve-
ral rooms are asked with confiding indifference, and
answered with a matter-of-course assurance. Thus
your " fair drawings" pass muster, and you are com-
missioned to prepare all the necessary working plans
and specifications. In your youthful enthusiasm,
they are executed in the most elaborate manner.
Every variety of capital, cornice, frieze, architrave,
and base, both for the exterior and interior is made
out in detail and " at large." The specification is
as long and wordy as a lawyer's brief. One pre-
paratory measure yet remains ; the provision of that
fearful thing — the Estimate !

T is done. Only as much again as the sum
alwnys contemplated by your patron, though not,
till now, known to yourself. Reduce, reduce, is now
the cry ; and away, " at one fell swoop," go all your
pretty columns and their pediment ! " Good pati-
ence!" cries Sir Anglo Palady, " why, sir, you '11
ruin me by the expences of my front and leave me
no provisions for my inside. With all my admiration
for the splendours of Vicenza, I must still consider
the limits of my means. Remember what the great
Bacon says ; — Houses are built to live in, and riot
to look on ; therefore let use be preferred before uni-
formity, except ivhere both may be had. Leave the

j

SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT. 267

goodly fabrics of houses, for beauty only, to the
enchanted palaces of the poets, who built them with
small cost J"

Such is precisely the veering weathercock argu-
ment of the thousand classic votarists, here repre-
sented by our one delectable Sir Anglo. A weak
breath of affiscted or thoughtless admiration for
Italian art keeps the vane poetic-ward, till a strong
blast from the more truly constituted quarter of his
mind, suddenly whisks to the right about, and it
stands fixed pocket-ward. Nor is its latter direction,
of necessity, wrong ; for, if the means of pecuniary
supply be really wanting, the architect and his patron
would be equally wanting in honesty, should they
incur the heavy consequences of decorative expense.
The error is, in falsely attributing the splendours of
the Vicentine Palace, to any now unattainable super-
iority in its architect. At the least, we can exactly
copy the lauded example, and it should go hardly
with us if we could not improve upon it. The art is
not so subtle in its nature as to baffle modern scruti-
ny : on the contrary, it partakes so much of science,
that improvement is almost the necessary concomitant
of progressing time. One improvement has, at all
events, been brought into action, viz. a very reason-
able reluctance to enter upon schemes too costly for
perfect completion, or upon such as in that comple-
tion leave their projectors to feed upon the retrospect
of having advanced an architect's fame by the ruin
or discomforting reduction of their family fortune.
Half the palaces of the Vicentine nobility are unfi-
nished. Their proprietors, in effecting that half,
exhausted their means, and left their children to
market parsimoniously and to garnish their humbled
fare with the talk of "il nostro Palladio." If Sir
Anglo will do the same, he will assuredly find il sno
Palladio. If John Bull will chanpe his beef and
plum-puddinji for a crust fnid butter, he shall have
Corinthian cohimns where he has at present only a
plain brick wall ; or, to nmko a nioK^ roa-onnljlo

268 SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT.

draught upon his comforts, his house shall be suffi-
ciently exalted by decorative pride, if he will but
forego his superfluities of domestic luxury, his debi-
litating drinks, and a portion of his racing stud.

To return to our more particular business with Sir
Anglo. Away go your columnar decorations, and
Parker's stucco is to take the place of Portland
stone. Still the general outline is left, and Palladian
taste has yet some opportunity in the exercise of an
admired proportion between ** solid and void " — in
that " beauty which originates in design, and is not
superinduced by ornament, and by that happy some-
thing between flat and prominent, which charms
both in front and profile,*' and of which Forsyth is
so justly enamoured. According, therefore, to the
reduced scheme, the works begin to rise in palpable
brick and mortar. Peculiar ideas oi convenience now
begin to shew themselves, as over-ruling, in Sir
Anglo's mind, where, before, they were subservient
to Italianized notions of taste. Alarming questions
are constantly being made, touching a positively
demanded accordance with all the usual habits of
the English builder — aye, of the heretofore despised
English builder ! He seriously hopes you have made
his windows " as high and as wide as his friend
Maxwell's, which are just within the tax law for
single lights :" — He fancies, from what he now sees
performing on the second floor level, (but which he
overlooked in the designs) that " you are thinking
of giving him those vile square windows that admit
such a paucity of light into the bed rooms of his

friend Trollope's house built by that fellow ,"*

In short, he expresses a score of the most fearfully
indigenous notions, and leaves you choking in the
consciousness, that such an issue of matters will be
expected as is totally incompatible with the prin-
ciples on which you have acted — principles, origin-
ating in a silly belief, that when Sir Anglo talked so

* No matter, an eminent architect.

SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT. 269

enthusiastically of Palladio, he knew what he was
talking about. Sir, it was all fudge ! He talked
unwittingly — he knew not what.

Your situation is now such as to afford a most
wholesome trial to your patience. Beware the " qui-
etus'' of a " bare bodkin ;" for the chances are you '11
be induced to think of using it, mindless of the " some-
thing after death ! " which poor Hamlet speaks of as
the support of" patient merit," under the " spurns of
the unworthy.'' However lofty may have been your
patron's wordy aspiring, he merely contemplated the
usual jog-trot horizontal course, as in a gig, and you
have taken him with you, as in the car of a balloon ;
— " Good God !" exclaims he, " where am I going?
Stop ! Stay ! Halloo !" It 's too late. The ropes
are cut. He insists on immediate descent. The gas
is too slow in escaping ; so, out with the parachute ;
and, if you escape with a whole neck, put up, at once,
your praises to heaven, and your Palladio upon your
book-shelf, there to be ready for your own occasi-
onal reference, but even to remain a dead letter to
Sir Anglo, whose talk and travels only serve to verify
the poet's couplet, —

" How much a dunce tliat has been sent to roam,
Excels a dunce that has been kept at home.'*

It is in this liability to be at once criticised by fo-
reign rule and compelled by home example, that the
young architect, finds, perhaps, his greatest plague,
vacillating between a wish to consult his patron's
professed admiration for works of standard merit, and
a desire to give some play to his own inventive power,
he produces even less than the " bastard issue" in-
tended : for the mushroom caprices of his employer,
springing with unexpected spontaneousness upon the
half grown creature of his divided care, smother his
functions in surmise, till " nothing is — but what is not, "

So that, in truth, both parties may be equally
wrong. Sir Anglo, in his critical quackery ; and

270 SKETCHES BY A PRACTISING ARCHITECT.

his architect, in the prostitution of his independent
professional duty. That, which has been urged
again and again elsewhere, may once more be echoed
here, viz. the important truth, that art will effect
nothing great, while it seeks for favour in a servile
obedience to the no-meaning whimsicalities of indi-
vidual patronage. The monarch who truckles to
the will of his prime-mistress will be as likely to win
the applause of his country at large, as the artist who
is influenced by the fal lal of a Sir Anglo, except as
a wholesome measure of correction ; for, it is certain,
that, in many instances, nothing more justly severe
can be devised, than the exact fulfilment of his pro-
fessed wishes. Give him a fac-simile of one of his
Palladian idols, and see how he '11 rave at the god,
which e'en now he worshipped. Then will "even
handed justice commend the ingredients of his poi-
soned chalice to his own lips."

Art to succeed must command : but it therefore
follows not that she must be imperious. The in-
junctions she puts upon her delegates are simply
these ; to seem acquiescent, and to be over-ruling. At
any rate, be independent; and let the canon of your
practice be to that propounded by Mela Britannicus :*
— " The criterion of a good architect consists, not so
much in treading in the steps of ancient professors of
the art, as in the power of feeling the spirit of the age
in which he lives, and in considerino, whether or no
his plans proposed, square with the ideas of social
order current in his time, as well as with those ways
of life, which denote a later and more extended civi-
hzation."

* Charles Kelsall, Esq.

271

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.
PROCEEDINGS IN THE ATHENAEUM.

October 16tii. — Mil. Purdon's Lecture on Ireland.

The object of this paper was to shew by what process security
might be obtained for property expended upon Irish improvements.

The lecturer considered that the irrational prejudice against the
vernacular tongue was a deep rooted cause of the evils of Ireland.
Those who had the moral and religious guidance of the people
were either ignorant of their loved and native tongue, or they
would not condescend to instruct them through its medium ;
whilst, on the other hand, designing and unprincipled persons had
used it as an instrument to subvert tlie authority of those who by
neglecting it had virtually cut off all intercourse between them-
selves and the people.

Most people would be surprised when told that the Irish were
the only people in the United Kingdom who did not hear their
religion in their own vernacular tongue — in all other parts of the
kingdom it is proclaimed in four different languages, English,
Welch, Gaelic, and Manx, by resident and properly qualified mi-
nisters. This neglect is in direct violation of the 94th clause of the
Irish Established Church, which enjoins the proper officers to
provide hooliS in churches in the Irish language, ivherever the ma-
jority of the people speak the Irish language. Notwithstanding
this gross carelessness as to the moral and religious direction of
the Irish people, their number is more than three times the amount
of all the Highlanders, Manx, and Welch in the British Islands.
Under this culpable neglect can we be surprised at the outrages
which are continually perpetrated by these badly-led and untaught
people — ought we not to be surprised that they are not far worse ?

Amongst the Irish, half a million do not understand ani/ En-
glish : but there are four millions whose knowledge of English
only extends to the capacity of buying and selling at market, and
conversing on very trivial concerns : to these any other language
than their own is a dead letter, as far as regards their acquiring
moral or religious instruction through its medium. The lecturer
was convinced that if the Irish were properly taught, through the
medium of their own language, that more than half the object of
acquiring security for life and property would be obtained ; and,
as the people had an enquiring mind, they themselves would sub-
sequently see the advantage of acquiring a knowledge of English,
as had been already observed amongst the Scottish Highlanders.

272 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

Mr. Purdon deprecated that act of the Legislature which had
attempted, virtually, to subvert the Irish language, by attempting
to force an education through the medium of English ; it was nu-
gatory in action, and inefficient in result: the charter schools,
which were its instruments, are now relinquished as useless; and
the enormous sum of one million sterlmg had been expended in
an attempt to teach only 7,905 children.

Dr. Millar's " History Philosophically Illustrated," was refer-
red to for evidence to show the success which resulted from the
endeavours of some conscientious persons, who learned the Irish
language for the purpose of revealing **The Truth" to the natives,
they were not, however, seconded by governnient ; and the attempt
failed ultimately. This utter want of care on the part of Ir/jland's
rulers as to the religious and moral instruction of the people was the
sure way to leave the mind to become corrupt, contaminated, and
vicious; the consequences of which were rapine, murder, and de-
struction of property; and the history of nations would bear the
lecturer out in asserting that the reverse would result if competent
councils had predominated. Even in Ireland itself, where the
people were properly taught and well employed, they underwent
a complete change in morals and in conduct.

To show that want of employment is the essential misfortune
of Ireland, tl)e lecturer brought forward the evidence of Mr. Mat-
thew Barrington, crown solicitor for the Munster circuit, and Mr.
John Dillon, both of whom have stated that wherever the people
had work they were inclined to be orderly and peaceable; the
latter person has given a miserable picture of the peasants' con-
dition at times when there is but little demand ibr labour. In some
cases a man, his wife, and family have to be maintained on two
shillings per week.

The lecturer would recommend those interested in seeing capi-
tal made secure, when expended in Irish improvements, to pro-
pose in a public manner the cultivation of the wastes, by Stock
companies, and to publish the well authenticated truth how com-
pletely regenerated are the people whenever employment has been
afforded. To make it as clear as the facts testify that Security
dwells perpctuullij with anpUn/nient. Government should gua-
rantee protection only to the first undertaking, and by proper
conduct, honest dealing, and just remuneration, the people of
Ireland would learn that their good was consulted, and their pros-
perity ensured ; there would no longer exist the discontent, terror,
and deceit, which at present bewilder the neglected population.

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 273

The above abstract has shown that religious and moral culti-
vation, together with sufficient employment, were the means which
the lecturer considered as best adapted to provide for the security
of Capital invested in Irisli improvement. The rest of the paper
contained observations of the relation which exists between a go-
vernment and the people governed, as well as some strictures on
the government of Ireland, which our limits do not allow us to
follow. We have, however, omitted nothing of the lecturer's main
proposition.

October 23rd. — Rev. Mr. St. John's Lecture on ^* The
Logical method of enquiry J^

In the first section, the lecturer showed how the question in
matters of enquiry was obtained; he defined the term question,
and explained and illustrated the process by which the main
question was determined. He explained and illustrated the
manner in which logical enquiry is conducted : — I., whether the^
subject of enquiry exists: II., what is the subject of enquiry:
III., what kind of thing is the subject of enquiry, and showed
the application of these methods in proof of the main question.

In the second section he pointed out how the main question
is divided into the questions, on which it depends for proof;
and how the questions for proof were obtained ; I., by considering
words in the main question: II., by considering the matter
contained in words, whether necessarily or conditionally. He
proposed as a question for illustration. Whether the classical
instruction at public schools is an efficient preparation for the
professions of life ? this question was divided into the several
questions on which it depended for proof; whence it followed
that the preparation was not efficient.

In the third section, he showed how the state of a question
was determined ; defined the state of a question, and proved
that it was most easily determined by the adversary's argument.
He illustrated, by Cicero's oration for Plancius, the state of the
question — whether the classical instruction at public schools
was an efficient preparation for tlie professions of life ? He conclu-
ded by enforcing, the importance of being able to ascertain the
state of the question.

Mr. Swain had proposed to deliver a lecture on " Respiration'*
this evening, but was prevented by unforeseen circumstances,
the Rev. Mr. St. John kindly offered his paper as a substitute.

VOL. IV. — 1834. LL

274 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

October 30th. — Rev. R. Luney's Lecture on Jleasoning
considered as a Science compared with Logic as an Art.

The lecturer introduced the subject by some observations on
the importance of accuracy and precision in the use of words, in
all philosophical enquiries; and in support of his views on this
part of the subject, appealed to the authority of Locke, who, in
his celebrated treatise on the human understanding, has devoted
a very large portion of the work, to the consideration of the abuse
and right application of words. Several instances of confusion,
and apparent contrariety of statement, where little, if any difference
of opinion in reality, existed, were adduced by the lecturer, from
the writings of Dr. Johnson, Locke, Reid, Stewart, Brown, &c. ;
and these apparent differences were shewn to have originated in
the various and even opposite senses in which the words in ques-
tion had been employed by these authors. The familiar words
Reason, Reasoning, Judgment, and Understanding, were shewn
to have been used by the best writers on metaphysical science, in
very different, and in some instances, in totally opposite senses.
In support of this statement, the lecturer quoted several conflict-
ing definitions of these words from numerous standard authors
on intellectual and moral science. The Rev. gentleman then
proceeded to define the sense in which he proposed to employ
the several words in question in the subsequent portion of his
lecture. He here pointed out the distinction between the exercise
of reason and an act of reasoning, and observed that the latter
constituted only one of the various functions or operations of the.
former; — a distinction, which, as the lecturer observed, accounts
for the apparent paradox, so frequently met with, of persons
being accurate and powerful reasoners, and yet very unreasonable
men.

After distinguishing between an act of judgment and an act of
Reasoning, the lecturer enumerated a variety of causes, which
tended, in their operation, to bias and pervert the decisions of the
former; and gave a variety of amusing illustrations of the oppo-
site decisions at which different persons arrive when judging of
the same objects or of the same relations.

After adverting to the nature of proof, and the folly of attempt-
ing to prove or explain ^ first principle, the lecturer enumerated
and examined the various elementary truths, or intuitive principles
of belief ; and shewed that they neither require nor admit of expla-
nation nor proof; tliat they are inherent in the constitution of our
intellectual and moral nature; that all men necessarily believe

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 276

them to be true and act on that conviction ; and that it is impos-
sible they should ever believe the contrary.

The lecturer then proceeded to analyze the process which the
mind pursues in every act of reasoning; and from the general
uniformity of the operations of nature in the intellectual as well
as in the material world, he argued that this process must neces-
sarily be the same in the mind of every individual. If a theo-
retical system of reasoning therefore — if Logic for instance, be
founded on an accurate analysis of the mental operations of Per-
ceptiouy Judgment, and Reasoning, it would necessarily follow
that it is the onli/ mode of reasoning, and that a man only reasons
correctly, in so far as he reasons logically. To ascertain whether
the claims of Logic in this respect were well-founded, the lecturer
instituted a comparison between the principles of the Aristotelian
theory and the preceding analysis of the mental process in rea-
soning. The result of this comparison shewed that the Aristote-
lian Logic is founded on an accurate observation and analysis of
the natural principles of reasoning : and that every argument that
has ever been employed on any subject whatever, is capable of
being reduced to the structure of a formal syllogism. Various
illustrations of this fact were offered.

The Rev. gentleman then reviewed and replied to the objections
of Locke, Brown, and Campbell, to the Aristotelian logic, espe-
cially that of its insufficiency for the discovery of new truths.
On this point the lecturer contended that as he had already shewn
Logic to be nothing more than an analysis of the natural princi-
ples of the mind in reasoning, the objection, if good for any thing,
was in reality, an objection to the mental process of reasoning
itself. Its insufficiency for the discovery of new truth was also
shewn to be no valid test of its utility ; that it might, with as
much propriety, be objected to the study of grammar, that it did
not discover new languages; to botany that it did not discover
new plants; to anatomy that it did not discover new bodies; or
to intellectual philosophy that it did not discover new minds.
The objection was also shewn to be untrue, in its full extent, in
as much as Logic was admitted by these same authors to be a
powerful instrument for the detection of error; and to the mind
of the lecturer, the detection of error appeared very much like the
discovery of truth — at least to be an important step towards that
discovery.

The lecturer noticed and replied to various other objections,
and then proceeded to examine the claims of mathematics as the
proposed substitute for tho study of logic.

276 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

To this substitution the lecturer objected ; first, because it was
open to all the objections which had been urged against the study
of Logic ; namely, that men are found to reason very well with-
out a knowledge of its rules ; that those who are acquainted with
them, do not reason in the form of syllogism ; and that the appli-
cation of them, is insufficient for the discovery of new truth — the
truth of the conclusion being involved in that of the major pre-
mise. With reference to those several objections the lecturer
adduced instances of men who had reasoned accurately and pow-
erfully without a knowledge of Mathematics ; — he asserted that
no man was ever wild enough to apply the form or symbols of
mathematical reasoning, to any other subject, than that of quantity
and its relations, nor so silly as to talk about the quantity of an
historical fact, or the angle A B C of moral evidence ; and lastly
the process of the mind in reasoning being the same on all subjects,
whether mathematical or logical, he contended that the insuffici-
ency for the discovery of new truths, might be predicated of ma-
thematical as well as of logical reasoning, the objection applying
in fact to the mental operation itself. The lecturer here pointed
out the distinction between a process of reasoning and a process
of induction or investigation, and observed, that by the latter we
discover new truth, and by the former we test the accuracy of
our deductions. Having shewn that the preceding objections are
equally applicable to Mathematics as to Logic, the lecturer con-
tended that the former could not be considered as a desirable
substitute for the latter.

The lecturer objected to the proposed substitution, secondlj/
because the two systems do not contemplate the attainment of
the same end : the one by the study of quantity and its relations,
merely affording a convenient vehicle for the operation and exercise
of reasoning, the other by a careful analysis of the mental operation
itself, acquainting us with the theory and principles upon which
all reasoning depends. It would therefore be as wise to propose
the substitution of gymnastic exercises, for the study of anatomy,
because the former, has a tendency to develope and strengthen
those corporeal functions, which, it is the business of the latter, to
analyze and examine.

The lecturer afterwards offered some remarks, on the nature
and tendency, of mathematical studies, as distinguished from
other intellectual pursuits. He strongly disclaimed any intention
to depreciate mathematical science, the proper application of
which had so much enlarged the boundaries of human knowledge
and encreased the comforts of human life : his object was merely

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 277

to rescue one branch of knowledge from a variety of ill-founded
objections, and to take from another, its equally ill-founded claims ;
to support each, in fact, by placing each upon its proper basis,
and by assigning to each its real object, and its legitimate appli-
cation.

He then concluded by some reflections on the insufficiency of
the human understanding however distinguished by natural en-
dowments or strengthened by scientific acquirements, for the
discovery and comprehension of many things to which its powers
are occasionally misapplied ; and shewed the folly of speculating
on those subjects which are, in their nature, necessarily beyond
the reach of finite minds.

November 6th. — Lt. Col. Ham. Smith's Third Lecture on
The Filiation of' the tribes of man ; embracing those which pre-
ceded the Celt(j£ in Europe.

The paper commenced with a retrospect of what had been
already urged upon the same subject in the two former lectures,
and also in the " Philo Danmonian," a periodical published in
this town, in which, under the head of *' The Portfolio,^' a similar
inquiry had been pursued. The lecturer then adverted to the
pretended maxim that ancient authorities are incontrovertible
facts in history ; and contended — that, as the quotations drawn
from ancient and classical writers may be often opposed to each
other, one contradicting the other : as they are also constantly
subjected to new readings and to different interpretations by every
commentator; and, finally, as the ancients were not only very
ignorant in Geography, but had moreover the practise of referring
all the mythology of nations to the names and forms of their own
religious doctrines, their authority is only so far available as it is
consistent with credibility submitted to modern criticism by the
tests of evidence, in Geography, Languages, Comparative Anato-
my, Traditions, and other early records of the nations which are
still preserved. With these restrictions the lecturer admitted that
most of the positive information we possess, upon the origin of
nations, is derived from the writers in question, but that being the
positive it was as in physics often of small avail without the
negative or critical side of the question.

The paper then proceeded with an account of the discovery of
human bones, intermixed with those of extinct animals, as asserted
by Schlotheim, Donati, Germer, Rasoumouski, and Guetard.
The lecturer enumerated several species so mixed up, found in

278 PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION.

the Cavern of Bize, on the Aude, in France ; others discovered
by Martin de Serre, in the Caves of Poudres and Sauvignargues,
all verified by Cuvier. Next, similar bones found by Boue, at
Lahr, on the Rhhie ; again at Liege, on the Meuse ; and, finally,
of some found at Torquay, as admitted by the Rev. Mr. Mc
Enery. From these and other facts, particularly that referring to
the discovery of human bones carefully packed, and some even
covered with flat stones, in the Cavern of Breignes, in France, in
which were found also remains of rhinoceros, &c., the lecturer
assumed that man existed in Western Europe at the same time
with several species of mammiferoe now entirely extinct, or who
have congeners only at great distances from this quarter of the
globe : but as numerous caves have been found containing these
bones without those belonging to human beings, that man was as
yet very thinly scattered in these countries. That the Cavern of
Breignes seems to indicate the increase of man and the decrease
of the now extinct species, the fragments of the latter in this
place being perhaps remains of sacrifices offered on the inhuma-
tion of the former. That the human bones, being found with
shards of pottery and flint knives in several places, appear to have
belonged to a race in a savage state, and tlierefore not to Celtae,
who were merely barbarians, not savages. Finally, tliat the period
referred to is not necessarily so remote as geologists might at first
sight be induced to presume. For the Cavern of Breignes being
in evident connexion with antique fortifications of a character ap-
proaching the Cyclopian form, shew they belonged to those savage
tribes which spread westward along the Mediterranean and occu-
pied Spain and southern Gaul anterior to the Celtee.

To shew this connection the lecturer pointed out the different
styles of building which the most ancient nations of Europe have
left behind ; a difference which indeed may be in some measure
the result merely of a succession in point of the date of the ruins ;
but which, nevertheless, will at least serve to classify them in the
mind. He denominated the earliest, Cyclopian, and characterized
it by the constructions being composed of huge, unhewn stones,
placed upon each other on their broader surfaces, and the inter-
stices filled up with smaller stones. Such are the walls and gal-
leries of Hassan Cale, Kala Kulistan, &c., in Persia and Asia
Minor, of Tirynthus and Cichyrus, in Greece, of Mt. Cynthus,
in Delos, of Tadinadura and Torre dei Giganti, in Malta^ &c.,
and perhaps those above the Caverns of Breignes.

PLYMOUTH INSTITUTION. 279

The second class he denominated Pelasgian, and characterized
by Vjeing walls composed of huge stones, likewise laid on their
broader and longer surfaces, but sufficiently worked to have their
angles fit into each other, so as to have no smaller stones to fill
the interstices. They present also the evidence of a gradual ap-
proach to regular courses, and by degrees, as they become more
regular, the stones diminish in bulk till they pass into what has
been denominated the old Etruscan style. These are exemplified
by the walls and gates of Mycense and Talon, in Greece, the gate
of Segni and the walls of Proeneste, Fiesole, Todi, Populonia, in
Italy, and lastly of Cosa, in the same country, the lower portion
of which is Pelasgian, in all its bulk, and the upper Etruscan.

The third, distinguished by the names of Gomerian-Celtic,
and Celto-Scythic, differs from the two former by being compo-
sed of still larger and often of enormous blocks of stone, not laid
upon the surface but pitched on end, frequently on their smaller
end, and filled in by smaller stones; these are placed rather at
the back than in the interstices. Of this class are cromlechs,
logging stones, wrenches, rock idols, Ophite temples or dracontia,
clachans, emris or stone circles, &c. Circular walls also occur in
many places composed of smaller unhewn stones, but piled up
with great ingenuity. Monuments of this class are extended over
an amazing surface of the earth, beginning near Macao, in China,
and' the Loochoo Islands, they are found in India, Persia, Europe,
and even North America.

Having shewn the connection of these buildings with some of
the earliest tribes that peopled southern and western Europe, the
lecturer proceeded to describe the Vasconic and Cantabrian race,
still residing in the fastnesses of the western Pyrenees ; their
frontier strong-holds, named Calagurris, one in France, the other
on the Ebro, and their capital Pampelo. This people, by their
physical form, their language, and other circumstances, appear to
have been originally perfectly distinct from every Celtic tribe.
So also were the Ceretani, inhabiting the Cerdagne, in the eastern
Pyrenees, who may have been of the same origin with the Chere-
tim of Asia and Crete.

The next race noticed was that of the Ligurians, the same as
the Llogrwys of the Welsh. With this race was connected the
tribe of Heneti, Henydd of the Welsh, who appear to hav^e been
of the same stock with the Henetoi, Heneti, or Veneti of the
Adriatic. They were related to the Liburnians, further east, and
probably were connected with the Lestrigons of the Greek poets.

280 PLYMOUTH iNSTirUTION.

who, under the name of Sicani, figured in Eastern Gaul and in
Catalonia. Of these nations the lecturer enumerated the several
tribes, pointed out their early capital cities and some portions of
their history ; of the Veneti in particular, he shewed that they
had commercial locations as far north as the Baltic, and west- as
the mouth of the Loire. He shewed that the convulsions occasi-
oned by the first irruption of the Gallic Celtse had driven a part
of this race to seek an asylum among the Cyned or Cynetae, who
had left Clans in various parts, and particularly in the Pelopon-
esus near ancient Sicyon. The Cynetae of the west were located
in the valley of the Loire, Liydau of the Welsh, so named from
the river Lly, or Loire, which the later nations transformed into
Ligeris. Here, in conjunction with the Ligurians, who appear to
have bestowed the name on the river ; and the trading Henyd or
Veneti, whose depot was at Vannes in Britanny ; it appears that
the ruling clan, named Qldui, formed the project of colonizing
Britain, and it is to them the dawn of civilization in these islands
is to be ascribed. All these nations may be traced eastward as
far as Colchis, and in the time of Herodotus the Cynetae by name
were considered as distinct frojn the Celtae ; we know that the
Ordovices were of this race, and the swarthy Cymroeg of Wales,
the Cornubians, the Milesians of Ireland, as well as the Turdetani
and Lusitani may belong to the same stock.

The lecturer then proceeded to consider the history of the
Etruscans, Tursci or Tysenoi, and remarked that this name
seemed to be equivalent to the Scandinavian Thyrsen, signifying
giants, and that it was also equivalent to the name of Raseni or
Resen, applied to the people with whom they were incorporated
in Italy ; for that also designated giants, and the huge Pelasgian
walls raised about all their early cities are likewise commonly
ascribed to the giants. He remarked also that Gorio, in his ob-
servations on the Esauites or Edomites, who, according to him,
built Alba, Norba and other places in Latin m and Lower Etruria,
are by him referred to the red haired Cyclopians or Pelasgians,
who left a colony in Peloponesus, from which the Spartans were
descended, and these observations shew a curious coincidence
with the letter written by the last rnentioned to the Jews, whom
they called relatives, as is recorded in Josephus.

The lecture concluded with some remarks on the origin of the
Romans, whose history was not detailed, because the recent work
of Niebuhr renders it superfluous. In the next lecture on this
subject it was announced that the true Celta? will form the prin-
cipal topic of inquiry.

I

281
THE HORSES.

" A horse ? — a horse ? — my kingdom for a horse. "

Who says West's horses can 't draw ? — here 's a house ! packed
as full as a cask of Yarmouth herrings; heads as thickly stowed
as if Martin had arranged them for a new picture ; phizzes as
varied as if they had borrowed their several expressions from
Hogarth, yet not without many fair and gentle beauties scattered
among them.

Look at the pit, not another butcher or man-milliner could find
standing room there, for the soul of him. This is the resort of tip
top " operatives," foremen of all crafts, thrifty Israelites, small
shopkeepers, swell-looking fellows in surtouts, just escaped from
behind the counter, where they have been praising flannel for pet-
ticoats and extolling the virtues of elastic stays for some twelve
hours : one or two veteran connoisseurs may also be observed,
wlio, for the sake of seeing the illusion in its perfection, will with-
stand the bounty showered on them by the " gods," and run the
risk of having their skulls stove in by a porter bottle ejected from
the slips. The house waxes hot, and what a mighty steam ascends
from this region, impregnated witli the effluvia of w^et leather and
all manner of pinguedinous things. And the dress circle, too,
lucus a non lucendo, where the young ladies are not quite half un-
dressed, and the young gentlemen sport box-coats and muddy
spurs. What a milky way of loveliness — what seraphic looks, they
never could frown — what exquisite lips, they know not how to
scold. And the masculine part of the groups too : what a world
of trouble the curling irons have had to-day; what eloquent
whiskers, what killing side locks, what unparalled neck-vestures,
what wow.sY7'ow.s(?/ delicate jewellery. The sweet Narcissi! how
much they must be in love with their own dear selves.

The performance seems to be a very minor consideration in
this quarter; they are talking to one another instead of listening
to Vivash ; and have sundry abortions of telescopes levelled in
directions somewhat opposite to the stage : divers pretty pairs are
holding most pathetic converse, which is vastly more entertaining
to them than the death of many dukes of Brunswick. Half
a score midshipmen have got loose from between decks, and
have not the slightest doubt of their being now in heaven : how
much better than the odour of ropes is tlie fragrance of lavender,
eau de Cologne, and iive thousand rarer essences from Araby the
blest.

VOL. IV. — 1834. MM

282 THE HORSES.

And the upper boxes — what a disparity of atmospheres ; in
scaling Vesuvius the higher we mount the cooler we feel, but here
caloric is proportionate to elevation in an opposite degree. O !
what a savoury gush is projected along the lobby, something like
that of an ill-conditioned Bologna sausage, cured in tobacco smoke :
but every body here seems very well contented with him or herself,
and the spectacle, (as Horseman would say.) Here are congre-
gated druggists, booksellers, jewellers, half-pay officers, abundant
in progeny, and sundry other very good people, with their several
wives and sweethearts, who love to masticate an apple while the
music is getting ready that they may relish the death of West,
as a British officer, the better afterwards.

Here too are the gentlemen of the press, " them covies is the
gemmen what reports," and numerous delectable damsels, who
start, and tremble, and grow pale when the musketry is vigorous.
How ill natured it would be to say that these affections (not
affectations) are modes of calling forth the tender attentions of
such esquires as may be felicitous enough to be waddling through
the first volume of Cupid's big book !

Now for the celestials, the ascending scale of theatre accommo-
dations being small by degrees and beautifully less, the occupants
of the gallery take uncommon care to accommodate themselves :
there is, however, a civility regnant among them, which, at all
times leaves the highest seats to the last comers. Though pro-
vided with all the extra heat and unnecessary exhalations that
the rest of the house find it convenient to get rid of, the gods are
absolutely the happiest fellows in the assembly, they qualify
themselves to endure a vapour bath of 110 degrees, by amply
cooling their stomachs with everlasting bottles of rum, which is
always attempered by cart loads of apples, oranges, and nuts ;
whilst the inedible matter of the two latter are unanimously ex-
pended on the head dresses of the pittites. The gods have the
capability of exerting at least two senses at once ; and they can
yield attention to the performance and do orange suckery at one
and the same time : from the constancy of their attention we may
not be surprised to find the principal part of any applause, or the
reverse, always proceeds from them.

No interruption to a pathetic part in the comedy, or a laughable
scene in the tragedy, will ever occur in the gallery, except, per-
haps, when a bonnet of one of the sailor's Poll's gets overboard,
and, sailing through mid-air, comes to an anchor in the orchestre
— a voice or two may tlien be heard shouting — " Pipe all hands

THE HORSES. 283

for garters ; " but as soon as these have been spliced into a suffi-
ciency of line to extend below, and the volant article has been
restored, all is order and quiet again.

Passing from the coup d' oeil of the interior, an abundance of
bye play may be found going on at the out-posts ; sturdy fellows
are needful to act the Cerberus at the pit and gallery entrances,
for when a lot of half cocked jollies or a coil of sailors three sheets
in the wind are bent upon a " blessed spree," it requires a vigorous
arm and a determined front to keep them in order ; especially as
each separate tar is gifted with a fist as big and as brown as a
Westphalia ham, and nothing loath to do battle, either for fun or
in earnest, at any given moment.

A scarlet faced young savage, red hot from the borders of
Dartmoor, with half a hundred weight of moist clay on his nether
members, walks up to the first person he espies inside the box
entrance door, and, with hat clenched in one hand, extends the
money in his other.

" You must pay the door keeper — there he is in the box, close
to the red door."

^^Thank'e, sur."

" I wants to see the play, sur."
And down go four shillings before the administrator of tickets.

" Dress circle, Sir? " says Conning, with a knowing look.

" Ees, sur," responds Clodpate, with perfect composure. He
looks hard at the one ticket, but, of course, thinks its no mistake;
and, after a few minutes of half wondering, half stupid reconnoi-
tering he proceeds to pilot his three female friends to the check
taker.

" Three more checks, sir, if you please;" and this is said with
a look at the group which plainly implies " Whether you please
or no."

" I Ve a paid, fouer shillen, an' there 's but fouer of us."

"Twelve shillings more, sir."

" Bully Finch s€ed it 'esterday, an' said he ounly paid a shillen."

" Ah ! I see, you have come to the wrong part of the house,
you want the gallery.

" I should n't like to give 'e all that trouble thoa, mayhap we
could see as well on them ere red sates."

" Can 't admit you, sir, you must give your ticket back, and
go round to the gallery entrance with your money."

But when he has arrived there, in very quick time his three com-
panions are taken under the guardianship of a dozen man o' war's

284 THE HORSES.

men. He would fain expostulate, but never was endowed with
oratory — he would become pugnacious, but never had the knack
of fighting. — On the other hand, he sees that he has saved
three shillings, for his sisters are treated to admission, and they,
never having studied mock modesty at Shaugh, have not refused
the politeness of their inviters. The boatswain, too, assures him
that the whole boat's crew are the civilest fellows in the ship,
have just been paid off, and will be uncommonly kind to the
girls. "But^stopwe must take them up something to eat; —
here misses, what 's the valley o' yer basket o' turnips."

" Turnips, eh ? then swate bad luck to you ; they 're bewtiful
apples, the glories o' the west and nonpurails."

" Well, its all the same, what 's the valley o' the lot ? "

" Sure, agrah, you do n't want to buy the basket an' all.

** How am I to get them aloft without something to carry them
in, Molly."

" My name 's Judy Flanagan, let me tell you, an' I live in
Kanterberry Street, nigh the clink ; an' that 's a mighty purty
basket, I do n't like to sell it, for it 's lasted me these ten years ;
an', barrin' two or three holes in the bottom, and one o' the han-
dles that 's loose, it 's as good as a new one — but I '11 be asy on
you as you 're one of the difinders of ould England, long life to
it, and you shall have it all for tin shillins."

Jack did not want any more talk about his bargain, and, having
selected the sum demanded from out of a handful of gold and
silver, he hails his new companion with

" Come, you land lubber, stick your larboard fin into the scupper
hole o' this here basket and help me to haul it aloft."

And now, most amiable and beautiful young lady, who
bendest so gracefully over the pages of the " Museum," we will
take another peep inside.

A young fellow, who has just acquired a pair of petticoat
breeches, looks over the front of a box with a sort of extatic awe
— wide open as his shining eyes are, his mouth is half extended
also, as if he would wish to see a little more with that organ.
Some of his questions betray that he is for the first time surveying
the inside of a theatre.

" What is it, papa ? "

" The battle of Waterloo, my dear."

" I can 't see the water papa, where is it ? — are there any ships
and boats ? "

" No — no. Waterloo is the name of a place where soldiers
fought and fired their guns at one another."

THE HORSES. 285

** Oh ! and will they make gun-fires here? — what do those
candles wear ear-rings for, papa ? '' pointing to the glass drops
suspended below the box gas lights.

" They are bits of glass, Tomnny, put tliere to make the lamps
look pretty."

" Let us get some of them, papa, to put in mamma's ears, and
make her look pretty.''

" No my dear they do n't belong to us."

" Oh ! how did all those men get up there, papa? " pointing
to the gallery, *^ did they climb up these ? " (the supporting
pillars in front.)

" No — no, they went up stairs."

"Ah!" says Tommy, with an incredulous smile, '*you tell
nonsense, papa, I can 't see any stairs."

Sundry bits of observation are evaporating from all parts ; and
two or three strung together, in the order in which they arrived
at the ear of the writer, shall constitute a wind-up.

" O ! Bobby, Bobby, look at that ere fire, it 's as natheral as
life."

" West does that well ; the shrug, the mixture of yieldingness
and impatience, the self sufficiency, the richly Gallicised English,
and his Vicar-of-Bray-ish adherence to the party in power are
capital — and then we see that he can do other things, three steps,
a pirouette, and cut, who wants more to see that he can use his
legs ? "

" What a lot of snufF Wilton takes, without ever blowing his
nose ; there ! he 's dropped his box, there 's none in it, and it 's a
tin one."

" That point is Bonaparte."

" I say Snooks, do n't you think that that Duke of Wellington
would be all the better if he was hung up for a week, to stretch
his neck, and get his head up from between his shoulders ? "

^* Do n't be starten, Biddy, my jewel, they 're only firin' blank
carthridges."

"Aw! Vivash, you 're a broth of a boy; its only a pity you
have n't a thrifle more o' the brogue ; what an illigant way you
have o' taken a dhrop o' somethin ; and how nicely you wipe
the flash o' lightnin' out your eye with your finger aftherwards ;
we 'ill niver cry whin you 're here."

" Now^ while the curtain 's down, here 's a toast — Luck to
West and three cheers for Sandford."

J. B.

286
THE WANDERERS.

An encampment of Gipsies was, a few days since, to be seen
near Knackersknowle, about a quarter of a mile from the village,
on the road leading thence to St. Budeaux.

A stream of smoke stealing over a high hedge, the light-hearted
laugh of girls, and the prattling of children, induced us to climb
over a gate and introduce ourselves to the party of wanderers ; by
whom we were received with a cordial and unaffected welcome.
Three tents were pitched for the accommodation of the strollers at
night; each one resembling the cover of a small waggon, and fur-
nished inside with an ample resting place of straw and blankets,
together with manifold carpets, which assuredly were never
stitched together with the design of forming part of gipsy house-
hold stuff. A horse was near at hand, in the lane, tethered to a
tree, and luxuriating in an abundant feed of hay, which appeared
to have been recently taken, as a loan, from a neighbouring stack ;
and a most philosophical-looking jackass stood chewing the cud
of sweet and bitter fancy as he gazed, at a respectful distance, on
the crackling fire. A couple of dogs formed part of the group;
one, a faithful but ferocious looking beast, was chained to a hazel
stump; the other, which was wonderfully deficient in flesh, salu-
ted tlje intruders with many a magniloquent howl : but was
speedily awed into silence by a few unintelligible words from its
mistresses.

In front of the principal tent was a fire, fed with brushwood;
over which was suspended on two slight stakes, simply but inge-
niously fixed, a large tin pot, in which a duck, a piece of mutton,
and a fragment of beef were jostling each other, and bobbing up
and down in glorious ebullition, as if they were highly delighted
with so much warmth on a chilly morning. The beef and mut-
ton might have been the proceeds of chiromancy, but the duck
was, without doubt, borrowed from some distant poultry house.
One of the young Egyptians was busied in peeling some fine
potatoes, yet encrusted with the moist earth in which they had
lately reposed ; a sturdy limbed young imp was busied in cutting
some of these into small pieces, which were introduced, with
some fragments of beef fat, into a cast iron pot, the seething of
which cast up a savour that would have created an appetite under
the ribs of a sick man. Another brunette had amalgamated some
pounds of flour, with a due modicum of beef suet and water,
until a rather comical looking paste was engendered ; a small
portion of this was wrapped round single, unpeeled, rosy-cheeked
apples, which were consigned, unlimitedly, to the same omniver-
ous cauldron. Cabbages too, and excellent in kind and quantity,
were undergoing ablution preparatory to immersion in the same
bath ; which in the course of an hour, must have been relished
by the providers far more keenly than ever yet was turtle or
ox- tail soup by a crimson gilled alderman.

THE WANDERERS. 287

A substantial covered cart, which stood near, was the storehouse
for most of the goods and chattels of the tribe, when engaged in
locomotion. The wofully lank shoulders of the jackass were, no
doubt, aiding and abetting in all such cases.

A light travelling apparatus for touching up the Pindaric razors
of such luckless boors as sawed off their beards on the sabbath,
was the only apparent implement of industry : and this might
be considered merely ostensible, for it bore few marks of being-
used.

Horse dealing and thieving are the legitimate avocations of the
masculine part of these vagrants . The softer sex does the cookery,
washing, and mending; whilst the finances may be, now and
then, amended by a little palmistry, and by breaking the eighth
commandment in a small way.

The men were all absent at the time of our visit, pursuing the
lawful part of their calling, as we were told; but more probably
endeavouring to soothe the boisterous ejaculations of a purloined
pig, or to twist off the head of an errant gander, which might well
hiss most lustily as the phantom of a bubbling soup-pot cast its
shadow before.

The group consisted of a great-grandmother, grandmother, three
or four mothers, and a. numerous litter of young ones. A hun-
dred and two summers had deeply bronzed the countenance of
the venerable parent, and time had plouged it with as many fur-
rows as she could number years : the veins stood out, in strong
relief, from her fleshless hands, like blackened whip cord tightly
stretched on the leather of an old saddle. Yet she did not seem
to be bowed down by the weight of her years, nor to be labouring
under any particular infirmity : her carriage was as upright as
that of her grand-daughters, and her voice, though neither strong
nor musical, was sonorous, clear, and solemn, like the tone of a
prophetess. As she poured forth old saws and the proverbs of
our ancestors, there was a dignity in her manner and a reverence
in her expression which could not fail to fix the attention of her
listeners.

The utmost respect and tenderness were evinced towards this
withered old woman. It was a severe comment on civilized so-
ciety to see these half savage wanderers exercise that filial affec-
tion which is so often lost sight of by their better informed fellow
beings.

The grandmother might have been about sixty, and occupied
herself in directing the culinary operations, supplying the fire
with fuel, looking after the children, and vigorously smoking her
oft-replenished pipe, the stem of which was not more than three
inches long; and, by antiquity of usage, had acquired a coal
black hue ; one of the girls sm.oked also, but the bowl of her
pipe was large, enamelled, and decorated with a silver lid- and
numerous tinkling chains, rings, &c.

The children were healthy in appearance, and seemed abounding
in happiness, not a little of which might have resulted from their

b^l

288 THE WANDERERS.

frequent applications to the flesh pots. Dalby's carminative and
Johnson's soothing sirup had never interfered with the proceedings
of their stomachs, their only medicine being a hearty roll in the
mud, or a feed on raw turnips. Some of the younglings did not
appear to be of gipsy parentage, in the perfection of its caste.
One of the young mothers had certainly never been bom in the
state which she now delighted ; as her fresh complexion blue
eyes and light hair testified ; but, Oh ! Love : she eloped from
her father's farm, and married an itinerant cutler. W e had an
opportunity of seeing her Romeo before we came away, and a
handsome strapping fellow he was, with curled side locks, and
silver ear-rings : but the words of Southey might be applied to
him with strict verity.

" Knife grinder ! knife grinder, your hat has a hole in it.

So has your breeches."

He, however, appeared stoically indifferent to such accidents.

Four of the young women were handsome specimens of this
singular class of beings, but one in particular was a most lovely
vagabond ; her complexion was of the true gipsy hue, but through
it there mantled a slight yet transparent tint of rose; at every
light laugh she displayed a set of teeth white as snow, though it
is not probable they ever were troubled by a scrubbing brush ; her
black eyes, full of expression, and a fire that might ie tempered
to fierceness or affection, reposed under exquisitely arched dark
eyebrows ; her nose was something between the Grecian and Ro-
man forms, and as Goethe said of his Margaret's "it seemed to
mock at all care;" her hair was coloured like the raven's wing,
and clustered over her features with grace, but without ornament,
simplex munditiis. She, as well as the other girls, moved about
as lightly as fawns; and at no single moment did they appear to
think the world any thing but a paradise, yet they did not by
word or action show the slightest departure' from a modest de-
meanour.

On one of them being asked how she liked her way of life,
and whether she would wish to exchange it for any other, the
answer given was " Not for the world ! " And this was said with
a sincerity of voice and countenance which could not be assumed.

I have seen smiles of unshadowed happiness, and the smiles
of children, and smiles which were like the outpourings of anguish
— sadder far than tears, — but 1 shall never forget the light hearted
smile of the beautiful gipsy.

J. B.

CONCLUSION OF VOLUME THE FOURTH.

G. p. HEARDER, PLYMOUTH.

i